Thursday, July 26, 2007
My Peculiar-Tale of the Missing Pop-Tarts
My Peculiar Tale of the missing Pop Tarts is a Particular Testament to the Passive Temerity of People Thoughtless enough to Put Tarts away in Plastic Trash bags and not Publicly Tell their Partner The whereabouts of said Pop Tarts. My Peculiar Tale of the missing Pop Tarts is Phinished, so There. jdc
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Maven Schmaven
Kitchen Maven refers to my status in the kitchen. It mostly applies when stomachs are growling (either the human or 4-legged kind), the dishes have piled up, cans need to be recycled or someone can't find something right in front of their face on the top shelf of the refridgerator. I don't actually mind being a maven but I do so tire of being the menu preparer. I think it's the hardest kitchen job there is.
Recently there has been a lot of talk about a kitchen re-do. Everyone agrees that since I am the kitchen maven, I should get to pick what kind of new things will go in the kitchen. I've learned that the Bill Payer trumps the kitchen maven. It appears his desires are going to take precedent over mine.
So far I haven't had the fun that the re-doers on HGTV have when they are in process. I've been stymied over what shade of white I should choose for the cabinets. I don't know the difference between formica, corian, silestone or granite, except that each comes with a higher price tag. I've been thinking that if I were Samantha Stevens, all I'd have to do to get a new kitchen or put dinner on the table would be wiggle my nose. Instead this Cinderella will have to bibbity bobbity boo herself into the slave quarters and put some potatoes on to boil. Stay tuned. me
Recently there has been a lot of talk about a kitchen re-do. Everyone agrees that since I am the kitchen maven, I should get to pick what kind of new things will go in the kitchen. I've learned that the Bill Payer trumps the kitchen maven. It appears his desires are going to take precedent over mine.
So far I haven't had the fun that the re-doers on HGTV have when they are in process. I've been stymied over what shade of white I should choose for the cabinets. I don't know the difference between formica, corian, silestone or granite, except that each comes with a higher price tag. I've been thinking that if I were Samantha Stevens, all I'd have to do to get a new kitchen or put dinner on the table would be wiggle my nose. Instead this Cinderella will have to bibbity bobbity boo herself into the slave quarters and put some potatoes on to boil. Stay tuned. me
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
K. keep good
I. intentions
T. timely.
C. cook (only)
H. hardy
E. entrees,
N. not
M. making
A. any
V. vegetable
E. embellishments;
N. no one will eat.
I. intentions
T. timely.
C. cook (only)
H. hardy
E. entrees,
N. not
M. making
A. any
V. vegetable
E. embellishments;
N. no one will eat.
salvation
Clearly no-one is reading this blog. How do I know? No Comments. I just can't imagine that anyone would take the time and go to the trouble of locating this blog, read the posts and simply; carry on. So, to all you folks who aren't showing up anyway. pphhwwwttt, and don't let the spittle getya
Why ??
1. Couldn't Jack have found the Berkline dealer and warranty information before he attacked the chair with a pipe wrench ?
2. Didn't Jack just ask me? I could have told him he was one in a million without bringing Google into it.
3. Did Jack decide to name his private parts on the same day he was being interviewed for a magazine? In all the time I've known the guy, he has never once referred to Mr. Happy as Mr. Happy.
4. Is it so much easier to toot one's own horn in one's personal blog than anywhere else? Don't get me wrong, I'mvery proud of Jack's accomplishments. However, I don't think for one minute if you were having a personal conversation with him that he would ever bring up the aforementioned Mr. Happy.
Just for the record, I'm a "tooter" myself. No, not a "tooter," a self-aggrandizing horn tooter. Everyone can expect a copy of the July issue of skirt! via snail mail. I can't wait to see my sweetie in a skirt. Maybe they'll photograph him holding those manly wrenches.
me
2. Didn't Jack just ask me? I could have told him he was one in a million without bringing Google into it.
3. Did Jack decide to name his private parts on the same day he was being interviewed for a magazine? In all the time I've known the guy, he has never once referred to Mr. Happy as Mr. Happy.
4. Is it so much easier to toot one's own horn in one's personal blog than anywhere else? Don't get me wrong, I'mvery proud of Jack's accomplishments. However, I don't think for one minute if you were having a personal conversation with him that he would ever bring up the aforementioned Mr. Happy.
Just for the record, I'm a "tooter" myself. No, not a "tooter," a self-aggrandizing horn tooter. Everyone can expect a copy of the July issue of skirt! via snail mail. I can't wait to see my sweetie in a skirt. Maybe they'll photograph him holding those manly wrenches.
me
To The Rescue
OK, here's the rest of the story. I googled "Berkline." Sent an e-mail to the manufacturer, whose representative e-mailed me in short order. T.M.A.L.S.-S, Berkline is now sending us a whole new frame to go under the chair. FREE!!! I Love those people! Next step is to get it on the chair. OH, about the user-ship of said chair. Mary insisted that I use the chair. While we were still n the apartment, I sat in the chair and she on the couch next to me. Chair and couch practically touched each other. Once we moved here, and rearranged some furniture in the TV room the chair was on the opposite side from the double recliner where Mary sat. Until this post, I've not heard Mary complain about the seating arrangement. (Or, if I did, I blocked it out.) The black two piece chair, w/ottoman that was in my motor home has been in my office and now is in the tv room. I have to admit it is not as comfortable as 'ol brownie. But it is more in line with the size of the other furniture. 'ol brownie, is built on a larger scale, and really belongs in the living room with the other leather furniture. In fact, 'ol brownie is hidden in plain sight behind the love seat which backs up to the dining room. Anyway, it won't be long before it is operational again. I hope Mary enjoys it, fully!
However, Mary has had her revenge for my purloinment of said chair. Here in Jacksonville, we have a monthly periodical entitled SKIRT. A female only publication as everything in it has to come from someone of the female persuasion. EXCEPT: The monthly feature of a local business man decked out in a skirt who gets interviewed and photographed per issue. Mary volunteered me! Today, I've been interviewed. Next week is photo shoot and I'll be in the July issue. The interviewer always asks two questions; 1- what is the best part of reading skirt magazine. and 2- why is wearing a skirt a good idea? Candidly I said I get a lot of information about what female executives are faced with by reading the mag. I said freedom of movement was nice as far as wearing the skirt was concerned. Then Sara, the interviewer and I talked about The Fisher King. A movie in which Robin Williams ends the movie running around Central Park, naked. He said, "Mr. Happy" loved flopping in the breeze or some such nonsense. With Sara's prompting, I agreed that my Mr. Happy enjoyed the unrestricted movement afforded by a skirt. I'm being quoted on that. You can clearly see that these two women, Mary and Sara have conspired to get me to say things that I would never say on my own. Anyway, in addition to being listed #1 in both Google and Yahoo searches for coach jack cook (over some 1M, + others) I will shortly be viewed by, talked about by, and hopefully contacted by lots of ladies here in good old Jax. What a HOOT!
However, Mary has had her revenge for my purloinment of said chair. Here in Jacksonville, we have a monthly periodical entitled SKIRT. A female only publication as everything in it has to come from someone of the female persuasion. EXCEPT: The monthly feature of a local business man decked out in a skirt who gets interviewed and photographed per issue. Mary volunteered me! Today, I've been interviewed. Next week is photo shoot and I'll be in the July issue. The interviewer always asks two questions; 1- what is the best part of reading skirt magazine. and 2- why is wearing a skirt a good idea? Candidly I said I get a lot of information about what female executives are faced with by reading the mag. I said freedom of movement was nice as far as wearing the skirt was concerned. Then Sara, the interviewer and I talked about The Fisher King. A movie in which Robin Williams ends the movie running around Central Park, naked. He said, "Mr. Happy" loved flopping in the breeze or some such nonsense. With Sara's prompting, I agreed that my Mr. Happy enjoyed the unrestricted movement afforded by a skirt. I'm being quoted on that. You can clearly see that these two women, Mary and Sara have conspired to get me to say things that I would never say on my own. Anyway, in addition to being listed #1 in both Google and Yahoo searches for coach jack cook (over some 1M, + others) I will shortly be viewed by, talked about by, and hopefully contacted by lots of ladies here in good old Jax. What a HOOT!
Mr. Fix-It
Like Goldilocks checking out the 3 bears' chairs, Jack and I plopped our bottoms down in a lot of chairs before agreeing on what we considered the perfect recliner. It turned out to be made of distressed brown leather and had just the right kind of squishy-ness so that when you sat down you could sink back into a nest-like spot you'd already perfected.
It was supposed to be "my" chair, replacing the old and worn rocker I'd brought into the relationship. It didn't take long, however, for Jack to claim it as his own. He stuffed a feather pillow into the crack in the middle, to ease the pain in his back; and kept the matching brown quilt thrown over the back. It was my chair in name only... mostly it was Jack's watching TV chair, Jack's talking to his cat chair, Jack's napping chair.
One day Jack was lying there. I couldn't help myself. He looked so cute - the chair so inviting. I didn't do an actual flying leap, but I did spread my arms wide and kind of flop into the chair with him. I didn't know the chair was unstable, or if I did, I didn't take that into consideration before pouncing on my sweetie. Down we went, and as we worked our way to the floor, as if in slow motion, it was hard to tell who groaned louder, Jack or the chair.
We laughed til we cried. The chair seemed to groan until we figured out a way to untangle ourselves. It wasn't as easy getting out of the predicament as it was getting in. You know how Orca whales look when they are stranded on a dry beach. They can move a dorsel fin (hand) or give a little tail (foot) wag, but mostly they are stuck til the tide comes in. To our disadvantage that day, there was no tide rising in our den. We were beached for sure.
We finally righted ourselves and the chair. But sadly, our old brown friend never worked the same after that. Getting to the reclining position wasn't a problem, but it was always difficult to get the kick plate back where it belonged. The harder it got to get up and down, the more frustrated Jack got. When it became clear the chair was not going to fix itself, Jack decided to take matters into his own hands.
His tools of choice where giantic wrenches whose main purpose, if I were to guess, has something to do with under-the-sink pipes. He turned the chair upside down, and proceeded to operate; no anesthesia or laytex gloves just a man hell bent on getting the job done in time for the ten o'clock rerun of CSI. I have to admit, seeing him with those wrenches kind of impressed me.
Lou, the Furniture Medic, came to assess the situation out. He poked a little here and there under the wires and underpinnings of the chair, just to make us think there was hope. Sadly, it only took a matter of minutes before he declared our worn leather comrad DOA.
Jack brought in a replacement chair from his office. It sits in the same spot that the recliner filled so majestically. The feather pillow has been discarded but the brown quilt rests on the back. Somehow, it's just not the same. Saying goodby is never easy. We're considering turning the chair into a planter!
me
It was supposed to be "my" chair, replacing the old and worn rocker I'd brought into the relationship. It didn't take long, however, for Jack to claim it as his own. He stuffed a feather pillow into the crack in the middle, to ease the pain in his back; and kept the matching brown quilt thrown over the back. It was my chair in name only... mostly it was Jack's watching TV chair, Jack's talking to his cat chair, Jack's napping chair.
One day Jack was lying there. I couldn't help myself. He looked so cute - the chair so inviting. I didn't do an actual flying leap, but I did spread my arms wide and kind of flop into the chair with him. I didn't know the chair was unstable, or if I did, I didn't take that into consideration before pouncing on my sweetie. Down we went, and as we worked our way to the floor, as if in slow motion, it was hard to tell who groaned louder, Jack or the chair.
We laughed til we cried. The chair seemed to groan until we figured out a way to untangle ourselves. It wasn't as easy getting out of the predicament as it was getting in. You know how Orca whales look when they are stranded on a dry beach. They can move a dorsel fin (hand) or give a little tail (foot) wag, but mostly they are stuck til the tide comes in. To our disadvantage that day, there was no tide rising in our den. We were beached for sure.
We finally righted ourselves and the chair. But sadly, our old brown friend never worked the same after that. Getting to the reclining position wasn't a problem, but it was always difficult to get the kick plate back where it belonged. The harder it got to get up and down, the more frustrated Jack got. When it became clear the chair was not going to fix itself, Jack decided to take matters into his own hands.
His tools of choice where giantic wrenches whose main purpose, if I were to guess, has something to do with under-the-sink pipes. He turned the chair upside down, and proceeded to operate; no anesthesia or laytex gloves just a man hell bent on getting the job done in time for the ten o'clock rerun of CSI. I have to admit, seeing him with those wrenches kind of impressed me.
Lou, the Furniture Medic, came to assess the situation out. He poked a little here and there under the wires and underpinnings of the chair, just to make us think there was hope. Sadly, it only took a matter of minutes before he declared our worn leather comrad DOA.
Jack brought in a replacement chair from his office. It sits in the same spot that the recliner filled so majestically. The feather pillow has been discarded but the brown quilt rests on the back. Somehow, it's just not the same. Saying goodby is never easy. We're considering turning the chair into a planter!
me
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