Hey, we’re still on vacation and we’re going to the zoo today. Maybe the aquarium also, or the children’s museum. We’ll report back on feeding things.
Sorry, that just reminded me… anyone here old enough to remember the New (Rue) Zoo Revue? One of the characters was Henrietta Hippo, I can’t dredge up the other two just yet. Mind has a few cobwebs this early.
I remember that show ShibbOleth!
One of the other characters was freddie the frog. They sang a lot of silly songs 
Apparently they have a web site! http://www.newzoorevue.com/
Damn you Shibb. Now I’ve got the “New Zoo Revue” theme song in my head and it WILL NOT LEAVE.
I hope you get a hangnail.
First, I found this buried waaay down on the third page, an ignoble fate for a Rue thread. C’mon, people, I know you’re on vacation and all, but certain things still need taking care of.
Secondly, I am also still voting you get a goat, Rue. Tell the wife that they are very low maintenance. Unless you feed them buttons. Buttons aren’t really good for goats. That’s just an old wives’ tale that they can eat anything.
Thirdly, I told Autumn that you were talking about goats, and she told me I had to tell you all, “Maa, maa, maaa!” which is what we say when we talk about the goats. I told her I wouldn’t do it; I didn’t want you all to think I’m any loonier than you already do. She called me a wuss. That’s ok, I never take dares, so I’m not going to post that; I just thought I’d fill you all in on why you won’t hear it from me. 
(I think that qualifies as mundane and pointless.)
Hmmm, seems to me you need to get Autumn to register here and speak for herself. How do we know you don’t have her locked in a steamer trunk in the attic? I mean, you come off as all nice and sweet and friendly and flirty here, but how do we really know how you are? Huh? Huh?
Um, no, my sisters don’t do internet stuff. Really. They don’t. Honest…
Hey, I’ve been trying to get her to register here; I send her Rue threads all the time. She likes them, but she doesn’t have time at work (where I do a lot of browsing), and her hubby monopolizes the one at home (which is why I rarely post on the weekends). Even if I get my own computer (and I have become addicted enough to this board that I am shopping), she would have to share it with me. That doesn’t leave her many options.
And she’s not as nerdy as me, so she does weird things like go outside to the park just because it’s sunny. :dubious: And, get this, once she’s there, she does things like play frisbee! :eek: That’s just crazy!
But I feel I need to defend myself a little bit. For the record, I’m ten years older than she is, so I am not the sister who locked her in the cedar trunk and sat on the lid. Nor am I the sister who pushed her to the bottom of the sleeping bag and sat on the opening, or would kick her just because she was there. I was off at school, or smoking pot and experimenting sexually during her elementary school years, and then I moved out here.
The sister you’re thinking of, the mean one is the middle girl, Star (although Diva might be a better pseudonym for her).
I’m the nice one, with the exception of the years '78-'88. Then I was a bitch. But hey, so is puberty.
I don’t have anything to say about goats, except that I ate one once. (eewww) I can definately see why goat meat never became as popular as cow meat or pig meat, (that’s my favorite, pig meat). Although it’s usually called pork, and cow meat is called beef, but chicken meat is just called chicken. Maybe the people in charge of naming meats thought chickens were not important enough for their own name. And why doesn’t horse meat have it’s own name. Horses are big important animals. Not as important as they used to be, when people had to ride them around, instead of taking them for rides in big ol’ trailers, real slow, in the left lane. But there’s still lots of horses around, so they must be good for something.
See, the thing is, I’m really not any good at this free-association thing. I just came in here to say Hi to Rue
Kalessa, nice use of the word albeit. I’m always impressed when someone uses the word albeit in a sentence. Hope to see you at Portadope. I promise I won’t try to talk your ear off this time.
[aside to the audience] 30 years ago I would have tried to talk her pants off, now all she has to worry about is me talking her ear off. This getting old sucks! [/aside]
– Bumbageezer
I’m starting to feel sad that I didn’t have any sisters. Actually I am happy I didn’t have any sisters but that had nothing to do with how much fun we may or may not have had together and more to do with how I didn’t need to worry about how they might be suffering under the tutelage of daddy dearest.
All I have is brothers. I have one older brother that I never see and did not grow up with and don’t really even think of all that often.
I have one other brother who is a little younger than I am (and who could actually be my uncle but I doubt the truth on that will ever come out and I don’t care enough to really investigate it) who I also did not grow up with and refuse to ever see again since he did spend one summer living with us and during that summer I saw all of him I needed to see considering he kept trying to have sex with me and he killed two of my cats.
Then there is my baby brother who is ten years younger than I am and we did grow up together but our relationship is really strained. I don’t really see him much either mostly because he is in prison in a different state and I refuse to drive over 3 hours to visit him in jail. (Yes I am a cruel sister but I did tell him he was headed for disaster long before he got himself arrested)
Oh and I thought chicken meat got lumped into that poultry category?
Hey! Look! It’s Bumbazine!
(I saw you in last week’s thread, but by the time I saw it, the thread was pretty much dead and I didn’t want to revive it just to say “Hi!”, but I was going to e-mail you to say “Hi!”, but I didn’t.)
How the heck are ya? How’s every little thing? Oh yeah, you said. Your talking girly-girl’s ears off now. Sorry.
Hi Autumn! It really hurts me, on a personal level, that you don’t play along. I mean really!
Hi tanook’. If you need a new family, you can start with me. I can be like your brother if you want. I’ll call you names and stuff and then forget your birthday. Like a normal family.
Ya big stink!
I forgot how disturbing Henrietta Hippo looked. Now I remember. Thanks so much Shibb. Oh and you too tanook’, what with your link. Ya big double stinky stink-head.
-Rue. (charming in a child-like way)
Aww Rue you can be my brother any day Well as long as I don’t have to take you to little league, karate, and boy scouts!
Rue being my brother would entitle me to auntie priveledges with Soupo & Katcha and it doesn’t get any more Jake than that.
Oh and don’t worry about forgetting my birthday. Effective last year I have cancelled all birthdays heretofore and forthwith and in perpetuity.
tanookie, you can be my sister. I have three already, but a fourth sounds fun. Be warned, I was the one that chased my sister around the dining room table while making pig snort noises (a noise, that for some reason still freaks her out), and I also poured cold water on another sister while she was lying in the sun getting a sunburn (she was trying to get a suntan, but she has very fair skin so always ended up with a sunburn, so let’s just call it what it was). I never stuck any of them in a closet or at the end of a sleeping bag though. And, I’m the baby of the family, and although you can forget my age, you must remember my birthday (yea, presents!).
30 years ago I would have been 12, so that wouldn’t have been a good idea. Now, however, it’s a fine idea (albeit perhaps not during the Portadope).
I can also use hereinafter and forthwith in a sentence, if that would impress you even more.
Hey, tanookie, I’d love to have another sister. Heck, I’ll disown one of the ones I already have; a couple of them really get on my nerves - you can take their place. Mom will never notice. Really. She can barely remember our names as it is. She just strings together the first syllable of each name into one long one: bewekimesha* and we are supposed to infer which one she means.
*My Indian name in a former life?
Wow With all this new family Christmas is going to get really crowded!
Ya know it has always amazed me how people can be so friendly and kind when my own family has always treasted me like a maid they were ashamed of.
Boggles the mind… or it would if I had one left
We sunk to the second page again. But even though I’m not the captain, I won’t give up the ship.*
*Because I have to believe that drowned goat would smell really bad. Really, really bad.
Sorry Rue, sadly, I am a baaad baaad little consumer. I never checked to see if those It’s Jake matches were the strikes anywhere kind. But I’ve always thought that kind of match wasn’t made anymore for safety reasons. Not that it helped our living room rug any. I was able to burn a hole in it quite easily with sissy safety matches, thankyewverymuch. It was an ugly rug anyway, avocado green, blech (although avocados themselves are delightful. Did you know I just bought myself a whole bag of frozen avocados? I had no idea you could freeze the things).
Our next house had even uglier carpeting than the crispy avocado junk. It was mainly dark red-orange with little chunks of yellow, green, black and a sparkly burgundy. What made it extra fun was that it was a really long sculpted shag so that visitors to our house would trip in the little drifts of blindingly ugly carpet. You could also spill half a box of fruit loops on it and never find them-- they blended right in!
Oh and remember Rue-- you neeed a pygmy goat, you neeeed a pygmy goat. Just sit your current dog down, maybe make a cup of tea for yourself, a bit of broth for the pup, and explain that the new pet is a dog. A rare hooved berber weedhund. No really, dogs are stupid, your pup will believe you. I mean it’s not like you’ve made a habit of lying to your dog, so it’ll never see this whopper coming! Oh, and if your apparently undersized doggie still has height issues, well strap a couple pair of stilts on the munchkin.
Tanookie, my sister has put me out in the garage in a box marked ‘stuff I don’t use much’ so I’m free for sisterly type things. I’m free saturday to come over and snoop in your room, make you feel bad about your grades, and repair the awful orange color you dyed your hair.
I don’t have any plans for saturday, badbaby, but I would never dye my hair orange… I prefer purple! And sunday is scrapbooking day so bring your stickers
I have to tell my own little ‘lets set fire to the rug story’
I was 4 years old and my parents had just purchased the dwelling I now refer to as hell house. They had a whopper of a housewarming party one weekend and got lots of presents. My mother was especially enamored with her new pots and pans and nice new dish towels… you know the ones people sew yarn on so they always get screwed up in the wash and become mostly useless. Remember this folks… there’s a quiz at the end
Anyway my father decides as man of the castle that he will cook dinner and I will tell him all the things mommy normally does. He selects fish as the main course and sets about putting an entire bottle of oil into the shiny new frying pans and turns the heat on the stove to ‘high.’ In his universe all burners had two settings “HI” and “OFF.” (He did use low once… to try and teach the cats to stay off the stove but all he succeeded in doing was ruining the burner covers)
Now he leaves the stove heating merrily and wanders into the kitchen to get some other things ready (For some innane reason the stove lived in a room completely unrelated to the kitchen and this room had the funkiest rust/brown/green rug in it - but it was the 70s so there is no accounting for taste) Lo and behold the oil catches on fire. Nice big yellow flames.
My father decides the best way to squelch the flames is to throw dish towels at them. Oddly enough this only causes the dishtowels to become oily flaming projectiles. Since this was not in his plan he grabs the pan and drips oil and fire all the way across the house to the back door and pitches the whole mess onto the lawn.
My mother comes home to find the rug crispy black and smoldering, her new distowels in ashes and one shiny new frying pan charred and ruined.
She requested that my father not cook anymore. I won’t give too many details about the fight they had that afternoon but lets just say it was the first time the closet door lost all its slats.
I just used a shiney new frying pan the other day. Only they aren’t called “frying pans” anymore. Now they are “sauté pans”. But you can still fry stuff in them. (Did you know “sauté” comes from the French word for “jump”? Really, it does. Those French, they have a different word for everything. Except “omlette”. They use they same word we do for that one. Maybe a few others, but I don’t care.)
So I fried up some bacon in it. Didn’t burn nuthin’. It was some good bacon too. It went nicely with the French toast we had for dinner.
-Rue. (French)
Hey, I used a shiny frying pan the other night too! It wasn’t new, but it might as well have been, as infrequently as it’s been pressed into service. Anyway, I made “Savory Chicken” - cooking chicken breasts in a little olive oil, then adding onions and garlic and rosemary. It wasn’t all that good. I think I don’t like rosemary, and I’m pretty sure I tossed in too much garlic. So it wasn’t the pan’s fault - it was the stupid recipe.
Next time I’ll try the Ginger Chicken - that sounded better. I don’t remember if it has to be cooked in a frying pan or if it’s baked or what.
I had steamed shrimp for dinner last night. And mushrooms. The kid didn’t eat, for some reason. So we have leftover shrimp - I’m thinking they should go into a nice quiche (more French!) I think I’ll have some leftover salmon tonight. That old fish isn’t gonna eat itself, by golly!
And I need a new omelette pan - the non-stick coating on mine is pretty much shot - last egg I cooked in there made a royal mess. ick.
I do have a goat story. You all remember Rich Hall and his Sniglets. There was one, Bovilexia [bo vil eks’ e uh] - n. The uncontrollable urge to lean out the car window and yell “Moo!” every time you pass a cow.
Well last weekend in preparation for going out of town, the children and I drove 'way out in the country, to the mini-farm of the Dog Girl, who keeps our pooch when I’m too disorganized to call the closer-in kennel ahead of time, and it’s all booked up. She technically runs a kennel too, and I like her a lot, but it takes a half hour to get to her house, and it’s in the opposite direction of they way I usually head out of town.
Anyway, to get back to the goats … we were driving down her road and what should come into view but a darling little herd of goats, placidly grazing near the road. I slowed to a stop … put down the window … stuck my head out … and brayed “Naaaaaaaaaaaa!!!” as loud as I could.
“Naaaaaaah!!!” the children echoed from the back seat.
Up popped approximately 30 goatie heads, their eyes trained on us in disbelief. (You could just hear their thoughts: “Humans. What a bunch of maroons.”)
None of 'em “naaaaaaah’ed” back at us, but they were cute and a fun sight nonetheless. We “naaaaaaah’ed” at them on the return doggie-pickup trip, too – and this time I was additionally embarrassed by the fact that, after “nahhhhhhh’ing” for all I was worth, I glanced in my rear-view mirror and saw an older lady sitting patiently behind me in the road, waiting for me to stop the foolishness.
I’d love a pygmy goat for my yard, but I think I’d prefer a little sheep. I don’t know what the variety is, but word around the office is that there’s a house in the neighborhood adjacent to our building that actually has a little bitty sheep. I have yet to see it on lunchtime walks. And livestock isn’t unknown in my neighborhood! One of my best friends has chickens! In town. Oh yeah … please forget I live in Kentucky for the moment. :eek: