Gardening with Hurricane Shirley and Don the Brawn.

Lately I have found out my parents are complete opposites. Mom's speed is such that the only way I can think to describe her is two words: Gung Ho. Ok, that sounds bad, my mom is not a Ho. She's just really insistent on getting her way, and is willing to beg, borrow, whine, and grouch her way into getting what she wants.  Now mind you, my mother has a good heart, and is always thinking she is doing the best for someone else, when in reality it benefits her.

My dad, however, is strictly the backbone, the moving parts of the operation, and possibly the most patient person I have ever met. However, as he is getting older, he is finally starting to stand up to Hurricane Shirley, and will yank her chain back if necessary. He also has an excellent sense of humor. With Dad, you know that he's going to throw a sarcastic quip out at the right moment and usually at your expense. It's quite charming really.

Today was the best example of classic Hurricane Shirley and Don the Brawn. Mom stopped by this morning and I went to a couple greenhouses with her. I had started a small container garden (4 containers and a front flower bed) so when I went with her, I had planned on getting two more tomato plants. When I arrived home, I had added two tomato plants, four cucumbers, and eight peppers to the original 3 tomato plants, 4 cucumbers, and eight peppers. This small container garden was small no more. I did some shuffling and planted what would fit, and mom said she'd bring me a couple more containers to plant the extra peppers in.

I had just began to relax and contemplate a bath when my phone rang. Mom. I answered (like I always do...) and mom told me that she and Dad were in town with some stuff for my garden. They arrived with 5 tomato cages, 2 large buckets, a shovel, 2 large planters, and a giant planter. I was informed by my mother that we were going to replant the tomatoes into the new containers, plant the peppers and douse everything with Miracle-Gro. Joy. Dad went straight for the folding chair on the porch. It was obvious that he had been coerced into coming. Being as we were out of potting soil, it was also obvious that someone was going to have do some serious digging the backyard for dirt.  I looked at Dad, he looked at me. I smiled, he smiled. Then he said, "Well, you better get to it..." and I knew my back was about to get REALLY sore. At some point he took pity on me and filled a couple of the containers, I don't remember when as I think I may have been hyperventilating. I'm not a small girl, and I'm not that great at physical stuff, so I was in some good pain.

We brought the filled containers around to the front (brought=lugged, pulled, panted, died) and I started transplanting. Then I realized we had to fill four more containers. I looked at Dad and smiled, he pretended not to see me. I looked at mom, she was pouring Miracle-Gro generously EVERYWHERE and I dragged the shovel and container back to the torture zone (I mean backyard). I filled the pots and brought them up and transplanted the remaining plants. My mom then spent the next 10 minutes telling me to do things and making me change things a million times. Dad fell asleep on the porch.

Mom woke Dad up and said she was hungry. Dad told her to walk across the street to Dillons. She looked at me and said "Let's go." I thought of many responses to that order, and eventually decided I would probably get a shovel to the brain if I said any of them to her. Besides, I was not going to be THAT daughter. You know the ungrateful one who makes their mother walk across the street to the grocery store with her broken leg and walk back carrying food.

By the time we returned I was exhausted. Still am. Which sucks because Das Bear wants me to clean the living room before he gets home at 11. Thinking that's not gonna happen. I'm taking a nap. Maybe a bath.

Most of all, I'm going to expect my phone to ring tomorrow morning, and for the caller ID to say MOM. Odds are I'm going to the greenhouses again, and I'm gonna have to dig more dirt and I'll get an impromptu visit from Mom and Dad again tomorrow. And Dad will sit there and watch us monkeys work, and I'll break my back and die. Ok, maybe not that last one. But for sure the others.

Love and Laughter-
Kat Lady

How much is that weenie in the window???

I vaguely apologize for my long absence. I could make excuses, I could lie, I could grow an extra arm...no, wait not that last one. Really, I just stopped finding myself interesting enough to write about, let alone read about. Now I'm on a better dosage of my psych meds and possibly may be humorous again. Or not. Whatever works for you.

I'm back and I've got some real ringers to share with you, involving my husband lusting for a cabinet and some weiner-related collectables to fill it with. If you read back to my post on reality television you will note that I am a true reality junkie. Recently, some of the shows have captured Das Bear's attention. One of these shows is Interior Therapy with Jeff Lewis. The most recent episode featured a couple named Adam and Yvonne. (Yeah, really.) She was gung-ho to move in after their committed relationship of an immense 5 months. Yeah, Yvonne, see me in another 9 years or so. Anyway, this jackwagon (Adam) has a curiously large collection of dicks. Yes, penises, weiners, wangs, jackwillies, etc. He had so many phallus related items that he needed to store them in a glass fronted cabinet. That's right...a "straight" man had so many dick-related replicas he had to buy them a cabinet. I wonder how it goes at his house parties. "Welcome, let me show you around...there's the kitchen, with the new stove, the dining room with the gigantic table, and my piece d'resistance- my collection of cocks.

Of course, he was totally connected to these one-eyed willies, and demanded they be carefully stored. To me it seemed he may have been a little too concerned about his penises, and not concerned enough with the (YOGA INSTRUCTOR) vagina that was willing to permanently pay attention to his (attached) flesh wand. Anyways, I commended what a dick (ironic, eh) this guy was, and my husband said something that stopped me in my tracks.

Me: That guy's a dick. I totally hate him.

Das Bear: I like his weiner cabinet. You CAN'T hate a guy that collects weiners.

It was at this point that he and I both concluded this dude was so far in the closet that he needed to collect dicks. Did I mention the dude had this really weird obsession with Mr. Rogers' sweaters and giant bowties? I can't think of a straight man who'd wear that inside his house, let alone on television. To cement our view, the camera cut to his "girlfriend" outside doing yoga. The woman was literally balanced on her arms with her legs in the air out to the side. This led to another discussion on his sexuality.

Das Bear: He's got be gay.

Me: Why?

Das Bear: If a woman like that wanted to move into my house I'd be like "and where would you like your yoga studio? My man cave? Have at. I'll build a treehouse in the back yard to drink beer and watch man shows.

Me: Wow. Just wow.

So, yes, at the end of the show Yvonne decided she really didn't like being the bitch in the relationship and ended it with Adam. I hope he's happy when he finds his true (man) love.

And also, my husband wants a cabinet so he can collect penises. Yep, that sounds good to me, as long as I get the bottom shelf for all the colorful rubbery ones....;)

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady