Photo Friday

Night Cap

Video Thursday

Thanksgiving Bitch

I just had a horrible, shocking realization today. Thanksgiving is just nine days away. I was watching television and somebody mentioned Thanksgiving next week. Next week? That couldn't be, Halloween was just yesterday, wasn't it? I should have noticed the hints Mark had left in the kitchen, like all the crap that was taking up counter space. He apparently has been stockpiling the makings of next weeks feast for the last month.

As much as I love the Thanksgiving dinner, and all that goes with it, I have come to hate the day. When I was a kid, hell, even as an adult, all I had to do was show up at moms table, and a fabulous meal was there for the eating. There was no cleaning of the house, no helping peel potatoes, no running out for this and that. All I had to do was watch a football game, and at the appropriate time I'd be called in to dinner. After attacking the turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, and that weird thing with the marshmallows on top, I'd push away from the table and go watch the second football game. Not so anymore, I am required to help Mark now. I am responsible for cleaning the house, carrying in all the groceries from the car, and cleaning up the kitchen. I don't mean cleaning up the kitchen just once on Thanksgiving day. I mean that Mark makes such a mess it requires at least four cleanings, and at least one hosing down on Thanksgiving day. So now I have to gear up for the extravaganza coming up next week. I'll have to get my rest, and prepare to be Mark's bitch for a week. Maybe a little carbo-loading, and vodka will make it easier to take.

A Twinkie, a Glass of Vodka, and a Cigarette

Mark bought a box of Twinkies Friday, and left them on top of the refrigerator. Each and every time I walked through the kitchen they would call to me seductively.
"Alan, psst Alan, remember us? Remember how much you loved us when you were a kid? Don't you want to taste us again? We still have that soft, and moist sponge cake with the sweet creamy filling you loved."
I did. I certainly did love Hostess Twinkies when I was a kid. I also loved Hostess Sno Balls, Fruit Pies, and Cupcakes. I would often stop at Vogt's Store on the way home from school to get me some Hostess. I was like a snack cake junkie. My mom and dad certainly did not waste money on such things. After all mom baked plenty of cakes, and pies, her kids didn't need to get their sugar fix from store bought confections. But I did. I can't count how many times I came home from school with Twinkie cream on my shirt, or fruit goo on my face.

So I was home alone this afternoon, and I gave in. I raided Mark's Twinkie stash. I slowly unwrapped the plastic from one of the little yellow cakes, thinking of how delicious this was going to be. I took a bite. Hmmm, no flavor. I took another, still no flavor. By the third bite a flavor did start to develop. It wasn't a good flavor, it was kind of a pasty metallic taste. Where was the sweetness I remembered? By the time I finished that Twinkie, my mouth was filled with a spongy mush that I couldn't wait to wash out. It was nasty. I'm sitting here now with a foul metallic aftertaste in my mouth, wondering if it is me. Or could it be Hostess? Did they change the recipe, replacing good, delicious fat with Olestra, and sugar with corn syrup? What ever they did, it aint right. Then again it could be that I now have adult taste buds that are severely degraded after having had years of cigarette smoke, and vodka splashed across them.

(Note; I do not smoke any more. I gave it up twenty eight years ago, but the nineteen years I did smoke must have done some damage. Oh, and one more thing. Keep the comments clean please.)

Human Squirrels

My usual Sunday morning ritual starts with me getting up at seven, and walking the dogs. On my way into the house I pick up Mark's Sunday Paper, and bring it in to him, usually tossing the twenty pounds of newsprint onto the bed. It's the best way to wake him up. I then go make breakfast while Mark goes through the paper, separating the different ads, and spreading them out on the bed (You didn't think he got the paper for the news did you?). It all seems harmless enough. After all, Mark does all the grocery shopping and pays for it, so I would expect him to look for bargains.

Yesterday I walked into the bedroom, and I was horrified. Mark was watching a television show called 'Extreme Couponing', a show about folks who clip coupons and use them. They don't just clip one or two coupons, but hundreds of them, and then go shopping and bring mountains of crap home. The part that horrified me so much was when they showed one of the homes of an extreme couponer. The woman had enough toilet paper to last until 2049, and enough tweezers to tweeze the eyebrows of the entire country of Greece. Another person had bottles of water she had purchased with coupons squirreled away in her house. If she drank one bottle of water a day, she would be able to slake her thirst for sixty seven years. As cluttered as our home is I shuddered at the thought of Mark getting into this. As it is, our kitchen is already bursting at the seams, and I have no idea where we would store all that crap. Luckily, while I stood there with my mouth hanging open staring at the television, I heard Mark from behind me say, "These people are crazy. I just don't understand why you would buy all that stuff and keep it in your house."
Thank goodness, Mark has sense, and would not be turning into an extreme couponer. The only thing that bothered me about that is when I turned around, Mark was sitting there clipping coupons.

Veteran's Day

Dad's Flag

Video Thursday

My two home towns.

Wilton Manors

 

 Tinley Park