Tag: bliss

A prank, a rat and the smell of burnt rubber

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In our house you would be wise to always be wary of the next scare or prank. We keep things lively around here.

This last April 1st I had the ultimate excuse to pull off a good one. It was a heart stopper. Maybe when my poor mom forgives me I will share. Until then you have to wait.

Today’s latest episode was maybe the best of recent. I pranked myself.

Yes, you read that correctly. I pranked myself.

Let me start from the beginning.

It’s spooky season. Well maybe not actually yet on the calendar but the retail season is creeping in. I’m thrilled. I’ve already started my collection.  It’s going to be my pleasure to scare the diapers off some trick or treaters this Halloween.

I found some yard stuff, a few pumpkins, witches, bats, skeletons and spiders.

I even found a little rat skeleton for under $5. That one arrived quickly and screamed for a good prank. It seemed unreasonable to put him in a tote for 2 months before he could live his best after life.

I quickly removed his tags and looked around. Where could he hide to get the best scream? The oven? Nope, preheating a fake rat seems like a bad idea. Fridge? Too quickly found. These people are always in there for something. The microwave! Yes! I would be making dinner that evening and going to work the next day. It was going to be a good one. I wouldn’t be there to see it but I would leave the security camera on and I would get a text cussing me.

I just had to wait.

Fast forward to the weekend. I had not received a text all week. Nobody had found him. I had actually forgotten my little friend was lurking behind a microwave door.

I made a cup of coffee and went about my Saturday morning routine. I drank that mug and made a second. As per usual I was distracted by my to do list and my 2nd batch of magic bean juice got cold.

You know where this is going.

I went to the microwave above the stove and opened the door. Half drank mug in one hand and the other on the door handle.

The light illuminated and there it was, my forgotten rodent, now at face level.

My eyes got big, I gasped and took an Olympic dream style jump backwards. My hand that had previously been holding the door handle moved to my chest and the hand holding the mug went flying outward, still clutching for dear life. The coffee freely splashed out like a paper towel commercial in slow motion. There was nobody around to see it. The security cameras had been disabled when I woke up.

This prank had just gone unnoticed. Something had to be done about this.

I gathered myself. I closed the microwave door. I straighted my hair and gently placed my now mostly empty mug on the counter.

I called for my wife to come and help, something was wrong.

It wasn’t working.

Little did she know the microwave was fine, my prank was actually the thing that needed her attention.

She sighed from the den out of sight. Asked if I was serious. I am always serious about my coffee … and my pranks. I answered yes.

She walked to the kitchen, looked at the microwave. Time clearly visible, it has power.

She started to push buttons.

I started to panic.

Who doesn’t open the damn door? To see what the problem is?

The light came on and the faint whirl of the fan started and the turntable started. My rat was going for a whirl! I stared wide eyed toward the microwave again. Her back was turned to the horror happening behind her and she was looking at me like I was an idiot. She didn’t turn around until 3 seconds later when a distinct “metal in the microwave” sound shot out. Sparks were flying. I thought about dropping for cover behind the kitchen island.

She opened the microwave door and grabbed the scorched skeleton by the tail. I had failed.

I couldn’t look.

She was not amused. “Why is there a rat skeleton in the microwave?”

Just like this but with a burnt mark on the tail. 🔥 Oops.

I had lost this round and confessed. The rat had been in the microwave for days and I had forgotten. I had placed it there to scare one of them and managed only to scare myself.

I have learned a few things from this and I wanted to share.

1. A good prank is a quick one.

2. An elephant never forgets but a 40 something over worked mom will..

3. Rubber rats with wire inside will catch fire in the microwave.

This mishap will not stop me. Even if my kitchen really stinks now. I vow to keep pranking my family (or myself) and to live my best life.

I also plan to continue to share my adventures for your entertainment. You’re welcome.

Making my own sugar scrub and imagining my death scene

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We went to the beach about 2 weeks ago and for the last few days my gorgeous tan has started to peel like glue on a preschoolers fingers.

As I reached for more lotion I wondered how hard it would be to make a scrub.

I’m a tall girl and not tiny. I’ve got curves in the right places (plus some, whatever). The point is you won’t see me buying enough fancy scrub for my whole body. They don’t sell tubs of the stuff big enough anyway.

I did a little search and *voila* a recipe with simple enough ingredients I could probably whip it up and scrub up these flaky legs.

It couldn’t hurt. I mean what’s the worst that could happen?

I grabbed the big container of coconut oil and a spoon. As soon as the spoon touched the smooth white surface it stopped. The stuff is solid. So I think to myself I will microwave it. Pop it in and look for the sugar.

By the time I realized the container was still in the microwave I had found a bowl, measured sugar, spilled some, wiped it up and wondered to myself where the coconut oil went. Ooops.

I get it out, it’s no longer solid but a clearing mess with white globby things of unmelted goop floating around. I scoop the goop chunks and start stirring it in the sugar.

It smells fainternet-meme-of-cat-at-spa-with-cucumbers-on-eyes-and-wearing-a-bath-robefabulous. I start feeling crafty and wonder if I could be famous for sugar scrubs one day. It could happen.

I don’t remember what the recipe called for but I thought it was about half and half so I kept eyeballing sugar and oil scoops until I thought it was just right. I put half into a cute little jar and the other half in an empty plastic container to take to the bathroom with me. One can never be too thrifty.

Plus we only had one tiny jar.

I was feeling extra fancy so I lit the beach scented candle and started the bath.

I perched on the toilet and grabbed a little scrub and started to rub it on my legs. It wasn’t quite liquid, not quite solid, but definitely messy. Some dropped on the floor to make little sugar splats and the rest coated my shins like a sour gummy candy.

I thought it best to probably get over the tub so not to make a mess. I tried to balance with no such luck. My one foot landed into the super scalding running water. In my genius I jump in with the second foot because balancing wasn’t working out.

* pro-tip: your oiled up hands will not hold you up on linoleum. 

I hurry to the front of the tub and turn the water to cold, at this point getting out of the tub seems more dangerous than boiling to death in it.

Remember those dropped sugar globs? Death waiting. I’m not going out there yet.

I get the water just right and settle in. I smoothed the scrub all over my legs and it feels so heavenly I think I should do as much of me as possible.

There is now coconut oil in my eyeball. How does this even happen?

The bathroom is really starting to get a tropical feel. I had closed the door but not turned on the fan so it was getting really steamy. Really stuffy.

Suffocating really.

My entire body is covered in oil and my pores can’t breathe. My lungs are filling with what Yankee Candles considers the beach. This is starting to seem less and less fancy. This might have been a bad idea.

I rinse off. Actually  considering how well water rinses oil I just moved water around but we’ll say I rinsed. I drained the tub and stepped carefully onto a towel in the floor.

Then it hits me.

That light headed, I don’t think I can make it to the bathroom door, dizzy feeling. The one your mother warned you about; the sitting in a hot tub for too long kinda feeling. The one where things get fuzzy and your legs feel weak.

I consider what my dead body will look like when my wife finds me. I’ll be collapsed in a bath towel – right there in the hallway. This will not due.

I wonder if she does find me dead if she will notice my ridiculously moisturized skin.

I have my doubts.

She will probably just wonder where all the sugar went.

Bravely I made it to the bedroom and collapsed into a heap on our bed. I let my body temperature cool while searched for more scrub recipes.

Next time? Adventures in coffee grounds and safflower oil.

I just might make it big one day.

I can’t wait.

Psychic readings and a guy named David

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Last weekend I visited a local metaphysical shop, which I love, for a million and one reasons.

There happened to be a fair of some sort happening for the Halloween celebration. Super talented folks were waiting to tell fortunes, communicate with the dead, braid your hair, offer chair massages, and among other things, read your tarot cards.

All kinds of healers and spiritually blessed, talented folks.  Just a list of people willing to assist you with whatever you need for a meager cash fee.

I opted for the tarot card reading, hoping for fun but not expecting too much.

I was not disappointed.

Well I was maybe a little. I was hoping for winning lottery numbers or the reader to go into a trance so my deceased loved ones could send me a message. Didn’t happen. Maybe next time.

I asked about my career for the theme of my reading. Seemed harmless enough.

He shuffled the cards and before putting them down asked me who “David” was. I don’t know any Dave or David or Davie or anything of the sort.

I started to get nervous. Maybe this guy is crazy.

Probably was crazy.

He spread the cards in a traditional pattern and pretty much told me exactly what I already knew. This was great, life is good. career good.

So that was quick.

He then asked if I had other questions.
I did.
We talked about my wife.
We talked about money.
We talked about how my wife spends all our money.
We laughed. (she didn’t laugh when I told her about it)

We talked about how I have a creative thing I should be doing in life that I don’t devote enough time to.

To be fair we all have a thing … but I really do have something I am aware that I put aside when I get busy and I wish I had more time to devote to.
You guessed it. This blog.
I do enjoy writing for fun but have zero time for it.
He said that eventually I would do this “thing I create” for a living. That it would make me more money and give me more success than my real job.

We shall see.

It was nearing the end of my time and he asked if I had any other questions.
I did.
I asked who this David was. He said I didn’t yet know him but in time this gentleman would be the bridge to making what I create my actual job. That I should be making this “creative thing” with my hands now and building the blocks to bridge later.

Interesting.

Maybe he meant something else entirely. Considering I am not an artist, musician or afghan knitter, this is all I have.

So … David.
Or Dave.
Or whatever you prefer I call you, if you are reading and think you can make my worthless talent an actual thing … give me a call.
Or email.
Or Facebook me.
Or whatever successful creative bridge builder types do.

In the meantime I will be over here writing for fun.

When I can.  Cause I still need a real job.
Hoping for my big break.
A big paycheck.
Or something like that.

Call me, Dave. I will be waiting.

Legally wed (almost) a year. Here is the recap …

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It was this time last year that our home state made our marriage legal. We were so excited, it was like a second wedding day. Sorta like that … but without rain, stress, arguments or blisters. Good times.

So in the spirit of a (sort of) one year wedding anniversary I compiled the top 10 best of best things that happened this last year, our first full year of being legally married in our home state.

  1. We survived new car envy. She bought I convertible, I got jealous. We now share our vehicles. Whats mine is mine. What is yours is now mine too. I’m pretty sure it was in the vows.96a9c5c0cecad209aedb00bb45a2dffa
  2. The kids went away for the summer and we managed to focus a little time on us. Every relationship needs a little space alone to develop. Ours developed into missing the kids after a couple month extended honeymoon. Whatever works.Summer-of-Love
  3. We went to the beach, several times. There is nothing like feeling the sand between your toes. Or the sand hitting you in the face as it swirls around the car, coming off your beach gear. That’s what happens when you shove the sandy gear into the back of that super cute, top down convertible you HAD to take for the trip.  11137193_1011165278894072_8677361988249007150_n
  4. We watched fireworks for the 4th, from our mountain spot, all by ourselves. It was kinda romantic and super beautiful. The other fireworks throughout the year on the mountain, likely scaring the neighbors into calling for backup, maybe not so much romantic as horrifying. We are trying to keep our arguments to ourselves now. Sorry y’all. 11403087_1036972702979996_7696834849185982622_n
  5. We learned to budget. Just kidding, no we didn’t. We bought a new car and went to the beach a few times. We can’t seem to save any money. I have no idea why. Saving Money
  6. She learned to cook. Well, not really cook, but she can grill like nobody’s business. Thinking about our 1 year anniversary steak dinner she magically produced is making me hungry, 3 months later. sunset-2
  7. I changed my last time to hers. Finally. She ran out and changed the name on the mailbox … I am still learning to sign it. Or to recolonize it when called. fa38b4ca80e150dc2a1e9445abc452b4
  8. We made new friends. Together. Couple friends. That isn’t easy considering we are so different. It is almost like getting a raise, the one you don’t think it will ever happen. All of a sudden you are eating more than soup from a can, in your one room apartment, while talking to your cat before bedtime at 8pm. It’s a big wide world out there when you have couple friends to go explore it with. friends_cast_004a
  9. We found new things to explore together. Places to go, things to do, food to eat and fancy new beer to try. Again, a big deal because when we first met we didn’t have much more in common than mutual lust. No shame. None. 3190410_13213875_lz
  10. Last but certainly most important: Nobody was seriously injured or died. I’m not kidding, it was a close call a few times. Marriage is hard, apparently so is smothering your beloved with a pillow. wpid-wp-1432838209051.jpeg

1st anniversary, that’s paper right?

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It’s almost that time!

Remember the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland freaking out about the time? Yeah. Put that bunny in a red curly wig and a sundress and that’s me.

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Just add a red curly hair.

It’s almost our first anniversary.

Seriously.

One whole year since we became wife and wife.

A whole freaking year of ups and downs and all arounds. We danced around the “for richer or poorer” and all those traditional vows whether we said them or not. It hasn’t been easy but it has gone fast and if I could do it all over again I would. Except slower, and I would have started blogging about way sooner. All the good and the bad and unbelievable love.

All the things marriage is. It all came around in our very first year.

Now it’s time we celebrate that we lasted this long. It’s just an anniversary but it’s a big one. People will be cashing in on the bets they placed 12 months ago kinda big. Giggle if you will, the odds for a big payout were probably great if we made it. We love hard and we fight like someone will have to stop breathing before it can be over. Ok, not really, but it has been close.

She will be expecting something super romantic and I will be expecting something sweet and heart-felt. What neither of us is expecting is to run out of time and it’s ticking on.

We never do anything small. If you have followed my blog to date you may have glimpsed what married life is like on the inside. Gift giving is a major task. We go big around here.

I’ve requested the advice of co-workers and I’ve googled “first anniversary” and nothing jumped out. Just paper stuff. Sometimes really expensive paper stuff. I am all about some sentimental names on canvas but that isn’t her and therefor isn’t us. Tricky territory. This anniversary thing is almost worse than the ridiculous wedding markup. If it says wedding or anniversary you’re going to pay triple. True story.

I tried to search “first gay anniversary” thinking that might bring me to something unique but personable but still nothing. Well nothing G rated and appropriate for sharing. I did get some ideas though. We will see what she thinks after I present her the anniversary gift of all gifts. If she hates it I will keep those search results for a plan B. Always good to have a plan B.
kpbktick tock tick tock … running out of time.

and ideas.

running out of what little sanity I was holding onto.

I can’t get a re-do on the very first celebratory year of marriage. It almost feels like getting married again. I’m so nervous. Not “what if I don’t fit in my wedding dress” nervous. I can still eat pizza. The kind of nervous that compels me to wonder what happens if this doesn’t turn out as beautiful and magical as I planned. That kind of nervous.

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Time waster. I love it still.

I’ve looked at Pinterest and still nothing.  Unless I want to spend a day making paper dolls of each of us with materials I will need to hunt down in a craft store.

The problem is I am neither crafty nor patient enough for anything on Pinterest.

and it makes me hungry.

Has anyone ever actually browsed pins and not been bombarded by super fanciful flower adorned cupcakes and exotically named smoothie drinks? each served in cute mason jars sorted by size and color? sitting neatly on a handmade shelf of reclaimed wood?

Seriously.

I’ve got no time for funny pictures of kittens and recipes I will never make.

I need an idea. I need to get creative.

Maybe a giant glued together construction paper card with glitter and pop up hearts like a toddler’s first book about dinosaurs. That sounds like a lot of work though.

Back to the drawing board. By which I mean the internet.

Please pass the tissues. I’m sick.

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I am by no means a wimp when it comes to being sick. You don’t birth all your babies each 2 years apart, survive 2 divorces, go to college as an adult and work to paying your own way in life just to curl up and surrender to a little cold. You just don’t.

Allergies though, that’s a way different story. I’m waving the white flag. Okay. Maybe It’s a Kleenex. Still, I surrender.

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It’s a fairly new phenomenon for me personally. I have stood guard every year since my baby boy suffered throughout his first season. I did my very best to be sure he was medicated and comfortable. I visited many a pediatric specialist and sat holding him for countless breathing treatments. He is a healthy happy 10 year old now with just the common seasonal and pet allergies. He doesn’t seem to be allergic to everything anymore.

The problem is that suddenly I am. Me. The momma of steel has been brought down by tiny particles unseen but powerful enough to make me crumple like straw paper in the McDonald’s drive-thru.

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I mean sure I remember once my parental units bought weird cheap laundry soap and I got a little itchy when I was just a kid. Never a runny nose or rash or infection related to allergens again. I was a normal kid, no signs or symptoms that later in life I may need to live in an adult sized bubble.

It was all rainbows and lollipops until I moved down here. I was healthy and for the most part mucus free.
This place though, it’s different. This is the land of trees and mountians and killer pollen levels. Every year for the past 4 or 5 I have had a steady worsening of my symptoms. It doesn’t take much; cat fur, trees, flowers, soap, dog dander, lotions, stupidity, dust, air and on occasion my wife. Every freaking thing I come into contact with causes some form of irritation.

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I am miserable all year round at random times, indoors and out and I have to hunt for the culprit. It’s like a “Where’s Waldo” for the new thing I have to disinfect, avoid or give up. I am sick and I’m tired of searching for what the problem is. There could at least be a warning beep when I come near a contaminant. I don’t think that’s asking too much.

So here I am, half a days work done and a days worth of Sudafed pumping in my blood stream. I am hot and cold, my throat hurts and my joints ache. I have sinus pressure so bad I am almost positive my worst fear will come true and my head really will explode. I am tired but I can’t sleep. I am hungry but I can’t swallow. No, it’s not some weird disease. It’s allergies.

Tree pollen. Dog dander on my pillow. Cat hair on the sofa. Old lady perfume in the drug store check-out line. That stupid fake tree in the corner of the office. I might be ok with just one but spring and fall both throw me a toxic combo hit straight to the face. I can’t avoid it and I can’t go on like this. I’ve got to outsmart my poor genetics terrible descision making.

The next time I spend an evening soaking in an outdoor hot tub maybe I will take an antihistamine before we go … and maybe I can give up that 2nd glass of wine while I’m medicated. Maybe I will deep clean the house more often to keep pollen and pet dander at bay. Maybe I will ask the dog to get off my pillows and sleep in her dog bed.

That’s a lot of maybe and not a lot of likely. 52c08c26fbbb2d6b1bc3ad7d571b16ad

In the meantime if someone could please hand me a tissue I would really appreciate it.

Guess who decided to throw an impromptu party?

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It was a typical Tuesday and I was feeling a little stuffy and stuck in a weekday slump. I must have temporarily lost my mind because I decided to have a bonfire party at our house … this Friday. Seemed easy enough, I will buy some beer and chips and invite some people out.

Nothing is ever that simple. Not in my world. I have no idea what kind of fog I was walking around in and now that I’m awake and it’s Friday a.k.a. “we are partying at your house tonight, right?” I am just a bit concerned.

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I needed this … yesterday.

I pre-party shopped last night, the night before my event. That was a first. I am always on top of these things. I am always a great hostess. I always think these things through with lists and check marks and real thought. Not this time.

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Everytime.

Although I hated it I handled that Wal-Mart cart, at 9 pm on a work night, like a boss. Narrowly avoiding free running children, detouring isle blockage, and dodging wild eyed class moms with cart loads of birthday cupcakes. I should get an award for making it out alive.

This is not my thing.

If I must shop the Wally I do it at 2 am on a Saturday with like 5 other people who are not interested in chit chat. Get your crap and get out kinda people. My people. I am not the week night last minute I’ve put it off so long I have to do it now with everyone else who is a procrastinator.

Except this week.

I think I covered all the essentials; I got the beer in 3 brands, an assortment of 2 liters, wine, chips, veggies, hummus, dips, a cheese and cracker assortment and stuff for the kids to make s’mores.

What I didn’t consider was a sheet to cover every pile of embarrassing clutter in my entire house. I am still wondering how much time it would take to buy enough covering to make my house look like one of those old abandoned houses in movies.

Or If I have enough time to hire someone to27fdae9b766b5bc20bdabc8b75571559 come clean up the house before anyone arrives tonight.

Or if I should cancel altogether. I could just drink the wine and eat my cheese plate alone.

I might even have enough beer to last us a few weeks. It might be totally fine.

We will probably spend all our time laughing and enjoying company around the bonfire.

My guests will probably not be attacked by dust bunnies.

What I didn’t consider was a sheet to cover every pile of embarrassing clutter in my entire house. I am still wondering how much time it would take to buy enough covering to make my house look like one of those old houses in movies. Or If I have enough time to hire someone to come clean up the house before anyone arrives tonight. Or if I should cancel altogether and drink and eat my cheese plate alone.

I will probably not be harshly judged on my lack of Martha Stewart level living. Probably.
fbb21528abf93b53f3a22f45589c0417 At any rate we have plenty of beer, if anyone starts looking scared I will just offer them another and a cracker from the cheese plate. I’ve got this. If I pull this off it will be a miracle.

A hostess with the mostest miracle.

Curly girl problems

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Unless you have naturally pain in the ass curly tresses this is going to sound like nonsense to you. All my straight hair friends from middle school to even now comment on how they wish they didn’t have to curl their hair to get the ringlets.
Gorgeous cascades of bouncy beautiful curls or sleek styled heads whenever they want. and they envy me?

I just wish I could make mine stay unkinked for more than 20 minutes.

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Are you a wash and go kinda gal? If so I probably hate you. It takes me an arsenal of hair product just to look almost put together in the mornings. Shampoo, half a bottle of conditioner, frizz creme, mousse, styling gel and a final all over of spray. If I hear one more person say they just brush their hair and go … I might slap them. probably will.

Straightening is never a possibility for me. My hair does this thing where after hours of straightening, regardless of the product I use, it’s frizzy before I can leave the house.

I want to cry but if I do my bangs will spring get back from the moisture in a gleeful S curl.

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If you don’t have a curly hair girl in your life you’re prob missing all the fun of finding what appears to be a small animal in the shower drain. We can shed unholy amounts of hair and still not be bald. My wife thought it was cute I would leave long red hairs in her bed when we were first together. Now that we are married she doesn’t find the red tumbleweed hair piles in all the corners of our bedroom as attractive. Sorry babe.

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Ever tried to touch a curly head? Did you come out alive? There is no such thing as touching the curls. If you do they will explode into a lion mane and then we have to start all over. I want to be loved, I do but I want pretty hair too.

It’s not all fun and smiles.
Well actually it is. I happen to be a natural red head too and we have way more fun. Even if it takes us longer to get ready for it.

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Hey all! Welcome!

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I started this blog because I identify with so many of you and it’s about time we got together for a chat. Here’s a little about me to get us started …

I’m a modern day mom and wife. My life is like any other, I have a mortgage and a couple kids. All that’s super interesting but add in a wife (yes, wife) some sarcasm, a few cute dogs, plus a mostly rewarding career and some crazy friends and there you have it.

My Idiotic Bliss (1)

As a disclaimer I’m going to be talking about all of it. I mean it. The good, the bad and the down right ugly. You’re getting the honesty; my kids are sometimes brats, my wife is sometimes an asshole and sometimes I spew swear words like I don’t know any other. My dogs are untrained, my job makes me crazy and my hair is unnaturally frizzy. There are good days too. I’m totally head over heels in love, I live in a beautiful area and I’ve got some great people around me every day.

I’m going to share it all. Well mostly all.

No shame or regrets, after all this is my idiotic bliss.

Be sure to follow my blog or sign up for email updates to read all my newest posts.

Feel free to join my Facebook fan page too …

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