Ducks may be cute feathered creatures, but they’re really evil little beings. In addition to their gross poop that they leave behind on docks and decks, did you know duck rape is a real phenomenon? I’m not lying. It isn’t just human society that seems to be getting more violent, but oddly enough the same thing is happening in the world of poultry. According to scientists, ducks are behaving more and more sexually aggressive each year. Really — Google it. You’ll be shocked. And fascinated. And then come to the conclusion you know waaaaaaay more about duck sex than you ever wanted.
I noticed this strange duck behavior when I taught middle school. Why you ask? Why would I notice aggressive quackers when I was a teacher? Well, my friends, because the strange set-up of my former school placed my classroom on the border of a strange little courtyard inhabited by 10,000 of these webbed-footed demons. And I SAW their violence first-hand — and so did all my students due to the fact that the huge bay windows looked directly onto them.
Every spring was apparently mating season for my little courtyard pets and we’d hear them squawking and quacking constantly while they mated. The kids would stare in fascination and get an in-your-face-lesson on the birds and the bees gone wrong. In fact, while I administered the 7th grade Virginia Standards of Learning test to the students, I even had to report a standardized testing irregularity of “kids couldn’t concentrate due to duck rape.” Literally — the ducks’ perverted behavior became so much of a distraction that some students couldn’t even finish their exams. But seriously, who’d want to do analogies while there’s animal gang rape going on outside your window?!
I like Duck Hunt because it's as non-violent as video games come AND teaches that ducks are sick sick creatures that should be eaten with a side of plum sauce.
Plumbing is kind of like oxygen — you take it for granted until you have none. I’ve learned this after the last couple weeks of battling barfing sinks and exploding washing machines. However, I’m happy to announce that, FINALLY, our plumbing woes seem to be gone. Or, maybe not gone all the way, but at least in the realm of acceptable.
The thank you note I wrote the other day to Bob, the gurgling toilet fixer, was a tad immature. In fact, Bob, although a great guy, was a bit out of his league when it came to our drainage woes. Long story short, we had the 100 Acre Woods growing in our 100-year-old terra cotta sewer piping and it finally dawned on us to haul out the big guns of plumbing: Roto-Rooter. Of course, this was only after we sold our soul to Bob’s plumbing company and offered him our second born child for payment of the enormous bill he presented us with, but no sense in crying over spilt milk…or in this case, an overflowing toilet.
So while I wish I had something more exciting to be thankful for, my newly Roto-Rooted pipes actually make me extremely happy. As I write this I’ve done eight loads of laundry in a row and I’m considering pulling an all-nighter just to get rid of this back-log from when we were on a water ration. And while it truly seems pretty mundane, I must admit, I feel like a little kid on Christmas morning. So here’s to plumbers and the people of the world that do jobs I’d never want to do (that includes you, garbage men, proctologists, hotel maids, and pre-school teachers.) THANK YOU!
Wow. My first shopping trip to Soap.com kind of blew my mind. I mean — where else can you pick up Tide, Charmin, and The Rabbit all under one umbrella? Though I actually haven’t officially ordered anything (honestly, there’s something that really creeps me out about a company that sells both Pampers and KY Jelly), I have checked out the new website since I got a coupon for 20% from them from their sister site, Diapers.com. For those of you that haven’t been to Diapers.com, it’s great. Instead of lugging home enormous boxes of diapers and baby wipes from the market, they will be shipped to your door — for way cheaper than you can buy them at most places.
Apparently, the founders of the site have had so much success with this concept, that they decided to start another website which sells other pain-in-the-ass grocery products like laundry soap and gigantic packages of toilet paper. But the only thing about this new site, Soap.com, is that as a first time shopper, I kind of got the feeling the founders actually wanted the site’s name to be Sex.com, but since it was taken, then figured, “Aw, screw it. Let’s just sell laundry detergent AND dildos.
I’m not kidding. After I placed some sunblock and Method hand soap into my cart, I curiously clicked on the site’s “Sexual Wellness” tab. I actually thought it was going to be stuff like herbal supplements or libido enhancing teas, but much to my surprise, Soap.com stocks and ships everything from pube hair dye to black satin covered handcuffs. I’m no prude, but this honestly shocked me. Nothing in their marketing campaign hinted about them selling kinky sex toys. Even the name — Soap.com — is pretty tame.
But, I mean, I guess the whole thing kind of makes sense. Eventually, if you’re having tons of sex, the odds are that you WILL pop out a kid or two. So maybe they figured, well, we sell Huggies, why not Trojans? I almost wonder if the company will find some crazy correlation to sales of diapers and condoms. Like, if someone all of a sudden is buying cases and cases of diapers, maybe they’ll also suddenly start buying massive amounts of condoms in order to prevent future diaper deliveries? Crazy stuff.
I couldn't make this up! This is a real screen capture I took from the site. Check out the "Frequently Bought Together" suggestions -- condoms, carseats, and baby strollers! HAHAHAHAHHA
Something funny has been going on with the plumbing in our house. It all started when the washing machine pipes began making explosive farting sounds when we ran the dishwasher. Before I realized where the noise was coming from, I thought we may have a poltergeist with a flatulence problem. But when the garbage disposal started making burping noises in the middle of the night, I knew it was no ghost. However, it wasn’t until the flooding began that we decided to call Bob the Plumber to come save us from seeping toilet water and gurgling bathtub drains.
And thank god we did. Bob quickly diagnosed our plumbing woes to be caused by overgrown roots from a giant tree in the yard which is busting through our drain pipes. And thankfully, he’s coming back tomorrow with a crazy crank that grinds up any of the pesky tree parts that are clogging things up. Plus, as a bonus, he said he’s going to give us a DVD of what the inside of our sewer lines look like (apparently a tiny camera is attached to the roto-rooting device).
Frankly, I’m almost as excited about the sewer-line DVD as I am about being able to once again flush my toilet. Let me assure you, the DVD will be on (and maybe even set to music) at the next cocktail party or family gathering we host at our house.
Before Bob came by the house and gave Grey the green light to install the toilet, this is what our guest bath looked like. I was considering just putting a chamber pot over the hole in the floor with a sign saying, "Let's pretend it's the 1800s!" Luckily, now our guests can excrete in style!
For a pregnant girl who has to pee every two seconds, McDonald’s is a godsend. Yesterday, on the 9.5 hour drive from our house to Erie, I probably peed 200 times. And even though I was driving though farmland and forest, every other exit I’d still see a sign for a McDonald’s — no matter how desolate the area.
To be honest, this usually bothers me. I really don’t like the fact that ugly fast food chains are everywhere. However, one thing about this blog is that it forces me to see the good in things — and how can I deny that McDonald’s does indeed offer much better restroom facilities than some dumpy old gas station along the highway? I mean, at least at Mickey D’s you don’t need to ask some creepy clerk for a key to use the restroom around back and then fear someone’s watching you take a piss through a peephole the entire time.
Plus, after reading Fast Food Nationa few years back, I just can’t stomach the likes of McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s. However, I’m pretty much a hippocrite because I do eat Chik-fil-A, Five Guys, In-N-Out, and Bojangles. Not sure what the difference is, but for me, I look at the former as pee stations and the latter as sustenance. Now doesn’t that just make you hungry?! (Sorry if you’re a Big Mac lover…)
Let me just preface this post, that by saying for the last three days, I have looked like I should live at a dump, not just visit one. We’ve been moving into the house and Good Lord, I have really let myself go in the wake of the move. However, it’s been kind of liberating — no need for a hairdryer or a full face of makeup when you’re just going to be sifting through boxes all day long. Yesterday, I just wore my pajamas for the entire day — trips to Lowes and all. Sometimes I almost get a kick out of seeing just how disgusting I can get.
So while we’ve been unpacking all our worldly possessions, we’ve also been generating a massive amount of trash. I’d hate to just stick it out on the curb (and honestly, we have so much I can’t even believe the city would take it all), so Grey and I have discovered the joys of the county dump. As far as dumps go (and this is actually the first one I’ve visited) — it’s amazing! Not only can you go with a giant amount of recyclables that they will properly dispose of, but they also take all the random crap like anti-freeze and electronic cords that you never know what the heck to do with.
Before my dump visit, I always just thought dumps were something in cartoons. I mean, I knew they really existed, but I didn’t realize regular people could haul crap to them — I always just pictured them as places with banana peels and fish bones and some crazy dog guarding the gates. Ah! The misconceptions of waste facilities!
Of course, loading up Grey’s dad’s trailer for a trip to the dump was an event in itself. Ollie ran around like a little vagrant playing in the dust and dirt while Grey and I loaded this thing to the brim. If only it was legal to ride on the trailer and we were wearing overalls with no shirts — then we’d look like true hillbillies.
There's nothing like a good old fashioned family trip to the county dump! I like that our load seems happy and gay friendly due to the rainbow picture. I also think it's funny that Ollie is wearing mismatched shoes. Can't get too fancy for the dump!
Somehow summer just keeps roaring by and I just realized that Craig and I are leaving for India and Nepal in two weeks! While I spent a great deal of time buying a jaunty outdoors wardrobe from Patagonia and LL Bean, I sort of forgot to do the more important things like, oh you know, get my visas so I can enter the aforementioned nations. I also realized the other day that I’m not just jetting off to Milwaukee, but halfway around the world and I might need a few vaccinations before I go. You know, so I don’t come back with one leg and half a liver.
Luckily, my doctor’s office has this amazing travel nurse who will check all health advisors and epidemics in the country your traveling to and inoculate you appropriately. So in I skipped today to assure that my vacation can be a vacation and not just lots of exposure to disease.
The last time I got major vaccinations it was much less fun. In fact, it was extremely traumatizing. I was living in Hong Kong at the time and the reason I went to the doctor was not even to get a vaccine, but because I was convinced I had an alien trapped in my brain. I just woke up one morning and there was an enormous bump on my forehead. Like half an orange had been shimmied under my flesh and was taking residence on my face.
I lost my mind. I screamed so much that my then boyfriend threw me over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. Then, in the elevator to my doctor’s office some British douche bag looked at me and said “oh, an alien of the third kind.” I of course started to cry hysterically and the whole doctor’s visit was one big hysterical mess. But at the end of it all, I was able to mutter that I was leaving in Mongolia in a few weeks and I was poked and prodded with vaccinations against every disease on earth.
So this time, it was a tad less dramatic and I managed to not shed a tear as Nurse Lori saved me from a future of polio! Three cheers for modern medicine.
I swear, the bump was this big. It was like a pitcher's mound on my face. Oh, and the life size monkey is just a bonus.
I have this thing about Amish people: they scare me. I think it all goes back to a newspaper article I read like 15 years ago. It was about an Amish man that butchered his entire family and hung them up in his wood shed as if they were slaughtered deer. This is no joke, but literally the stuff of nightmares. So every time I see an Amish person, I have this terrible habit of picturing them gutting me for my hide — all from this one isolated incident. I know, it’s not fair or rational, but neither is my fear of their beards, but what can I do?
However, Karin’s post about the Pennsylvania Dutch the other day reminded me of the one reason I love the Amish — the Lemonade Fast. Have you ever done it before? I’ve noticed that in talking around, about one in five people I know have done this strange, semi-torturous cleanse. In fact, it’s known to most as “The Master Cleanser” and there’s even a small, ghetto book/pamphlet you can purchase about it, but I can sum it up for you in eight words: Drink lemonade and shit your way to health. It’s that easy.
While I would never do this cleanse (or any fast) while pregnant, I am considering doing it after I pop this ‘lil turkey out. Of course, I couldn’t do it breastfeeding either, so I’ll have to close up shop on my udders (err, boobs) so it’ll probably be a few months after the baby is born before I could even consider it, but it’s a great way to ride yourself of toxins while also losing some weight.
I’ve done several versions of the Lemonade Fast. The most memorable, was the Amish kind, where all my college roommate, Kate, and I ate for like seven days (not counting the peanut butter I scarfed with my fingers out of the jar as if it was poi in a moment of weakness) was lemon juice mixed with maple syrup, water, and cayenne pepper. We also consumed some crazy herbal fiber blends and bentonite clay that we picked up from this Amish farm outside of State College in Pennsylvania. I’ll never forget tearing into the parking lot in Kate’s Saab convertible and skidding to a dusty halt not two inches away from busting through the Amish family’s barn. They cursed us “city folk” for our recklessness and couldn’t sell us our shitting tonic fast enough, but I was just happy to escape with my life!
Kate and I: Partners in Poo
Amish people scare me more than clowns. But I defied this fear in order to purchase their cleansing potions.
Ever have something in your eye for days? Well, then, you know how sucky it is and how absolutely bat shit craaaaazy it can make you. For the last 96 hours, I had some sort of particle in my eyeball and it was making me nuts.
I honestly feel like I went through the multiple stages of grief while trying to coax the troublesome grit out — it was like I was working through job loss or divorce. First I felt denial (”Maybe if I just go to sleep I’ll wake up with a clear eye”), then frustration (”I can’t wear mascara! Crap!”, then rage (”Mother Fu*%$#!!”), then despair (”I’ll never feel normal again…”). I found myself bargaining with God that if he’d get that stupid speck out of my eye I’d never sleep in my contacts ever again and making deals with the devil promising my immortal soul in exchange for a speck-free eye. Nothing worked.
Finally, I dumped a whole bottle of eye drops into a shot glass — while wishing I could actually do a shot — and pretended I was doing an eye flush after a chemical explosion. (This is an accomplishment for me too, considering I have an eye phobia.) And Voila! Freedom!!!
OK, it’s kind of strange that this is my second thank you to a toilet maker in the last 3 months. But what I find even more bizarre, is that I’ve actually bought two toilets so recently. I mean, who buys more than one toilet every 20 years? It just seems like an odd purchase to be making so frequently. But that’s besides the point of this post…
What I found so very fascinating about this American Standard toilet is that as one of its important features, the company lists the pot’s ability to eliminate an entire “bucket of golf balls in a single flush.” Waaaaaaahhhhh????????? That seems like magic! Is it a dare? Can I go to the driving range and get a bucket of balls to test this claim? And if this commode can flush golf balls in a single flush, it begs the question — what will it do to your poop? Blast it into another dimension? Things like this really make me think.
Of course, I decided to Google the toilet on my iPhone while we were in Home Depot buying it and I came across what is quite possible the most amazing advertising I have ever seen (see video below). Apparently, not only will this potty flush golf balls, but it will also handle Barbie dolls, stuffed animals, toy soldiers, and various bottles of beauty products. After seeing this I wonder, who would buy anything else?
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