Flame Throwers

I know it's been a while since my last post. I mean well, and I'm hoping some of you have been getting my mental blogs. But that's another subject. And I have no idea what possesses me today. I'm supposed to be packing a suitcase and getting ready to leave and here I am.

But this week was the week that Bionic Man bought his flame thrower. I had no idea an average citizen could just go out and buy one of those. And this was after he attempted to make one himself. ?! I guess he decided that making it himself was going to be more trouble than buying one. While he was at it I asked him to make me a rocket launcher. As long as we're building up our arsenal, why not? And all those ants won't know what hit them. Of course, it may be overkill, but sometimes you do what you have to do. It brings to mind the story of 'Henry's Awful Mistake', which is a story about a duck who destroys his entire house as he is trying to kill an ant, one ant! Unfortunately, the very same ant shows up in his new house. And this just points up how very intelligent ants are, and that I am not the only one to think this. I must never let my guard down!

But back to the flame thrower. Bionic Man is using it to kill weeds. Sure beats pulling them. Did you know you could just walk into Menards and buy one, no license, no certification of mental wellness, nothing?

Schlumpf and such

I was minding my own business today when Bionic man appeared in his bike gear. He was all dejected because his Schlumpf gears were broken. Seriously? There is really something out there with that name? To me that sounds like a sound you make when you sit down in a bean bag chair. Then I started thinking about other interesting product names. Smuckers always puzzled me. That should be the name of something you hit together in a game small children play. It does not make me think of something yummy to eat. Of course there are those who capitalize on their names, like Flatt Tire. But Schlumpf?! Really?

Circus insects

Insects and I do not dwell together harmoniously. I seem to be the only person in the world who gets ants in their hummingbird feeder. I have pondered this issue. They have to first leap across from the post to the feeder, which is hanging on a rope. Then they have to s-q-u-e-e-z-e through the teensy hole that the birds use to access the nectar. And then they have to crawl up a minute little tube to reach the nectar, where they drown and end up floating. These are not the tiny grease ants. These are the half inch long black ones. So, they must train at a camp for circus ants. They are taught to do acrobatics, and how to be contortionists.

But that being said, I apparently have attracted some circus spiders as well. I was washing my face in the bathroom one night when suddenly, (Drum roll here), a spider came sailing out of the air on a thread. I would have said he was rappelling but I think you do that against a wall. He dipped and wove around, all the while performing hair raising stunts, and then, as quickly as he appeared, he rose back into the air and crawled away on the ceiling. I was stunned. What's next? Clown grasshoppers?

Oil Life and mine

Good news, everyone. Bionic Man made the huge decision to get my oil changed. The fact that we were about to embark on an 800 mile roadtrip might have influenced him. The oil life had diminished to 1%. He was so excited.

And now I can relax.

Throw off the Mayonnaise Tyranny

I've been married for 41 years to someone I don't even know. Tonight we were driving along with my mother and discovered that he doesn't like mayonnaise!! He's been PRETENDING to like it all these years, even when I refuse to eat it, he pretends. And then he acts all self righteous when I say I don't like it. What is up with that?! And then, wonder of wonders, my Mother says she doesn't really like it that much either!! So it made me wonder, does anyone in the world really like it at all? Am I just the only one bold enough to admit it? It is the chic thing to eat on everything and everyone else is afraid to admit it? Is it like the Emperor's new clothes? I say let's throw off the tyranny of mayonnaise!! Let's substitute whipped cream.

Then there's the issue of potato salad. I feel like the only one in the state of Iowa who doesn't eat potato salad. There are several issues involved. First, there's just something wrong about eating a cold cooked potato. But raw onions give me the heebie jeebies, and mustard should be banned. And then you slop mayonnaise on top of everything. I suppose the theory is no one will notice the potatoes are cold, the onions are raw, and there's mustard in it if you put enough mayonnaise on it. They will be so grossed out by the mayonnaise, they won't notice the rest. But here's the weird part, neither my mother or my husband like potato salad very much either. They've been pretending!!

I say let's throw off the mayonnaise tyranny!! NOW!!

Pay Back

I am sure this is payback for the brow plucking. My instrument panel says CHANGE OIL SOON. Bionic Man insists that I have 4% of my 'oil value' left, whatever that means. He says he wants to wait until the bitter end, which may be truer than you think, before he changes the oil. He wants to see how many miles I can get. What he doesn't understand is the level of anxiety I have as I'm driving along on the freeway and these capital letters are staring at me. I try to not stare at them, and think about how I'm going to burn up the engine and the car will roll over and I'll perish in the ditch somewhere, and no one will find me for hours. I know this is something an engineer needs to do as some kind of benchmark. And people wonder how I developed ulcers. But I really think getting down to 4% should be good enough.

The eyebrow incident

We had another eyebrow incident the other day. There were a couple of recalcitrant brow hairs. One was poking him in the eye. How does this NOT bother him? He agreed to a thinning of the herd, so to speak. He said he would be calm. We had a 4 hair-ectomy. Bionic Man was near tears. He said it was torture. This led my imagination to prisoner of war movies. . .

The prisoner is strapped to a metal table under relentless bright lights. The enemy soldier is wielding a pair of tweezers. He says, "You vill talk. Ve need de names of all your conspirators. You vill tell me or I vill pluck your brows." The prisoner screams in agony, "No, no, I'll tell you anything. Just no more plucking." Maniacal laugh here. Great stuff.