You Spilled Something

Six year old daughter: Mom you spilled something on Monday.

Fifty-one year old me: What? How do you know?

Six year old daughter: Actually, it was Monday afternoon.

She was right.

I did spill chocolate pudding.

On Monday afternoon.

Friday Foto Finish Fiesta, 2009.12.11

Lead Reindeer

Reindeer in Training

Elf Eyeballing Cookies

Reindeer Games

1. In your Phriday personal post, include a phavorite photograph (like how I did that?) and a brief description of why it is your phave. Anything at all works for me … one picture, more pictures, a video … even if you participate it another blogger’s Friday event you can double up as long as you link back to me within your post.

2. My advice is that you jump on board now bephore everyone in the nation gets involved and there are no mega-giga-y2k-bytes lepht phor you!

3. As always, if you have any questions or just want to chat about cats or kids or what I am going to do with the ten spare hours I now have every Phriday, you can contact me at candidcarrie at gmail dot com!

5. Try to remember to link back to me, if you don’t know how or would like some help, I’ll gladly assist you!

Let the Phestivities begin!

The Mother Flocker Of All Christmas Trees

As tradition has it, the weekend after Thanksgiving means we need to get our Christmas tree. I kissed my husband good-bye, gave him a huge hug and told him I would see him soon. As I watched him disappear, I let out a heavy sigh. It seems like we just did this, could a year have gone by this quickly?

About two hours later my husband returned to me. He was cold, out of breath and empty handed. “I can’t find anything in that attic.”

We have a decent sized attic, there is a chimney running up the middle and stuff piled in what I thought was a logical order. You’ve got your basics:

* Standard Holiday Region (including but not limited to Easter, Independence/Memorial Day, Halloween, Christmas)

* American Girl Molly and Bitty Baby Region

* The Barbie and Ken Bonanza (featuring full frontal nudity, male and female)

* The My Favorite Clothes That Are Too Small Region

* The My Favorite Clothes That Are Way Too Small Region

* The My Favorite Clothes From When I Was Blond and Sinfully Thin

* The My Favorite Clothes From High School Region

* Dishes That I Really Like But Will Never Use Because They Are Not A Complete Set

I think you get the general idea. I like my clutter, I like my stuff. I like things around me and I can’t get enough!

So, here’s the deal. I no longer do lights because, although I am old, I have been on this earth long enough to make the grown up decision that life it too short to NOT have a pre-lit tree. Therefore, my trees are pre-lit (as I should have been before I started this project) since the year after pre-lit trees were available to the general public. The first year they were too outrageously priced.

The coveted pre-lit tree makes its way through our attic, down the staircase, living room and finally plugged in the socket. Our forever-lit tree was not responding to the forever-running electrical current we had just generously provided.

Apparently, it is not a FOREVER-lit tree because that would be like making a promise to the consumer. It is just an EVER-lit tree because it will last until WHENEVER it decides to stop being lit. This was the year my tree quit being lit.

That’s alright, we’ll get another pre-lit tree and we can deal with this tree later. I have issues about throwing things away. I would rather save them until I find the perfect recipient.

Off to K-Mart we go, Martha’s calling and I can hear her loud and clear. David and I enter the tree area and I am somewhat disappointed by the choices provided by Ms. Stewart. I finally decide upon the Martha Stewart Everyday Holiday 4.5′ Berry Mountain pre-lit Tree.

As we gazed at this tree I realized what a freakin’ grandmother I have become. I am actually looking at a tabletop tree. How pathetic is that? What’s even worse, is that I don’t want a tall tree because the cats will go up into it! So now I am a freakin’ grandmother worrying about my cats climbing my tree. Wait, it gets worse.

It is a flocked tree, the signature tree of all grandmothers! It is the Mother Flocker of All Christmas Trees.

“Grab it, let’s go,” I whisper to my husband who hoists the mighty tree over his left shoulder and proceeds to the checkout. Wow, give the man an ax and a red-plaid shirt and he could be my personal lumberjack and for less than fifty bucks we are back in business.

And as for the cats? I take apart every single one of the gazillion red ornaments and reassembled them back on the tip of the branches without using any hooks. This way my cats wouldn’t be tempted to bat around the little glass bulbs and our tree will not be their playhouse.

Humorous yet necessary disclaimer: Although I wrote this post in a few years ago, I need to stress that I never received a tree from Martha Stewart. When I was doing a quick search for a picture to go with this article I found the actual tree that I had purchased a few years ago. Being the generous soul that I am and since it is the holidays, I threw Martha a bone by included the link within my recycled post.

The year was 1980 …

The year was 1980.

Everyone was getting high. Why should I be any different?

The year was 1980 …

The year was 1980.

There were about ten of us. Co-workers, friends, rafting, camping. You know, back to nature. Apparently I was the last to know there would be crack.

Me And My Deer, Photo Essay

Storage Unit Series, Barbie Ken and ZZ Top

After years of living in separate Rubbermaid totes, Barbie was reunited were her old pals Ken and Alan.

“Some things never change,” thought Barbie. “You would think after all these years Ken and Alan would stop exposing their junk,” she laughed heartily recalling old times. Of course, the old times were before the incident. It seems like just yesterday when Alan injured his knee during the hostile war between Mattel and Colorforms.

Even before the guys met Barbie, Ken was the brain and Alan was the brawn. Decades had past since what they now called “the incident” and slowly the dynamics of their relationship became reversed. No longer able to play tennis or scuba dive, Alan’s role was relegated to more physically simple tasks such as surgery or accounting. Ken, still refusing to wear pants during any circumstances, came up with the idea of Dumpster Diving for spare parts.

As Ken and Alan revealed their latest find to Barbie, they started singing in perfect unison,

She’s got legs, she knows how to use ‘em
She never begs, she knows how to chose ‘em
Were holdin’ legs, wonderin’ how to use ‘em
I’d love to get behind ‘em
Hey Barbie would you mind ‘em
She’s my baby, she’s my baby
Yeah, it’s alright.

Barbie laughed out loud as they presented the bendable legs. “Those are Francie‘s legs!”

“We don’t care who they came from, Barbie,” said Alan. “For years I listened to you tell me to grow a pair. I know you were referring to my junk but I had a lot of time to think while we were in separate totes. I knew if I ever got out of the storage unit I planned to find a pair and ask you to be mine. When Ken suggested Dumpster Diving and I saw the legs, well the plan took on a life of it’s own.”

Unable to keep her mouth shut any longer, Tressy interrupted the conversation. “I have alopecia,” she sobbed. “Did your Dumpster Diving get you any closer to helping me?”

Barbie sneered. “It’s always about you, isn’t Tressy.”

Tressy lowered her eyes in shame, knowing that this was Alan’s time to be optimistic.

Barbie’s slightly moldy face broken into a grin.

“I did a little Dumpster Diving of my own, Tressy,” said Barbie as she broke into song.

I’ve got heads, you’ll know how to use ‘em
I’ve got heads, juts try not to lose ‘em
I’d love to let you have ‘em
Girl, you’ve got to have ‘em
These heads are alright.

And for the four friends, separated for decades in the storage unit, it was as though they had always been together. They laughed with gusto, reliving old times and looking forward to new times with better body parts. Barbie vowed to share Ken and Alan with Tressy.

Tressy wasn’t thinking about their reunion or the generous gift of spare heads and attractive wigs. She was wondering if anyone would notice what happened during their years apart. This was worse than Alan’s knee, worse than Barbie’s mold tinged face, more disgraceful than Ken’s diminutive package. This was about the damage caused by Brainsuckers. “How long before anyone notices”, wondered Tressy.

Do you want the story continued?

Storage Unit Series, Smurfs Galore

I love my stuff. I love to see my stuff and be surrounded by my stuff. A tremendous amount of my stuff has been in our rented storage unit for the past few years. Bit by bit and box by box I bring home my trinkets and treasures. And now it is time to shared my stuff with my readers.

Smurfs. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, there is nothing in between. My recent trip to the storage unit was like a sweet trip down Smurf Street.

I unearthed the Smurf firetruck.

And the Smurf bus.

There’s a very boring blank spot in my kitchen directly above the kitchen sink. I’ve nailed up a bunch of vintage wooden drawer inserts to make some shelves.

I’ve already put my Gumby and Pokey collection in place.

And now the Smurf mobiles are parked beneath my posing, bendable friends.

And yes, I know there are some vintage fingerprints on the roof of the Smurf bus.

And if I had some Smurf size C.S.I. tape, I would have surrounded the shelf with it.

Now off we go to the plush Smurfs.

This dirty little sucker had a bath in hot water and Tide with bleach.

Uh oh, PaPa Smurf cannot sit straight. I’ll show you why.

Poor Papa Smurf spent too much time in the storage unit.

He has a serious case of Wasp Nest Ass.

A picture so great, I had no choice but to show it twice!

The end.

DNR Urges Deer Hunters To Shoot Feral Pigs

Do you live in Wisconsin?

• Do you have problems with feral pigs?
• Are they Rural Feral pigs that ended up homeless because of the economy?
• Are they from the ‘Hood Ganstah-Rappin’ Wannabe Feral pigs?
• How can you tell if a feral pig has a gang tattoo? Could it be plain ol’ dirt?
• Wanna hear a dirty joke? Two pigs fell in the mud.
• Can rural pigs fly?

Please read this article from our local newspaper and answer these questions listed above.

MADISON — If you’re a Wisconsin deer hunter who also has a small-game license, the state invites you to shoot some feral pigs this season.

The state Department of Natural Resources says feral pigs carry diseases and are highly destructive. So the agency is allowing qualified hunters to shoot any feral pigs they see during the nine-day gun deer-hunting season.

There’s no limit to the number of feral pigs a hunter can shoot. Landowners don’t need a hunting license to shoot feral pigs on their own land. Anyone else can shoot one as long as they have the proper license, as well as landowner permission if they’re on private land.

However, hunters have to be sure the pigs are truly feral. Domesticated pigs sometimes escape, and hunters who kill one can be liable for its replacement cost.

Feral pigs, can they fly? If yes, how will it affect 2009 Duck Hunting? Are we close enough to Canada to make a difference with their geese? Talk amongst yourself.

Don’t Worry, It Will Probably Taste Alright

If you only have time in your life to read one blog that isn’t mine, I would recommend you spend some time with Scribbit. She’s got it all. Great giveaways, product reviews, recipes, and much much more.

This is the very first time I’ve tacked one of her recipes. I should have known better but the details sounded heavenly and the picture was fabulous.  You can check it out by clicking here.  Scribbit’s cake looked beautiful. I had cake envy.

I had all the ingredients. I had the time. And even though we are in the middle of what was declared an “Indian Summer Saturday” by local weathermen I was in an Autumn kind of mood and Old Fashioned Caramel Cake certainly sounded like it would meet all of my needs.

I make all my cakes and cookies from scratch. We usually eat the cakes out of the 9×13 pan in which they’ve been baked. I tried to fancy it up a little bit by using a bundt pan instead of the two round pans Scribbit recommended.

My cake was not beautiful but the house smells really good.

I tried to use some old fashioned photography tricks to try to capture my subject (the cake) in the best way possible so that I could truly hide the flaws. Often used with aging starlets, the edges of your subject are blurred ever so slightly and as a result wrinkles and other faults of the aging process are eliminated. Often times, the photographer is so skilled that you may not even notice. I’ve included a few samples as an opportunity to point out the blurring process.

Now that you have familiarized yourself with the blurring process, I present to you my version of Scribbit’s cake.

And as I was reassured by my fifteen year old daughter, “Don’t worry, it will probably taste alright.”  Here’s hoping.

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