Err... well... for my tush anyway.
Here I am, having been saintly for soooooo long and ZAP! In an instant, all my saintliness flushed down the commode. It's almost enough to make me give up Twinkies.
The giant squid is acting like a baboon butthead! And I told him so. So there! And let me just add that was not the smartest thing I've ever said to someone who is 6 feet 5 inches tall and has a hand as large as any I've ever seen. Truly, it's a very sad state of affairs.
It's "Run Amok Week!"
And he doesn't care.
I care.
Ya see... it's like this: Santa has completed his annual trek around the globe and is resting...
Mrs. Claus has shredded the 2005 "naughty vs nice" list. The new list doesn't begin until January 1, 2006.
Which means...
December 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, & 31, 2005 = 6 days when Santa isn't keeping track of who is naughty and who is nice!
It's a FREE zone!
We are free to run amok without fear of retribution! And since Santa isn't taking notes, then it's obviously a run amok/spank-free week.
I look forward to this week all year long and His Holiness, who is currently grumpy about something is being very "ghost of past run amok weeks" because... hmmm... because... well... there was that time when I was mad at him and put a little too much dye in the washing machine and his white boxers ended up more carmine than pink and he was in summer whites at the time and it was Christmas in July... sort of... and... For fear he would match my tush with his boxer shorts, I... um... took a leisurely ride - about 6 hours away - to the end of the earth on this side of the planet. And even though I feared I'd fall off the edge... that didn't scare me half as much as the giant squid's excessively hard and heavy hand painting my tush carmine.
Oyyyyy, I've lost my train of thought. A tush painted the color of his port wine does that to me. By the time he caught up with me, I was in deep doo-doo but he was so happy to see me, I got lots of cuddling and loving. The spanking that followed wasn't as bad as it might have been. He was more upset about my taking off for a few days than his deep red boxer shorts. Err... he had to buy more undies so he could get through the summer without being snickered at. He must have dozens of boxers... maybe I should buy more dye... just in case. Hmmm.
One "run amok" week I managed to get David's email password - don't ask - and I sent a "Nobody loves me" email to a few websites... the kind that cater to men loving men. Two years later, the sexy devil dog still gets offers. (Frankly, I think I'm way too good to this man.) The giant squid accused ME of sending that email! Can you believe that? Err... the question was rhetorical; you don't have to reply.
If that wasn't bad enough, Herr Baboon Butthead also accused me of sending a large spinning top to the base commandant for Christmas. (The base commandant is ALWAYS spinning his; everyone says so.) Not true! I made sure it arrived *after* Christmas.
And then... the piece de resistance of "run amok" weeks was the weekly flower bouquet I sent myself with love notes attached. His Holiness was furious! And jealous! And demanded to know who they were from. I told him I sent them, of course - which I had - but he didn't believe me! Oh! That was so much fun. After much contemplation, the giant squid decided I needed far more attention and gave me the kind I wanted.
Um... let me add that it's possible I shouldn't have charged all those flowers to his credit card... When the bill arrived I just happened to be at the mall waxing enthusiastic over the shoes on sale and then the chocolate shoppe across the aisle had samples of imported goodies and by the time I got home - with shoes and chocolate... Is there a better combination than that? I was flying pretty high.
He never said anything else about the flowers but he did warm my butt over the bill - tsk. He did add that he wanted to match the color of my tush to the color of the flowers but hey! I didn't just fall off a turnip truck! I had ordered *white* flowers and a just a few that were very very lightly stained pink. Whewwww. The butt warming I got for the bill stung like the dickens but there's something to be said for feeding one's ardor on a bed of petals. ~ sigh~
Soooo when I announced it was "run amok" week, he rolled his eyes and unfortunately, also rolled his sleeves. Aacckkk! I might have to run away again.
~Sar~
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Happy Holidays!
Quick Note
Cowboy here - the imp is in the kitchen putting final touches on our holiday dinner and more than likely sneaking treats to the dogs. They sit under the kitchen table when she's cooking ready to sample what she's making. Bull is here and he is sitting at the same table and telling her he needs to give her food a taste test. David is adjusting young Patrick's new stationery bicycle. I'm drinking my Merlot in peace for a change.
Traditionally, Sar and I spend Christmas Eve alone. She always makes a special dessert for the 2 of us and we sit in front of the fire and sip a little wine and remember other times. We open just 1 gift then and save the rest for Christmas morning. The imp spends a great deal of time deciding which one to open. She is usually overwhelmed by what is there and I have to pick 1 for her.
I don't know if she will tell you this but on Christmas Eve - before we get settled in front of the fire and before I come into the room - Sar gives me my first gift. She wraps a large red bow around her hips and another around her breasts. When I come into the room I find her under our tree and waiting to be unwrapped. It is the best gift I ever receive and each year it just gets better. I have said this before. I will say it again. I am a lucky man.
I want to thank you for your gift of friendship to Sar and to me. I also add my thanks to those of you who read my wife's writing. I am very proud of her even when I am included in her stories as a Neanderthal. Rest assured I love her very much.
Here's to a happy holiday season and a New Year with greater peace!
Cowboy
Cowboy here - the imp is in the kitchen putting final touches on our holiday dinner and more than likely sneaking treats to the dogs. They sit under the kitchen table when she's cooking ready to sample what she's making. Bull is here and he is sitting at the same table and telling her he needs to give her food a taste test. David is adjusting young Patrick's new stationery bicycle. I'm drinking my Merlot in peace for a change.
Traditionally, Sar and I spend Christmas Eve alone. She always makes a special dessert for the 2 of us and we sit in front of the fire and sip a little wine and remember other times. We open just 1 gift then and save the rest for Christmas morning. The imp spends a great deal of time deciding which one to open. She is usually overwhelmed by what is there and I have to pick 1 for her.
I don't know if she will tell you this but on Christmas Eve - before we get settled in front of the fire and before I come into the room - Sar gives me my first gift. She wraps a large red bow around her hips and another around her breasts. When I come into the room I find her under our tree and waiting to be unwrapped. It is the best gift I ever receive and each year it just gets better. I have said this before. I will say it again. I am a lucky man.
I want to thank you for your gift of friendship to Sar and to me. I also add my thanks to those of you who read my wife's writing. I am very proud of her even when I am included in her stories as a Neanderthal. Rest assured I love her very much.
Here's to a happy holiday season and a New Year with greater peace!
Cowboy
Monday, December 19, 2005
T - 6 Days and Counting!
Remember that bit about being saintly? I'm not sure how long one has to be saintly to be canonized but I'm sure I'm close. I thought I'd call the Catholic priest at the church that Cowboy occasionally visits and ask him. To say he was frightened that I had called is an understatement. Not sure if he was scared I might want to join his flock and influence the other parishioners or if he thought he was having a conversation with someone who was not nearly as saintly as purported.
Tsk.
There was quite a bit of background noise while we were talking. Err... I was talking; he was giving his Rosary beads a pretty good workout... I was afraid he'd stroke out so I decided to google saints and canonization. Google had a lot of information but nothing on being saintly so long just prior to Christmas.
Then I had an epiphany! No, didn't call the Greek Orthodox priest - I called Ms.KeptWoman a.k.a. Lady Chatterly. She lives in my neighborhood and is "kept" by a very wealthy man who visits her monthly. He lives in Europe and comes here on business. I've seen him a few times; very debonair and silver-haired and obviously well-off. He's very generous to her and what they do behind closed doors is not anything she talks about. I have a fertile imagination. I can guess what they do.
Anyway, Lady Chatterly gets a LOT of presents ALL the time. So I invited her over for coffee and babka and asked her about saints and canonization. She assured me that canonization wasn't all it's cracked up to be. She says you get to be sought after for a day now and then and after a year or so, people forget to pray to you. Bummer!
She said it's better to be slightly naughty because that makes "Santa" give you far more attention and that the attention you get invariably leads to "stuff" and new leather boots and pretty lingerie and the latest best selling books and plenty of imported chocolates.
Ohhhh... I could live with that.
"What kind of naughty things do you suppose I should get into?" I asked.
"Just be yourself, Sar. I'm sure that will do it."
Hmmm... was that a dig... or was she being complimentary? Tsk. I might not give her that chestnut cheesecake for Christmas, after all.
So... thinking naughty might be the way to go... I just happened to hear the giant squid get out of bed in the wee hours. When he didn't come right back, I got up to investigate. There was a light on downstairs. Just as my feet reached the last step on the staircase and I was ready to sneak into the family room to see what he was up to...
"That better be one of the pups coming down the stairs and not an imp who should be in bed," the soft but firm voice announced.
Jeez!
"And if I catch you," his voice got just a little louder, "you'll be sleeping on your belly!"
Crumb! Who knew Santa could be so stern? I rushed back to bed and when he came upstairs, I feigned sleep.
"I know you're awake, Sar."
SWAT!
Mumble... groan... whine... complain...
The temperature has really dropped so the next morning the giant squid was in the backyard checking the heaters in the kennels. I knew that would take a while so I decided to check the downstairs closet in case Santa had made an early delivery. I was standing on a chair... reaching up to one of the top shelves... certain there was a huge box there I didn't remember seeing before.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Good God! The man has radar!
Before I could even think of a reason for being there... dusting the cobwebs, dear... rearranging stuff... thought I heard a noise...
I was over his shoulder and his grizzly paw was pounding away like a little drummer boy! How is it the man can laugh and spank and climb stairs at the same time? This is not my idea of multi-tasking and I told him so.
Oy! Bad idea.
It's one thing to get spanked for fun and another to get a firm swat just because the target was available as he was passing by. But to get spanked because His Holiness thinks I might be up to something naughty... even if I was? Double tsk!
"Do you know why I am spanking you, imp?"
Yes, it's because you're anal retentive.
"Because you're a baboon butthead!"
"Wrong answer."
SWAT!
Jeez!
"Poke your nose into places it has no business being and your tush is gonna be as red as Santa's suit."
"You're jumping to conclusions," I told him. "I needed to get something out of that closet."
"You're a terrible liar, Sar," the Neanderthal chuckled as he delivered another firm swat.
"Hey!" I protested. "I've been an absolute saint!"
"A what?"
Would you believe he had the nerve to laugh?
"That was really very rude of you," I said, rubbing my butt as he turned me over on his lap.
"Is this rude, too, baby?" he asked, his hands and mouth beginning to do very naughty things.
~ sigh ~
The band played on... "stuff" ensued and I still have to get into that closet to see what's in that big box.
~ Sar ~
6 days = 144 hours = 8,640 minutes = 518,000 seconds until Santa's sleigh lands on my roof, slides off because of black ice and the jolly ol fat man lands on his butt in my backyard where my two attack-trained Rottweilers will nose around in his giant bag to see if he brought them liver flavored biscuits.
Tsk.
There was quite a bit of background noise while we were talking. Err... I was talking; he was giving his Rosary beads a pretty good workout... I was afraid he'd stroke out so I decided to google saints and canonization. Google had a lot of information but nothing on being saintly so long just prior to Christmas.
Then I had an epiphany! No, didn't call the Greek Orthodox priest - I called Ms.KeptWoman a.k.a. Lady Chatterly. She lives in my neighborhood and is "kept" by a very wealthy man who visits her monthly. He lives in Europe and comes here on business. I've seen him a few times; very debonair and silver-haired and obviously well-off. He's very generous to her and what they do behind closed doors is not anything she talks about. I have a fertile imagination. I can guess what they do.
Anyway, Lady Chatterly gets a LOT of presents ALL the time. So I invited her over for coffee and babka and asked her about saints and canonization. She assured me that canonization wasn't all it's cracked up to be. She says you get to be sought after for a day now and then and after a year or so, people forget to pray to you. Bummer!
She said it's better to be slightly naughty because that makes "Santa" give you far more attention and that the attention you get invariably leads to "stuff" and new leather boots and pretty lingerie and the latest best selling books and plenty of imported chocolates.
Ohhhh... I could live with that.
"What kind of naughty things do you suppose I should get into?" I asked.
"Just be yourself, Sar. I'm sure that will do it."
Hmmm... was that a dig... or was she being complimentary? Tsk. I might not give her that chestnut cheesecake for Christmas, after all.
So... thinking naughty might be the way to go... I just happened to hear the giant squid get out of bed in the wee hours. When he didn't come right back, I got up to investigate. There was a light on downstairs. Just as my feet reached the last step on the staircase and I was ready to sneak into the family room to see what he was up to...
"That better be one of the pups coming down the stairs and not an imp who should be in bed," the soft but firm voice announced.
Jeez!
"And if I catch you," his voice got just a little louder, "you'll be sleeping on your belly!"
Crumb! Who knew Santa could be so stern? I rushed back to bed and when he came upstairs, I feigned sleep.
"I know you're awake, Sar."
SWAT!
Mumble... groan... whine... complain...
The temperature has really dropped so the next morning the giant squid was in the backyard checking the heaters in the kennels. I knew that would take a while so I decided to check the downstairs closet in case Santa had made an early delivery. I was standing on a chair... reaching up to one of the top shelves... certain there was a huge box there I didn't remember seeing before.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Good God! The man has radar!
Before I could even think of a reason for being there... dusting the cobwebs, dear... rearranging stuff... thought I heard a noise...
I was over his shoulder and his grizzly paw was pounding away like a little drummer boy! How is it the man can laugh and spank and climb stairs at the same time? This is not my idea of multi-tasking and I told him so.
Oy! Bad idea.
It's one thing to get spanked for fun and another to get a firm swat just because the target was available as he was passing by. But to get spanked because His Holiness thinks I might be up to something naughty... even if I was? Double tsk!
"Do you know why I am spanking you, imp?"
Yes, it's because you're anal retentive.
"Because you're a baboon butthead!"
"Wrong answer."
SWAT!
Jeez!
"Poke your nose into places it has no business being and your tush is gonna be as red as Santa's suit."
"You're jumping to conclusions," I told him. "I needed to get something out of that closet."
"You're a terrible liar, Sar," the Neanderthal chuckled as he delivered another firm swat.
"Hey!" I protested. "I've been an absolute saint!"
"A what?"
Would you believe he had the nerve to laugh?
"That was really very rude of you," I said, rubbing my butt as he turned me over on his lap.
"Is this rude, too, baby?" he asked, his hands and mouth beginning to do very naughty things.
~ sigh ~
The band played on... "stuff" ensued and I still have to get into that closet to see what's in that big box.
~ Sar ~
6 days = 144 hours = 8,640 minutes = 518,000 seconds until Santa's sleigh lands on my roof, slides off because of black ice and the jolly ol fat man lands on his butt in my backyard where my two attack-trained Rottweilers will nose around in his giant bag to see if he brought them liver flavored biscuits.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Saintly!
You're all a bunch of voyeurs. I'm not saying that's a bad thing but I have this feeling you're just waiting for me to stop being so saintly... and do something that will get the giant squid's attention so that a hand-to-tush dialogue takes place.
Tsk.
Bunch of voyeurs.
The other day I was especially saintly. I had a roast in the oven, all the side dishes ready to be warmed up and the table set for the two of us. I even put candles on the table and fresh flowers. Is that saintly? Ubetcha! Of course, I sacrificed my own health to make sure His Holiness had plenty of veggies. I gave him my share along with his. Talk about saintly!
So, I'm in my sewing studio and auditioning fabrics on my design wall for a wonderful new creation that currently resides only in my head. In the course of continuously bending down to select fabric swatches, the drawstring on my sweat pants came loose. Wouldn't you know that the moment my pants fell to my ankles... the giant squid came into the room! I was bent over, my tush - ivory at that particular moment - was obviously a target he couldn't resist!
SWAT!
Jeez! It's a good thing he caught me or I would have flown right into my design wall! And it's a new design wall and I would have uttered more than a few indelicate comments if it cracked.
As it is, I remembered I was being saintly and refrained from telling him he was a first class baboon butthead!
The wretch laughed and upended me and swatted me again and said it was my own fault since I rarely wear undies. Err... when I'm home and working that is.
Tsk.
Fortunately, his hands did other things to distract me from the impromptu spanking and "stuff" ensued and now I have to re-wash the fabric that was still on the floor because... um... because.
~~~
We went to a cocktail party the other night and met the hostess from hell - platinum blonde hair that was lacquered with Elmer's glue I think - a bosom that was desperately trying to leap from her tight bodice, and collagen lips that would frighten a blowfish.
The hors de oeuvres a.k.a. horses ovaries were veggies! There was a platter of crackers and some stinky cheese and very salty nuts. I stuck to the wine and the crackers and His Holiness stuffed himself on veggies. Talk about no couth! Of course, I was saintly and only smiled at the witch when she offered me a veggie ovary from her very own plate. I had an overwhelming urge to stuff it down her throat while simultaneously throttling her. Egads! I hope Santa was watching to see how good I was. The giant squid was watching me, too. He arched a brow in my direction when I politely declined the evil morsel the woman was trying to force on me. Later, I reminded him how saintly I had been.
The wretch snorted! Tsk. Admirals can snort with the best of them.
I would like to add that more than a few of us drank a LOT of wine to get through the evening. I had no intention of inviting these people to our home for any of the holiday festivities we will be hosting but the wretch I live with did the inviting before I could tell him I didn't want them.
Just to be sure I remain "Christmas good," I'll be serving lots of high calorie, high cholesterol, high fat, and high sugar content foods... hope the "vegan" doesn't choke.
Am I saintly or what?
~Sar~
10 days = 240 hours = 14,400 minutes = 864,000 seconds till the jolly ol fat guy burns his butt coming down my chimney.
Tsk.
Bunch of voyeurs.
The other day I was especially saintly. I had a roast in the oven, all the side dishes ready to be warmed up and the table set for the two of us. I even put candles on the table and fresh flowers. Is that saintly? Ubetcha! Of course, I sacrificed my own health to make sure His Holiness had plenty of veggies. I gave him my share along with his. Talk about saintly!
So, I'm in my sewing studio and auditioning fabrics on my design wall for a wonderful new creation that currently resides only in my head. In the course of continuously bending down to select fabric swatches, the drawstring on my sweat pants came loose. Wouldn't you know that the moment my pants fell to my ankles... the giant squid came into the room! I was bent over, my tush - ivory at that particular moment - was obviously a target he couldn't resist!
SWAT!
Jeez! It's a good thing he caught me or I would have flown right into my design wall! And it's a new design wall and I would have uttered more than a few indelicate comments if it cracked.
As it is, I remembered I was being saintly and refrained from telling him he was a first class baboon butthead!
The wretch laughed and upended me and swatted me again and said it was my own fault since I rarely wear undies. Err... when I'm home and working that is.
Tsk.
Fortunately, his hands did other things to distract me from the impromptu spanking and "stuff" ensued and now I have to re-wash the fabric that was still on the floor because... um... because.
We went to a cocktail party the other night and met the hostess from hell - platinum blonde hair that was lacquered with Elmer's glue I think - a bosom that was desperately trying to leap from her tight bodice, and collagen lips that would frighten a blowfish.
The hors de oeuvres a.k.a. horses ovaries were veggies! There was a platter of crackers and some stinky cheese and very salty nuts. I stuck to the wine and the crackers and His Holiness stuffed himself on veggies. Talk about no couth! Of course, I was saintly and only smiled at the witch when she offered me a veggie ovary from her very own plate. I had an overwhelming urge to stuff it down her throat while simultaneously throttling her. Egads! I hope Santa was watching to see how good I was. The giant squid was watching me, too. He arched a brow in my direction when I politely declined the evil morsel the woman was trying to force on me. Later, I reminded him how saintly I had been.
The wretch snorted! Tsk. Admirals can snort with the best of them.
I would like to add that more than a few of us drank a LOT of wine to get through the evening. I had no intention of inviting these people to our home for any of the holiday festivities we will be hosting but the wretch I live with did the inviting before I could tell him I didn't want them.
Just to be sure I remain "Christmas good," I'll be serving lots of high calorie, high cholesterol, high fat, and high sugar content foods... hope the "vegan" doesn't choke.
Am I saintly or what?
~Sar~
10 days = 240 hours = 14,400 minutes = 864,000 seconds till the jolly ol fat guy burns his butt coming down my chimney.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
16 More Days to Suffer
I don't mind telling you this "being good" business is hard work. I'm so good I don't recognize myself in the mirror. Who is that person? I've always prided myself in being good in 15-minute stretches, mostly when I'm asleep. However, I actually outgooded myself the other day. How do I know this? Well...
We were sitting down to dinner when Cowboy stopped talking in the middle of a sentence. "What?" I asked.
"You've got a piece of broccoli on your fork, imp. You feeling okay?"
EGADS! I've gone to hell and didn't even know it!
To make matters worse, I didn't even try to feed the dogs at the table and we were having beef bracciola (Italian beef rolls.) It's one of their favorite things to eat. And I always slip them a bite or two. Cowboy was so alarmed he reached over to feel my forehead to see if I had a fever. Jeez! I checked it myself.
Then I remembered... Christmas Eve is only 16 days away. This being good business in December is pure torture.
His Holiness also told me that the U.S. Navy has Santa's email addy. It's top secret but he said if I send him my email to Santa, he'd make sure it was forwarded to the North Pole. Truly, I suspect the giant squid will doctor the email to include things I don't want like socks and pajamas, but on the other hand, it's hard to resist an opportunity to be one of the few that has a direct link to the jolly old guy. I'm giving this serious thought.
Our friend Alli called to say her cat, Hissy Fit, who spent Thanksgiving with us, remains traumatized from her visit to our house. Hissy is a Maine Coon cat and of course, her ancestors were worshipped as gods by the Egyptians. Hissy continues to be worshipped and honestly, I had no idea so many Egyptians had migrated to our New England states. She (I think Hissy is a "she;" I neglected to look.) demands attention and I gave it to her, swatting her off my clean counters and zapping her with Lysol disinfectant until she got the idea. Both of my cats shunned her, common peasants that they are. The Rott, true to form, tried to drown her in the commode, but BullyBoy treated her to even more hideous torture. He washed her face with his lethal slobber and the poor cat spent hours yelling "Unclean! Unclean! and washing herself. It could have been worse; BullyBoy could have dunked her in his water bowl which someone had filled with cold Budweisers.
We have snow! We rarely get more than a dusting of the white stuff but it came down in buckets and we have about 2-3 inches of it. I rushed out to make snow angels and then I made anatomically correct snow people. It's a wonderful way to use up carrots and Brussels sprouts and prunes. Of course, I built them in the front yard so my neighbors could enjoy looking at them when they drive by. With any luck, my neighbor - Mrs. HairUpHerAss - will waddle over to complain. That woman was toilet trained far too early in life. Tsk.
We had so much snow I built a snow fort and stocked up on snowballs. And when Cowboy came back from his morning jog, I hit him right between the eyes! Boy! Was he surprised at my aim!
I've been practicing.
I bombarded him!
It was wonderful!
He was covered in snow!
Um... did you know that former Seals can still run fast?
And I don't mind telling you they fight dirty.
And they are totally lacking in couth.
He must have played percussion instruments when he was younger because he can spank with *both* hands and still hold me down.
"STOP!" I yelled. "Not my fault you can't throw a snowball to save your life!"
"That was for the snowman with all the dangling bits!" he laughed. "The next spanking is for the snow-woman with the big boobs and Brazilian cut."
Tsk.
"And later tonight, the spanking will be for the snowball fight."
Double tsk.
"And tomorrow, the spanking will be for the snow angels. Didn't I tell you I didn't want you laying in that stuff? You'll catch pneumonia!"
You know, it's a terrible thing when His Holiness automatically assumes I am at fault. I mean, anyone could have made the snow angels. Of course, they were in the backyard... which is fenced and has locked gates.
16 days = 384 hours = 23,040 minutes = 1,382,400 seconds. Santa better not be late; my "goodness" isn't gonna last forever.
~Sar~
We were sitting down to dinner when Cowboy stopped talking in the middle of a sentence. "What?" I asked.
"You've got a piece of broccoli on your fork, imp. You feeling okay?"
EGADS! I've gone to hell and didn't even know it!
To make matters worse, I didn't even try to feed the dogs at the table and we were having beef bracciola (Italian beef rolls.) It's one of their favorite things to eat. And I always slip them a bite or two. Cowboy was so alarmed he reached over to feel my forehead to see if I had a fever. Jeez! I checked it myself.
Then I remembered... Christmas Eve is only 16 days away. This being good business in December is pure torture.
His Holiness also told me that the U.S. Navy has Santa's email addy. It's top secret but he said if I send him my email to Santa, he'd make sure it was forwarded to the North Pole. Truly, I suspect the giant squid will doctor the email to include things I don't want like socks and pajamas, but on the other hand, it's hard to resist an opportunity to be one of the few that has a direct link to the jolly old guy. I'm giving this serious thought.
Our friend Alli called to say her cat, Hissy Fit, who spent Thanksgiving with us, remains traumatized from her visit to our house. Hissy is a Maine Coon cat and of course, her ancestors were worshipped as gods by the Egyptians. Hissy continues to be worshipped and honestly, I had no idea so many Egyptians had migrated to our New England states. She (I think Hissy is a "she;" I neglected to look.) demands attention and I gave it to her, swatting her off my clean counters and zapping her with Lysol disinfectant until she got the idea. Both of my cats shunned her, common peasants that they are. The Rott, true to form, tried to drown her in the commode, but BullyBoy treated her to even more hideous torture. He washed her face with his lethal slobber and the poor cat spent hours yelling "Unclean! Unclean! and washing herself. It could have been worse; BullyBoy could have dunked her in his water bowl which someone had filled with cold Budweisers.
We have snow! We rarely get more than a dusting of the white stuff but it came down in buckets and we have about 2-3 inches of it. I rushed out to make snow angels and then I made anatomically correct snow people. It's a wonderful way to use up carrots and Brussels sprouts and prunes. Of course, I built them in the front yard so my neighbors could enjoy looking at them when they drive by. With any luck, my neighbor - Mrs. HairUpHerAss - will waddle over to complain. That woman was toilet trained far too early in life. Tsk.
We had so much snow I built a snow fort and stocked up on snowballs. And when Cowboy came back from his morning jog, I hit him right between the eyes! Boy! Was he surprised at my aim!
I've been practicing.
I bombarded him!
It was wonderful!
He was covered in snow!
Um... did you know that former Seals can still run fast?
And I don't mind telling you they fight dirty.
And they are totally lacking in couth.
He must have played percussion instruments when he was younger because he can spank with *both* hands and still hold me down.
"STOP!" I yelled. "Not my fault you can't throw a snowball to save your life!"
"That was for the snowman with all the dangling bits!" he laughed. "The next spanking is for the snow-woman with the big boobs and Brazilian cut."
Tsk.
"And later tonight, the spanking will be for the snowball fight."
Double tsk.
"And tomorrow, the spanking will be for the snow angels. Didn't I tell you I didn't want you laying in that stuff? You'll catch pneumonia!"
You know, it's a terrible thing when His Holiness automatically assumes I am at fault. I mean, anyone could have made the snow angels. Of course, they were in the backyard... which is fenced and has locked gates.
16 days = 384 hours = 23,040 minutes = 1,382,400 seconds. Santa better not be late; my "goodness" isn't gonna last forever.
~Sar~
Monday, November 28, 2005
26 Days & Counting!
Thanksgiving was absolutely stupendous! A number of old friends flew in from Chicago to stay with us. Our house was wall-to-wall company and I was reminded why most of our sofas are also pull-out beds. Between those and some sleeping bags, we managed to sleep 15 of us. We even had a "pup" tent in the living room for 8-year old Patrick, a special young friend of ours.
Feeding that many people for 5 days wasn't as horrendous as I thought it might be. I had cooked and baked a lot before they got there and everyone pitched in. Cleaning up after that crowd was an absolute snap. First, I used paper plates whenever it wouldn't look like we wouldn't be considered couthless; then the pups did a "pre-wash" before I tossed dishes into the dishwasher. Err... actually "tossed" a few dishes... Now I have to find that online china shop that carries old dish patterns from the dark ages (when His Holiness was a boy) so I can replace them. Groan... mumble... whine... complain.
On the up side, there were lots of chocolates and pies and cakes and sweet crepes and other goodies. On the down side, some of these people actually EAT green vegetables! I know, I know. Shocked me, too. At first, I was momentarily stunned; later, I just pretended I was having a Halloween moment every time someone waved a piece of broccoli in my direction. (Some guests truly lack couth.) Cowboy suggested (in front of EVERYBODY) that I have a serving of green things...
I'm not crazy about green beans, which my neighbor brought over. "Green bean casserole is traditional for Thanksgiving, Sar," she smiled sweetly as she handed it over.
"Good Lord!" I exclaimed, appalled that the little green devils might crawl out of the platter and jump on my plate, then caught my husband's arched brow aimed directly at me. Tsk.
"And look!" she pointed. "I also brought green peas and pearl onions so you'd have a variety."
"You are an absolute saint," I smiled at the generous witch... err... lady and pictured Saint Joan de Arc. Didn't she get burned at the stake prior to becoming a saint? One can only hope...
Cowboy strongly suggested I take a bite of a couple of green things. It was a direct order and I didn't want to disappoint him in front of so many guests so I complied. I ate 2 green peas.
We had 20 guests for Thanksgiving dinner and everyone of them ATE like there was no tomorrow. I roasted 4 turkeys and 2 honey baked hams and there weren't any leftovers. I should mention that Bull, the Chrysler Building-sized Marine, was at my table and I roasted turkey # 4 just for him. He ate non-stop most of the day. When I asked him if he wanted mashed potatoes and offered the punch bowl sized serving dish... he took the WHOLE thing! I wonder what it costs the U.S. Marine Corps to feed this guy? On a sweet note: Since returning from Afghanistan, he's slowly mending, both physically and emotionally and it fills my heart to hear him laugh again. Three other marines from Bull's unit joined us for the day and so did my 97-year old neighbor, Peeper Patterson. His daughter is visiting from Kansas and she came along, too. She thinks I'm a bad influence on her father... just because I occasionally dance naked outdoors to celebrate the full moon. Tsk. I wonder if that's why she always makes the sign of the cross before she enters my house... double tsk.
Cowboy and others were responsible for each breakfast and we feasted on his various pancakes and waffle concoctions, all of which were wonderful. Glory made Dim Sum for one of our lunches - swoon - and Vi, who could live in a house without a kitchen - made her infamous hot cocoa and "special tea." Infamous because if you drink too much of either, you'll be 3 sheets to the wind in no time. We made sure the younger guests got real hot cocoa. Max kept a 48-cup coffee urn filled with chicory coffee each day which pleased me no end since I'm addicted to it.
"How much of this coffee have you drunk, imp?" Cowboy asked out of the blue as I refilled my mug for the upteenth time.
"Hmmm..." I hummed. That's a loaded question. I haven't "drunk" any... I just sort of take a few sips here and there. Okay, nonstop sips, but sips nonetheless.
"Well?" he demanded, his grizzly paw... err... excessively large hand at my waist squeezing a little.
Tsk.
"She be thinkin," Max chuckled. "When she lived with us, she never did like to answer that question. Best you just let her have this bit of fun. Time to be good again when we go back home."
"I don't want her drinking so much caffeine," the occasionally anal retentive heathen said.
"Man, you got a death wish?" Max snorted. "This be the woman that makes the food you eat! Let it be and live another 50 years!"
I thought that was great advice and poured a fresh hot cup of chicory coffee and sashayed out of the room. With any luck, His Holiness' memory will fade by the time the holiday weekend is over.
Glory, Max and Vi, and Cowboy and I went shopping before my other out-of-town guests arrived. I kept the ladies busy while Max picked out a few things and paid for them. Then Cowboy kept Max distracted while the ladies selected things for him. Max insisted I accompany him to the food court while Glory and Vi and Cowboy disappeared, then they demanded that Cowboy sit with them while they rested and Max and I made ourselves scarce. It was pure slapstick - figuring out who was doing what with whom as we made some Christmas selections for those we loved.
When our friends, Alli and Paul arrived with their 4 boys, we did it all over again but in greater numbers. I'm super organized so I had a list of who was doing what and with whom while we shopped. We strayed from the planned schedule and kept bumping into each other, but had so much fun that we're going to laugh about this again and again. All the out-of-town gifts were shipped directly from the stores so Cowboy and Paul and Max didn't have a lot to carry home...
Cowboy mentioned that I might be close to maxing out my credit card so he suggested I use his. Ut-oh... I haven't told him that I *was* using his credit card... err... both of his credit cards. Ahhhh well, as Max says: "Life be short and you best be 'preciatin it for all it be worth." I hope that theory applies to credit cards.
And I sincerely hope your holiday was filled with lots of good things. Time to start Christmas preparations.
~Sar~
P.S. 26 days till ol St. Nick tries to climb down my chimney. Eight-year old Patrick said we should leave a note on the top of the chimney to tell Santa to use the front door.
"Why is that?" Cowboy asked.
"'Cause Sar said if he comes down the chimney and there's a fire, he's gonna burn his ass."
"SAR!"
Sheesh! That child repeats EVERYTHING he hears!
P.P.S. I was extraordinarily good the whole time we had company. It just about killed me!
Feeding that many people for 5 days wasn't as horrendous as I thought it might be. I had cooked and baked a lot before they got there and everyone pitched in. Cleaning up after that crowd was an absolute snap. First, I used paper plates whenever it wouldn't look like we wouldn't be considered couthless; then the pups did a "pre-wash" before I tossed dishes into the dishwasher. Err... actually "tossed" a few dishes... Now I have to find that online china shop that carries old dish patterns from the dark ages (when His Holiness was a boy) so I can replace them. Groan... mumble... whine... complain.
On the up side, there were lots of chocolates and pies and cakes and sweet crepes and other goodies. On the down side, some of these people actually EAT green vegetables! I know, I know. Shocked me, too. At first, I was momentarily stunned; later, I just pretended I was having a Halloween moment every time someone waved a piece of broccoli in my direction. (Some guests truly lack couth.) Cowboy suggested (in front of EVERYBODY) that I have a serving of green things...
I'm not crazy about green beans, which my neighbor brought over. "Green bean casserole is traditional for Thanksgiving, Sar," she smiled sweetly as she handed it over.
"Good Lord!" I exclaimed, appalled that the little green devils might crawl out of the platter and jump on my plate, then caught my husband's arched brow aimed directly at me. Tsk.
"And look!" she pointed. "I also brought green peas and pearl onions so you'd have a variety."
"You are an absolute saint," I smiled at the generous witch... err... lady and pictured Saint Joan de Arc. Didn't she get burned at the stake prior to becoming a saint? One can only hope...
Cowboy strongly suggested I take a bite of a couple of green things. It was a direct order and I didn't want to disappoint him in front of so many guests so I complied. I ate 2 green peas.
We had 20 guests for Thanksgiving dinner and everyone of them ATE like there was no tomorrow. I roasted 4 turkeys and 2 honey baked hams and there weren't any leftovers. I should mention that Bull, the Chrysler Building-sized Marine, was at my table and I roasted turkey # 4 just for him. He ate non-stop most of the day. When I asked him if he wanted mashed potatoes and offered the punch bowl sized serving dish... he took the WHOLE thing! I wonder what it costs the U.S. Marine Corps to feed this guy? On a sweet note: Since returning from Afghanistan, he's slowly mending, both physically and emotionally and it fills my heart to hear him laugh again. Three other marines from Bull's unit joined us for the day and so did my 97-year old neighbor, Peeper Patterson. His daughter is visiting from Kansas and she came along, too. She thinks I'm a bad influence on her father... just because I occasionally dance naked outdoors to celebrate the full moon. Tsk. I wonder if that's why she always makes the sign of the cross before she enters my house... double tsk.
Cowboy and others were responsible for each breakfast and we feasted on his various pancakes and waffle concoctions, all of which were wonderful. Glory made Dim Sum for one of our lunches - swoon - and Vi, who could live in a house without a kitchen - made her infamous hot cocoa and "special tea." Infamous because if you drink too much of either, you'll be 3 sheets to the wind in no time. We made sure the younger guests got real hot cocoa. Max kept a 48-cup coffee urn filled with chicory coffee each day which pleased me no end since I'm addicted to it.
"How much of this coffee have you drunk, imp?" Cowboy asked out of the blue as I refilled my mug for the upteenth time.
"Hmmm..." I hummed. That's a loaded question. I haven't "drunk" any... I just sort of take a few sips here and there. Okay, nonstop sips, but sips nonetheless.
"Well?" he demanded, his grizzly paw... err... excessively large hand at my waist squeezing a little.
Tsk.
"She be thinkin," Max chuckled. "When she lived with us, she never did like to answer that question. Best you just let her have this bit of fun. Time to be good again when we go back home."
"I don't want her drinking so much caffeine," the occasionally anal retentive heathen said.
"Man, you got a death wish?" Max snorted. "This be the woman that makes the food you eat! Let it be and live another 50 years!"
I thought that was great advice and poured a fresh hot cup of chicory coffee and sashayed out of the room. With any luck, His Holiness' memory will fade by the time the holiday weekend is over.
Glory, Max and Vi, and Cowboy and I went shopping before my other out-of-town guests arrived. I kept the ladies busy while Max picked out a few things and paid for them. Then Cowboy kept Max distracted while the ladies selected things for him. Max insisted I accompany him to the food court while Glory and Vi and Cowboy disappeared, then they demanded that Cowboy sit with them while they rested and Max and I made ourselves scarce. It was pure slapstick - figuring out who was doing what with whom as we made some Christmas selections for those we loved.
When our friends, Alli and Paul arrived with their 4 boys, we did it all over again but in greater numbers. I'm super organized so I had a list of who was doing what and with whom while we shopped. We strayed from the planned schedule and kept bumping into each other, but had so much fun that we're going to laugh about this again and again. All the out-of-town gifts were shipped directly from the stores so Cowboy and Paul and Max didn't have a lot to carry home...
Cowboy mentioned that I might be close to maxing out my credit card so he suggested I use his. Ut-oh... I haven't told him that I *was* using his credit card... err... both of his credit cards. Ahhhh well, as Max says: "Life be short and you best be 'preciatin it for all it be worth." I hope that theory applies to credit cards.
And I sincerely hope your holiday was filled with lots of good things. Time to start Christmas preparations.
~Sar~
P.S. 26 days till ol St. Nick tries to climb down my chimney. Eight-year old Patrick said we should leave a note on the top of the chimney to tell Santa to use the front door.
"Why is that?" Cowboy asked.
"'Cause Sar said if he comes down the chimney and there's a fire, he's gonna burn his ass."
"SAR!"
Sheesh! That child repeats EVERYTHING he hears!
P.P.S. I was extraordinarily good the whole time we had company. It just about killed me!
Saturday, November 12, 2005
Tsk!
As usual, I'm doing too many things.
Halloween was great fun. Thankfully it's over. I don't think I could have eaten one more Tootsie Roll. When I finally came down from that sugar high, I slept like a log. Unfortunately, I overslept and was late for an appointment.
Naturally, I whipped out of the house in record time, foregoing breakfast and sped down the highway to my appointment. That evening, His Holiness mentioned that I left the house with barely a kiss on the cheek so he knew I was in a hurry.
"Were you speeding?"
Speeding? Hmmm.... uh... um... errrr... this might be one of those "semantic" moments. I, personally, wasn't speeding. I was sitting... the car I was in was sort of going fast but that's what cars do, right? I mean, it's like a ship in port, I explained to the man who can go dumb at the most inopportune moments.
"Ships are safe in port but that's not why ships were built."
SWAT!
Tsk.
"Are you taking the leftover Halloween candy to the food bank?"
We have leftover candy?
"Sure."
"I don't want you eating all that junk, Sar."
Tsk.
"I like candy."
SWAT!
Tsk.
"Don't you have to go do "admiral" things?"
SWAT!
Double tsk!
Moving right along... the two Rotts we're fostering from Hurricane Katrina are doing nicely. Clyde had a bad habit of nipping my butt when I told him "no." I made noises about the glue factory... He doesn't do that any more. Bonnie, on the other hand, remains a slut. Every time one of the other male Rotts looks at her, she quickly turns into a Parisian courtesan celebrating Bastille Day. Regardless, both have learned manners; they passed their obedience trials for on and off lead.
I proudly told His Holiness of their progress. He had the gall to say I wasn't as proficient "off lead."
Tsk.
We have company arriving from Chicago - Max and Vi and Glory, who I've written about. I've cooked and baked and the house is spic 'n span. I haven't seen them in almost three years and am really excited they're going to stay for a couple of weeks. I told Cowboy he better not be thinking about spanking me when they get here. The wretch said he wouldn't be thinking... he'd be doing and followed that statement with a demonstration.
SWAT!
Tsk.
We were at the airport early. Our guests were due in at 11 p.m. but their plane was late, not arriving until just after midnight. By the time we hugged and kissed, found their luggage, drove home and finished hugging and kissing, it was close to 3 a.m. I was pooped. We all slept in and Cowboy made his famous cream cheese waffles for breakfast. Glory supervised; she loves giving orders to an admiral and mixed a little brandy with the ice cream. Then she fried it and plopped a huge dollop onto each waffle. Delish!
We also had chicory coffee which Max made cause no one makes it as good as he does. He still teases me about how much of it I drink. I really like it and it's even more decadent when you drop chunks of white chocolate in it.
Vi wanted breakfast in bed but Max insisted she eat with us so he made her comfortable on the couch and served her there. Then he insisted that Glory put her feet up and served her as well. Cowboy and I filled our plates and the five of us stopped talking long enough to stuff ourselves.
The cats - DomTom and Miss Emmy - decided that Max was their new best friend; he wasn't pleased. BullyBoy, the Bull Mastiff, sat on the floor next to Vi who isn't crazy about dogs, but he won her over with his adoration. I didn't have the heart to tell her the dog was really interested in her ice cream waffle.
SweetPea, the Rottweiler, stayed in the kitchen and gobbled up as many waffles as he could steal. By the time I discovered this lapse in behavior, he was already looped on the brandied ice cream.
I, of course, was the epitome of goodness. Cowboy wondered - out loud - how long that was going to last. Would you believe everybody laughed? Tsk.
~Sar~
Halloween was great fun. Thankfully it's over. I don't think I could have eaten one more Tootsie Roll. When I finally came down from that sugar high, I slept like a log. Unfortunately, I overslept and was late for an appointment.
Naturally, I whipped out of the house in record time, foregoing breakfast and sped down the highway to my appointment. That evening, His Holiness mentioned that I left the house with barely a kiss on the cheek so he knew I was in a hurry.
"Were you speeding?"
Speeding? Hmmm.... uh... um... errrr... this might be one of those "semantic" moments. I, personally, wasn't speeding. I was sitting... the car I was in was sort of going fast but that's what cars do, right? I mean, it's like a ship in port, I explained to the man who can go dumb at the most inopportune moments.
"Ships are safe in port but that's not why ships were built."
SWAT!
Tsk.
"Are you taking the leftover Halloween candy to the food bank?"
We have leftover candy?
"Sure."
"I don't want you eating all that junk, Sar."
Tsk.
"I like candy."
SWAT!
Tsk.
"Don't you have to go do "admiral" things?"
SWAT!
Double tsk!
Moving right along... the two Rotts we're fostering from Hurricane Katrina are doing nicely. Clyde had a bad habit of nipping my butt when I told him "no." I made noises about the glue factory... He doesn't do that any more. Bonnie, on the other hand, remains a slut. Every time one of the other male Rotts looks at her, she quickly turns into a Parisian courtesan celebrating Bastille Day. Regardless, both have learned manners; they passed their obedience trials for on and off lead.
I proudly told His Holiness of their progress. He had the gall to say I wasn't as proficient "off lead."
Tsk.
We have company arriving from Chicago - Max and Vi and Glory, who I've written about. I've cooked and baked and the house is spic 'n span. I haven't seen them in almost three years and am really excited they're going to stay for a couple of weeks. I told Cowboy he better not be thinking about spanking me when they get here. The wretch said he wouldn't be thinking... he'd be doing and followed that statement with a demonstration.
SWAT!
Tsk.
We were at the airport early. Our guests were due in at 11 p.m. but their plane was late, not arriving until just after midnight. By the time we hugged and kissed, found their luggage, drove home and finished hugging and kissing, it was close to 3 a.m. I was pooped. We all slept in and Cowboy made his famous cream cheese waffles for breakfast. Glory supervised; she loves giving orders to an admiral and mixed a little brandy with the ice cream. Then she fried it and plopped a huge dollop onto each waffle. Delish!
We also had chicory coffee which Max made cause no one makes it as good as he does. He still teases me about how much of it I drink. I really like it and it's even more decadent when you drop chunks of white chocolate in it.
Vi wanted breakfast in bed but Max insisted she eat with us so he made her comfortable on the couch and served her there. Then he insisted that Glory put her feet up and served her as well. Cowboy and I filled our plates and the five of us stopped talking long enough to stuff ourselves.
The cats - DomTom and Miss Emmy - decided that Max was their new best friend; he wasn't pleased. BullyBoy, the Bull Mastiff, sat on the floor next to Vi who isn't crazy about dogs, but he won her over with his adoration. I didn't have the heart to tell her the dog was really interested in her ice cream waffle.
SweetPea, the Rottweiler, stayed in the kitchen and gobbled up as many waffles as he could steal. By the time I discovered this lapse in behavior, he was already looped on the brandied ice cream.
I, of course, was the epitome of goodness. Cowboy wondered - out loud - how long that was going to last. Would you believe everybody laughed? Tsk.
~Sar~
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
The Good Seed
Halloween is less than a week away and I still haven't finished "sampling" all the candy to offer the wee goblins that show up at my door. I abhor the thought of sharing chocolate... there are sacrifices and there are sacrifices. I have no intention of making that particular sacrifice. Chocolate is something the trick or treaters are going to get in large measure from neighbors with less discriminating palates; they don't need to get it from me. I mentioned this to the giant squid and he said...
"Last year, you gave them wrapped taffy and when they weren't looking, you stole chocolate from their Halloween bags."
Tsk. I did no such thing. And besides... I only took the chocolates that I really liked; I didn't touch the plebian stuff.
"And this year, I'm answering the door to make sure the kids actually get some chocolate."
Double tsk. I might have to put the dogs outside the front door to scare the little buggers away.
I bought Reese's peanut butter cups - for me.
I bought Hershey nuggets - for me.
I bought Butterfinger and Heath bars - for me.
I bought Babe Ruth bars - for me.
I bought ZERO bars - for me.
I bought dark chocolate bars for the giant squid.
And... I got Jujubees and gumdrops and licorice and little packets of Indian corn and brand new boxes of crayons for the little kids.
My idea of Halloween is to have a party that includes pretty trays filled with crackers and raw veggies and lots of interesting dips.
And wine.
Then, when everyone is snookered on the wine, they won't realize they're gobbling up all the veggies the giant squid buys. While they're doing that, I can eat my chocolate in peace. I tried that one year and the next day, His Holiness told me I couldn't eat chocolate in the house for a whole week.
ROFL! Uh huh. Sure, yep, whatever you say.
So... for a whole week, I ate my chocolate out on the back deck.
Last year, I ate so much chocolate pre - during - and post Halloween that when I went to the doctor for an annual checkup, the squid said he wouldn't be surprised if I tested positive for Tootsie Rolls. Tsk.
Have you ever noticed the teeth on the technicians who draw the blood? Very fang-like. I'm almost positive they're related to vampires.
The giant squid said he wouldn't mind how much chocolate I consumed if I gained a little weight. Ummm... he also mentioned I should be nicer to the dentist. The dentist is a naval officer... I live with a sailor who was a Seal. Navy dentists aren't much of a challenge and because His Holiness is an admiral, they go out of their way not to hurt me.
Yesterday, I broke down and cleaned out the downstairs hall closet. Oh boy! I counted 8 duffel bags! Some of them were full so I opened them and peeked inside. One has several nicely wrapped presents! See! Writing to Santa early really *does* pay off! I put that duffel bag right back where I found it.
Another had a stash of chocolate I forgot about - ate that.
I found a paddle in one! A paddle! That couldn't possibly be for me! I immediately took it out to the garage and chopped it up for firewood. After I did that, I wondered if that might have been the frame thingy for his tennis racket. Oh well... better to be firewood than to take a chance.
The dogs got very interested in another duffel bag. It had a stench to it that attracts the canine nose - eau du dirty socks. I dumped those in the wash. And last, I filled an extra large plastic bag with old clothes, among which were some of the giant squid's belts. I mean... how many does he really need?
I am so pleased with the prettily wrapped presents that I'm going to dash off another letter to Santa. This is a good day to do it because I've been extraordinarily good today and won't have to fudge facts. Tomorrow could be a whole other story.
~Sar~
"Last year, you gave them wrapped taffy and when they weren't looking, you stole chocolate from their Halloween bags."
Tsk. I did no such thing. And besides... I only took the chocolates that I really liked; I didn't touch the plebian stuff.
"And this year, I'm answering the door to make sure the kids actually get some chocolate."
Double tsk. I might have to put the dogs outside the front door to scare the little buggers away.
I bought Reese's peanut butter cups - for me.
I bought Hershey nuggets - for me.
I bought Butterfinger and Heath bars - for me.
I bought Babe Ruth bars - for me.
I bought ZERO bars - for me.
I bought dark chocolate bars for the giant squid.
And... I got Jujubees and gumdrops and licorice and little packets of Indian corn and brand new boxes of crayons for the little kids.
My idea of Halloween is to have a party that includes pretty trays filled with crackers and raw veggies and lots of interesting dips.
And wine.
Then, when everyone is snookered on the wine, they won't realize they're gobbling up all the veggies the giant squid buys. While they're doing that, I can eat my chocolate in peace. I tried that one year and the next day, His Holiness told me I couldn't eat chocolate in the house for a whole week.
ROFL! Uh huh. Sure, yep, whatever you say.
So... for a whole week, I ate my chocolate out on the back deck.
Last year, I ate so much chocolate pre - during - and post Halloween that when I went to the doctor for an annual checkup, the squid said he wouldn't be surprised if I tested positive for Tootsie Rolls. Tsk.
Have you ever noticed the teeth on the technicians who draw the blood? Very fang-like. I'm almost positive they're related to vampires.
The giant squid said he wouldn't mind how much chocolate I consumed if I gained a little weight. Ummm... he also mentioned I should be nicer to the dentist. The dentist is a naval officer... I live with a sailor who was a Seal. Navy dentists aren't much of a challenge and because His Holiness is an admiral, they go out of their way not to hurt me.
Yesterday, I broke down and cleaned out the downstairs hall closet. Oh boy! I counted 8 duffel bags! Some of them were full so I opened them and peeked inside. One has several nicely wrapped presents! See! Writing to Santa early really *does* pay off! I put that duffel bag right back where I found it.
Another had a stash of chocolate I forgot about - ate that.
I found a paddle in one! A paddle! That couldn't possibly be for me! I immediately took it out to the garage and chopped it up for firewood. After I did that, I wondered if that might have been the frame thingy for his tennis racket. Oh well... better to be firewood than to take a chance.
The dogs got very interested in another duffel bag. It had a stench to it that attracts the canine nose - eau du dirty socks. I dumped those in the wash. And last, I filled an extra large plastic bag with old clothes, among which were some of the giant squid's belts. I mean... how many does he really need?
I am so pleased with the prettily wrapped presents that I'm going to dash off another letter to Santa. This is a good day to do it because I've been extraordinarily good today and won't have to fudge facts. Tomorrow could be a whole other story.
~Sar~
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Grumpy
His Holiness said we were going to take a few days to relax and regroup. I've been putting in long days working and evenings have been filled with making holidays plans. We're military - as a senior ranked Naval officer, the giant squid gets to do a bit of holiday hosting and even if we cater a meal, there's still a lot of planning.
I threw a few things in a duffel bag - sweats, shorts, running shoes and packed stuff for the pups. They get all excited when they see their leads and sweaters go in a bag. BullyBoy, the mastiff, can open the fridge by himself... dropped a 6-pack of Budweiser into the duffel. That dog is a lush and desperately needs Canine AA. SweetPea, a ferocious attack-trained rottweiler, slipped his "sleepy ragdoll" into the bag. I crammed it with chocolate bars and let the squid pack his own gear.
I was all prepared to leave early on a Saturday morning. I was not prepared to be awakened at 2 AM! Well, that didn't last long. As soon as we got in the car, I went back to dreamland. The squid knows the way to the ferry docks. We have a small cabin on one of the smaller islands in the San Juans and the ferry traffic that time of night is restricted to Lopez, Orcas and the larger San Juan Island. We ferry to one of those and take a charter the rest of the way. We arrived in time for breakfast and the pups and I stuffed ourselves and went back to bed so the squid could take a nap.
I really wanted to run on the beach but His Holiness said no in such an ominous tone... tsk. We waited till he was sleeping deeply and crept out of the cabin as quietly as 2 legs and 8 paws could go.
Unfortunately... the former Seal... still has good hearing and we got about 20 feet away from the cabin before I heard "SAR!"
Jeez! It's not like we were running away.
The pups whined.
I grumbled.
His Holiness muttered something unintelligible. Honestly... for a commanding officer, you'd think he could be more articulate.
A woman has to stand up for herself so when he arched a brow and pointed a finger in the direction of the cabin, I crossed my arms over my chest and arched my own brow. Ummm... I also positioned the mastiff and rottweiler in front of me...
Oy! That didn't work.
To make a long story short, the view of the surf from over his shoulder wasn't the scene I had in mind and one very well placed smack convinced me that I needed to rethink my plans. He sure gets grumpy when he's tired. I made a simple comment: "Do you smack your subordinates when you're grumpy?"
~Sigh~
Another smack and I decided not to ask any more questions. Did I say grumpy? *Really* grumpy.
The pups and I weren't interested in napping so while the squid caught up on his zzzzzz's, we polished off a few boxes of Cracker Jacks, a few Twinkies and I made up some menus for the holidays. When 'ol Grumpy finally got his act together, we took that run on the beach. We usually jog 5 miles and walk 5 miles back but the squid felt like running and since he won't let me do more than 5 miles, he carried me piggy back on the return route. I like to yell "Ride 'em Cowboy!" when he does this but apparently I'm the only one who finds this amusing. Tsk. He stayed grumpy a little while longer.
I told him if he didn't do something about his attitude I was gonna smack him good. I mean, it wasn't my idea to get up at 2 AM...
"Oh yeah?" he muttered and came after me.
Tsk.
I set the dogs on him and took off running down the beach like a bat out of hell. When he got the dogs off of him, he gave chase and tackled me on the sand and a serious tickling session and "good stuff" later, he wasn't grumpy any more.
He made pancakes and chicory coffee for lunch. I think I'll keep him.
~Sar~
I threw a few things in a duffel bag - sweats, shorts, running shoes and packed stuff for the pups. They get all excited when they see their leads and sweaters go in a bag. BullyBoy, the mastiff, can open the fridge by himself... dropped a 6-pack of Budweiser into the duffel. That dog is a lush and desperately needs Canine AA. SweetPea, a ferocious attack-trained rottweiler, slipped his "sleepy ragdoll" into the bag. I crammed it with chocolate bars and let the squid pack his own gear.
I was all prepared to leave early on a Saturday morning. I was not prepared to be awakened at 2 AM! Well, that didn't last long. As soon as we got in the car, I went back to dreamland. The squid knows the way to the ferry docks. We have a small cabin on one of the smaller islands in the San Juans and the ferry traffic that time of night is restricted to Lopez, Orcas and the larger San Juan Island. We ferry to one of those and take a charter the rest of the way. We arrived in time for breakfast and the pups and I stuffed ourselves and went back to bed so the squid could take a nap.
I really wanted to run on the beach but His Holiness said no in such an ominous tone... tsk. We waited till he was sleeping deeply and crept out of the cabin as quietly as 2 legs and 8 paws could go.
Unfortunately... the former Seal... still has good hearing and we got about 20 feet away from the cabin before I heard "SAR!"
Jeez! It's not like we were running away.
The pups whined.
I grumbled.
His Holiness muttered something unintelligible. Honestly... for a commanding officer, you'd think he could be more articulate.
A woman has to stand up for herself so when he arched a brow and pointed a finger in the direction of the cabin, I crossed my arms over my chest and arched my own brow. Ummm... I also positioned the mastiff and rottweiler in front of me...
Oy! That didn't work.
To make a long story short, the view of the surf from over his shoulder wasn't the scene I had in mind and one very well placed smack convinced me that I needed to rethink my plans. He sure gets grumpy when he's tired. I made a simple comment: "Do you smack your subordinates when you're grumpy?"
~Sigh~
Another smack and I decided not to ask any more questions. Did I say grumpy? *Really* grumpy.
The pups and I weren't interested in napping so while the squid caught up on his zzzzzz's, we polished off a few boxes of Cracker Jacks, a few Twinkies and I made up some menus for the holidays. When 'ol Grumpy finally got his act together, we took that run on the beach. We usually jog 5 miles and walk 5 miles back but the squid felt like running and since he won't let me do more than 5 miles, he carried me piggy back on the return route. I like to yell "Ride 'em Cowboy!" when he does this but apparently I'm the only one who finds this amusing. Tsk. He stayed grumpy a little while longer.
I told him if he didn't do something about his attitude I was gonna smack him good. I mean, it wasn't my idea to get up at 2 AM...
"Oh yeah?" he muttered and came after me.
Tsk.
I set the dogs on him and took off running down the beach like a bat out of hell. When he got the dogs off of him, he gave chase and tackled me on the sand and a serious tickling session and "good stuff" later, he wasn't grumpy any more.
He made pancakes and chicory coffee for lunch. I think I'll keep him.
~Sar~
Friday, October 07, 2005
Pushing limits...
I hate to say it, but I'm tired. I've been working long hours and it's finally catching up with me. I've always been high energy but even the Energizer Bunny needs a new battery once in a while. The problem is that I'm wiped out at the end of the day but having a bout of insomnia... not a good combination.
Long time readers of my web site know that I'm a fiber artist, mostly art quilts and sometimes, other art created from textiles - book covers, one-of-a-kind handbags, and soft cloth dolls to name a few. I take just a few commissions a year and spend a great deal of time creating wall art for auction. Some of those pieces are used to raise money for charitable foundations, i.e., local cancer institute, children's hospital, the tsunami relief fund, hurricane Katrina, etc.
A group of quilters here in the Pacific Northwest committed a really large number of quilts to the hurricane Katrina families and I have been working with them for several weeks. We're making simple quilts but it takes a lot of time to make so many. I have other projects going on at the same time and then there's the giant squid...
The man wants to eat EVERY day! There is no end to it! Adding insult to injury, he wants me to include vegetables in the meals! Really folks! Home cooked meals are one thing - I do like to cook and bake - but vegetables? Why couldn't he be a "meat and potatoes" kind of guy? And when he says "make something green to go with dinner," I can't understand why pickles are unacceptable... Last night I added lime sherbet for dessert... Was that appreciated? Tsk.
We foster "rescue" dogs, specializing in large breeds because they're the hardest to foster. I have BullyBoy, a Bull Mastiff, and SweetPea, a Rottweiler as personal companion dogs. Our outside pups are Tank and Panda, two more rotts. So when the Rottweiler Rescue League asked if we'd foster two rotts rescued from hurricane Katrina, we said sure. We'll keep them until their owners can be located and resettled. If, after a year, they haven't been found, we'll put them up for adoption.
They came with microchips but no name tags so I gave them temporary names - Bonnie and Clyde. Clyde has no manners... and Bonnie is a slut.
Moving right along... Clyde growled at me when I told him "no." I've been training dogs in obedience for a while now... I grabbed his muzzle, squeezed... and growled back. He won't do that again.
When I grabbed Clyde, Bonnie charged me. Tsk. I lifted my knee right into her chest. Bonnie won't do that again, either. My own pups were all over the newbies and reinforced the one and only rule I have.
Behave and eat LARGE. Misbehave and eat kibble. Very effective rule.
So why doesn't that work on me? Funny you should ask. I do most of the cooking...
His Holiness (a.k.a. the giant squid, Cowboy, the Admiral) says I'm working too hard and he wants me to scale back.
Uh huh. Sure. Right away. Aye, aye, Sir! (Rollin' me eyes.)
He says if I don't scale back soon - like starting tomorrow - I'll be standing for dinner.
Oh goody! He's taking me out to a restaurant that has a buffet!
~Sar~
P.S. Your comments are welcome.
P.P.S. There's a link back to my web site at the top of this screen over on the right. --->
Long time readers of my web site know that I'm a fiber artist, mostly art quilts and sometimes, other art created from textiles - book covers, one-of-a-kind handbags, and soft cloth dolls to name a few. I take just a few commissions a year and spend a great deal of time creating wall art for auction. Some of those pieces are used to raise money for charitable foundations, i.e., local cancer institute, children's hospital, the tsunami relief fund, hurricane Katrina, etc.
A group of quilters here in the Pacific Northwest committed a really large number of quilts to the hurricane Katrina families and I have been working with them for several weeks. We're making simple quilts but it takes a lot of time to make so many. I have other projects going on at the same time and then there's the giant squid...
The man wants to eat EVERY day! There is no end to it! Adding insult to injury, he wants me to include vegetables in the meals! Really folks! Home cooked meals are one thing - I do like to cook and bake - but vegetables? Why couldn't he be a "meat and potatoes" kind of guy? And when he says "make something green to go with dinner," I can't understand why pickles are unacceptable... Last night I added lime sherbet for dessert... Was that appreciated? Tsk.
We foster "rescue" dogs, specializing in large breeds because they're the hardest to foster. I have BullyBoy, a Bull Mastiff, and SweetPea, a Rottweiler as personal companion dogs. Our outside pups are Tank and Panda, two more rotts. So when the Rottweiler Rescue League asked if we'd foster two rotts rescued from hurricane Katrina, we said sure. We'll keep them until their owners can be located and resettled. If, after a year, they haven't been found, we'll put them up for adoption.
They came with microchips but no name tags so I gave them temporary names - Bonnie and Clyde. Clyde has no manners... and Bonnie is a slut.
Moving right along... Clyde growled at me when I told him "no." I've been training dogs in obedience for a while now... I grabbed his muzzle, squeezed... and growled back. He won't do that again.
When I grabbed Clyde, Bonnie charged me. Tsk. I lifted my knee right into her chest. Bonnie won't do that again, either. My own pups were all over the newbies and reinforced the one and only rule I have.
Behave and eat LARGE. Misbehave and eat kibble. Very effective rule.
So why doesn't that work on me? Funny you should ask. I do most of the cooking...
His Holiness (a.k.a. the giant squid, Cowboy, the Admiral) says I'm working too hard and he wants me to scale back.
Uh huh. Sure. Right away. Aye, aye, Sir! (Rollin' me eyes.)
He says if I don't scale back soon - like starting tomorrow - I'll be standing for dinner.
Oh goody! He's taking me out to a restaurant that has a buffet!
~Sar~
P.S. Your comments are welcome.
P.P.S. There's a link back to my web site at the top of this screen over on the right. --->
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Under Construction
Not sure why I'm doing this... There are moments, events, and/or mini scenes in the course of daily life that I think might turn into a snippet or other story. Some I make note of in my "working" folder; others, I simply disgard or share with a friend who *always* says "Oh! A snippet in the making!" Tsk. Some ideas simply are not story material but good enough to share. Ergo: I'm debating this blog/journal idea because the reader base on my website is made up of zealous voyeurs. For the time being, this blog is still under construction but I'll post a date beneath the link showing when I made the most recent entry.
~Sar~
~Sar~
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