Posts Tagged ‘humor’

bats in the belfry.

August 3, 2010

So I have been seriously slacking in updating over here… and for that, I apologize.  I wish I could say that it’s because I’ve been SO busy doing something SO important, but that would be a lie.  I’ve mostly just been providing my couch with some great company and the ass dent that its been missing, while snuggling up with a bunch of really good books.

Yesterday I had the day off (for no real reason in particular) and I was looking forward to another lazy day.  I slept in and the house was quiet as I made my way downstairs to let the dog out in the morning.  I opened the front door and something big and black made a screeching noise, like something out of the Alien movies, and flew at me.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

A BAT? In my fucking house.  I immediately broke into hysterical screams and ran around like a banshee as the thing was circling overhead.  The 70 pound dog was hiding behind me (thanks for the help, buddy) and the cats were equally as useless grooming themselves in the corner.

It finally landed on the couch (um, ew), and I grabbed a broom to give it a little knock to hopefully guide that fucker safely out the door.  He didn’t budge.  His little slimy membraneous body just sat there.  I swear he rolled his beady eyes at me as he made that awful hissing sound.

On to plan B.  I grabbed a box (an empty case of beer, obviously) and tossed it over the little bastard, then paced around wondering how to now get the BOX outside.  A few minutes later, I heard his bat noise coming from the OTHER side of the room.  What the hell?  He had somehow managed to shimmy his way out from under the box!  Apparently I was messing with the David fucking Copperfield of the bat world.

I knew I was going to need reinforcements.  (OF COURSE this happens while I am home alone).  I called my roommate, she couldn’t make it home.  So I then proceeded to call just about every man I know in a 30 mile radius.  Surely someone would come to my rescue.

Roughly 40 minutes later (while I was hiding out upstairs in my room), Kyle arrived.  He dropped phrases like “bat rabies” and “disease” and tried to calm me down.  Um, thanks?   We somehow managed to get the box back on top Mr. Copperfield and slid him out towards the door.  We got him out on the porch and remove the box.  He just sits there. 

FLY AWAY, BAT.

He doesn’t move. 

Great, is he hurt?  Now, not only do I get to have a bat in my house but a guilty conscience as well.  Kyle throws the box over him again and sneaks up on him with a shovel.  Part of me was hoping he’d just slam the shovel down hard on the box and put us all out of our misery.  (Sorry, PETA).  But instead, he slid the shovel under the box and picked it up.  He walked the box across the street, dropped it, and walked away.

Watching from the window, a few minutes later I saw a black blob get up and fly away.

See ya later, sucker.

…And all I wanted to do was sit on my couch.  But now there’s bat germs all over it.

Yuck.

Q

like a homeless dude to a crack pipe.

June 4, 2010

I have a confession to make… I’m an addict.

No, don’t worry.  It’s not drugs or alcohol, or even sex (well ok… maybe sex?).  There’s one little thing that can draw me in like a bee to honey – I’m addicted to buying pretty sundresses. (*GASP*)

There, I said it.

I know what you’re thinking: “But Q, you have a closet FULL of sundresses.  There’s really no need to buy more.”  and you would be right.  There is absolutely no need.  I own one (or several) in just about every color Roy G. Biv has to offer.

Now, I’ve never been much of a girly girl.  I don’t broadcast news of my periods or love Nicholas Sparks movies.  I like punk rock and PBR’s, but I just can’t help myself.  I’m a sucker for soft material, lovely colors, and a short hemline. When I wander into a store, I’m not even thinking about satisfying my “fix”, then my eyes wander over the selection and I see it.  Sticking out like a whore in church, it calls to me. (Cue the angelic choir music).

I’m sorry, but there’s just something awesome about it being all breezy and al fresco “down there” on a hot day.  And better yet, for us relatively style-deprived broads, it’s a FULL outfit in one piece of clothing.  What could be easier?

So, I’ll see you at the Gap in an hour?

Q

i am woman… hear me roar?

May 20, 2010

It always kind of cracks me up (and kind of makes me proud) to see a really feminine women doing rather masculine jobs or tasks.

Yesterday in the city I saw a full fledged no-joke police woman with 1″ long hot pink finger nails, pearls, 5 dangley bracelets, and Marilyn Monroe-esque red lipstick.    Granted, for all I know she could be a drag queen on the way to provide “entertainment” to a local bachelor party, but I really like to picture her chasing and cuffing a perp while rocking that get up.

The things I think of as being “grown up” or “womanly” are kind of silly and haven’t really changed that much since I was little.  When I was kid, I imagined that you just hit a certain age and you start wearing pearls, miraculously become an expert at applying makeup, and automatically know how to get in/out of a car while wearing a skirt without flashing your neighbors.   (For the record, I still haven’t mastered either of these things).

My friend “J” must be more grown up than me because she is so good at doing that thing that all Grandmothers can do – cook something amazing without even using a recipe.  (How do they do that?!)  She likes to throw her ideas into recipes for me, and they always crack me up…

For example (note how scientific she is! ha!):

Pre-heat oven to 400 deg

Chop up and mix together all or most of the following:

Ground Turkey (1 pound)

Spinach (I used half a bag of defrosted spinach).  Kale would also work.

Flax seeds (palm full)

Onions (half an onion finely chopped)

2 eggs

Capers or olives (wing it….)

Garlic (3 cloves)

Cup of quinoa

Salt (wing it)

Pepper (wing it)

Chili powder (wing it)

Pepper sauce (optional- wing it)

Make the balls (they will be ball-like, but probably flat on the bottom).  Plop them on a baking sheet (spray to keep from sticking).  Cook them for 10 min.  Move them around.  Cook them until they’re cooked.  Move them around more just for kicks if you remember.

After cooking, I used a homemade tzatziki (google, but it takes: garlic, lemon juice, greek yogurt, cucumbers, olive oil) as the sauce or just buy it at trader joe’s or other grocery store

I also threw some olives and feta on top of it all for good measure.  It might be good to mix these in the meatballs.

I’m considering adding peppers next time.

Wingin’ it,

Q

why my dog has a sense of humor.

May 13, 2010

I have been enjoying my dog’s hilarious ability to pick the most random and unsettling objects to poop on.  I think he gets some pleasure out of making it increasingly difficult (and unpleasant) for me to pick up his poo.

My personal favorites thus far:

1.  A thorny bush (“try sticking your hand in that!”)

2. A dead squirrel (which I didn’t notice until I was bent down and my hand was very sickeningly close to said dead squirrel.  ew.)

3.  Three foot high weeds.  I couldn’t even FIND the poop when he was done, let alone actually get down there to pick it up.

OR, are dogs capable of plotting an elaborate plan for revenge?  I wonder if this has something to do with the reindeer antlers that I forced him to wear last Christmas…

** This is my first post in the great big Internet World, and it is about Poop.  Just a taste of the many highly intelligent, awesome things to come out of my mouth (er- fingers?) for as long as I actually decide to keep up with this.

(I briefly considered doing an “about me” introduction thing, but then I thought more about it… and the more I thought about that, the more that sounded stupid.)

So, there you have it.  I chuckle at poop.

Fondly-

Q

(Can't you sense his misery?)