Archive for November, 2011

Batman is totally getting his plank on

Rabbit caught Batman planking on the livingroom floor today.
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Go Batman. Way to get involved with something so yesterday.

And if you’re unfamiliar with planking and think I might just have wrote about Batman possibly doing something somewhat inappropriate you can just Google planking and slow your heart rate back down because Batman’s not that kind of guy, y’all.

Another conversation. Kind of.

Rabbit: So…    I was wondering if you thought that maybe it would be a good idea to let Sikorsky sleep in the garage.

Me: [blank stare]

Rabbit: You know, so she doesn’t get too cold

Me: [even blanker stare]

Now before you go and get the wrong impression of me just let me explain that I don’t hate animals. Mostly. And I feel bad for any stray cats who have to suffer freezing temperatures during the colder months, but we live in freaking FLORIDA. The highs here have been in the low 80′s. I don’t think Sikorsky is weathering too bad.

And, seriously , people. Who is this person and what has he done with my husband?

Live cats are the new ceramic gnomes, I guess.

As you may be aware, I’ve been championing for a unicorn statue for my garden for a little while now but Rabbit is being a poop about it because for some reason he hates unicorns.

I don’t know. He won’t talk about it.

So the other night Rabbit comes in the house and states that there is a stray cat out front. And as he’s telling me about this stray cat he’s grabbing a little bowl and pulling food from our cat’s dish, intending to feed the stray cat on our porch. Kait told him what kind of bad idea this was but Rabbit didn’t care. He was intent on feeding this stray cat and might I remind you that Rabbit DOESN’T EVEN LIKE CATS.

So, weird, right?

And when the cat came back the next night he fed it again. And then Sikorsky came back again on the third night.

Yes. HE NAMED HER SIKORSKY.

And now Sikorsky is practically living in our garden.

No, I can’t have a pretend unicorn for my garden but he can keep a live cat in the garden? Something just isn’t adding up here. Or is it? Because what is one plus one?

That’s right. Two, people. One plus one is two. Which is what live garden cats do. They multiply.

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Apparently word is getting out about my husband being the crazy cat lady. Er… Person.

So now we have two live garden cats. And still, he won’t let me have a unicorn. A PRETEND unicorn. A pretend unicorn that you don’t have to feed or neuter or referee if it gets a little too close to another pretend unicorn.

Maybe I could just glue a horn to Sikorsky’s head…

imageI fear my small appliances may be taking on genuine people personalities.

Two of our automatic soap dispensers are taking soap dispensing to a whole new level, dispensing hand cleansing gel at their own whimsy with no rhyme or reason and now when we go to wash our hands we must gather soap from the little puddles the dispensers are continually creating on the bathroom counter tops, which is exactly NOT why I bought these automatic soap dispensers.

Also, going over what I just wrote I realize that my initial assessment that they are taking on genuine people personalities is silly.  It’s not like they’re dancing ragtime on the top of the toilet tank and singing Hello My Baby. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression or anything. They just seem a little bit more zealous than usual about dispensing hand soap.

Though, not to create panic or anything, but isn’t this how all robot apocalypses start? Some small, unsuspected device starts making it’s own decisions…

Yeah. We should definitely panic. Probably.

Apparently going to a fancy shmancy party thing like we did last night has a strange effect on Rabbit and me. Because we don’t really know how to behave at things like this, we seem to regress into some less-than-normal conversations.
It’s kind of like when you’re a kid and it’s your first time sitting at the grownup’s table and you are trying to act older but it just isn’t working so you give up completely…

Yeah. Like that. Only it isn’t our first time at the grownup’s table. And we’re not kids anymore.

Me: There is something missing from this table.
Rabbit: What’s that?
Me: A unicorn. A small unicorn.
Rabbit: What is it with unicorns all the time? Hey, look, Superman must have been here.
Me: What? What the heck are you talking about?
Rabbit: He left his crystals all over the ceiling.
Me: How come you can talk about Superman but I can’t talk about unicorns?
Rabbit: Because UNICORNS. AREN’T. REAL.
Me: Yes they are. They’re in the Bible
Rabbit: No they’re not. Narwhals are real. Unicorns are mythical. Big difference.
Me: Yes they are. It actually says unicorn in the King James version.
Rabbit: That could mean anything. That could mean rhinoceros.
Me: But it says UNICORN not rhinoceros.
Rabbit: Unicorn means one horn. Or one… corn? That’s weird.
Me: Narwhal means one-toothed unicorn. Or something like that.
Rabbit: What? That’s stupid. What does it have to do with teeth?
Me: The Narwhal’s horn IS a tooth.
Rabbit: No.
Me: Yes.
Rabbit: So you’re telling me he’s got a tooth that comes out of his head?
Me: No. That would be dumb. It comes out of his mouth. It’s one long tooth but he doesn’t use it for getting food. He more sword fights with it.
Rabbit: This is awesome. Here, let me joust you with my one tooth.
Me: I see your tooth is as big as mine.
Rabbit: You know what’s weird is how you know so much about Narwhals.
Me: I watched Elf.
Rabbit: And seriously, why is it called a uniCORN? Why not a uniHORN?

This is about when we realized the entire table was looking at us and I said to Rabbit:
Remember the last time we were caught being completely goofy in our own little world? It was at the Haddings and, coincidentally, we were talking about corn then too. Jimmy Crack Corn… or some variation of that song.

But actually I was wrong. I don’t know what I was remembering about Jimmy Crack Corn but while visiting our friends, the Haddings, after a pretty stressful week preparing for Kait’s graduation, Rabbit and I were de-stressing by laughing about hanger-nails, not cracking corn. Don’t ask because, honestly, I have no idea.  We’re like ginormous children. Except nobody has to remind us to brush our teeth.

P.S. You can’t actually learn anything about Narwhals from watching Elf so don’t go out and buy the movie hoping for a good homeschooling lesson. You’ll be disappointed. Probably.

Expensive food has never tasted so good.

I’ve eaten at a 5 star restaurant before and found the food to be marginal. Pretty, but not so tasty. Like mildly flavored art.

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The steak is good though. Not very substantial, but good.

Kind of like a tiny little sampler that is just enough food to make a person hungry but not enough to be considered a meal. Unless you’re a tiny person.

Update: The dessert was all fancy-like and tasted like packed dry pudding with jelly on it. I didn’t eat but just a bite. If I’m going to ingest sugar-laden confectionaries, it’s most certainly not going to be that.

So, this shindig is pretty fancy shmancy I guess. There were even hors d’oeuvres on trays being carried around by people in loose oriental-yoga attire and we could just take what we wanted and put our empty glasses and fancy skewers back on the tray like in the movies.

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And then we sat down at the dinner table finally and are now waiting for dinner to be served and there are more than a half dozen pieces of silverware to choose from.

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Who needs this much silverware? Really? It is just a three course meal.
And Rabbit just started talking about the Superman crystals on the ceiling and I realize now more than ever that we are definitely far outside our element.

P.S. I totally had to look up the spelling of Hors d’oeuvres.

Musical instruments in the bathroom?

Apparently not

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They’re fake bongos. I tried.

Nobody else here reads good. Apparently.

Valet freaking parking, people. They totally parked our giant 12 passenger van for us.

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Also, apparently nobody Googled cocktail attire (specified in the invite as afternoon wedding type dress) except for me. Although I’m dressed well, I’m certainly not dressed formal. But instead of feeling like an idiot, I feel more like the only one smart enough to read directions. I should win something for this.

There will be more. The evening is just getting started.

Rabbit and I have a mandatory semi-formal function to attend tonight. Mandatory for him, anyway. Highly suggested for me. Usually if they highly suggest that I show my face at a military function I don’t go to make the point that I’m not in the Navy and they should ask nicer if they want wives to participate. However, we didn’t get to go to the Navy Ball this year because Rabbit was at sea so this is my chance to get dressed up in my best cocktail dress and eat very expensive, and likely dry and tasteless food.

It shouldn’t be too bad. I do get to wear a dress. A dress that says DRY CLEAN ONLY on the tag. Also, it’s open bar.
Bonus, y’all!

Update: We paid $65 a plate for this mandatory thing and Rabbit just informed me that it is, in fact, not open bar. What the heck, Navy?

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