Taters, I think what you’re about to do is “plotz”.
I need to buy some furniture, too. But I’m not motivated to do it. Even if it will make me all plotzy.
I could get all preachy right now about the Christmas decorations going up already, about how it’s Advent first then Christmas and how Christmas is it’s own season from The Nativity, til Epiphany but I won’t cause I don’t wanna be a grouch today. So, I’m being nice and not saying a thing about it. Not me. My lips are sealed. Nope. Ain’t gonna complain about Christmas decorations being up too early. Won’t hear it outta my mouth. Nope! Ain’t gonna say it.
Miss Take that was one of those eggrolls with the little shrimps in it. I don’t like those so much so you can keep it. I likes reglar eggrolls the best. That’s what ACBG tried to swipe and got swatted for. I mean, he told the waiter not to bring him an eggroll even though he coulda had his very own. MMMMM…
pieroghis!
vunderbob is that sheepskin you got big enough to knit us all some wooly mittens?
There’s an extra N in there, Bob, but that’s not the worst butchering of Cincinnati (or CVG) I’ve seen this week, so you’re safe.
I got nuthin’ on pets this week. But we had a pretty good weekend, and other than work sucking it seems like this might be a good week as well. Hope everybody’s doing just nifty.
Also, maybe we should start swapping some recipes for tubers seeing as this is Thanksgiving week, at least here in the USA. Anyone want to do that?
Just be suspicious of any recipes Rue tosses in, particularly if any of the ingredients are lightbulbs or old AA batteries.
Well, we are a dog household but even though they technically speak the same language, that doesn’t mean they understand each other. My roommate’s dog, Jade, is about two years old and has a lot of energy. My dog Sascha is almost eight years old and is, well, lazy. Sometimes her idea of a long walk is from the bed to the couch. So when she’s laying there on her comfy doggy bed and Jade starts nipping her feet and standing on her head, she gets a little annoyed. It escalates to the point where she decides to get up and show the whippersnapper who’s boss. So she’ll leap up, chase Jade up and down the house, barking like mad and eventually pin her or do whatever it takes for Jade to run to home base (which is the bed in her mom’s room). At which point Sascha feels her mission is accomplished and settles wearily into her fluffy doggy bed again…but a few minutes later, Jade’s nipping her feet again. Sometimes she looks exasperated, like “Didn’t I just finish kicking your ass?” Ah, the vigor of youth. And the grumpiness of old age.
We introduced Bailey the Wonderkitty to my parents’ dog Gabe the 55lb lap dog a while ago. Gabe loves cats. Bailey fluffed up to exactly twice his normal size and hit him. It was not successful in terms of communication. Bailey also made noises like a vacuum cleaner. Adorable.
But Bailey doesn’t even like other cats besides Aerin. Bailey is really dumb. Did I tell you about Quasi-Daughter’s Cat Hat? I think I did, but the story bears repeating. A couple of years ago Quasi-Daughter bought a cute little knitted hat with little pink-lined cat ears on top. She looked very sweet in it. One day, she came over, wearing the hat. Bailey took one look and spazzed. Aagh! There’s a gigantic mutant deformed cat! In my apartment! Aagh! I don’t like other cats! Aagh!
We just about died laughing. Hey- it’s getting close to hat season.
And Ex, take a look at these cats.
You’re right, swampy. It’s the little Fast of Advent in preparation for the Nativity, isn’t it? As different from Lent, which is the Big Important Fast, when Mr. Lissar will give up coke and get excessively grumpy until Easter. Maybe this year I’ll make him give up coke and vow to be cheerful and nice to his wife. That should be good.
We should make I’m Proud To Be A MMPer pins or something. Should that be “An MMPer”? The other way doesn’t look right.
Gaaah! I wanted it to make furry mukluks fer meself. :rolleyes:
My bunnies don’t speak but they do know morse code. They stamp it out with their back feet. I don’t think they talk to each other but I know they’re talking to us. Mr. Congo says that they’re saying, “I’m going to destroy this speaker wire and the idiot humans are going to have to buy more”. They also watch TV. They prefer Bugs Bunny but they also like The Family Guy and Sealab.
Mr. Congo stole my job this year. He told me HE’S making the green bean casserole. What the heck am I supposed to do now? I don’t think he understands the complexity of making green been casserole for his family. One casserole takes 4 cans of onions, 6-8 cans of soup, 10-12 cans of beans, and a turkey roasting pan. He also told me I don’t need to make the cranberry sauce! His father loves my cranberry sauce!!! I also can’t make any desserts because his mom bought 6 pies from a fundraiser. I feel so useless.
I’m thankful that I don’t have class this weekend. Now, I almost have a little vacation. Well, not really. I still have to work but I don’t have to do homework. And, Mr. Congo has to work Friday so I can spend the whole day playing on his much faster computer! I’m also thankful for you guys. While I’m not a regular MMP’er or lurker, every person in this thread has cheered me up at least once. You guys are awesome.
Oh, and Swampy, you can have all my egg rolls if I can have your chicken teriyaki.
Rue, what are you saying? I don’t understand.
I find that it isn’t so much not speaking the language as it is that certain concepts don’t exist in other cultures. For example, ferret culture does not contain the concept “no.” They understand does-not-like-it, but instead of no, all they have is, I haven’t expressed my desires clearly enough and I must keep trying.
I, on the other hand, have learned to speak a little ferret–to be specific, I’ve learned how to say does-not-like-it: you hiss and scruff them, and if they are a little bit stubborn about it, you bite them on the nape.
My linguistical ability is why the ferrets will leap onto the coffee table, smell my toes, then go over and bite my husband’s toes (which is ferret for wanna-play?) They know I don’t like to be bitten. My husband doesn’t like to be bitten either, but he doesn’t speak ferret.
Ferret culture also doesn’t contain the concept, do-not-go-in-there/do-not-go-up-there. Fortunately, they can’t jump like cats can.
My hands still smell like garlic. That’s all I’m saying.
I guess I don’t speak cat, but I do dog.
Sadie the VunderDog loves to have her butt scratched (base of the tail, topside). She’ll sit there forever and get glassy eyed if you do it long enough.
If I try that on Booger, The Tomcat Form Hell[sup]tm[/sup], the little bastard tries to bite me. Naturally, I sneak up behind him when he’s sleeping and scratch his ass just to piss him off. From another thread, I might use him to clean the tv.
CurrentDog understands and speaks zero CAT, but he has taught all the neighborhood stray cats (there’s TONS of them thanks to one family who WILL NOT get their outdoor cats spayed, but that’s a whole nother GRRRR thread and I won’t get into it here because that’d just ruin the whole Thanksgiving thread theme and where was I again? Oh yes…) exactly what “GET THE HELL OUT OF MY YARD” sounds like in Doglish.
snicker
I saw him sitting at the door the other day and all of a sudden he shot straight to his feet, let out a “BWARF!” at something outside. I looked out and one of the neighborhood stray cats (GRRR) went DOWN the edge of the neighbor’s yard, not quite touching CurrentDog’s yard (well DUH, of course it’s his yard. He peed all over it to claim it!), along the curb, and back up the next neighbor’s yard. Completely walked the perimeter of our yard. Heh.
So there’s that. Evidently he’s also taken the time to teach that particular phrase in Doglish to the local coyotes at my parents’ place as well as the local deer.
Thanksgiving - hm. I have no idea what we’re having because we’re going to my parents’ place and I assume they’ve already acquired the necessary food. DogDad is making homemade rolls when we get there, so I know we’ll have those. I’ve already purchased the pies, so we’ll have rolls and pie, at least.
DogDad’s doing pretty much all the cooking, actually, since he’s waaaaaay better at it than anyone else in our family, plus my mom just had snurgery on her hand for Arfritis (hm. Wonder if her HAND speaks some weird dialect of Doglish. I’ll have to ask) and she’s now got that hand in a cast so she can’t do any of the cooking. Just ask her, and she’ll tell you. So we’re kind of hoping we’ll have Just Beans instead of Green Bean Casserole. DogDad’s not fond of GBC at all, and I don’t eat fried food, so I’m very much going to favor the whole “steamed frozen beans” idea instead of the “Green Bean Casserole” idea. It doesn’t reheat well anyway. You’d think that since DogDad is doing the cooking that he’d be able to make Just Steamed Beans instead of GBC, but you’d be wrong. For one thing, it’s TRADITION to have GBC. For another thing, my mom loves GBC. And for a third thing…well, you don’t really need a third thing, because the first two are bad enough, but if you need one then I’ll let you know that you do not want to see my mom’s Puppy Dog Pout Eyes if you decide to leave out a favorite traditional food.
And thanks for writing an MMP every week for us to hijack completely to HeckNGone, Rue!
merrily, you bite your ferrets. You bite your ferrets. You bite your ferrets. I am not understanding this. There doesn’t look like enough ferret to bite. Cats, now, cats are big enough to bite. Not that I do it regularly.
In between posts today I have cleaned and reorganized my fridge and both my freezers. You haven’t had fun until you’ve cleaned a chest freezer. Lots of “Why the hell did I keep this?”, and “Oh, there’s the ice cream!”. We have lots of semi-forgotten ice cream. Also many big pieces of pig and cow. Oven roasts are on sale, you see.
Very soon I will go through the canned goods.
My life is fun.
Really, I’d rather be doing this than be at work. I just finished five days of evening shift. By last night I hated people, especially Staring Guy, who came in twice and interrogated me about my religious beliefs. So canned goods look exciting. And I borrowed The Wee Free Men, Bridehead’s Revisited, and The End Of The Affair, so I’ve got lots of reading to do in my four days off. Yay!
In the same spirit, never, ever eat a banana while drinking Mountain Dew.
The only thing I’m making for Turkey Day is reservations. However try this if you’re making smashed taters (not Taters the MMPer, but the ones in the bag from the store)
When you cut up the taters to boil, pre smashing, toss in a couple of garlic cloves to boil in the pot with your spuds. Leave them in and smash them along with the taters; add tater water, butter, milk and the usual salt and pepper,
Way back when, when I was a subscriber to Taste of Home, they suggested a touch of cinnamon in smashed taters. I still think that’s too weird, but I’ll pass it along anyway.
I’ve used a recipe from The Silver Palate cookbooks which includes a teaspoon or so of nutmeg (along with quite a bit of cream cheese and sourcream). This always gets raves, so I’ll assume the cinnamon would work equally well. The other day I inadvertenly added cinnamon to some fettucine with prosciutto and peas I was throwing together and it didn’t suck.
Not quite true. There is a considerable variation of average waits among cat breeds, though admittedly nothing to match the difference between the largest and smallest dogs.
Huh. Then I forgot the rest of CurrentDog’s Saga of his Problems With Language.
See, he’s one of those dogs that chase the Short Bus. Seriously. He’s real sweet, I’d never give him up for anything, but…welll…I think he’s only got something like four brain cells. So when he gets excited, the adrenaline completely overpowers these four lonely brain cells, kidnaps them, smacks them around a lot, ties them up with a LOT of duct tape, holds them for ransom, and generally goes all Reservoir Dogs on them. I think. I’ve never actually seen Reservoir Dogs so I’m just going on descriptions of it that I’ve read. Anyway. So with all of this going on inside the Vast Expanse that is the Interior of CurrentDog’s Skull, you can see that there’s just no way he’s going to comprehend things like “sit” or “stay” or “BEHAVE”.
He does understand “walk”, “car ride” and “GEOCACHING”, all of which immediately send him into Adrenalinely Stupid Mode.
Although he’s really really cute when we pack to go somewhere. While I’m packing the suitcase and DogDad is schlepping the stuff out to the car, Kai is running around gathering together his favorite stuffies. Then he’ll stand there at the door with anywhere from one to three stuffies in his mouth, and look at us as if to say, “I’m all packed, when are we leaving?”
Thanks Rue.
I’m mostly a Lurker, but sometimes a Dropper-Inner. I have two cats and one dog, and the dog gets along with just one of the cats. The other cat stays away from the dog, in True Cat Fashion.
Sharing food… if we leave the cat food out, the dog will eat it. We have to hide it, and have started putting the cat food bowls in my daughter’s bedroom, in her closet, so they can eat in peace.
The cats won’t eat the dog food, though. Strange.
If you say “Cheese!” in the presence of the dog, she’ll get all excited and run to the fridge and bark at it till you go and get her a piece of American cheese. I’ve started buying the cheap generic American stuff just for her. She gobbles it down in one gulp.
We got a woodstove this summer, and both cats liked sitting on top of it before we had it officially hooked up. They’ve both learned recently (the hard way) that they can’t sit on top of the woodstove anymore. Ouchie.
This might be the year of the Green Bean Casserole War. The Green Bean Casserole is my older sister’s Signature Dish. If she’s supposed to bring food somewhere, it’s going to be a green bean casserole. I’m not saying this is the only thing she can cook, but… yeah, I am going to say that. My older sister doesn’t cook much at all. When she and her husband were in their first apartment, they had a gas stove. That was the only gas appliance they had. The gas man had to come up to their apartment one time to turn on the stove just to make sure the meter was working. It hadn’t moved in four months and he was suspicious. As it turned out, the meter worked fine. You just have to turn the stove on to make it move.
Anyway… my brother was over at Mom’s and she asked what he was bringing for Thanksgiving. He hadn’t decided yet (But his Signature Dish is Baked Apples. If he doesn’t bring Baked Apples he’s getting a noogie he won’t soon forget.) and since no one else had called in and dibbied their dish, Mom told him he could bring anything he wanted.
“Anything?” he asked.
“Yeah, why not?” said Mom.
So he tried to claim the Green Bean Casserole. Just to see how cheesed he’d make my sister. As it turned out, when she found out she was pretty cheesed. You don’t horn in on someone’s Signature Dish. It’s just Not Done.
I don’t, personally, have a Signature Dish. But my Signature Flower is the marigold.
-Rue. (unsigned, foodwise)
We don’t want to know why your hands smell of garlic (cutting down on the TMI threads, donchaknow), we want to know about the marinara sauce.