August 29th, 2008 | 9 Comments »

Warrior Woman came to my house last evening. I was expecting to feed her, and was starving when I got the call that she had already eaten.

Ass Burger Boy and I dove into my jazzed up rice and sun dried tomato sausage, with a side of garlicy yellow beans. We was hungry puppies.

I had saved the wine bottles from her previous five visits. We wanted to start a collection. They stood on the living room floor, where I had left them. She took pictures with her new camera. We set her up on our network.I didn’t take a picture of her and ABB on the sofa, each with their laptop. Since both she and I blog anonymously, the pictures would reveal too much. I did mention parallel play.

She’s having a contest at her site. You really should go over and see the prizes. She wants you to blog drunk. Since I generally blog in the morning or early afternoon, I don’t believe that I will win. Bonus! You don’t actually have to be drunk. She’s all kinds of awesome that way.

Extra bonus: She took a picture of me in my natural habitat, wearing my all-time favourite polar fleece jammies. I took the other pictures with her new camera. There’s one of her in there, incognito, of course. Go see.

August 23rd, 2008 | 24 Comments »

Warrior Woman has declared the rocks I have casually displayed atop my television set to be a hoo-hoo.

I consider it natural art, that just happens to suggest what the viewer will make of it.

You can decide.

May 14th, 2008 | 21 Comments »

My blog buddy, Zoe, is a food nazi. She has more rules than you could ever keep track of in your head concerning food, like it mustn’t touch other foods on the plate. I would probably be over stressed if I had to feed a person like her, although I would do it, because I love her. But I’d still make fun of her.

I determined early on with Ass Burger Boy that some foods, like sugar, are actually drugs in disguise. It really wasn’t easy doing research in a small town library (before the internet) when he was little, but my own observations underlined any information I gleaned about the Feingold diet. I noticed when he was very young that ketchup would make his ears turn red, and his behaviour got really out of whack. Or it was whack. Whatev.

People often wondered how I managed to raise him single-handedly with his different abilities, and really, he was a total treat. With a healthy, non-processed, no sugar diet, he was so happy and adorable that I was truly blessed. And eat? Boy, did that chile love him some grub! Anything I made him, he would chow down on with satisfied, happy noises.

How adorable was he? He’s not eating there, but he looks like he’s reaching for food. Work with me, people.

He had his first soda pop when he was nine, and promptly threw it up. And no, it wasn’t me who gave it to him, although I recognized that as he got older, his body was better able to process food-drugs. My attitude was why mess with success?

His only real food quirk is that he cannot bear to waste it. So the only clue I got that he preferred not to eat some foods is that they would languish in the fridge.

Now that he is almost twenty-five years old, I finally learn that tomatoes and spinach are not his faves. Two foods that I always have in abundance. Heh. You coulda said something, son. I don’t go on strike because you don’t like something.

Pizza and wine with Warrior Woman are not on the agenda for the foreseeable future. She has determined that she is allergy testing herself for gluten and alcohol. And potatoes. Yes, I still have some of the fifty pound bag of potatoes left. We’ve had them baked, mashed, roasted, scalloped, everything but deep-fried. But I figure I can make a meal that she can eat without all her no-nos.

And the pizza? All the more for ABB. He likes my pizza just fine.

May 6th, 2008 | 22 Comments »

Friday wine and pizza gets me spinning yarns to Warrior Woman, and she, in her own enlightened state, enthuses “That is a good story for your blog!” Here’s one.

Back in the day of my irresponsible hawtiliciousness, I received a call from Sleazy Collection Agency, wanting me to pay a bill. When they discovered that I was between jobs, because, seriously, people, all that partying interfered with my work life, they offered me a position in their sales department.

The first thing they did was rip up my delinquent account file.

Yes. A stellar company. I also overheard collection agents offering to do the same for lobster fishermen, in exchange for a good scoff of crustaceans.

I knew I was knee-deep in the sleaze, but I got to travel and take clients out to lunch and that made it more like partying and less like work.

They worked on a diary system, so that I had to diarize each account I contacted, list my expenses, and note when the account would be turned over to collection. I made bonuses in addition to salary, and they made bonuses based on mine.

I had some great accounts lined up, and discovered that the big, big, account was headed by a man I went to junior high school with. I had a huge crush on him at the time, and thought it would be nice to tell him that.

Over lunch, I persuaded him to turn over a quarter of a million dollars of outstanding accounts to me and my company.

That’s a nice bonus no matter how you cut it.

The sleazy manager and his slimy assistant were drooling over that account and couldn’t see me collecting the bonus for it, and they came up with the brilliant idea to fire me and collect my bonus in additon to their own.

It was my birthday.

I called up my former classmate, and the larger accounts that were pending, and explained what Sleazy Collection Agency managers were up to.

I asked them if they cared to do business with people who would steal from their employees. Or make them ex-employees so they could steal from them.

Everyone I called withdrew their pending accounts.

Sleazy Collection Agency? Don’t mess with witchypoo.

Especially on her birthday.

Bet you wish you hadn’t destroyed my delinquent account file, huh?

May 1st, 2008 | 17 Comments »

I was sitting down, gathering my thoughts for a post today, and saw a hookey-playing face at my door.

Seems Warrior Woman has a light work load today, and she buggered off to come over here, since she knew I would be home.

So, it looks like I will have to rethink my menu to not include any dairy products (even the tiny amount in a can of cream of chicken soup) because really? I’m all hospitable and fabulous that way.

Okay, Shephard’s Pie it is. I bought 50 lbs of potatoes on sale, and need to use those puppies up. The sack of basmati rice can wait, because it has a longer shelf life.

She brought wine. I’m signing out to avoid that pesky blunk drogging.

And how was your day?