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We may be walking wounded, but we’re back!

HI!!!!

Boy, have we missed you, dear internet, and we’re sorry that we’ve been away so long. Honestly, we just needed a vacation. We’ve been writing this blog for 7 1/2 years – 2,503 posts – and we were feeling a bit sucked dry. That and our day jobs have been crazy busy with overtime and stress and we frankly didn’t have anything left after we got home.

But we’ve missed you.

So many things have happened.

We’ve had long loved pets pass away, another one disappear for 3 weeks, and yet another one come to live with us. There have been slight job changes for the better – things that will make us feel more creative again. Lots of stuff has gone on and we look forward to getting you all caught up on our shenanigans.

We thought we’d start with a ludicrous story to get us back in the groove.

There is a weird thing growing on my left thumb. It’s been there for a while – I first mentioned it on Facebook earlier this month.

fb-snip

 

I did not follow this advice, but several people commented that it wasn’t as crazy as I thought. Still, no.

I will tell you that I’ve poked it, squeezed it, stabbed it, soaked it, and pushed on it – all with no good effect. I’ve wrapped it in hot compresses and iced it. Nothing helped, in fact it looked worse.

The girls at work were certain it was a spider bite. I flat-out refused to discuss that possibility. I’m telling you, dear internet, I would not survive that diagnosis; I am that afraid of spiders. Just the thought….shiver.

I finally made an appointment with my doctor because it wasn’t going away and it seriously hurt. I was informed that I have a ganglion cyst and that I should, “leave it alone and it will go away. If you don’t like looking at it, then put a band-aid on it. Come back and see me in a month if it’s still bothering you.”

Ava started cruising the internet with this diagnosis. Her sister-in-law had one once and they whopped it with a book and it helped. Wikipedia did inform us that these are often referred to as Bible cysts because:

cyst

I’d like you to note that last part. She failed to mention that last bit of information. It seems pertinent.

She harassed me for an entire week to let me hit her with a book. She can be relentless. We have a huge one in our office that gives a horoscope reading for every day of the year. The two ladies we share our office with were skeptical but also a little blood thirsty and I firmly believe they were in. Our boss was excited at the prospect. The guy across the hall thought it was a brilliant suggestion.

Finally, by Friday the damn thing hurt so bad I caved in and let her do it. It took me three times before I could hold my hand still long enough for her to hit me. She did add her own sound effects – something that was wholly unnecessary. Her, “Thwack” was redundant compared to the actual noise of that book smashing my thumb.

I SCREAMED. LOUDLY. THERE WAS CURSING. AVA RAN AWAY. Our boss was mad that we did it without him. The rest of the office is fascinated with it and has added a laundry list of suggestions to cure it each of them more absurd than the last including covering it with Visine and using the canned air to freeze it.

I don’t think so.

Now I have an enormous purple thumb and it’s more swollen than ever. It’s richly painful and I ABSOLUTELY CANNOT LEAVE IT ALONE.

I finally got enough nerve to tell My Honey that I let her hit me. He looked at me long and hard. He finally admitted that one side of his brain thought we were idiots, but the other was just curious enough to wonder if it would have worked and understood why I finally allowed it.

And Ava’s still trying to get me to let her whop again. She’s texted me approximately 680 times over the weekend.

I’m calling the doctor tomorrow and requesting an amputation. Otherwise, Ava’s going to want to try to run it over with the car.

 

 

Always makes us excited

Oh Yay! A new Simon’s Cat is here!

Something very VERY important happened

This is the best thing that’s been on tv for months.

You’re welcome.

We’ve been pondering…

We’re not AWOL although it feels like it. We’ve been drowning in our day jobs. This month has kicked our asses to an epic degree. Amylynn has actually been leaving work at 7pm and taking her computer home to do another 4 or 5 hours after everyone has gone to bed.

It’s been horrendous. We’ve been promised that the end is near. We sure as hell hope so because our grip on our “good” attitude is tenuous at best.

BeaverssAva found this on her desk calendar and it scared the bejezus out of us. She then promptly showed it to every single person in our office because this isn’t something you should have to know on your own.

Who was the person who first tasted this and thought, “Hmmmmmm – raspberry-ish.”

Was there a bet involved, do you suppose? Some old French beaver trapper made a wagered with some Native American dude? We’ll bet very strong alcohol was involved. If not, then it should have been.

This of course led us to wonder how come raspberry-flavored stuff is always blue. Now you can add to that philosophical question how come blue if beavers are brown? To the best of our knowledge, there have never been blue beavers. Although how cool would that be, huh? Blue beavers. It’s probably best they’re not blue because then we’d want one of those, too.

There are days when we’re certain we have no idea how the world works.

It’s a good thing we love pretzels

This woman scares me as much as I love her.

Diagnose the latest issue

The Romance Writers of America national convention is this week. The Quill Sisters are so excited we can hardly stand it. Seriously, we’ve been bouncing around for the last month trying to contain ourselves.

Still, it’s Sunday night – we leave early Wednesday morning – and Amylynn hasn’t packed a single thing. Why is that?

I don’t know what the hell is going on over here either

Both of my children have large personalities. I think they have to in order to survive around their father and I. The girl is very dramatic, but her I understand. She’s racing into teenager-dom and nothing says drama like a 13-year-old girl. I’m certain she’ll be thrilled that I’m pointing this out on this blog. Nothing she likes more than to make an appearance here.

Good news, Sassy. This blog isn’t about you. It’s about your brother. Yard-Sale

My boy is a champion martyr. No one can fall on a sword like my son. He mystifies me. More than half the time I don’t have any idea what his problem is or what has set him off, but he makes a hell of a scene.

I’m telling you, he just really likes to be miserable. This does not bode well for a happy life and I sincerely hope he grows out of this. His father and I refuse to buy into this tendency. When he gets up a good head of pathetic steam we generally ignore him.

But sometimes…

I have no idea what his issue was the other morning. He was walking around, all hangdog. I assume his father got after him for something, but I don’t know what it was. Sassy and I went to Target to give them a random $75. While there we received a text from the Bandit.

Come to my room sale

I had no idea what this meant so I asked.

I’m having a yard sale in my room.

I do not know what he was expecting to achieve with this. Perhaps he was planning to run away and needed some traveling money? Maybe he just wanted to travel light. I don’t know. If asked he’ll say he doesn’t deserve to have this stuff. Go ahead and roll your eyes. I did.

I already paid for all that stuff once, I said.

The boy was not amused by this flippant reply so he did the texting version of hanging up on me.

When we got home, there were signs posted all over the house offering his wares: magazines, chapter books, action figures, Legos, and Matchbox cars among the rest of the stuff I’ve already paid for.

Sadly, I don’t think he earned what he was hoping. I was going to suggest that he work on his marketing. Perhaps his immediate family isn’t his target audience.

One of these days I’m going to go in there with a stack of ones and start haggling over his prices. I curious to see how that plays out.

We’d give him the chicken

It seems we’ve been AWOL – and we sorta have. We apologize. Day jobs have been sucking us dry. We feel bad. We miss you, too.

As a peach offering and a promise of more good stuff to come, we offer you this video. We think it’s one of the best we’ve seen in a long while.

The Sisters have been dying for a Bengal kitty of our own. This cinches it.

 

Such a betrayal

My kid just made me try some weird Oreos.

  • Peanut Butter – chocolate wafer, peanut better cream filling.
  • S’mores – graham cracker flavored wafer with some sort of strange marshmallow cream filling.
  • Blueberry – vanilla wafer with “blueberry” cream.

Full disclosure: I LOVE Oreos. The proper way to eat them is not to pull apart and lick the filling. Nor is it to dunk them in milk. The only acceptable way to eat Oreos and hope to get maximum cookie satisfaction is to shove the whole thing in your mouth at once, chew it up, and drink like a quarter glass of ice-cold whole milk to wash it down. That, dear Internet, is a guarantee of cookie nirvana.

Therefore, when I was approached with these three new flavors I was willing to give them a go.oreo, peanut butter

I’m telling you, if you’re given the opportunity, don’t do it.

I have no idea what kind of Satan-loving communist came up with these but they should be shunned and made to eat nothing but cookies with raisins for the rest of their lives.

You’d think a person who is willing to eat peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon would be a surefire fan of a peanut butter Oreo. You’d be wrong. Ick. oreo, smoresThat’s the most complementary thing I can say about it. Ick.

The s’mores one was the least offensive of the three. I didn’t really get the graham cracker flavor from the wafer and the marshmallow was definitely not something I would have identified as marshmallow without being told that’s what they were going for. Just bad.

Do not put that blueberry atrocity in your mouth. Just don’t do it. Blueberry is my favorite fruit for pancakes, pie, and muffins. It seemed reasonable that I could usher cookie right into that pantheon. I could not. That cookie was awful. It wasn’t fit to feed to the dog. My dog only ate it because he’s not at all discerning. He’ll eat cat poop if given the opportunity. Oreo, blueberry

I did not finish any of these “cookies”. They were bad. I had to eat two regular ones just to get the taste out of my mouth and to remind myself that regular Oreos really are very yummy.

Dear Nabisco people,

Stop yourselves. Just stop.

~Sincerely Amylynn Bright on behalf of cookie lovers everywhere

 

I’ve always said she was part kangaroo

The gas company is doing a bunch of work in our neighborhood, laying new gas lines, moving meters, etc. They’re working on our property this week moving our meter from beside the house up to the property line. They started digging the trenches this morning.

I’m sure you can imagine how our dogs are taking this. Roscoe the Idiot bloodhound has a sore throat from all the baying that was required to keep the workmen under control. Mostly the kids kept the dogs in the house, but for the little bit of time they were outside they kept the workmen company from the other side of the gate. We’re certain the laborers are grateful.

When My Honey got home the workmen came over to chat him up about their progress. They asked him what kind of dog we had.Winnie

“It’s a bloodhound/red tick coonhound mix,” My Honey said.

“He’s a cool dog – loud, but cool. I mean other one. What kind of dog is the black one?”

My Honey was surprised. While Winifred is a very pretty dog, it’s usually the bloodhound who gets all the attention. He’s kind of unusual. “She’s a lab mix. Maybe pit bull. Why?”

The foreman told him how she spent the day making friends and flirting with the workers. He said they were digging away and all of a sudden there was a cute black dog standing next to the trench, wagging her tail and smiling.

“We were like, isn’t that their dog?” Then she’d take off, jumping back over the wall and resume watching from the gate next to Roscoe. This happened a bunch of times, each time she’d wiggle and tease and make friends, then jump back over the wall. They were amazed at her athletic prowess.

“Man, it’s amazing how she can clear that wall like it’s nothing.”

“Yeah, we can’t even keep her in the yard.” I don’t think we could keep her in even if we raised the wall another five feet.

At one point, Winnie simply jumped up on the 5-foot wall and watched from there. They thought she was adorable/cute/crazy.

Apparently, now she has a fan club at the gas company.

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