Thank you swampy, I didn’t have a lot of free time the past week. its good to know I’ll be updated when I miss important stuff.
Puggy & Mr. Anachi, Good thoughts coming your way from the ICU household.
You can’t assume that they’re gay just because they like coffeehouses.
:Smack!:
Homicide.
Which reminds me, I haven’t seen Pink Ruffly Tank Top guy at dance class in a while. If he reappears, I will report on his fun antics.
It’s OK. I so just wore a flamboyant pink/white striped buttony shirt to Wal-mart, while there with ACUG, and with rainbow bracelet, and yellow friendship bracelet. (you know the ones… straight from the 80’s, yo.)
umm…wellies?
<scratches head>
Oh the humidity! It’s just awful here lately-- temps over 115 and humid to boot. So I thought I’d be all smart and wait until dark to go grocery shopping. That way it’s more humid but only 102 degrees. Ha! I still got so sweaty my clothes were soaked through and I had to take a shower immediately. There was nothing to be done about my hair, which would have made Roseanna Roseannadana look like a piker. Anyway, I’m back home and clean and cool and curly, but I’m still so overheated my hands are shaking. It could be the pot of coffee and four hundred sudafed I’ve had today, but I’m making the heat my scapegoat.
Which reminds me. Homebrew, I believe we found one of your missing goats. He was delicious. No really. See, we lived thirty miles from the nearest goat supply place but somehow a young goat showed up on our doorstep. After a week of asking around, nobody was missing a goat so we yelled ‘finders keepers!’ to make it all legal-like. Since he was a boy goat and wouldn’t be good for anything except being very smelly, the custodian where my dad taught (Hi Mr. Ponce! How’s everybody?) took the goat and made barbacoa out of him. I have no problem naming my food, so the goat was named Dan. Dan was mighty tasty. Oddly enough, the same thing happened to my sister many years later, only this time it was an ostrich in her front yard. She says he was delicious as well. Didn’t catch his name though.
Yay for Puggy and Mr. Puggy! It’s pretty scary there in the beginning, isn’t it?
Which totally doesn’t remind me of my cats barfing. I’ve just given up trying to catch them. They either run from me and urp all over the place instead of one spot, or they don’t urp at all and then run away and barf somewhere inconvenient like under the bed. So these days when they make that hurp hurp hwakaaaack! noise, I just check to make sure it’s not on something uncleanable. Which is a consideration, because I woke one fine morning to find a cat had barfed all down the side of the TV armoire. If she’s not on say, the treadmill control panel, I let her do her thing and clean up after. Why yes, I do own a carpet cleaner with over five thousand miles on it.
Susan, I believe I hate you for being able to wear capri pants. I think they look so cute on everybody except me. Which was the same situation back when I was a kid and culottes were fashionable. In that case though, I’m kinda glad I didn’t own a pair because culottes were pretty stupid.
I have 150 part-time kids, I don’t want any of them full time. This is very good for all concerned, really. However, I am la tante extraordinaire! Exhibit A: Rebecca’s Gitane was not lit and the espresso a single shot. Perfectly acceptable activities for eight-year-olds, sheesh.
wellies = wellington boots
I’m so glad to hear that Mr. Anachi is doing better.
Well, we’ve had quite the excitement around the Taters neighborhood tonight. I was farting around with the old, slow computer and reinstalling Windows XP on it when the doorbell rang and I saw one of the neighborhood children standing at my door. So, I opened the door and the poor little girl blurts out, “Cheryl needs you…RIGHT NOW”. Now, this little girl is Cheryl’s next door neighbor and right away I knew this was not good. So, I called the hubby and we both went dashing down the street. There’s poor Cheryl, gray, bloody, and crying on the rocks next to her driveway. I’ve known Cheryl for fifteen years and we’re very good friends. In fact, we were neighbors in our old neighborhood, and three months after we moved here, she, her husband and kids followed. At any rate, on with the story.
At this point, another neighbor dashed up with a towel, and Cheryl’s daughter is crying. So, I squatted down and asked her what happened. We have rock retaining walls around some of our gardens and apparently she took quite a tumble. There was blood running down one of her legs at quite a nice clip. So, I proceeded to lift the towel. When I lifted the towel, the hubby turned white, told the other neighbor to call 911 and proceeded to try and reach Cheryl’s husband. She had a very, very nasty gash in her leg. I could see her bone, nerves, and muscle. It wasn’t very pretty at all. Poor Cheryl was turning whiter by the moment and told me she was going to puke. At this point I told her daughter to bring me a cool, damp rag to put on her neck, my hubby was still trying to reach her hubby and other neighbors came running. The call to 911 was placed and my friend promptly passed out. Nice, just nice. So, I was tapping her on her cheeks and trying to get her to come around again. She eventually came around again, but her lips were still blue and she was definitely gray.
By this time, my hubby was back from my house and I told him to run down the street to our other neighbor who just happens to be a fireman who is going through paramedic training. Fortunately, he was home. So, he came over checked her pulse, checked her laceration and asked us what had happened. He was talking to her softly and keeping her calm as well. I explained I didn’t see her fall, but that she had passed out. I had already asked her if she had hit her head, but she really didn’t remember hitting her head. Basically, I was doing my best to keep her calm, not letting her look at the gash, keeping some neighbors calm, and others quiet about the severity of the gash; and keeping an eye on my hubby who was very white. We reached Cheryl’s husband eventually; the paramedics arrived and did their thing, and finally Cheryl’s husband arrived home (who by the way is a paramedic). He took her down to the hospital, where she was X-rayed, no broken bones, but she is about to get stitched up.
As my friend was about to get taken to the hospital everyone turned to look at me and were just kind of staring. Apparently, I got blood all over my shirt from her hands and wherever else she had it. Cheryl felt terrible about it, but I told her it’s no big deal. It’s just an old tank top (and I mean OLD).
We took her son home with us, her daughter went to another neighbor’s house. I’ve fed the son and us, and he’s being entertained by my kids. I expect Cheryl and her hubby will be home within the next hour or so and then I can go to bed.
It’s been a long evening.
OK…things are getting just a bit too exciting in the MMP neighborhood. Can we just focus on everyone being healthy and unscathed? Sounds like you live in a great neighborhood, Taters, with lots of people willing to pitch in to help.
I forgot to talk about goats earlier (please note the graceful topic transition). I’m allergic to 'em. How did I find out? By sleeping on a goat-hair rug. Just once. Woke up all sneezy and with nicely plumped-up eyelids. I was visiting a friend and the sleeping bag allotted to me was placed on the lovely rug. Not really a lot of fun.
GT
I can’t get a pony Winnie. I don’t like horses on account of them being all evil and stuff. I wouldn’t want an evil pet. Even if it does keep my grass short.
And it’s not just me. Lucy doesn’t like horses either. And Lucy, while not technically evil, is mean. So mean, she’ll bite you just to watch you bleed. She’s one mean dog. She’d probably eat the pony.
Imagine how long the boys would have to be in therapy if they saw my dog eat a pony.
I got whistled at on my way back from work yesterday. Just thought y’all should know. I think it was because I was wearing a very low-cut dress. Not short, though- the skirt is ankle-length. I look cute in it.
It’s too early and hot to be going to work.
Good on you, Taters. Gahh scary lacerations. I’m glad the kid’s all right.
Somebody just told me I looked really good today and asked me if I had lost weight! It’s 9:17 AM! What a great way to start the day.
Yay for Taters! I think you should get the MMP good neighbor award. Also, I’m glad y’all had fun on your camping trip.
Today is a fun day. :rolleyes: Management Team Meeting at 10 AM. We get to talk about accessibility stuff. Actually, I get to give out yay you’s for the folks that turned their accessibility stuff in on time, which means as of 10 AM and fuss at the folks who didn’t turn their accessibility stuff in on time. I already know who the slackers are. Life for them shall not be pleasant until I see their accessibility stuff. Then, we get to spend a good two to three hours talking about policies and procedures AKA THE EVIL [SUP]TM[/SUP]. Plus other stuff. It’s gonna be a long meeting today. Then I get to go read a whole bunch of award nominations at the local Vocational Rehabilitation office cause they are having their annual awards luncheon in about three weeks and I am on the judging committee. Yes, I will be bored to pieces by the tedium of today!
So, posts may be rare to non-existent from me today. Try to get along as best you can.
I’m picturing a wound that shows muscle and bone and nerves, and it creeps me out. Ugh.
Taters you must handle stuff like this as you would eat an elephant. Sure, it looks too big to eat, but if you take one bite at a time, pretty soon all you have left is bones and gristle. And probably indigestion, 'cause I can’t imagine elephants are too tasty. Otherwise, we would have been eating them for years, and they be as domesticated as cows and pigs.
Just don’t name the elephant before you eat it.
Speaking of goats, I went to college down in Central Texas. A friend of mine had grandparents that lived not too far away and he’d go visit them once in awhile. One time I went with him. It was fortuitous that I went that weekend. We arrived at the grandparent’s house and heard the news that the goats down the road were gone. Everyone was excited about that announcement. This is good news because that meant the family that raised the goats were making tamales they then sold at a little stand out by the road. We ate tamales that evening till we nearly burst.
I’m happy to report that the tofu-soy French Toast was a huge hit, as were the muffins (which were wheat germ-apple-spice.)
Next time, I think, I will use less oil for the french toast. I’ve never actually made it before (I had a sad childhood.) but I’m kinda thinking you should use just enough oil the bread doesn’t stick. is that right?
Also, I made the french toast this morning instead of yesterday, and now I have a quarter block of firm tofu left and no idea what to do with it.
Taters, you are so brave! I think I would have passed out. Your poor neighbor–I hope she’s doing okay.
EllaBean, just curious, how do you use soy in French toast? I haven’t made it for a long time, so I’m not sure how much oil to use. But yeah, just enough to keep it from sticking sounds about right.
swampy, I haven’t turned in my accessibility stuff. But that’s okay, 'cause I don’t work for you, so you can’t do anything about it! Ha ha!
Rue, if you don’t want goats or ponies, you can always get bunches and bunches of guinea pigs and let them munch on your lawn. They’ll keep the grass short! And they make more little piggies, so you’ll always have lots of little lawn mowers. And they’re very cute! I love those little piggy faces. And they make cute little “wheek, wheek” noises. I had a piggy when I was in high school. We used to put it out in the yard under a wooden crate, so he could nibble on the grass. That worked out okay, until one day he escaped and ran away. 
Now I’m allergic to guinea pigs, so I can’t have one.
No Ella, you need more oil. Anything that’s good to eat is even better deep fried.
Speaking of “deep fried”, you know why guinea pigs were first kept Magic? (Not to run around a little cage going “wheek, wheek” and pooping, or even as little lawn mowers.)
I forgot that we were talking about goats! We used to have a goat, until my dad gave it back to the person from whom we purchased it. My dad would plant trees (You know, the saplings with the root balls that you buy at Wal-mart and such), and then the goat would get it between his horns and strip the bark off, which would cause the tree to die.
That, and the goat would (only during mating season? Don’t know specifics) just stop occasionally, stare off into space, get a hardon, and then… spray into his beard, I guess to attract all the female goats that didn’t exist anywhere around our house. Or other male goats, maybe, but we didn’t have any of those either. Semen in a beard must be the best way to attract mates.