NEW RELEASES
I Smell Crazy Bacon
Sometimes, the Quill Sisters will kick around the idea that we might be slightly nuts. This conversation usually starts with one of us doing something . . . nutty. Because of this, we really appreciate it when we find out there are crazier folks in the world who have us beat.
Here he is - Mr. Bacon!
Here’s today’s example: Mr. Bacon. Mr. Bacon is 5.625 inches tall and has bendable arms and legs. I tried to find out what would possess anyone to make a bacon figurine and was unable to locate the reason. And here I thought you could find anything on the internet. I did find a bunch of websites that sell him.
I also found a website called “BT Bacon Today”. Yup, a website devoted entirely to bacon. Entirely. Their tag line is “Daily News on the World of Sweet, Sweet Bacon”. We had no idea that bacon had daily news.
They sell some nifty little items here – a bouquet of bacon roses, rainbow bacon, etc. The bacon bouquet got me thinking that Ed doesn’t really love me – if he did, I’ve have gotten a dozen of these little beauties by now.
Bacon!!!!
The rainbow bacon is a little scary but, what the hell, I’d try it, after all it is BACON. Say that last word like the dog treat commercial says it. BACON!
You can make your burgers look like TURTLES!
In Our Humble Opinion…just because you can get it on doesn’t mean it fits.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . all food can be improved with sprinkles, in fact, everything on the planet can be improved with sprinkles.
The Lengths I’ll Go to For a Cookie
I donated blood this past Saturday. I haven’t reported it but the last two times I went I had problems and things didn’t work out. I bring this up so that you can fully appreciate Saturday’s experience.
Two visits ago, the blood technician totally missed my vein. She asked if she could try again. My response cannot be written here since this is a family type blog. I had a black and blue the size of a half-dollar on my right arm for almost two weeks.
Because I’m crazy, I wasn’t quite ready to give up on the whole blood donating thing, being an O Positive and all.
So, I went again. This time, the blood technician was lovely. She hit the vein square on. Unfortunately, my blood would not flow. The technician thought I was probably dehydrated, which might certainly have been the case. I don’t like water and only drink coffee or tea or Southern Comfort.
A person who knows me all of my life thinks I should just stop going – I used to faint every time I gave blood – but I’ve progressed beyond that now. I decided I’d give it one more shot. I trained like an athlete, drinking 60 ounces of water a day plus coffee and tea for the five days prior to my appointment.
Needless to say, I was a bit nervous when I got there Saturday morning. I checked in and was promptly taken to the intake room. This is always good because I could easily become a runner. You don’t really need to donate blood, I tell myself, and you could make a run for it. No one can stop you; you can wait for Ed by the car. They don’t publish your name in the paper if you take off . . .
Anyway, two things happen in the intake room that are actually worse than the bloodletting. One, they stick your finger for blood to check your iron level which hurts like hell and, two, they ask you your weight. I always lie. If they really wanted to know your true weight they’d have a scale there, right?
After you make it through that, they leave you alone to answer a bunch of questions about diseases you’ve never heard of but can’t donate if you have them. Generally, the person who starts this process finishes it. But not for me on this Saturday. No, a different person showed up.
The person who came in to finish up was, let’s say, not that bright.
Not Bright Person: What is your birth date?
Me: 12/4/64
Not Bright Person: 1964? (He’s serious. He doesn’t mean – OMG you look great for being born in 1964! He means 19 as if any other number can precede 64 in this situation.)
Me: Yes. (But that is not the answer I wanted to give.)
Not Bright Person: You were out of the country in the past 12 months?
Me: Yes – in Turkey.
Not Bright Person
Not Bright Person: Where did you go in Turkey?
Me: Istanbul.
Side note – the computer system makes the blood person constantly sign back in if they don’t touch the program for 3 seconds. Every time Not Bright Person had to sign back in, he had to do it twice because the first time he couldn’t input his right password but got it correct on every second try. How can someone not remember their password every 3 seconds?
Not Bright Person: (After fumbling with the computer) Istanbul or Istanbul province?
Me: The city of Istanbul.
Not Bright Person: I’ll go get the atlas.
Side note – it takes Not Bright Person several minutes to locate the atlas that is sitting right on the desk where it always sits. Even I know where it is and I don’t work there.
Side note – it takes Not Bright Person several minutes to locate the Ts in the index. Then it takes Not Bright Person several more minutes to locate Turkey within the Ts – it took so long, I almost snatched the book out of his hands to find it myself.
Not Bright Person: (Putting the atlas on the table) Which one is Turkey? (I swear to god!)
Me: (Pointing) The one that says Turkey on it. (Before it can get any worse, I point to Istanbul) Here is Istanbul.
Not Bright Person: Where is Istanbul province?
Me: I have no idea, I’ve never been there.
Not Bright Person: Okay. (Closes book, I swear to God!)
It takes him another excruciatingly long time to gather up everything we need so he can take me to the back to draw the blood. Many times, you have to wait for the next available technician. Not Bright Person takes me right into the back.
Me: You’re not the person who is going to draw my blood are you?
Not Bright Person: Yes.
At this point, it took everything in me to not tell him that there was no way on God’s green Earth he was ever going to attempt to draw my blood after the last several minutes we’d spent together, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I glanced at Ed, who was all but done, in sheer terror. Ed, not being Mr. Perceptive, claims he missed it. How he could miss this look of terror after seeing it twice before – both times I gave birth – is beyond me.
Oddly, Not Bright Person knew what he was doing and didn’t hurt me. Generally, they leave you alone while the blood is filling the bag. Not him, however. He never left my side. Maybe he had me pegged for the runner I am. I’m not above pulling a needle out of my arm to save myself, I’ve even checked myself out of the hospital, but I digress.
Anyway, I found out that his parents were married for 15 years and divorced in 1999, he got some Ds and Fs in 4th and 5th grade (no shock there) and his mother went overboard punishing him, he got good grades in his senior year of high school (I’ll need proof) and I should ask for him the next time I wanted to donate.
I didn’t ask for any of this information and was not required to even participate in the conversation
I know what you’re wondering. You’re wondering where the hell was Ed while this was going on. Ed was hiding because he couldn’t stop laughing! When I finally got to the snack area, he handed me six bags of Oreos and said “Here, you earned these.”
In Our Humble Opinion . . . one should not wear a groundhog as a hat.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . having more than 3 cats earns you the label of “cat lady” – no exceptions.
Stephen King and I
Stephen and I have never had an easy relationship. When I was much younger, I attempted to read “It”. I don’t remember exactly why I didn’t finish the book but I do remember that I didn’t. In all fairness to Mr. King, I was always heavily into historical romances and perhaps he was just not what I was interested in back then.
I felt fully vindicated in my ignoring him when I saw the film version of the book. I do not like horror movies at all but not even I was frightened by IT.
Recently, I was extremely annoyed with Stephen for condemning the writing skills of Stephanie Meyers. Was that really
something he needed to point out? Thanks Captain Obvious! For those of you who don’t know, Ms. Meyers is the author of the Twilight series. Currently, it is very fashionable to bash these books and movies. However, I don’t think he bashed her writing to appear fashionable – I think he was just being mean.
Don’t worry Stephanie. My favorite author might be Christopher Hitchens but I have read every word of your stories and have seen all of the movies. My eleven year old still makes us watch them on the weekends. You have millions of fans and millions of dollars and you don’t need Stephen King!
Right about now you’re wondering why I even bring him up. Well, I’ll tell you – Amylynn loves Stephen King. Every time
Mr. King in SOA
I admit I have no use for him; she says I would change my mind if I gave him another chance. Just to shut her up, I said okay. That and he was delightful on Sons of Anarchy.
She loaned me a book of short stories and told me they were great. Great – was the word she used. Great. The first story was Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption. Having seen the movie, I dove right in. And you know what? It was darn good. Some might use the word GREAT. I was starting to think that I’d been too hasty in my dislike, so I moved on to the second short story – Apt Pupil.
I guess it’s been a number of years since Amylynn has read these stories because surely she would not have ever given me this particular book if she actually wanted me to ever like him.
The story starts out just as well written as the first story (Yes, Stephen, you are a brilliant writer and story teller) and you keep turning the pages even while you’re supposed to be in bed sleeping because you have work the next day.
All of this comes to a grinding halt on page 200 of the edition I have. For those of you who have never read this story – I am not making this up – one of the main characters puts a living cat in an oven at 500 degrees. And then he describes
EXACTLY
the cat’s suffering and death.
I am certain that Stephen is a crazy lunatic. The paragraphs are sickening and clearly written by a deranged individual. That’s some vivid imagination Mr. King has there, almost like he was writing from memory.
I have to admit something; I had no intention of ever reading another word written by Stephen again. Ever. Not even if he came back to Entertainment Weekly after dropping us flat.
After a few days, I kept wondering what happened at the end of the story. I kept telling myself that it was just a story; I didn’t really need to know how it ended. Another few days went by and I couldn’t stop myself. I not only finished that story but started the third.
I hate you Stephen King, you are a sick bastard with genius writing skills.