Not unlike James and the Giant Peach.
Although I don't intend to live in the fig. I intend to eat it when the time comes for fig pickin' and preservin'.
Seriously, it's the largest fig ever. And it's only just getting started.
C.T.
Here are my two cents about who will win American Idol. I made this call weeks ago (in my head), and I didn't really need to watch tonight to have it all figured out.
However, if end up being wrong, you never heard it from me.
David Cook will not win.
David Archuletta will win.
Here is why. And keep in mind, I might be a little bit in love with David Cook.
David Cook does not need Idol. He'll be just fine on his own. In fact, he would likely do better on his own, without Idol influencing his first CD post-show.
I'd even go so far as to say that he already knows this and he possibly intentionally did not bring his A-game tonight to give Archuletta the top spot. Don't get me wrong, he played a good show tonight. But, we've seen him rock my socks off before and tonight wasn't it.
Archuletta, however, while cherubically cute and definitely able to sing, he'll need all the help Idol can give him.
Therefore, I hope David Cook doesn't win. Because by him NOT winning, both David's have a better shot at being successful.
You heard it here first. Or never at all.
C.T.
Do you really have a pocket full of sunshine?
Is that even possible?
Wouldn't that make it daylight wherever you are, all the time?
These are my questions.
Sincerely,
C.T.
. . . for jury duty.
It finally happened. Today, I received a jury summons.
It is clear that all of my years of watching crime dramas on T.V. has finally come to the attention of someone who is fairly influencial in courts around here, and who obviously values my expertise on a jury in what I'm sure will be a high-profile case.
Perhaps I will be the juror who finally figures out what to do with Britney's kids. Or maybe, I'll be the deciding vote to make world peace mandatory, and world hunger outlawed.
I could save the world as Juror # Whatever.
Save the Juror, save the world . . .
It's my first summons, except for when I was in school and could get out of it because I was a student. It's all very exciting. Things have been going pretty well for me lately. I can only assume this is the next big thing I am to conquer. My next stage, if you will, to take a bite out of crime.
Consider it already bitten.
I'm not even thinking that I won't get picked. I'm just wondering how quickly after I get there will they beg me to stay.
I will out-jure all of the other jurors.
I will be inducted into the Juror Hall of Fame.
I will be the world's most sought-after juror. Courts and lawyers and judges and even the President will want me to be a juror for the world's most significant cases. I will be the first ever Professional Juror, by appointment only.
Juries won't summon me. I will summon juries.
The Supreme Court? I will one day be the only juror they have ever had, or will ever need.
I will pretty much invent being juror. I will jure in ways that you've never seen before. I will set records for the world's fastest juring.
Eventually I won't even need to sit in on the trial. Just send me a text message with some fast facts and a photo of the criminal in question, and I'll have an answer for you in 30 minutes or less.
They will clone me for juries of the future.
I have only a few weeks to prepare for my summons. There is a lot of Law & Order to be watched and John Grisham books to be read.
I can handle the truth.
C.T.
We don't care anymore.
We get it. It's been 10 years. You've still got those huge pants that don't fit you anymore. You ate a lot of Subway sandwiches, you lost weight.
I, however, have lost my mind having to see you on my T.V. for the past 10 years.
Please tell me you have found something else to do in the past 10 years. I hate to think you lost all that weight only to sell your soul to Subway for all of eternity.
Because frankly, I can't handle an eternity of seeing you and your huge pants on TV to sell sandwiches.
We're over it.
Dear Subway,
Jared. 10 years. Big Pants. Sandwiches.
I stopped eating Subway sandwiches (coincidentally) 10 years ago.
We're over it.
Please find another spokesmodel.
C.T.
Another spring season is upon us, and for me and my house, that means the critters are out and about.
I planted my spring flowers about a month or so ago, maybe longer. For the most part, the critters have stayed out of the plantings . . . with the exception of the two pots on my patio where I planted rose moss/moss rose (I never know if it's rose moss or moss rose).
I'm pretty sure it's a squirrel that keeps insisting on throwing the poor moss/roses completely out of the pot and onto the ground. Almost everyday, I come home and see the poor thing lying on the ground next to the pot. And everyday, I put it back in.
It's really not a fun game for me, but I have a feeling that the squirrel LOVES tormenting me in this way. I finally bought some Critter-B-Gone powder to sprinkle in the pot. We'll see how that works.
If it works, I might by more in bulk and see if it works on a few annoying people I know that I'd like to get rid of . . . you know who you are.
Anyway, it seems like every new critter season introduces a new critter into my backyard ecosystem/wildlife sanctuary. Last year it was rabbits.
Frankly, I don't know why animals keep coming here. It rarely works out well for them. I don't do it intentionally, but if you've read much of this blog you should know the sad tales of the accidental animal accidents that have plagued this house since Day 1 of my living here.
So far this season, no animal mishaps. Maybe my yard has turned over a new leaf.
This morning while I was making my coffee, I looked out of my kitchen window to gaze upon my fabulous backyard. I tell ya, there is nothing quite like a fabulous green, blooming yard in the morning to start your day off right.
As I looked out, something caught my eye near my shed. Some sort of critter was creeping along the fence, and I just caught the tail end of it going behind my shed.
It wasn't a squirrel, nor a rabbit, nor one of the neighborhood cats. Frankly, I am not quite sure what it was. But I have some thoughts. These thoughts don't make me happy.
From the color of it, and the size of it's back leg (I never saw the front of it), and most importantly, the bushy-ness of its tail, I'm pretty sure it was a coyote.
I don't know if coyotes can jump over a tall wood fence, but if they can, I'm pretty sure there was a coyote in my yard this morning.
Naturally, I had to go out and see if I could see the whole thing. I'm pretty much one of those idiot girls in a slasher movie that goes to check out the mysterious noise in her high heels, only to have to run downstairs in the heels while the man with a chainsaw chases her down the stairs.
I heard in my head that voice that screams at the movie screen when the idiot girl opens the door, "Don't go out there! Whatever it is will eat you! All you have in your hand is a hot cup of coffee if it attacks you!"
So, I creeped outside towards the shed, yet not actually going anywhere near it. I walked around it without going behind it where the fence is, hoping to catch a glimpse of the critter. But I never saw it. It was either hiding in the crap behind the shed, or it jumped over the fence into the alley . . . or it was under the shed waiting for me to get close enough to jump on my face and bite my nose off.
I went back inside.
So, I'm not really sure what I saw. But it was definitely not one of the usual critters.
I have noticed that there are fewer rabbits this year. I've only seen the one big one a couple of times.
Coyotes eat rabbits.
After some extensive Googling for "bushy tailed animals that could live in my yard in Texas, possibly behind my shed," I came up with two other options:
I'm in the beginning days of 10 days of being in charge of the dogs while my parents are on vacation.
Don't worry. Everything is under control with the sneaky little rugrats.
I spent the first night with them at my folks's house. All was well.
Yesterday, I went to check on them after work and I discovered that they have figured out how to jump on top of their bed that is in their doggie nook in the house. This is a critical discovery for them because it puts them literally just a few inches away from being able to jump over their gate . . . which afford them the freedom to run willy nilly about the house all the live long day, unsupervised.
Very, very dangerous.
See, this is the first time they've been mostly on their own during the day. It's definitely the first time they've had no supervision at night. And they are not used to having their bed in their nook with them. They usually sleep in the room with me when I'm in charge. Having their bed in the nook allows them to have all the comforts of home, plus the freedom to go in and out of their doggie door all the livelong day.
Tonight, I arrived at the house to find them still in their caged area. But, as soon as I walked in the door they got excited and jumped up on their bed.
Then two seconds later, they pretty much stumbled out into the kitchen. First Daisy, who chased me down the hall. Then Duke, who is never one to be left alone for very long, although he's usually too scared to try anything first.
They both tackled me in the bathroom and they were quite pleased with themselves at having found the way into the house.
Of course, I think they are surprised by the whole thing. They were so excited that I was there, they just stumbled onto the bed and into the house trying to follow me.
BUT, this is bad. I still have quite a few days where I need them to be secluded in their caged fortress. However, now that they have essentially tunneled out, I have no idea what I will find when I get over there tomorrow.
With my luck, and with all the rain we've had so far this week, I figure my days are numbered before I find that they have run rampant all day through the house, painting muddy-pawed artwork all over the floor, walls, furniture . . .
I will have to come up with a clever plan to outsmart them and keep them confined. But I fear they are too crafty for the likes of me.
Parents, if you are reading, don't worry.
Everything is under control.
C.T.
I got a free Tetanus shot at work last week.
Of course, they gave us the shots because they thought we were possibly exposed to Whooping Cough. So they brought in free Tetanus/Anti-Whooping Cough shots.
Whatever. I really like free stuff. And they gave me an American flag band-aid that I proudly wore the rest of the day.
The band-aid was free, too.
So, this weekend I figured, "Hey, I've had my tetanus shot, which makes me impervious to being impaled by sharp metal. Why not clean out my gutters on the house?"
So, I cleaned out my gutters.
And let me say this: I don't care how many Tetanus shots you get, cleaning out the gutters is still quite possibly the most disgusting job ever, in the whole entire world. Period.
Tetanus does NOT make you impervious to the disgusting-ness that lives in your gutters.
Even if it's free.
C.T.
If you are in need of a snake skin belt, let me know.
Because I found a snake skin in my begonias today.
Of course, it would have to be a very tiny belt. Say . . . for Snake Skin Barbie. It is a very tiny snake skin, as you can see above.
But still. Somewhere in my yard is a snake.
A very tiny snake.
But a SNAKE, nonetheless. And a skinless one, to boot.
C.T.
I have some bones to pick. I'm warning you now, if you are not on my good side, you might not want to read any further . . .
In no particular order:
1. Home Depot
Home Depot, why do you make me hate you sometimes?
I love you. I have loved you for years. I don't understand why you insist on being stupid sometimes, which of course, does not make me happy.
Why, on a Saturday of all days, would you have only ONE person working the Returns/Exchanges register? Are you unclear that Saturday is the day that everyone in the world goes to Home Depot to buy stuff for the yard, or spring house projects, or whatever?
And do you not realize that all of the people in the world who bought something from you on Saturday morning will realize as soon as they get home that they bought the wrong thing, then they'll turn right around and need to come back and Return/Exchange it for the right thing that same day?
So, imagine my dismay when I had to make several trips to visit Home Depot on Saturday to deal with my lawn equipment that was dying off, one by one. And on the third trip when I needed to Exchange the wrong extension cord for a longer one, I arrived to find five people in line at the Returns counter and just one lonely soul working that department.
Then, imagine my confusion when moments later, FIVE additional Home Depot employees come to "help" by literally standing in the corner and looking at all of the returned stuff. But not doing anything else.
Well, they were staring at the line of all of us trying to return stuff. The line was growing by the minute.
Home Depot, please fix this before the next Saturday when I might possibly have to make 108 trips to visit you in one day.
Nevermind that I'm kind of an idiot and I tend to buy the wrong thing 107 times before I get it right the 108th time.
2. Doctors
Dear Doctors, I believe I've mentioned this before. But clearly it has not gotten better. So maybe we need to talk it through again.
I don't like waiting an hour (sometimes more) for you to spend three minutes looking at me. And it's not like this happens every once in awhile. It's more often than not the standard mode of operation.
And don't think I'm fooled by the SECOND waiting room trick. You know, calling me back from the first waiting room . . . only to put me in another waiting room to wait some more.
IT'S STILL WAITING.
Here's the problem: I sit in a waiting room with 10 other people who are all booked for the same appointment time. Now, I'm no mathemagenius. But it's humanly impossible to see 10 people for individual appointments . . . all at the same time.
Unless you are a superhero doctor who can somehow manipulate time and also clone yourself instantaneously. Which, none of you are. I never see any of you wearing capes, and that is proof enough.
The thing is, we all schedule our appointments with you to work around our work schedules. I can legally get away with taking an hour from my work day to come see you. Now, I understand that my appointment IS, in fact, YOUR work day. But, that merely proves my point that I have to arrange my own time to come see you doing what you do, plus I still have to do what I do.
Yet, I continually wait on you.
So, when I wait for an hour and I still haven't seen you yet, I am confused. You offered a time for me to come, I accepted. We agreed on it by writing my name next to that time. I am there on time. I have gone out of my way to come to where you are. And still, I wait.
I'm comfortable waiting for 15 minutes. Anything more than that is not a good use of my time, or yours.
See, when clients are scheduled to visit me, I meet with them when they get here. If I made them wait for an hour (or even 15 minutes), I would probably not keep that client, or that job, for that matter. So . . . why is it different for you?
There must be a way that we can get that hour of wait time out of the way. If I could somehow wait at my office, or at my home, prior to the appointment so that I can be productive during that hour (as opposed to trapped in your useless office), that would help.
Or, maybe if I am supposed to be there at 1:00, if I call ahead and say, "Doctor, I am beginning my waiting now," that could be your signal that in an hour I'll arrive and walk right into my appointment.
It could be a Pre-Appointment. At 12:00, you do whatever it is that you do in that hour before you actually spend those quality five minutes with me, and I'll just let you know that I'm already waiting. Then when I get there at my designated 1:00 appointment time, we're both ready to rock.
You know, like calling ahead for reservations at a restaurant. They know you're on the way, and they have your table ready when you get there.
I'm on the way, please have that giant needle ready for me when I get there.
See? So simple. Yet, it saves my time and yours, as well as my sanity. Plus my office won't wonder why I've disappeared for two hours when I really only need to disappear for one hour.
That's all of the energy I have today to gripe. For those of you who know you have wronged me in some way lately, don't think I've forgotten. I'll get to you soon enough.
You know who you are.
C.T.
Wait, let me start over . . .
From now on, I will call her "Pete and Repeat."
C.T.
I'm pretty sure D-list celebrities were invented purely to be on Celebrity Fit Club and entertain me.
Seriously, Screech, could you be any more of a paranoid, over-dramatic, lazy, ridiculous idiot?
And yet, it's sooooo entertaining.
C.T.
So, the more people from highschool who Facebook me with a friend request, the more I realize . . . I have no idea who anyone was in highschool. And I have no idea how people know who I am if I can't remember them this many years later.
I mean, it hasn't been THAT many years. But then again, I have no idea what happened two days ago. So, time is pretty much irrelevant for me at this point.
Sure, some of these people I recognize and remember as my highschool friends and acquaintances. I'm not a complete idiot.
Although you people who get married and change your last names, then expect me to know who you are when you Facebook me, even after I click on your page and see only a very tiny picture of you with 10 other people . . . it's just a little ridiculous to expect me to be able to figure you out if I haven't seen you since graduation many years ago.
Anyway, today I got another friend request from a name I didn't recognize. After clicking on the page and seeing a few other people on it that I recognize from highschool, I assumed this guy must be from highschool. But it still wasn't ringing a bell.
So, I went to the highschool year book. This is a place I never like to go. A little piece of me dies inside each time I crack open one of those books.
I found the guy in the book, but he now only looked vaguely familiar. I tried to get in and out of the book as quickly as possible, but the book fell open to the pages where people write messages to you.
And after reading a few of those messages, I have determined that I really was a complete idiot in highschool.
I clearly had quite a few inside jokes with people back in those days. Of course, reading those words and phrases repeated on the pages of my yearbook leaves me confused, and again, certain that I must have been an idiot. Why was any of that funny? And I'm a little baffled that if these people who are Facebooking me are the same people who wrote any of these messages that reference my super-lame jokes, what about any of that makes them think, "Hey, I'll Facebook The Tyrant to see if she remembers that thing about [lame inside joke reference here] from highschool."
Fortunately, I read in the messages of my yearbook that folks in highschool did find me funny, so maybe the ridiculous inside jokes were actually funny. I was also apparently a really good clarinet player (which, of course, makes me proud nowadays), and quite sarcastic. A skill that, thankfully, still dwells within me today.
Of course, I remember very few of the people who wrote these things in my yearbook, so chances are I wrote them myself throughout the years, just to cheer myself up. Using random names from pictures I found in the yearbook of people I thought looked cool and probably wished had actually written in my book, and a variety of ink colors and handwriting samples to give it some variety.
Ok, I didn't really do that. Too much work.
So, People of Highschool, feel free to continue Facebooking me. But I make no promises to remember who you are. However, I assure you that I am WAY funnier now.
I mean, you could be some crazy stalker, for all I know. Including the stalker I actually had in highschool.
C.T.
I have completed Week One of the new job, and I must say, it's been a good week.
Of course, some strange things have happened.
I left work at 5:30 everyday . . . along with everyone else.Very, very strange. I'm not sure I understand this environment.
I took a lunch break . . . everyday. Along with everyone else.
It's the end of the week and I don't feel stressed. At all.
People I'd met in passing on my first day came by my office later in the week . . . just to see how I was doing.
The IT guy was helpful. And friendly.
All of the people who weren't the IT guy were also helpful, and friendly.
The one guy who reports to me let me know when he had downtime . . . and offered to help me with anything I needed.
People seemed happy and content. Also, they seem to like each other.
No one blamed me for anything I may or may not have been responsible for.
In fact, I did a couple of good things, and I got props for it.
I didn't hear anyone yell at anyone else. No one yelled at me, either.
Also, I didn't yell at anyone.
Sure, I just started a new job this week and it's going great. But it's never the wrong time to think about your future.
In "some" years, I will achieve the age of 35 years old. This can be an important time in a woman's life. It represents a milestone of age and wisdom that opens new doors that were previously un-openable whilst being much younger, and far less wise.
One door is a position of power, leadership, and includes a big house. At the age of 35, I will become eligible to be President of the United States. And at the rate things are going now, our country might be ready for a fresh, young face and a new take on leading this country with honesty, values, and all of the country-running know-how contained in seven seasons of The West Wing.
First order of business: Four-day work weeks (Violators will be prosecuted and ridiculed)Of course, should I choose not to become President, the age of 35 will still provide an opportunity behind door number two. This one comes with far less power and little-to-no Secret Service. But it does combine my love of reality TV and ridiculous modeling competitions.
Second order of business: Business-casual dress code at The White House
Third order of business: My face on a new 3-dollar bill
Fourth order of business: Peace in the Middle East, and fix Social Security
Gorgeous women 35-and-over will grace TV Land primetime in a new modeling competition series like no other. For one very lucky winner, a second chance for a supermodel career, a life changing contract with the world famous Wilhelmina Modeling Agency, and a spread in Self magazine awaits.I mean, it will be a tough choice. Ruler of the free world, or 35-year-old model. The possibilities are endless with either path that I might choose.
Yes, they do let the world know that I'm a rockstar.
Design your own shoes at Converse.com.
Keep in mind, yours won't be as cool as mine. But you're welcome to try.
C.T.
Why? Because I can, now that I work close enough to do so.
Yes, that's a hot pocket on my fork.
C.T.
I wanted my last day before I start my new job tomorrow to be as low-activity as humanly possible.
I am well on my way to accomplishing that.
I was not able to secure a fantastic tan during my time off. And today would have been a perfect day to work on that. It's nice and sunny outside.
However, I don't want to be THAT girl at work.
You know, the new girl who shows up on her first day with the most ridiculous sunburn ever.
So, I sat under my patio umbrella this afternoon, eating Doritos, foregoing the tan attempt so that I don't look like an idiot tomorrow with a horrible sunburn that would inevitably occur instead of a nice tan.
I have a talent for ridiculous sunburns.
C.T.
