Archive for the ‘ Like a game show but without good prizes ’ Category

Look what’s new and Mardi Gras

Well, I know… It ain’t all that. And I don’t use the word “ain’t” lightly. Sometimes there’s just a place for it. It’s not the old HalfAsstic mast head with all the style and flair, yet it’s not that ridiculous country lane with the dude skulking off in the distance making you wonder what the hell he’d been up to and is he about to break into a run, and are those police lights coming up the road behind him and is he staggering?

Yeah. One of the many default looks, but it got old fast and never looked remotely HalfAsstic.

This one? Not perfect, yet much better.

 

Now, I am going to try to do better about posting. You have probably heard that from me in the past few years, and I meant it, too. Every single time.

John and I went to Mardi Gras in Galveston the other day. We were invited by a distributing company that supplies beer to his store. We were part of a private party that was on a balcony on The Strand and it was very la tee da.

I’m not sure how much my readers all know about Mardi Gras. It is a very southern experience, and if you’re not from down here it’s probably not something the typical person would know anything much about.

Being on a balcony we were expected to throw beads. Lots and Lots of beads.

 

This was inside, and really I didn’t spend too much time here. Mostly I was freezing my ass off outside with John.

It was so packed out there it was almost impossible to take pictures except of the street below. And it was too far away for the flash to work well, so really? Not too many good pictures of the crowd or parade.

See the necklaces with the really big beads on John’s and my neck? Guess what the crowd below is expected to do in order to get one of those thrown to them?

Mardi Gras etiquette. No, really. I’m serious.

The first person to respond in comments with the correct answer, I will do something… fabulous for.

Did I mention, it got a bit nippy out there?

Cooooold John

Heh! When he finally remembered he wore a shirt with a hood, he didn’t bother to pull his bling to the outside of it before cinching it up. He is holding my drink along with his beer in order for me to take the picture.

All he needs is a couple of cute, long, white ears and he’d look just like the little white bunny on Craig Ferguson.

When it finally became too cold for us to adequately distribute beads we moved on inside and were entertained by none other than Elvis.

Fer Real, people.

And not the old, fat Elvis in the white jumpsuit, either. This guy sounded EXACTLY like him, too.

We chatted with friends, had a few drinks, and danced a good deal. Eventually Elvis had a wardrobe change and came back like this:

He was singing all his hits and we were having a ball. While John and I were out there “getting down”, he all of the sudden grinned and pointed over my shoulder. When I turned around, Elvis was…. making advances to me.

I quickly accessed the situation, ran my hands up and down his chest then threw my arms around his neck and he dipped me.

I don’t think he ever stopped singing or got too far away from the microphone. Very talented professional.

But what would you expect from Elvis?

We met a lot of interesting people…

And had a lot of fun.

I wish you could have all been there with us!

 

 

Hello people! I hope each and every one of you are having the fun filled, chocolate covered, prelude to a sugar induced coma kinda Valentine’s Day that you do so deserve!

NO! TRULY!

How old, unromantic and downright frumpy does it make me that I just want a new washer and dryer?

I know. Pathetic, right?

However, I am only moments away from being overcome by the odor of soiled linen. No, I don’t mean poop-soiled. Just soiled.

Our present set of laundry appliances is 12 years old… a combined age of 24. That’s older than my children.

I have treated them like gold and they are betraying me in a most unkind manner.  The washer only agitates with the bottom thingy and it appears the top thingy is now “just for looks”. Color me unimpressed.

It no longer spins fast enough to open a Downy ball. The ball is about half full when the load is done and as I retrieve it, fabric softener spills all over the “clean” clothes, making blue spots all over the stuff going into the dryer.

The dryer almost audibly laughs and mumbles something about not worrying since it won’t actually dry anything anyway. It’s not like it could make any kind of SET IN stain.

Then the dryer is started and the dogs run for cover. OK, me too. It squeaks, squeals and whines for about an hour on a medium sized load of clothes and then needs restarting.

Can you say “Energy Star”? Not at my house.

There is no longer any such thing as “laundry day” at Casa la HalfAsstic. It’s an hour by hour struggle that Never. Freakin. Ends. A constant, that rivals the Hundred Years War in monotony and probably lives lost as well.

Until now. Valentines Day will be my deliverance. SO HELP ME, GAWD!

So don’t preach to me about “romantic” until you can say what a lovely, freshly made bed I have and NOT have to avert your eyes from the damp areas and unsightly blue spots of fabric softener.

OK, I’m back!

Right. You can stop holding your breath now.

Henrietta is gone, buried and the thank you notes are done. Now, in my “what’s next” mode of mind, comes…. nothing.

This is really rather odd. There was always “something” next. The sense of freedom is at the same time titillating  and scary. I am giddy with lack of responsibility and ability to run, willy-nilly, hither and yon, doing whatever I want whenever the mood strikes me. (And a ride is available.)

I miss Henrietta, yet the sense of relief that I feel was magnified by the immense relief that she felt as she took her last breath.

The girls are having to take turns with me. They both are desirous of my attention. Every. Single. Day.

“Go with me there, Mommy!” and “Come with me here, Mommy!” is what I am hearing constantly. And no. I’m not doing all the buying.

There was a small argument over who got custody of me the other day and I was egging them on telling them how proud I would be if they got in a fight over me. Heh. It was cool. Somehow my past good parenting crap paid off and they found some sort of middle ground. I happily went with whoever and was handed off later in the day.

I am telling you, I am in demand and there is no bedpan involved.

It’s weird.

Now the scary part is, well, financial as much as anything else. I need to find a way to replace the money that was coming into the household via Henrietta’s annuity.

Remember, I don’t drive due to a visual handicap I acquired in a 1978 automobile accident/head injury. All my other people drive, yet have jobs and/or go to school. So they are going to be undependable as far as reliable transportation.

I am sloooowly turning my thoughts towards that foot massager and the line of men that H was convinced I had filing through here paying me money for… a foot massage? I wish I was half as successful as she made me out to be. 😉

Meanwhile, in other parts of Gotham City…

My brother Cam, remember? The rock star? Yes, well he’s published, again. This time a British magazine named Web Designer has included his Periodic Table of Typefaces in their rather pricey pages. I have never paid $15.00 for a magazine before, much less bought three of them.

Yes, I really must love you, Cam… Anyway, congrats to you, bro!

I will get back soon and try really hard to catch up on my blog reading! Things are just starting to slow down around here!

Oh, and right before Henrietta passed I had announced a contest! It’s back on! Read these rules and let me hear from everyone! This is truly a wonderful pile of shit valuable cash and prizes I’m going to be giving away!

Me, me, me, meeeeeeeeeeee

Oh. No. That’s not right…. Meme.   That’s what I meme to say. (HA!  That’s what I MEME to say!) I am telling you, you do NOT want to hear me sing.  It’s worse than my bad puns.

Ree, over at Hotfessional tagged me for a meme and, conformist that I am, I must comply!  The rules are:

No running around the pool, one at a time on the diving board, eat all your vegetables before you get dessert, and finally, do your homework before you go outside and play.

Comply, or face the consequences.

Now this is going to be a list of seven things about me and I will be tagging seven of you guys whose blogs I love to read.  Then, like the good little girls and boys you are, YOU will be doing the same.

Yes you will! I can find you, you know.  Ha ha ha!  I jest!  Maybe.

1. I love when my 19 year old daughter actually needs me to help her with a regular life problem that she hasn’t dealt with before.  I went with her to the tire place this morning for her to get a defective tire replaced.  It was warranted by the place and all, but she wanted… backup, I guess.  We had a nice time, which is a weird thing to say about going to a tire store.  Yesterday I showed her how to check the oil in her car, and was mortified that she hadn’t already been shown.

2. I am horrible about starting projects and never finishing them.

3. I absolutely loved being pregnant.

4. But not as much as having a baby.  Well, not having the baby, but having already had the baby… you know.

5. I would give almost anything to have the time and money for John and I to go to visit my brother, sister-in-law and nephew in Italy.

6. I love to cook new dishes and am continually frustrated by being short ONE INGREDIENT.  It’s like Satan is writing the damn recipes and has inventoried my kitchen beforehand.

7. I would give just about anything to hear from some of the people that I can see check in on my blog on a very regular basis and never comment.  Not because I’m a comment whore, yes I am, but because I’m so very curious about who they are.

So there you have it.  That’s about all I can come up with and now the game will continue with me passing this on to:

1. Noe Noe Girl

2. Witchypoo at Psychicgeek

3. Janet at From the Planet of Janet

4. Jean at Working Momma 247

5. Karen at The Rocking Pony

6. Predo at Spartacus wore a skirt!

7. SSG at Confessions of a (Sometimes!) Serendipitous Girl

There it is.  Whoop it out!

Easter update.

Remember my plans to take it easy and chill out on Easter Sunday?  Well, I was well into doing that and just hanging out in my nightgown cause, hey, I could.  And John won’t be off work until late.  Henrietta plans on staying in bed and watching a DVD of The Stations of The Cross.  So I am on my hands and knees in my raggedy nightgown, scrubbing the bathroom floor, (around the toilet, no less) flitting around the house in my finest lingerie when what happens?  The *&^%$#! doorbell rings.  I looked out the window and I don’t recognize the car, can’t see the front porch from where I am and so I walk over and snatch the door open because whoever is showing up on Easter UNANNOUNCED deserves to see me like this and smell the bleach emminating from my hands and knees.  (Plus they need to be appreciative of the fact that there is no pee on the floor in my guest bathroom.)

There, followed by her SIX children is Henrietta’s grand-daughter.  The one that shows up once or twice every few years.

She said, “Sorry, I didn’t call, I lost the number.”

Dude, we are LISTED.

“We’re just going to pay a short visit.”

I was not the least bit apologetic about my appearance and the state of things.  I told her H was on the bed pan, which she was and the smell of poop probably snuck in and visited her as soon as I went in and hauled her off of it.

*Why does spell check say “snuck” is not a word?  It most certainly is… English According to Krissa.  Look it up.*

Of course then I had to dress her and put her in the wheel chair and the whole nine yards.

Those six kids must have completed the circuit of living room, breakfast area, kitchen, dining room, foyer, living room, breakfast area, kitchen, dining room, foyer… etc., a milliondy-two times.

Running.

She got here at 3:00.  It is now 3:53.  She is here to see her Mimi, not me.  I am trying to be ensconced in the riffraff room by myself, only “they” keep running in here.

Soon I will scoop out my eyeballs with a spoon.

I can see into my dining room from here and there are children hiding under the table and pulling the tablecloth down to hide themselves.  I have all my bill paying crap all over the table. (Did I mention I wasn’t expecting company?)  An avalanche of paperwork slid off the table and onto the floor.

Kids scattered like cockroaches.

The bathroom door just opened and kids came out.  If there is pee on the floor in there I will hurt someone.

All I was waiting for was H to do the poo thing so I could put in the DVD for her and I could go and take a bath and clean up for John to come home.

It is 4:10 and I just heard her say that they have to get going.

Now?  How ’bout now?  Oh, come on!  Now?

It’s 4:11 now.

I’m not having fun.  Please comment and tell me about your good holiday experience.