Category Archives: Hilarity

On the Short Side

Let me start out by saying I’m used to being the short kid on the block. I’m 5’2. I’m so short that it actually weirds me out to meet people shorter than I am. It’s like I’m suspicious that they’re suddenly going to unzip their skin and a taller person is going to unfold and step out like something out of a cartoon. Because…you know…that could happen.

I’m also used to being the weird kid on the block. It’s cool.

But what I never seem to get used to is all the problems that crop up when you’re short. Here’s my list of annoyances in no particular order:

1) When tall people put things on shelves. Seriously. My husband is 6’2. He puts things on high shelves because to him it’s eye level or just above. To me, it’s Siberia. I know it’s there but I couldn’t tell you anything else about it. This becomes a huge deal when he does things like move the coffee filters from the bottom shelf of the kitchen cabinet to the top shelf and I can’t make my morning coffee. Don’t mess with my caffeine. It makes up half of my genetic material at this point.

2) Trying to kiss a tall person. I mentioned my husband is 6’2. That’s a foot taller than me, folks. The logistics of trying to land a kiss correctly gets pretty interesting. Calf cramps hurt, and I have no sense of balance. I’ve been known to tip over trying to make out with him. It may have been cute to him the first couple times, but five years later not so much. At least not to me. I’m a fully grown woman; I don’t want to fall over like a heavy-headed toddler.

3) Capris. THEY LIE. They do not hit you at the right place in your leg and you either wind up looking oompa loompa short or like you’re wearing rapper shorts. Man rapper, not the tiny little things the girls in the video wear. It’s not attractive.

4) Regular pants. “Short” lengths seem to only go to my ankles and regular lengths go an inch (or more) past my shoes. It’s a hazard! I once got my pants stuck in a door that slammed shut behind me and almost depants-ed myself because I was moving and my pants were not. Instead I wound up faceplanting while trying to hang into my jeans so I didn’t show everyone I work with my underwear! Jeebus. Someone had to open the damn door for me so I could even stand up. My life is ridiculous sometimes. Just last night I caught my toe in my pajama pants, tripped, and left a faceprint on my balcony door.

5) The sun visor in your vehicle. It’s a damn tease. You want it so bad, but nope, it isn’t gonna help you even a little bit.

I’m sure tall people have their problems too (I have personally seen my husband whack his head numerous times on low doorways. It’s funny every time.) but short people have our own unique problems with the world. Maybe that’s why we tend to rant on when we’re angry? πŸ˜‰

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Marriage and the Antibiotic Olympics

I’ve mentioned before how the Mr. has been struggling with his health, especially over the last year. First he had digestive issues and then he developed a diabetic ulcer on the ball of his foot that he’s struggled with for nearly a year now. He took as much sick time and short-term disability as he could from his job, but eventually it reached a point where his job felt forced to let him go and he lost his insurance. Trying to get insurance through the state (my job does not offer any health insurance) has been a whole other herd of lions to fight, and in the meantime, he was unable to keep receiving the medical care he had been getting and things got bad for him – and then they took a turn for the worst.

He wound up being hospitalized for three weeks, guys. Diabetes, bone infection, and sepsis are no joke. They will take your body and hold it hostage. The man has been through so many powerful antibiotics that I almost believe he could be immune to herpes at this point.

When a bone becomes infected, there isn’t much they can do. Even with aggressive antibiotic therapy it can still spread and spread quickly – even to your blood. And since your blood goes everywhere in your body it is extremely dangerous. He wound up having the second toe and some of one of the long bones in his foot amputated and was still so septic he had to remain in the hospital for an extended amount of time.

So much time that we wound up spending our very first wedding anniversary in the hospital. I had a grilled ham and cheese sandwich and a piece of cheesecake, in case you were wondering. It was delicious.

It was also not at all how I expected our first wedding anniversary to go, you know? Not that I ever put too much thought into my expectations for it, but still. Everybody always hints around that when you get married your relationship changes, but I didn’t really expect mine to. We had been together for four years beforehand. We had weathered serious issues in that time – the death of his father and subsequent family turmoil, a child custody arrangement on my end, moving in together and job changes. Getting married never mattered much to me but it was so important to him that it became important to me as well. It was less than two months later he developed the ulcer and the issue continued to snowball from there. I certainly didn’t expect the “in sickness and in health” portion of those canned wedding vows to become so front and center so soon.

And while those canned wedding vows may be the standard in wedding ceremonies, I am still me and I still have my shining sense of humor that has gotten me through the many shitty hands of cards that life has dealt me over the years. This whole experience has taken its toll on the Mr., and it breaks my heart to see him so down.

So I made it my personal mission to make him smile in some way every day. The man is my best friend and he puts up with all of my shenanigans and special quirks. He knows my house may be messy, but by god my towels will be folded just so and put in a certain place in the closet. He knows I like sweet, cold things just before bed and that I will always throw my leg over his in my sleep, almost like I’m afraid he’s going to jump up and make a run for it. Losing a toe and some bone? That’s ok, babe. It doesn’t change a thing about how I feel toward you. I’m still going to treat you the same and make fun of you just as much. It’s how I show my affection.

And with that in mind I contacted a friend of mine who makes shirts upon request. And BAM, these beauties came into fruition:

 

 

I know that second one has a small print, but it says “You can count on me, but only to 19!” πŸ˜‰

Everyone who snickered at me when they said marriage changes things was absolutely right. That man is stuck with me now, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

The Pasta on the Floor

With school having started back up now, I am determined to cook more meals for my family. It sounds great, but half the time I’m running around like a crazy person and then I realize it’s time for dinner and I dint have a plan for it.

Yesterday I decided to make my chicken pasta – one of the girls’ faves and there’s aways leftovers to heat up for lunch the next day. I was excited. I went to the store, got my ingredients, came home, and got busy. I’m frying bacon to crumble, I’m cooking chicken, I’m even chopping veggies up to make the Mr. his own meal since he’s diabetic and can’t have all the carbs pasta brings to the table. As soon as my chicken gets done I throw my pasta in to boil while I crumble bacon and shred chicken. I make my sauce and toss is the whole shebang in a pan and sprinkle on parmesian cheese so it can bake for a bit and all the flavors mix together.

Twenty minutes later, the small wafting through my apartment has me drooling. I’m done waiting. So I throw open the oven, grab my potholders, grab onto my pan…and proceed to slip and flip the pan upside down as I pull it out. I now have pasta all over the bottom of my oven, all over the oven door, and trailing onto my kitchen floor.

The Mr. hears all of the commotion and comes running, worried I injured myself, and finds me staring blankly at this disaster and trying not to cry. I see him, panick for some weird reason, and reach down to grab my pan. I immediately throw it back down because, of course, it’s still blazing hot from being in the freaking oven.

I am the reason we can’t have nice things. Also, our pizza last night was delicious, thanks.

Kate Daniels is My Long Lost Bestie

I’m a bookworm. Always have been, always will be. I remember very clearly my sixth grade teacher once telling me to “get a life” when I turned in the number of books I’d read that week. In hindsight – what an asshole – but that’s generally the attitude I’ve always gotten when people uncover my bookish ways. Usually when they open my closet and see the shelves groaning under the weight of hundreds of books I’ve not been able to part with over the years. I may have switched to Kindle now (under duress!), but there is a certain magic in holding a book in your hands, the smell of paper and ink drifting to you as you turn the pages as fast as you can because you want to know where the story takes you next.

I also lean toward series of books, probably for the same reasons people get into tv shows. I want to see what happens afterward, I want to see characters develop and change. And one of my very favorites is the Kate Daniels series. If you haven’t read it and you like an alternate/world, little bit si-fy flavor, you’ll likely love it as much as I do. Particularly if you’re into mythology. The world building is these books is incredible, but the character development is just as amazing. Kate has insecurities and struggles just like us,  sometimes it’s hard to push through and let herself be happy, and she always gets knocked on her ass when she feels like she’s getting somewhere.

Hmm. Does that seem familiar to anyone else? No? Yeah, me neither.

Anyways, if you’re into reading you should absolutely give this series a chance. 

Upcoming Birthday Shenanigans

I have an idea.

Scary, I know. But I’m really excited about this. 

My mama’s birthday is coming up in November and she truly needs some fun in her life right now. And today on my lunch, it hit me: an intervention.

Don’t get me wrong. She doesn’t have a substance abuse problem. It won’t be that kind of intervention.

It’s for shooting opossums.

Let me explain: she owns a farm that’s about 70 acres and keeps getting stray cats dumped on her. She feels terrible for them, so she leaves food out so they don’t go hungry. Of course, since there’s food around, it attracts scavengers like raccoons and opossums and they attack the cats. So my mama shoots them. 

Let me tell you, I have seen my mother run across a house with a gun and no pants waaay too many times. #farmerproblems?

I’m just in the beginning stages of this little plan, but so far I plan to have friends and family writing letters explaining how her “problem” has affected all of our lives (mine is going to be about having to help with body disposal) and consequences if she doesn’t stop (I’m going to make her bag up her own dead critters), a cake in the shape of an opossum that’s been shot – not in the head though (gross!), and varment-themed snack foods.

I’m ridiculously excited to put this together!

Those Wedding Bells Finally Rang

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Except they didn’t because we didn’t get married at a church because they tend to frown on people like me.

What can I say about that day? It was exciting, it was nerve-wracking and stressful trying to get everything done. We made it, we got married, and then I almost starved because they made me get pictures done while everyone else was eating. I had a great picture of me taken while trying to cram a whole cupcake in my mouth for that first-dance thing. I haven’t seen it yet,but I bet it’s a thing of beauty.

For the wedding, we rented a shelter at the park where we had our first (this is so not a date) date. Here’s my brother helping with setting up our decorations:

And my fabulous sister-in-law:

​My un-biological sister:

​And my lovely aunt, who hurt her foot and leg a few days before the wedding, but came anyways to help decorate:

All of whom I owe massive thanks to for helping me pull off my wedding. They showed up early, they showed up injured, and what they pulled off was better than I imagined. They hung lights, they hung paper lanterns, they hung balloons, they stapled down tablecloths and wrapped ribbons and made centerpieces. It was amazing! You can see some of it here:

​The wedding itself was short and sweet, but very Christian – Darrick did have his requests after all. I figured I owed him since he puts up with my shenigans. Like slapping him with raw bacon.

I haven’t gotten all my pictures back yet, but here’s some teasers:​

I’m trying very hard not to laugh in that one because Sophie had just farted.​

​​That sign says “lost my balls.” I’m so proud.​

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It was an amazing night, and everything I could have asked for except one thing – my dad. I held it together all day. I was too busy and nervous for anything else. It wasn’t until the ride home alone with Darrick that I let myself feel that missing piece and started crying.

He held my hand and said nothing. 

Morning Shenanigans

I got up at five this morning to shower and try to do something with my face to make it more presentable, and had a little bit of time before waking up the girls.

I got bored.

I had already slathered my hair with theΒ  plethora of products to try to tame it down and still had the hair gel by me. I look at it.

I look back at Darrick, looking comfy as all get out with his arms propped up behind his head and snoring like it pays him money.

He has no hair on his head….but he has armpits.

This morning, he woke up to teeny, tiny dreadlocks in places I’m pretty sure he never expected.

L is for Look, An Idiot

I love to make people laugh. It’s just how I’m wired; it must be the Sagitarius nature.Today, the new materials planner at work came over to my square of the plant floor.

I think he was sorry.

I happened to be speaking to the receiving coordinator at the time, and he joined in our conversation. At one point he said, “I’m quick!” and we both heard, “I quit.”

The receiving coordinator freaks out and the poor guy immediately backtracks to correct our impression. Then he gets to joking around and says, “What would I do with my three kids?”

I chip in with “Well, you eat them.”

He looks at me aghast. I have to continue.

“That way, you can survive longer since you have no money for food, and you don’t have to worry about feeding them or what they’re doing.”

Probably not the right thing to say, but boy was his face hilarious.

D is for Door. Mostly Because I Just Walked Into One.

We have a lot of automatic doors at my workplace. Usually, it isn’t a problem. They’re actually entertaining. The sensor doesn’t see you if you come at it from an angle and it’s funny to watch people wave and jump to get its attention. Occasionally people walk into it because they don’t realize the doors didn’t open. One day when I came in, a big panel was missing off of one – turns out someone had hit it with the forks on a hilo because…idiots? I dunno. I’m sorry I missed that one.

But I’ve never had a door start to open and then just stop until today. I had ny head turned talking to a lady driving the tugger cart and damned if I didn’t slam into it with my left boob. She dies laughing and actually has to stop the tugger before she accidently hits someone, I’m hopping around hanging onto my very sore and angry lady bit, and I realize that’s going to leave a bruise.

Well, shit. How am I going to explain that one?

Because while I didn’t mind being the butt of a joke because of my ability to hurt myself in strange and often inexplicable ways, I do occasionally like to be taken seriously by my fiance and I’m not sure he can do that if he finds out I walked into a door that automatically opens…even if it wasn’t my fault.

Stupid door.

Maybe I’ll just tell him a stray llama bit me. That’s believable, right?

B is for Beauty Disasters

I am not a girly girl. Hell, I never even realized clothes should match until maybe fifth or sixth grade. I had no idea about hair products until junior-highish. It’s pretty safe to say I don’t really know what I’m doing.

I’m also one of those people who will spend two hours looking up hairstyles on Pinterest before having a “Eureka! I can do that!” moment.

I should really know better by now. Remember my Minecraft birthday cake? It’s just a few entries down if not. It was so bad I actually looked for a toy dinosaur to blame the wreckage on.

So I really shouldn’t have been surprised by my morning experience two days ago…but I was.

I had a plan to use a round brush while blowdrying my hair so I would have these big, bouncy curls instead of confused, almost corkscrewy Medusa-like creations that I just try not to anger in the mornings. It was gonna be great. I washed my hair, I had all my stuff together, and I even had a brand new brush all ready. I was so excited.

I took off the towel and picked up the brush, started at the end of my wet hair,curled upward to my scalp, and started blowdrying. I was almost trembling with excitement (yeah…it doesn’t take much to thrill me. I know).

And then I tried to roll the brush back down.

It was stuck.

I don’t mean a little bit. I mean it was stuck so bad there was no give. In the next five minutes, I go from “what the hell?” to “omg, how did my hair somehow wrap around this thing in both directions?” The next fifteen minutes are spent yanking and wiggling and trying to pry my traitorous hair out of the bear trap disguised as a hairbrush. It was so bad I almost woke Darrick up and tell him to get some butter or something. Anything. I was desperate.

It was starting to look like my choices were either a new pixie cut or go to work with it still in my hair and act like I meant to pretend I was a demented unicorn, but I finally got it out. I did.

I lost a big handful of hair, had a horrible headache from yanking my own hair, and had some swollen places on my scalp…but I got it.

Lesson learned. Don’t try to normal people when I am NOT one of them.