Tagged: family

Merry Christmas, internet.

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the alley,
Cassandra was losing- by quite a huge tally.
Her cousins and Madre and Granny to boot
Decided her gutter streak was quite the hoot.

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The lanes were all full of young kids using bumpers
But they all bowled better – jeez, what high numbers!
Yet Cassandra had hopes for the rest of the eve-
For her pie-making prowess had yet to be seen.

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So Cass and Cuz One peeled, sliced, and prepared;
Not an apple or cranberry was sugar-spared
And Cuz Two in the bath, with shampoo in her hair,
Yelled to keep the door closed, for her bottom was bare.

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The aunt and the uncle amused Gramps and Gran,
While Cuz One sliced and diced all the pecans.
With the dogs full of treats and Cass full of beer,
We were all cheered that Dad would soon be here.

Merry Christmas, y’all.

Never ask me to paint your house.

So Mi Madre decided to remodel our yoga studio a little while ago, internet, and today was Paint Day.

Before Paint Day, I thought that I was pretty good at painting.

I thought wrong. 

We had Mamma Mia, my Padre, my roommate Varenka, another studio employee, and Bob the Builder (the remodeling guy) in to help with stage one of the painting. Varenka and I were assigned a new set of shelving to prime for painting, while the rest of the crew were spackling, taping, and painting the rest of the space.

Varenka and I looked at each other.

Shelving? we thought. Easy peasy. 

We were so wrong.

Maman, fearlessly painting without a tapeline.

Maman, fearlessly painting without a tapeline.

Me, emulating MIchelango.

Me, emulating MIchelango.

It turns out that Varenka and I are horribly inept at painting, which is funny, because I have a degree in Studio Art and I SPENT MOST OF THAT TIME PAINTING. 

However, Art painting and painting painting are apparently not at all alike.

Art painting you can splash some contrasting colors on a ripped canvas smothered in a mixture of baby oil and chicken feathers and call it a day.

Painting painting you have to actually pay attention to.

Varenka and I spend a whole hour with our entire torsos shoved into these shelving units poking around with paintbrushes while everyone else in the room apparently magicked the paint flawlessly onto the walls.

After about two hours of this, at which point Varenka and I had essentially finished nothing and the rest of the room was essentially done, Bob the Builder took pity on us and casually mentioned that we could use a paint roller.

It still took us another hour to finish the damn thing.

Not cleanly.

Not well.

But we finished. 

Triumph.

Notice the flawlessly painted walls surrounding the mess we made. 

It then took both of us another hour to clean off the paint which had bonded with our skin at a subatomic level. I still have paint clinging to me in places I do not care to mention.

I guess at the end of the day we both felt that us being in the studio that day was slightly more helpful then us not being in the studio, which is something.

Right?

My dogs, the Petraphobes.

I might officially have the two stupidest dogs on the planet.

Let me explain.

I’m still in Canada visiting my grandparents, whose house is right on the lake. Not lake close. Not lake side. Lake on.

My two golden retriever puppies, Patty Mayonnaise and Dr. Pepper, are H2o enthusiasts. They swim like otters who have spend the entire morning unattended in a candy shop. Patty, in particular, is aqua obsessive. She will figuratively swim until she dies. Pepper enjoys BEING in water, but less so the physical aspect.

Let’s omit the part where it took them 15 minutes to even figure out that the house was near a body of water. Namely, the 15 minutes it took for me to put a swimsuit on and take them down to the beach. Come on, dogs.

No, the part that had me in stitches was the part where my dear dogs could not see the massive schools of spawning carp that were literally underneath their noses.

Side note – did you see what I did up there with the correct usage of figuratively and literally? That’s how it’s done, internet.

Yet I digress.

Each spring, the lakefront right outside my grandparent’s house is home to multiple healthy populations of fish… uh… doin’ it. As only fish can do. Meaning by laying eggs and – you know what, you get the idea.

I distinctly remember one day when I was a kid, about 7 years old. I was swimming in the shallows and I caught, with my bare hands, a pike who was clearly sedated by his (her?) post-coital bliss. I grabbed hold of the struggling serpentine shape and high-tailed to the house, where mi familia was enjoying some late afternoon apéritifs.

I proudly walked into the middle of this pleasant gathering, and said (true story), “Look! I caught dinner!”

It took some time for then to convince me to put the fish back in the lake. Apparently people don’t eat pike (reasons why I’m single #4 – I’m wicked good at catching spawning pike).

Long story summarized – lots of fish up in this lake. Massive fish. I saw at least five 10-pounders.

What catches my dog’s attention, pray tell? What makes them raise their hackles and growl and clash their teeth?

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This rock.

This inanimate, non-threatening rock. Keep in mind there are huge fish swimming INTO my dog’s legs (fish are dumb).

But no, apparently the rock was a bigger security issue than the fish.

Because of reasons?

Sigh.

Flights, part 3.

It is criminally early in the morning and I’m sitting in the Charlotte airport. There’s a kid running around with his brother- one of them’s like 5, the other is maybe 2 and a half. The younger one is just starting to get the hang of legs. He’s stumbling around like a college student on spring break and he keeps going back and forth from “I’m fine” to “I’M NOT FINE EVERYTHING IS TERRIBLE” to “oh wait actually I’m pretty okay”. Kids.

I just spent the night in Charlotte with mes parents and we are finally off to Puerto Rico. Although, incidentally, by the time you read this, it’ll be 5 or 6 pm on Wednesday night and I’ll be halfway through my trip and probably getting ready for dinner or something. I know it’s a complicated situation, but that’s how the internet works, and guess who has two thumbs and isn’t about to spend her time on the beach writing blogs for y’all? This gal (sidenote- does this expression still work if you can’t see me pointing obnoxiously at myself? No? Deal with it.).

Our stay in Charlotte was largely uneventful save a stop at Yoga One, which I posted about yesterday (haha I totally haven’t yet! I haven’t even written that post yet! I’m totally screwing with your mind! THIS BLOG IS A IS WIBBLY WOBBLEY BALL OF TIMEY WIMEY STUFF!!). It was cold and raining and I got pretty sick last night with the plague. We did go bowling, which only re-enforced my suspicions that I am a terrible bowler (reasons why I’m single #19 – I’m a terrible bowler).  Final scores? Padre – 91. Madre – 58. Me – 55. I even drank a White Russian so I could try to channel The Dude. No such luck.

We’re now on the plane stuck on the runway waiting for a half hour for the plane to take off because something something air flow planes Atlanta yadda ya. We are sitting in business class surrounded by Frowny Scowls McBusinessmen who spent the entire pre-flight grimacing at their smart phones, turned them off for takeoff, and sat there with their index fingers hovering over the on buttons during the taxi out. Cheer up, Mr. Pinstripe suit guy. That bag of mini pretzels can’t be that bad.

Tata for now.

An update on the Cat Situation.

So one of my New Year’s resolutions was to fall back in love with my cat, Marmaduke. I have been trying really hard to do this. It is an uphill battle. It does not help that my parents don’t like him either and that he’s quite possibly a sociopath.

He sits like this a lot. Is this normal?

He sits like this a lot. Is this normal? IS IT??

I’ve taken to calling him Meowmix because friends give each other nicknames and I thought I would try to encourage a light, familiar sort of relationship. He doesn’t respond to it, but then again, he doesn’t respond to his actual name either.

We had a positive interaction the other day I thought I might share. I gave him a piece of steak and scratched him behind the ears and he quite tenderly sunk his claws into my leg and tried to chew my hand off. I mean, he did lose all of his teeth somehow (I’m still a little clueless on that front) so it was more of a furious gumming. But there was almost a glint of love in his cold, calculating, hate filled gaze.

I even put a little extra food in his bowl the other day and he thanked me by drooling into my sneakers. I though he might be hungry because he was stealing dog food pellets out of Pepper’s dish, but later I found it on the floor across the room, so I think Marm was just trying to make it slightly less convenient for my pup to eat dinner.

Stupid cat.