Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Yummy Moist Biscuits

Yummy Moist Biscuits.

Say it out loud now: YUMMY. MOIST. BISCUITS.

Terrifying, isn't it?

I loathe those three words more than any other in the English (or French) language(s) which I speak.

Why? You may ask?
Say them.


Yummy just sounds like gummy which makes me think of teeth--or better--the lack thereof. And most times, people associate the word 'yummy' with food which just makes me envision gaping gums and then I don't feel hungry at all. Which is strange, because shouldn't I be skinnier?

Moist is just wrong on every level. Nothing good was EVER moist--and if it IS good, then when explaining it, the speaker should pick up their thesaurus and look up a synonym for "moist" because all it reminds me of is a Vagisil commercial--annnnnnnd you're welcome.

Biscuit. My problem with biscuit is really threefold. The first fold being that I am an Idaho native. Because of this fact there are certain words I cannot say with any credibility. Artichoke, Daddy, and Pulchritude top the list. These words, (including biscuit) are best said with an English accent. And, to be frank, I'm still mad that my parents didn't raise me in England and make me have afternoon tea while I uttered the phrase, "Pass me that artichoke, Daddy. It's soooooo pulchritudinous!"

My second problem with the word biscuit is that I can't say it when see it. All I can see is the French pronunciation which is "bis-quee" which automatically make me think of Bisquick, and then I just want pancakes.

And my third issue with good old "biscuit": Seriously. Say it--if you have an annoying American accent you are probably throwing up in your mouth a little right now. I know you are grimmacing. When I say my face squintches up like I just smelled something foul. If yours doesn't you may need to get your ears checked because you might be suffering from hearing loss.

Either that, or you have water in your ears, which means that your ears are moist.
*wretches a little*  .....Yummy.

See? No one wins with yummy moist biscuits.

What about you? Which words would you have stricken from the English (or, what the hell) any other language?

Friday, February 22, 2013

Out My Back Door

I hiked this trail all afternoon...which really means, I hiked this trail for approximately 13 minutes and 24 seconds. That's when I got creeped out that I was in the middle of a forest without my Mountain Manny to fend of the bears.
Apparently, there are no bears in this wood, but I've met some pretty mean deer in my day, so beter safe than sorry, I always say...


Enjoy your weekend!

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

The Human Snow Globe

I am a human snow globe.

To be more precise, I am not the globe, but the snow inside.

Most of my life I have been one of the immovable buildings stuck to the bottom of a snow globe. The flurries chaotically dance all around me, and I stand fixed and defiant--like a loud, mouthy port in the storm.
Major life upheavals are met with me saying, "I will hold all you together!" and "Then I will feed you pie!!"

But a new chapter has opened, and I can't tell which way is up. I'm being tossed and shaken about and clinging to mundane tasks to ease the pain of not knowing which way is up.
I am the snow in the globe. Shifted and shaken.

This chapter was a surprise and I am drifting.

Monday, February 18, 2013

A Weekly Wrap-Up: One Week Post Move

I met the Elephant Lady. Her name is Sandy, she's really nice. I felt bad for an hour after meeting her. Then she started walking around upstairs again and my guilt flew right out the window.

I have an emergency contact. I don't know about you, but that line that you fill out at your kid's school always freaks me out--you know the one, "Emergency Contact in case you are not available." It sits there all ominous and since we've moved a few times I never fill it out until about a year later because I don't know anyone that could pick up my kids in case I'm not available, (read "eaten by a zombie" here).

This move, however, is different. I get to live near one of my near and dear friends whom I have already adopted as my kid's second Portland mother. (It takes a village, ya know....) There was an indescribable lightness at filling in that blank line with ease. Sort of a "Welcome home, I've got you."
Thanks, Ladyface, for being here.

I have too many books, too much stuff, and the only monk in this family is my son. Bless him! My darling boy has enough belongings to fit into an IKEA sized dresser and no more. He has reached the goal I aspire to, to be able to fit all of your belongings into a VW beetle. The rest of us (sorry lot that we are) have too many clothes, books and apparently scissors--SEVEN pair--who needs seven pair of scissors??

I already feel at home. Thanks to my trusty navigator, (my daughter) we know our way around pretty well, and if we get lost, we simply stop for a Diet Coke and call it good. I feel energized, excited, and like my creative mind is expanding. Previously, I felt like my ideas matched the size of Walla Walla--there was a Main street and a few side I feel like I've got the world on a string...sitting on a the string around my finger....*insert Frank Sinatra here*

And that, dear friends, is today's update.

What are you up to today?

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Welcome to the Mole People Circus Freakshow


Welcome to the Mole-people-circus-freakshow.

In a strange and fortuitous turn of events, Mountain Man and I have never lived in an apartment as a married couple. Outside of college dorms, this is our first experience living like mole people.

Mole people? (You may ask.)
Yes, as in people who live right on top and underneath one another like moles. Also, it's a bit dark here in Portland, and that adds to the overall gloominess of living like a mole on the side of a hill.

Two days in, and I am convinced of one thing: I am not a people person.
More correctly, I am not a mole-people circus freakshow person.

Now, mole people living isn't all bad. It's convenient, economical, there's no yard work and when something breaks, someone else gets to fix it. On the other hand, we now live in a circus.

Above us, is Elephant Lady. Each night as she gets home from work we scream out, "Elephant Lady is home!!" Forty-five minutes of continuous stomping followed by fifteen minutes of door slamming make the pictures fall from the walls and we all duck for cover until it's over.

Really, it's a little like living underneath an earthquake....or an elephant...which is where she gets the name.

Then, there's our brand spankin' new next door neighbor: Humboldt the Horrid. Humboldt just moved in. He doesn't have a job--not that I'm criticizing, as a stay at home mother I'm at home during the day too--however, all day long I listened to the musical stylings of the worst metal bands of all time. Now, instead of just an hour a day of duck an cover from Elephant Lady, we get to enjoy twelve continuous hours of "Bombombombbombombombombombombbom" through our very thin apartment walls.

I will just state not so obvious now: I'm kind of an introvert. Most people don't believe this fact, but I prefer to engage with humanity on one of two terms: drunk (them, not me) or sleeping. I don't care for crowds and I only like groups of people where I know all the players. Think about it friends, how do you all know each other? That's right, you know me. (Muahahahahaha! *twirls mustache*)

I also married a man who prefers cows to people and would rather engage humanity through a video gaming console--which just for the record, I think is creepy.

On the other hand, we are here, and have vowed to make the best of it.
So...welcome to the mole-people-circus freakshow.
Wish you were here.

What's your apartment living horror story? C'mon, tell me every little thing...