Monday, June 27, 2011

you work today?

Say this phrase out loud: "You work today?"

Now say it in your best Asian voice:  "You work today?"

My sister Pee (yes, that is her real nickname) and her husband SonofaDutch have a theory that goes like this:

If you receive personal grooming services from an Asian person, 9 times out of 10, they will ask only one question and it's this: "You work today?"

They base this theory on the fact that SoD's barber (who is Asian) and Pee's nail salon lady (who is Asian) both pose the question every time they go and it is also the ONLY question they have in their arsenal of customer chit chat.

I myself do not go to a barber or nail salon of any type, so I have never been able to test their theory.

However, in getting ready for summer,  I did break down and get a pedicure.  Not because I wanted to - I don't really enjoy having my feet scraped and picked at by a stranger.  I did it so as not to scare or offend anyone with my hooves, I mean, feet when I wear flip flops.

Anyway, I went to a nail place in a nearby strip mall.  I got a Caucasian teenager so I was slightly disappointed that I could not test out the theory.

Then something wonderful happened.  They started to get busy, so the owner (or owner's husband or brother or whatever he was) had to help.  He was Asian and no sooner had the lady dipped her toe into the basin, he said, "You work today?"

I nearly snorted at a very high volume.

Their theory is true!

Test it out to see if it's true for you.  I'd like to know what the statistics are out there.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

coughing up a mini-Snickers bar

Warning:  the following is gross, but true.  If you don't like things that are gross, I suggest you go to another blog that is less disgusting. 

I've been sick with a sore throat and sinus congestion.  I am "hocking" (not sure if that's the correct spelling for it, but you know what I'm talking about)...I am hocking up the nastiest crap ever.

I think I coughed up a mini-Snickers bar.

No lie, I feel like I barfed up a lung.  (shout out to all Ferris Bueller fans)

It makes me appreciate being healthy. 

Because nobody wants to spit in the sink & see a mini-Snickers bar.

(*disclaimer:  the term "mini-Snickers bar" is not used with permission from M&M Mars or whoever makes them.  Also, I am not the original creator of the euphemism "mini-Snickers bar".  The original creator is my sister, Pee (yes, that is her real nickname), who once called me when she was sick and said she coughed up a mini-Snickers bar.  The description was so striking to me that I have now adopted it.  If you don't "get it" then you obviously do not have sinus issues and I hate you.  Let's just say it's chunky snot expelled from your throat in such a mass quantity that the only real way to describe it is "mini Snickers bar".)

I understand if you never visit this blog again. 

But I did warn you. 

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

the disappearing dead bug

I hate crickets.

Their noises are maddening.  Especially when it's just one cricket screeching away while you are trying to sleep.   Worse than Chinese water torture.

The way they crawl gives me the heebie jeebies.  They're supposed to jump.  They creep me out when they crawl.  It's like they are trying to be sneaky.  gross.

And they are hard to kill because you can't just stomp them like you can a spider.
They have too many guts that squirt out.

I lightly stepped on one the other day in my basement.  Enough to kill.  Not enough to squish.  I left it for superfrydad to dispose of because I don't touch them.

Later I went back downstairs and the cricket was gone. 

I hate when you kill a bug & then it disappears. 

One time my sister, Pee (yes, that's her real nickname) trapped a huge spider under a glass so her hubby (SonofaDutch) could kill it when he got home. 

She went back later only to find that the giant spider had lifted up the cup and escaped.  It probably went straight under her pillow to make a nest. 

And one time I saw something out of the corner of my eye while I was at my computer desk.  My brain said, "Oh look, there's a little frog" and I started to reach for it. 

Then I realized it was a spider. 

And it disappeared.  I looked everywhere and could not find it.

I can't stand to think about bugs that you only semi-kill or can't find to kill.  They are somewhere, lingering, just waiting to crawl inside your mouth while you are sleeping.  eeeewww.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Seahorse dads

Seahorses are really the only fathers that should be recognized for Father's Day.

I mean, Mother's Day is for those who have pushed out a baby or had their guts sliced open never to regain feeling there again.

What do Father's do on the day they become dads?  Stand there and eat a tunafish sandwich?  (that's a shout out to Day by Day, whose husband actually ate a tunafish sub while she was in major labor.  not cool.  not cool.)

Seahorse dads should at least get props for carrying their babies.

It should be Seahorse Day instead of Father's Day. 

Why do men think they need a day too?

I mean, you can't do what you do for moms on Mother's Day.
Breakfast in bed doesn't count because that happens all the time. (well, ok, it happens more than once a year.  which is more than it happens for moms.)
Flowers are a no go, because what man wants flowers?
Sappy cards or handcrafted jewelry boxes or picture frames are simply not appreciated, so why bother?
Anything that they would want is too expensive.  ATVs, guns, powertools, trucks, etc. are way out of my price range. 

Guess what I got my dad?  A S'mores kit.  Because he has a little fire pit that he thinks is cool.  I got him little telescoping marshmallow sticks, Hershey Bars, Graham Crackers, and the new square marshmallows. 

He pulled out the graham crackers first & said, "oooh, graham crackers!  I like those."
He seriously thought I bought him graham crackers for Father's Day. 

I actually had to explain it to him.  He asked me how you toast the graham crackers and the chocolate.  Apparently he has never had s'mores before.  How can you be 59 years old and not know how to make s'mores?

So my point is, why bother? 
Moms appreciate Mother's Day because they remember the pain and the agony of childbirth. 
Father's Day just doesn't have quite the same umph.

Happy Seahorse Day.

PS - The previously expressed view are completely fictional.  I think Father's Day is great.  Dads are great and deserve the same credit as moms.  And I firmly believe that you don't have to push out a baby or get your gut cut to be a mother.  Some of the best mothers have never been pregnant a day in their life. 

All that being said, Mother's Day is still kind of more important than Father's Day in the big scheme of holidays, dontcha think?

Saturday, June 18, 2011

crazy cat lady of bloggerville

Everybody knows a crazy cat lady.

Nobody wants to be a crazy cat lady.

So I'm wondering if I blog every day, is that the equivalent of being a crazy cat lady? 

Is it cooler to blog less often so you look like you are otherwise occupied? 

You know, if you don't have a post for every day, you look like you are busy with your fabulous life.  If you post everyday, you *might* look like a crazy cat lady who sits in her house all day watching infomercials.

But for me, blogging is like exercise.  I miss one day and then I'm like, "la, la, la...didn't do that yesterday, so I might as well skip today!"

But if I start turning into the crazy cat lady of bloggerville, I hope somebody will tell me. 

Or at least drop a hint.  Something subtle, like, "your blog sucks", might work.

Friday, June 17, 2011

summertime means crap and flies

So the season of summer is officially here.

Here's how I know:
1.  It's hot.
2.  The flies.

We have 2 goats and about 5 or 6 cows, plus their calves.  If you are unfamiliar with the joys of owning livestock, let's just say that one of the un-joys is manure.

Who says manure, anyway?  Call it like it is, people.  Crap. (Ketchupwiththefrys is a family show, so if you are thinking sh__, then you might need to check out some other lame blog that sprinkles a cuss word here and there so you feel like you're edgy.)

Anyway.....back to the crap.  Where there is crap, there are flies.  Lots of flies.

Our doors open and close approximately a zillion times per day.  They remain open longer than they need to approximately 18 minutes per day.  This lets in approximately 10 flies per day.  Maybe more.

Anyway, I have a fly swatter and I keep it handy when summertime rolls around because I hate flies in the house.  You'd think I'd be a super-ninja with a fly swatter by now.  No.

I creep up on the fly as it sits rubbing it's gross little front legs together.  You know how they do.  So gross.  Anyway, I take my time and aim, with no sudden movements.  I ALWAYS miss. 

Then I swing the fly swatter around like I'm a octopus fencing champion thinking I can hit it as it flies away.

Sometimes I get lucky & get a slow fly.  You know the kind.  The ones that just sit there and let you kill them.  Not sure if they are drunk on poop and their motor skills are not up to par, or what. 

But it's satisfying nontheless to kill a fly, even if it's a dumb one that your 6 year old could have killed with a flip flop. 

Hopefully, my summer will improve and I will have better things to blog about than killing flies.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

tractor tires in your yard

Why do people use tractor tires as yard decorations?

Here are some ways I've seen them used:

Flower garden planters.  What makes anyone think that this somehow makes your flowers more beautiful?

Driveway "lions".   You know, like 2 tires standing up on either side of the driveway.  It's like a white trash version of stone pillars.

Playground equipment.  When I was in elementary school, we had about 4 different sizes of them painted different colors stuck upright in the ground.  We hid inside them, climbed up using the treads as handles, and jumped from one to the other.  It sucked when you jumped on the one that was not very sturdy because you'd leap with all your might only to find yourself landing on not so solid ground.  The wimpy tire would lean over or buckle under you and you'd think, "Oh crap, I forgot this was the sucky one."

I guess maybe using tractor tires as yard decorations could be considered "green" since it's better than the alternative of illegally dumping them on someone else's property.  But still, being "green" is a poor excuse for dorkiness that has no cure, which is what you have if you have tractor tires as yard decorations.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

sprinkler vs. robot dance moves

If the sprinkler is your best dance move, you might be my daughter. 
This picture is from my niece's wedding last Saturday.
Note everyone laughing at her in the background.
She was all about the dancing.
Her go to move was the sprinkler.  However, she did incorporate some robot.

She even grabbed the available 6 year olds and forced them to dance with her.
A happy day for everyone.
The sprinkler moves were just the icing on the cake.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

yeah, I'm asking you a question

I read that if you want your blog to succeed, you're supposed to engage the reader by asking a question. 

Is it just me, or is that kind of silly?  I mean, there's a comment button right there.  Should I really have to ask a question for you to think of something to say?

If you read a post and have a thought, then click the comment button and type something. 

If you read a post and have no thoughts, then you are brain dead & your comment would probably not be very interesting for anyone else to read, so it saves us all time when you don't type a comment.

When I read a blog with a question at the end, it makes me not want to respond.  Because I know that this is what the blogger wants me to do.  I'm not so great with wanting to do things that are expected of me.

I think that if you are writing a blog, you should be interesting enough to spark a comment here or there without asking the token question. that I look back and see the pitiful number of responses I have on my blog, maybe I will turn to the dark side and pose a question in order to fish for responses.

So, today's question is:  If a person spells "ketchup" as "catsup", should you be able to punch them in the face without warning?

Sunday, June 12, 2011

reggurler coke

When you go out to eat, the first thing the waitress says is "Hi my name is Ashley, I'll be your server today, what can I get you to drink?"

For most people, this question does not pose a problem.  However, my husband is what I like to call restaurant ordering communi-impaired. 

He looks inside the menu to see what they serve.  Mind you, he always orders the same thing, Coke.  And almost every restaurant serves Coke.  If they don't serve Coke, they will always say "Is Pepsi ok?" and he will say yes.

So what's the point of looking like the waitress just asked you what the square root of 666 is and flip flapping the menu around like the answer is inside?

Here's what happens:  I will order Diet Coke, order Sprite for the kid, and then when it's his turn, he will flip flap the menu around and then say "Regular Coke."  But instead of saying "regular" he says "reggurler".

9 times out of 10 the server has him repeat himself because #1 he talks too low and #2 who says "regular Coke"?  You just say "Coke".  Plus he just said a word that doesn't exist. (reggurler) He feels he needs to qualify "Coke" so they don't bring him a Diet Coke.

They will know you don't want Diet Coke because you didn't say Diet before you said Coke. 

But if you say "regular Coke", they get confused.  Plus the fact that he says "reggurler" instead of "regular" only adds to the confusion. 

I'm telling you, the reggurler Coke thing drives me nuts.  If you don't believe me that it happens every time, let's go out to eat together and see.  If he says it, you pay.  If he doesn't, I will.  I could probably eat out every weekend for a year on this.



There are several types of people on facebook.

People who have pictures of just themselves as their profile pic.

People who have a picture of their kid as their profile pic.

People who have a picture of their whole family as their profile pic.

People who have a picture of a cartoon or something like that as their profile pic.

I mostly fall into the category of the "whole family" pic. 

Here's why:
I do not have any pictures of just me.  I just cannot bring myself to stand in front of my bathroom mirror and pose for a picture.  I don't have the ability to stretch my arm out and take a picture of my face. (not without having 4 more than my normal triple chin.)

In my brain, if I post a profile pic of just myself, it's like hey, look at me, this is an awesome picture of myself.  It's better to have a family pic.  For one, it makes me look smaller, which is really not true, but that's what I think.  Also, it makes me think that people will not look at me because they are looking at my hubby and cute little daughter.

But I must admit that I admire those who have the single person photo of themselves.  They are generally the beautiful people of the world.  I'm pretty sure most of the notasbeautiful people have profiles pics of their kids, the whole family, or a cartoon.  Myself included.

This may or may not be true, but it's a theory that could be looked into if you were so inclined. 

I'm not so inclined.  I'd rather just think I am right with no basis whatsoever.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

wedding bells

I am officially old.

My daughter, age 6, is going to be a flower girl today in our niece's wedding.  My niece was in our wedding almost 17 years ago and she was the same age. 

How did she get from being the little girl in our wedding to the beautiful bride she is today?

I need to find a way to go back in time so I can tell myself that I need to not blink.

Congratulations, Michelle & Rousawn. 

If you wish to send condolences to me for being so old, you may do so.

I hope that while they get hitched, everything will go off without a hitch. 

Most of all, I hope my daughter doesn't pick her nose during the ceremony.  (Just kidding, she would never do that.  I hope.)

the stand up coffin

I have an unwritten policy that I will never crawl inside a tanning bed.  Too much like a coffin and for some reason, I feel like it's just gross. Also, I'm paranoid about getting skin cancer.  Not really, but it sounds less weird than saying the coffin thing.

I guess you could say I am a tanning virgin.

I have, however, had a couple of spray tans.  I got one recently and while I was standing there in my underwear (don't try to think about it, it's not a pretty picture)....anyway, while I was standing there, the lady starts telling me about the windtunnelbr549tunneloftan or something like that.  She was using a lot of words that I didn't quite understand but I did catch one part about it blowing 22 mph winds at you.

She was talking about a stand up tanning booth.  Why she did not use those words, I'll never know, but I thought she was talking about some kind of automated spray tanning machine.

I thought she was telling me all this to should get in the automated tanning machine so that nobody has to look at the carb buffet of muffin tops and backfat rolls while they spray tan you.

And for $12, I could add the turbowindtunneltanspectacular to my services for the day.  She said it would make my spray tan stick longer and the wind would dry me. 

Being a sweaty girl, I thought extra wind blowing on me would be a good thing, so I agreed.

I still didn't realize it was a tanning booth until I got inside. 

The heat of the bulbs, the stand up coffin sized space, and the force of the wind were almost enough to make me panic.  Then I realized what it was and I was like, O crap, I'm in a stand up tanning bed!

Which makes me wonder, how stupid can I be?  Did I really think they were going to blow spray tan on me at 22 mph?  I thought that's why I had the goggles! Which, by the way, are no fun to try and put directly on your eyeballs with 22 mph winds blowing on you.  Yes, the lady told me to put them on before I got in.

Obviously, I'm not a direction follower as I spent the next 3 minutes inside the coffintanningtube worrying that the bulbs had melted my contacts into my eyeballs before I got the goggles on.

Friday, June 10, 2011

killer marbles

Family Game Night.  Sounds appealing.  Even quaint.

Board games with our family involve some rules.  I don't mean the rules that come with the game.  We follow those (mostly.)  What I mean is that there are sometimes little things in a game that may or may not be "legal." 

For instance, many people have a "kitty" in Monopoly where you pay Luxury Tax, etc.  Then if you land on Free Parking, you get the money in the kitty.  To my knowledge, this little rule is not part of the official rules that come with the game.  But pretty much everybody I know plays that way.  (If you don't play that way then you must live under a rock.)

Anyway, the Fry family plays this game that's kind of like Sorry only you use a regular deck of cards and marbles that move around a board.  We sometimes refer to it as Killer Marbles.  It's a homemade game, so there are no printed rules.  However, everybody knows how to play Sorry, and it's basically the same thing.  Somehow, we seem to turn it into something else altogether.

Inevitably, there comes a point in the game where there is a "gray area."  Someone will question a player's move.  Usually the questioner just got "killed" by the other player.  The "killer" will then defend their play.  The questioner will then recount the move.  The killer will proclaim his innocence.  Then everyone else at the table will voice their opinions.  At the same time.  Loudly. 

Generally, the loudest person wins the argument and the game moves on.  You'd think we'd have the rules down by now, but they change every game so it's hard to follow sometimes.

Because of the rule thing, almost everyone cheats.  Or everyone thinks that everyone else cheats. You never really know for sure.

Here are the kinds of players we have in our family:

1.  The blatant cheater.  This person will just take their marble and move it home when it's not even their turn.  Sometimes they get caught & sometimes they don't.

2.  The tapping cheater.  This person "taps out" their move.  Like if they play a 5, they tap their marble 5 times on the board like they just moved 5 spaces but really they moved 4, and everyone knows that you can't move forward 4 because a 4 must go backwards.

3.  The sneaky cheater.  This person is usually the quiet one.  No one suspects them of cheating so they can play a 3 and move 2 and nobody will notice.

4.  The old man cheater.  Nobody wants to be disrespectful to their elders, so the old man cheater gets away with it because he knows nobody will call  him out on it.

5.  The winner cheater.  If you win, you cheated.  period.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

schmucket list

I don't have a bucket list.

I have a schmucket list.

It's a list of things that most people can do, but I cannot. 

It's not really a list of things I want to accomplish.  More like things I've come to realize I will probably never do.  A schmucket list.

Here are a few things that my schmucket list contains. 
  1. Do a cartwheel. 
  2. Rollerskate.
  3. Swim in water over my head.
I mean, who doesn't know how to rollerskate? 

What's on your schmucket list?

Wednesday, June 8, 2011


You know the phrase "sweating bullets"?

Well, it's so hot that if my armpits were guns, they'd be AK-47s.

I hate hot weather.

Not to mention my feet, which sweat all the time, no matter the weather, but are particularly sweaty when it's hot.  I put baby powder on them the other day to see if that would help.  It turned into white mud.

So gross.

Yet so true.   It's all true here at Ketchup with the Frys.  Aren't you so happy to be a part of this blog that makes you feel better about yourself?

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

is that when they crucify you?

So my friend's blog the other day had a funny post about her youngest daughter, age 5, who, when asked "Who is Jesus?" replied, "I don't know."

So I commented that my superfrykid and I were talking about people getting baptized, and I asked her what that means and she said, "Is that when they crucify you?"

Clearly, there is work to be done here in the spiritual teaching of our children.

Anyway, you can read the whole thing over at Simply Us

And also, her blog contains a picture of the aforementioned 5 year old that kind of looks like Flava Flav.  (disclaimer: the 5 year old does not know who Flava Flav is either.)

Monday, June 6, 2011

you too can fart like a machine gun

My sister, Pee (yes, it's her real nickname in real life), is skinny.  I am not. 

She purchased a DVD set off of an infomercial and then called to tell me that she would copy a set for me so we could do it together.  Talk about a subtle hint. 

The DVD set is called TurboFire.  I thought she was kidding.  It sounds like a type of bad diarrhea or something.

My guess is that it's kind of like P90X, which I tried a couple of times.  Banana.....superman....banana....superman.  Not for me.
I'm more like eggplant, unicorn.  (The eggplant is b/c a banana curves up at both ends and my banana roll is more like an eggplant, kind of lumpy at the bottom.  The unicorn is b/c when I try to do superman, I just lay on my stomach and point my finger out from my forehead.  Full extension is just not possible.)  If you don't know what banana & superman are, they are exercises in P90X.  Google it if you still don't get it, or just skip this little part and move on, it really isn't necessary to get what I'm trying to say.

Anyway, back to TurboFire. I really did think she was kidding when she told me what it was called.  Then one night I was watching TV and what came on but an infomercial for Ripfire.  Ripfire is a muscle building supplement.  I assume TurboFire and RipFire go together, since they both have annoying names that sound like they will make you poop your pants or fart like a machine gun.

So what I'm hearing in my head is an infomercial voice saying "you too can fart like a machine gun with Ripfire....only $19.95 plus shipping and handling."

I guess if TurboFire really did make you have some kind of crazy diarrhea, you might lose weight.  They should market it to people who hate to exercise...."Poop yourself skinny with TurboFire!  Easier than actually exercising."

I love you my sister, even if you do buy stuff off of infomercials.  When you are done with it, you can sell it on Craigslist.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

not getting stabbed is always a plus

My sister, Pee (yes, this is her real nickname - don't ask) and her husband (I'm thinking his pseudo-name should be SonofaDutch, but I'm not sure that does him justice because it sounds kind of bad & he's actually quite nice.  If you know him, you'd get it.  If you don't, just laugh & picture him however you want.) and their delightful 8 month old daughter are getting ready to move. 

I guess people nowadays don't have moving sales.  They just put their stuff on Craigslist.  Craigslist is like a yard sale without the awkwardness of sitting around trying to not watch people judge your stuff.

I myself have never used Craigslist.  However, my sister and her hubby have had great success with selling some of their furniture.  In fact, I spoke to SonofaDutch on the phone today & he mentioned that they just sold their very large sectional couch for a really good price.  I said something like, "That's great!  Craigslist has really been working for you guys.  You have gotten all cash buyers and no Craigslist killers."

To which SonofaDutch replied, "Yes, Craigslist is great, and not getting stabbed is always a plus."

Not getting stabbed is always a plus. 

I like that phrase, because it's always true in pretty much any circumstance.  I'm trying to think of a time when getting stabbed would be a plus, and I can't come up with anything.

Yes, I must say, not getting stabbed is always a plus.  (But I'm also probably never going to use Craigslist because I can't say it without following it up with the word "killer".)

bad names

Ever noticed that there are some names that immediately indicate that a person is a problem person for you?  I have a short list of names that I know are "bad names" for me. 

What I mean is, I can see a kid throwing a fit in a grocery store, and when the mother calls him by name I think to myself, "figures, he's a Zachary".  Zachary, of course, is just an example.  I can't name real names here because then people would know what my "bad names" are.

I don't necessarily mean that all people named "whatever" are bad.  I just mean that there are certain names that you come across where you know the person is destined to be distasteful to you in some way. 

My sister and I share this theory.  She is a teacher and has a few names that she's come across over the years which never pan out to be good.  Now and then you'll get an exception to the rule.  But even then, it's hard to get over my self-imposed "yucks" over certain names.

I myself have one of these names.  I can't say I've ever met another person who shares my first name that I like.  What does that say about me?  Am I a Zachary?  (Yes, Zachary is on the list, I admit.  But I do happen to know a few exceptions, so it's all good.)

And aren't there statistics about criminals having certain "yuck-o" names?  Like if your name is something ugly, you don't like yourself and it causes you to become a criminal?  I don't know if that's really true or not, but it popped in my brain so I typed it.

The name I always wondered about is Rahab.  Nobody names their daughter Rahab.  Why? 

I think its because most people associate her with being a prostitute.  Well, I don't think, I'm pretty sure I know that's why.  I mean, who would do that?  However, she is listed in Hebrews 11, so I think if God sees her as an example of faith, wouldn't more people be inclined to name their children Rahab?  I mean there are tons of girls named Sarah.  I always thought Sarah was kind of a smart-aleck for laughing while she was eavesdropping, and she was kind of two faced with the whole Hagar thing.

Anyway, I think Rahab should come back in style for names.

Maybe I just talked myself out of the whole bad name list.  Rahab should not be on it and maybe there are other names who don't deserve it either (like Zachary....unless it's spelled Zackari or something like that.  You know it's bad when you have a silly spelling for no reason.)

Friday, June 3, 2011

a zit with attitude

I hate it when you get a pimple inside your ear or inside your nose.  They are the worst.
A pimple on the outside of your nose or on your chin is bad enough.  Everyone can see it and there's not much you can do about it until it heals. 

But an inner ear or inner nose pimple is another story. 

It's like it has to make up for not being visible.  Like a zit with attitude.

"Hey, I'm here and nobody knows it but you, so I'm gonna make you miserable by painfully throbbing instead of publicly humiliating you with my ugliness."

It's like, really?  I mean it's bad enough that I am more than double the age of the average teenager and still have to worry about pimples.  But zits with attitude?  ugh.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

piles of....

Grass.  We have piles of grass in our yard. 

Here's what happens:

We wait too long to mow our grass. 

When we DO mow our grass, it needs to be raked.  (We don't have a bagger and we have a pretty big front and back yard.)

Let me just insert here that I am not an outdoors person.  I don't like to be outside.  Frydaddy mows the grass around here.  However, once in awhile, I will don my old sneakers and inform him that I will mow.   With the riding mower, of course.  And only if he gets it out of the barn, parks it in front of the steps and leaves it running so I can jump on and go.

Anyway, back to the piles. 

We wait too long, then it needs to be raked, then the piles need to be collected and thrown over the fence.  Usually frydaddy does all of this by himself, plus the weed whacking. 

A few weeks ago, I decided to be superfrymomma and I mowed while he weed whacked, and then I raked while he mowed all of the places I don't mow.  (like under the trees and on the hills.) 

Although I mowed and raked, the one thing I refuse to do is pick up the piles and throw them over the fence.  I get poison really easily & very badly, so I avoid touching the grass, even with gloves.

The piles never got picked up.

Fast forward another week or so.  The mowing is overdue once again, PLUS, the piles are brown lumps of dead grass all over the place. 

I mow again-round two.  I mowed right over the piles and then raked it up again.  (This time only the back yard got raked because it was hot outside.)

So now, we are on round 3 of "our grass needs to be mowed again" and we have super piles of dead, partially wet brown grass all over the place. 

Guess what?  Fool me once, shame on you - Fool me twice, I'm not raking again because it's just a waste of time and energy since you & I both know that we are just going to run right over those piles with the lawn mower, so why rake it up in the first place?

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

the dork-o-meter

We are planning a summer vacation to Pigeon Forge, TN.  If you don't know, it's home to Dollywood.  If you don't know what Dollywood is...well, if you don't know what Dollywood is then certainly you are much cooler than I am.

In hopes of maybe scoring a coupon or travel tips, I "liked" Dollywood on facebook.  Shortly thereafter one of my friends sent me a private message poking fun at me for liking Dollywood.
I must say, I was taken aback.  If she would ridicule me for liking Dollywood on fb, what would she say if she knew we were planning to go there for our family vacation?  

I immediately realized that even though I am comfortable with my own level of dorkiness, I sometimes forget that in our culture, most people prefer to keep their dorkiness under wraps.

Which led me to think, how dorky am I?  I came up with the concept of the dork-o-meter.

The dork-o-meter method measures your level of dorkiness by asking questions a la Jeff Foxworthy's "You Might Be A Redneck."

If you go to a Nascar race, camp for a week and call it summer vacation, you might be a redneck.
If you go to Dollywood for summer vacation, you might be a dork.

If you wear cut off jeans to a funeral, you might be a redneck.
If you wear a jean dress jumper paired with Keds, you might be a dork.

If your purse is leather and has fringe, you might be a redneck.
If your purse has a cartoon character on it, you might be a dork.  If it's Winnie the Pooh, double dork.

The list could go on, but you get the idea.  Some of the categories within the dork-o-meter could include nerdy, dorky, and quirky.

I think quirky would be the one to shoot for, but sometimes quirky is just a cool version of dorky.  Sometimes dorks fancy themselves as quirky, but it just doesn't work.

So on a scale from 1 to 10, I'd say my dork level is probably a 9.  (And no, I do not have a purse with cartoon character on it, but I have other things that raise my dork-o-meter level.  None of which will be discussed in this post.  Maybe some day.)
But I'm okay with a 9.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go look up where to eat at Dollywood.