Chicken Fried Vogue

For 15 years and most of her adult life, Bubblez lived in the suburbs of a major metropolitan city. She enjoyed taking her children to museums, parks, and dates at Starbucks. Then Bubblez moved to the country and her En Vogue attitude got chicken fried. Her yard is a park where the neighbor's rooster won't stop crowing, Starbucks is almost an hour away, and her large collection of fancy shoes is worthless. But, living in the acres of green has presented more opportunities for living "green" as Bubblez travels the path toward self-sufficiency (and bitches ((and prays)) along the way).

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

I'm Sorry About The Barrel Up Your Ass

I've been really quiet, lately. I don't know why. I just haven't had anything to say. There was a point in time when I always had something to say, but it seems that over the past couple of years, I've been slowly becoming quieter.

I was all stressed out after the kids had a vacation day from school on Monday, so I decided I'd go visit one of my friends to do some clucking. Our conversation went something like this:
Me: The kids have been driving me crazy. Boots was up my ass all damned day. "Mom, Mom, Mommy, Mom, hey Mom"
Her: Yeah, I get that. Mine used to be the same way.
Me:
 
I bet that soon, I won't speak at all.

So, we watched the last part of Hangover II since it was already playing, and then I said goodbye and came home. On the way out, her fella reminded me to take some cats home.

I'm starting to develop this routine. Sheldon comes home just in time for supper or a little after. We deal with the table chaos. Whoever said that families who eat together have better relationships because of it, made a mistake. After reminding the kids a gazillion times to sit in their chairs and not talk with their mouths full, to not interrupt or talk over each other, to keep their hands to themselves, not sing, whistle, or scream, to clear their dishes and put them in the dishwasher, and reminding Teenie that she is not yet an adult and therefore does not require our consultation on decision making and furthermore, has no authority to correct or discipline her siblings.... where was I? Oh, yeah. Once, the chaos of dinner and bedtime are over, I usually spend roughly half an hour brain dumping on Sheldon and then I go sit by myself somewhere until I'm ready for bed.

Tonight's brain dump will probably include my idea to build a sauna back by the river and heat it with a barrel stove. I will tell him about the website I came across which has great directions on how to do that, and how we could even incorporate the sauna into another building, barn, or workshop that would use the same heat source if we left the sauna door open which would make it like getting a twofer. I will also tell him about how I want to build a barrel stove outside with a cooktop and a smoker so that I can use it to boil down maple sap and smoke meats. How freaking awesome would that be? I've got the plans all worked out. Of course we're going to need more barrels, but I checked Ebay and Craigslist, and there is a lady in the next state over who has several for sale, so if he wants to, we could make a day of it and go get some.

Shel will express his concerns with my plans and then say something about how it would be fun to drive out of state for a day and then make all of these cool things. At this point, I will realize that it's never going to happen, because nothing like this ever does, and will wander off to finish chores and then go run a hot bath or curl up in the recliner with my Twitter account.

That recliner, by the way, is in the former "armpit" of the house which now, having been painted and decorated to be sort of masculine and den-like for Shel, is one of our most attractive rooms. I will sit there, and Shel will go back to his Kindle in the front living room, where I left him. I'm going to paint that room pink. Then maybe we'll trade. I don't know.

Two recliners and a TV (far right). Perfect guy space. 
The only other thing that I've given much though to so far today, are apologies, and I'm not going to bring this up to Sheldon because he might think it's a dig, and I don't wanna start that. But, here's the deal. I read this today. To give you the gist, one blogger posted something that some people found offensive and then he decided to apologize. His friend, another blogger, responded to the apology letter and commended her friend for being big enough to respect the feelings of his readers and offer the apology.

So, here's what gets me. Why is it such a big deal to offer an apology? I mean, why do people find it so hard? I'm one of the cockiest, most conceited bastards alive, and I can admit when I'm wrong and easily apologize, so why do other people have such a hard time? It truly floors me. I don't have a single theory as to why this is. All I do know, is that I did learn how to do it (from imitating my Dad, who hated having us girls mad at him), but I really think that's only half the problem because most people I encounter aren't even willing to admit that an apology might be necessary. So, any insight you have on this, I'd love to hear. Help a sista out.

There. Two weeks since my last blog, and that's all I've got. 

'Til next time, peace out.

(There is an error in this post. I saw it on my phone, and now I can't find it. I accidentally typed the wrong word, somewhere. If you notice, please point it out to me. Thank you.)



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