The Man Cold

Ah yes, The Man Cold.  Killer of strapping young men worldwide, it is quickly becoming one of the worlds most prolific and contagious viruses, infecting an estimated 20 million men on a daily basis.  There is no cure, there is no vaccine, and it can not be stopped.

Unrelated to The Common Cold, suffered by women and children around the world, The Man Cold has much more severe symptoms including:  Extreme fatigue, excessive use of Kleenex, muscle weakness, inability to lift arms, teary eyes, whining, and a sense of utter despair and hopelessness.

The Man Cold usually occurs when a man's significant other comes down with The Common Cold.  The virus will then mutate when transferred into the man and will then be virtually unstoppable, able to be passed from one man to another, completely annihilating all motor skills and daily functionality until The Man Cold is either overcome, or kills the man.  Mysteriously, though, the virus will always mutate back into The Common Cold when passed back to a woman.

While a woman can still preform daily tasks when she has come down with The Common Cold, such as working, laundry, and cooking, The Man Cold renders it's victims completely useless for the 2-3 days in which the man is affected.  That is, of course, if he lives through the ordeal.

Excessive?  Yes.

There is but one solution to this epidemic that I can propose.  Since we women seem to control when our men become infected, once we notice the slightest symptoms of The Common Cold, we should avoid all contact with all men until every symptom has gone.  To obtain optimal conditions, I suggest women should not go to work, kick out all men, then call other ill feeling women to come over and drink copious amounts of liquor. This "All Female Group Quarantine" should last for at least 4 days, to insure the virus has passed, before coming into contact with any man. Obviously, cooking and laundry will be strictly prohibited during this "Quarantine" as to not needlessly spread this dangerous virus.

We have the power, ladies, to protect our men from this devastating condition.  As a matter of fact, I believe I feel the sniffles coming on...WHO'S BRINGING THE BOOZE?!?!?!?

Sorry Honey, you can't come home.  We're uh....sick.

Asshole Chicken

The other day I had this BRILLIANT idea to try and make something new for dinner.  I set out 2 chicken breasts to thaw and spent the entire next day thinking and planning about what I would do.

When the time came, I mixed up some broccoli, corn and an ass-ton of cheese with some yummy seasoning and the always useful, Tony’s.  I flayed and pounded out the chicken breasts, crammed them full of my delicious mixture, wrapped them up like burritos and stuck about 15 toothpicks in each to hold all the goods in. 

I put them in a glass casserole dish and decided to dump a can of broccoli cheese soup over the top for some added deliciousness.  Stuck them in the oven at 350 at sat down to anticipate my delectable creation.

Big Dinosaur was impressed!  Hell, I was impressed with myself!  40 minutes later, with our mouths watering to the point of drool puddles, I pulled them out of the over.  They were glorious, smelled like heaven and bubbly cheese was seeping out of the cracks.  Amazing.  I was so excited I could barely contain myself. 

I put them on a plate and asked Big Dinosaur to go get my phone because I was going to cut that bitch in half, take a picture and post that shit to facebook so all my friends and family could “Ooo” and “Awe” over my kick-ass culinary skills.

I start pulling out the toothpicks and one was being stubborn.  I gave it a good yank.  The entire plate fell to the floor and my beautiful stuffed chicken breasts smashed to the disgusting less than clean kitchen floor.  I just looked at it for a second then looked up at Big Dinosaur.  He was looking at me trying to figure out what my reaction would be.  I started bawling like a tiny baby.

Crying is a very rare thing for me and Big Dinosaur does not handle it well.  He just doesn’t know what to do but knows he wants the tears to stop.  He quickly bent down and scooped up the ruined mess of chicken, broccoli and cheese and tossed it in the trash can.  He just kept repeating, “It’s okay!  I’m sorry!  It’s okay!  I’m sorry” and giving me hugs. 

I of course told him to quit apologizing because he didn’t do anything and he says, “I know, I’m just sorry that happened to you!!”   I was so mad at myself I just kept repeating, “I’m so stupid!  Why do I ruin everything?! I’m such a moron!  I suck at life.”  Although, I have a hard time talking when I’m crying, so it sounded more like, “Sussha stooopid! Ijuss runn errrthinnn! Sussha morrrn! Isuuuuuuk liiif!”

2 days planning and 2 hours preparing a meal which neither of us got to enjoy.  I didn’t even get to take a picture of it before I destroyed it.  We ate nothing but mashed potatoes for dinner.  Worst. Dinner. Ever. 

I am, however, going to try it again because it sounds so dammed delicious.  That chicken was an assjacket.

Damnit!! Now I'll never be the leader of my own colony!!

I asked Big Dinosaur if I could get a sword the other day and he said no.  What?!  You bought me a Benelli, pump action, 20 gauge shotgun (named Black Betty) and a Taurus .45 but you don’t trust me with a sword??  What about the battle axe I keep behind our bed in case of home (or space) invaders?  (Talk about breaking into the wrong house…poor bastard would lose an arm.) And it is DEFINITELY a battle axe because it has pointy parts on one side …for poking people and shit…

SEE!!  I don't make this shit up!  This photo was taken on the rug in my kitchen.

He said if I got a sword he could see me injuring myself or him with it on accident.  Pshh… Whatever!   I don’t even want a Samurai sword (yesIdotheonefromKillBill), I want a big-ass King Arthur sword.  Or maybe a Spartan sword, that would be cool too.   I mean, I could kill a person with my ninja skills too but you don’t see me going around using them do you?  Except of course when I have to jump 20 foot walls or become invisible but that doesn’t hurt anyone.

My point is, if I was going to injure someone, I could think of a hell of a lot more convenient things to use than a sword.  Like…beer bottles.  I mean, I usually have at least one or two of those within arm’s reach.  And beer bottles are a multi-use weapon; the full ones you can throw and the empty ones you can break off the ends and get all stabbish on people.   (Yes, I believe I just made that word up.  It’s like stabby, but not quite)

 

Or possibly one of the bar stools we use for kitchen chairs.   I could bludgeon someone pretty easily with one of those, but I don’t, because I’m a nice PERSON!!  And I don’t want you people thinking I’m a bad person just because I know these things.  I am a prepared person with a little thing called a Kick-Ass survival  instinct.  I think shit out.  

I support the right to arm bears!  (That's Black Betty on the far left)

Big Dinosaur does too! As a matter of fact we already had plans as to what we would do if the world ended at 6:00 yesterday.  Over off of Highway 114 there is an Academy Sports & Outdoors, we were going to take it over.  Then, we would trade guns and ammo for food with the people who take over the Wal Mart across Hwy 26.  THEN we will work as a team to take over the hospital on the other side of 114 and BAM!  We are the resistance, mo fos!!   See none of this actually went down, because it wasn’t needed but we had a plan. Basic first rule of survival: Have a PLAN.  And guns AND SWORDS!

Wow.  It's literally like I just uploaded a picture from Google Maps.  I'm getting good at this shit!!

Do you know how much easier it would be to take over all of those places and begin “The New World with Cat & Joe” if I had a sword?? (That’s what we decided we would name our new colony.  Y’all can come too!)  An ass-ton.  It would be an ass-ton easier with a sword.  Because guns are more efficient and all, but other people tend to take you a hell of a lot more seriously if you have a sword.  And Big Dinosaur doesn’t get that part, I guess.

To get back at him I have decided to bedazzle my shotgun.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

Yeah, We're Dumb

My great friend Susan over at Susan Says… sometimes writes posts about being dumb entitled, “The Two Stupidest People on Earth Live in Our House Part 1 and Part 2.”  Although I don’t think Susan is anywhere near stupid, (she’s actually quite brilliant) I have decided to jump on this bandwagon, mainly because Big Dinosaur and I figured something out this weekend that has been messing with us ME for the entire year and a half we have lived in our apartment.  So Susan, we win. We are by far stupider and possibly the stupidest on Earth.

The story begins when we first moved in.  The lighting in our apartment is relatively good, all except for in the bedroom.  The switch in the bedroom looks like this.

Yeah, confusing, I know.  The four little buttons on the far left side control the fan speed, “High, Med, Low and Fan Off” The horizontal switch is also to turn the fan completely off.  The big green button that says “Light” well that works the light. (Durrr)  So then the normal switch on the right actually just works one outlet in the corner of the room.  This happens to be the outlet where I plug in my phone charger so it’s a really big pain in my ass when someone accidentally turns it off because I die when my phone dies, so that shit is just plain dangerous.

Back to the lighting.  The light in the fan was always really, really dim and it bugged the shit out of me.  I am very aware that I could have bought a lamp and that the “normal switch” is probably intended for working a lamp but I didn’t fucking want to okay?!

Over the past year and a half I have made it my mission in life to figure out how to get the bedroom brighter, without a lamp.  I bought one halogen bulb, but it was too long and it pressed against the glass bowl.  Being a worrier, I pretty much just knew this was bad.  Not sure WHY it was bad, it just was.  So I got another, shorted halogen bulb that was shorter.  This worked great for brightness, only problem, it flickered ALL NIGHT LONG.  It was a really subtle flicker, and you couldn’t see it if you closed your eyes, so I dealt with it as long as I could until one night it finally made me bat-shit crazy and I pulled the bulb out in a furious rage.  

So then I went back to a regular bulb with like a gazillion watts. YEAH!!! That’ll show ‘em!!  But when Big Dinosaur found out, he said I couldn’t do that because the light-hole-thingy was only allowed to have like 60 watts or something.  I told him that was stupid and it would be fine and he told me I would burn down the apartment and because the fan is directly over the bed where we sleep I took that bulb out too.

About 2 months ago I gave up.  Yes, that’s right; the most stubborn person in the world gave up. I put back in the original dim bulb that came with the apartment and sulked for a few days in our dungeon room. 

Last night, something magical scary happened. I was laying in bed and I had just taken out my eyeballs and Big Dinosaur got up to turn out the light (because it’s his job because he’s closer even though he doesn’t need to take his eyeballs out) and by accident held down the “Light” button for a second.  The room got darker, but not quite dark.  We were both a little stunned.  Big Dinosaur said, “What was that?”  And I said, “NOOOOOOOO SON-OF-A-BITCH!!!! I HOPE THAT’S NOT STUCK THAT WAY!!! I FUCKING HATE THIS LIGHT!!!”  Ok, maybe I was a little more stunned than he was.  But like I said, I’ve been doing battle with this thing for the past year and a half, so, you know, I was mad and stuff.

Then for some miraculous reason, he held it down again.  And it went out, then back on, then brighter and brighter AND BRIGHTER until we had the brightest room in the fucking universe!!!! Turns out, we have a dimmer that was always stuck on “too fucking dim” because Big Dinosaur and I were too fucking dim to realize we had a FUCKING DIMMER!!!  

The downside?  Now I can see how dusty our room is.  Damnit. 

Told you, Susan, we win.