All posts by Rivergirl

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I’ll huff and I’ll puff…..

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And I’ll blow your paper garage down.

(Alternate title – You have got to be sh*tting me.)

 After years of  relentless nagging  gentle persuasion, I finally talked the husband into replacing the old rotted siding on our garage this weekend.

He started removing it out front, which was fine.

(No plumber’s butt shots. You’re welcome.)

 

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Then he turned the corner…

 

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Started ripping, and found….

 

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Paper.  Lots and lots of paper….. but no walls.

Paper walls!

Fuckety, fuck, fuck.

There was literally nothing behind the old siding but paper.

 

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Who does that?

“Gee honey, wood is expensive. Grab me that spiral notebook and the trashy romance novel you were reading last week.”

Good grief, even the 2 little pigs used sticks and straw.

Needless to say, the husband was not amused at all the extra work this was going to entail.

 

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I tried to make light of it and told him we could have an awesome transom window, but  he had a hammer in his hand and a strange look in his eye  that didn’t go over well either.

To be continued….

(Face it, this project is going to take a month of Sundays and if I have to live through it? So do you. That’s the beauty of blogging! But if it makes you feel any better, I had a large splinter in my butt from rubbing against a piece of rough cut wood yesterday so …. I still get the worst of it.)

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Now they’re just screwing with me.

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I live in Maine, land of the lobster I can no longer eat.

 

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It’s a cruel twist of fate which came about 7 years ago. I’d eaten that glorious, butter dripping crustacean all my life and loved every scrumptious bite…. until my traitorous body woke up one day and said no more.

No more lobster chowder, no more lobster rolls, no more lobster pie…. hell they hadn’t even invented lobster mac and cheese yet so I missed that too, damn it!  (I’ll spare you the details of what happens if I eat it now, just think Linda Blair in the Exorcist and leave it at that.)

It’s not easy being lobster allergic in Maine, the damned things are everywhere.

On our license plates…

 

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At every biker rally we attend…

 

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See?

 

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That’s me… cursing everyone for eating  lobster when I can’t …. not sitting at the table.

Hell, we even have a festival devoted to the creature.

 

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They crown a queen who leads the parade with King Neptune.

 

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Everyone eats lobster.

Except me.

 

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(I can’t attend anymore. The husband says drool isn’t my best feature)

Yes, we take our lobster seriously up here and I’ve  railed against fate, banged my head against the wall, invented new swear words   learned to live without it.

So why?

Why does that damned bottom dwelling bug continue to screw with me?

Yesterday… this showed up in our local grocery stores.

 

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And if that’s not bad enough…

A friend sent me this card.

 

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Now that’s just…  wrong.

 

 

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Never trust a Corpse Reviver.

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(Bet that got your attention.)

So it started out simply. Dinner with friends at a trendy, boho chic restaurant in a converted mill.

They’re famous for their infused liquors, so we ladies started out with these:

 

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They were small.

And pink!

 

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And with names like Garden of Eden and Frankly My Dear…

How bad could they be?

Bad enough that after 2 of them, our husbands were telling us to lower the decibel level.

After 3, they were waiving down the waiter and telling him to rush our food order.

The men had chosen curried mussel appetizers, which didn’t appeal to us in the least.

 

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Mussels, blech!

Those slimy little nuggets that get halfway down your throat and say, ” I think I’ll just sit here a while and let her contemplate what she swallowed.”

No way. Not this chicka…

The guys were happily cracking them open and getting covered in green slop in the process.

 

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It was disgusting.

It looked like pea soup, or vomit. (Same thing in my opinion.)

But then my girlfriend and I ordered Corpse Revivers.

 

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They’re traditionally known as the hangover cure, so we figured we’d skip a step and get right to it.  Gin, Cointreau, Lillet Blanc, lemon juice and Absinthe.

I blame the Absinthe.

Have you ever had Absinthe? Whew!

In no time at all? Those mussels looked GOOD.

We were digging in with gusto.

 

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Slop covered shells were flying, we were dragging the bowls away from our husbands. We had to order extra Naan to soak it up.

I believe we may have fought over the last piece.

It wasn’t pretty.

Never trust a Corpse Reviver.

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I know I shouldn’t laugh….

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But I had to, because it’s nice to know I’m not the only idiot out there.

Earlier this year I performed the bone head move of forgetting to put my car in park when exiting.  (Not my finest moment, feel free to chuckle) I had pulled up to an ATM and dropped my card out the window while attempting to use the machine. (Hey… it was winter, in Maine. Read cold, bitter wind and snow…. sh*t happens.)  I backed up and got out to retrieve the card, apparently without shifting into park.  Not good.

Naturally the ATM machine was on a slight hill and the car started to roll away… without me in it. The sight of  a wide eyed and crazed woman  (in beautiful high heeled grey suede boots that are now ruined. *Sob*)  trying to jump into a moving vehicle was probably quite amusing for the bank teller watching from the window, but it ceased to be funny for me when I saw my beloved Ethel  ( Yes, I name my vehicles. Don’t you?)  was headed for a line of parked cars.

Good news? I was able to jump in, hit the brake and avoid a demolition derby style accident.  (I swear I heard my insurance company sigh in relief.)

Bad news? When I jumped in and grabbed the wheel…. it turned and I smashed into the end of the ATM.  (Loudest crunch… ever.)

 

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$1800 dollars worth of door damage later, I felt like an idiot.

But…

Not as much of an idiot as a girlfriend who recently took a trip to Canada with friends.

 

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Yeah.

 

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They stopped at a gas station to use the restroom and forgot to put it in park.

It rolled out of the station, down a hill and hit a rock.

I know I shouldn’t laugh.

Really I do.

But no one was hurt….

So I’m sorry,  but.

Bwwwaaahhhaahhhhaaa!

I’m not the only idiot.

These things must be celebrated!

😈

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Have you ever done this?

23 Comments

 

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I know better, and yet…..

Stomach rumbling, I sashay up and down the aisles tossing  HoHo’s and Ring Dings in my shopping cart at will.

(If they called them Cellulite Starters and Butt Wideners I wouldn’t, so you see…. it’s really not my fault.)

I buy salad tossers I’ll never toss, fizzy fruited drinks I’ll never drink and worst of all…. more deli meat and cheese than a school cafeteria will use in a month.

Oh, the pressure of the deli counter!

You take a number, wait in line, peruse the 307 varieties of flavored sliced turkey breast and when it’s finally your turn? You can’t just order a 1/4 lb of roast beef and call it good…. can you?

(Well I can’t. Which is why you should all come to my house for lunch tomorrow. BYOB. Bring your own bread…. because I never seem to buy the correct corresponding amount.)

And the paper products!

Why can’t I ever remember if I need them? I always buy too many which results in episodes like this:

 

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Note to self –

Never leave the closet door ajar when you’ve purchased too much Charmin.

 

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To say he enjoyed it would be an understatement.

 

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The beast was positively orgasmic.

And none too eager to relinquish his prize as I cleaned up around him.

 

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Moral of the story?

Buying too much at the grocery store can not only be wasteful and expensive….

But bloody as well.

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So what’s up with Kale… and why does everyone want me to eat it?

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(Disclaimer – I am not a kale fan, and the popular leafy green will be heavily disparaged in this post.)

 

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I’m a good girl. I eat my veggies, green and otherwise.

Yes, Popeye I even eat my spinach.

Hell, I live in Maine… I have been served dandelion green and Nasturtium bloom salad and smiled. (Although I do draw the line at Fiddleheads, those slimy aborted fern fronds people in New England go beserk for every spring. If I’m going to ingest something I pick alongside the road it had better be blackberries. Preferably in brandy form. But I digress.)

Throw a little kale in my salad, fine. I won’t revolt. (Hell, if you smother it in enough blue cheese dressing, I will eat a brick)

But please…. stop trying to incorporate it into everything else.

My girlfriend served a big bowl of kale chips with French Onion Dip at a party.  (Not cool…. bring back my Ruffled Lays.)

Another friend invited us over for an Italian dinner. Sweet! Until I saw the lasagna as well as the ravioli was stuffed with kale.  (That’s just wrong.)

 

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I do not want your kale frittata.

Your kale burgers, your kale pie….

 

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And most of all your kale pizza!

That’s just sacrilege.

 

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The kale craze has gone too far.

Okay, it’s nutritious… but enough’s enough.

From now on I’ll be flying my new banner high and proud.

 

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Long live Rocky Road!!

All hail Mint Chocolate Chip!

 

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For the love of all that’s holy….

Noooooooooo!!!!

 

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What the…… WHAT?

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Okay, so I know I’m not young anymore.

I’m not down with what’s hip or cool to the kids these days. (Proven by the fact I still say down with, hip and cool.)

But when I saw our neighbor’s son riding his bike yesterday….

I felt a tad bewildered.

 

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Is this a thing now?

 

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Or has the poor boy been swallowed by a giant lime green flesh eating amoeba?

 

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I’m not on Instagram, so if one of those annoying Kardashian chickas has made this outfit popular…

Will someone please let me know?

Because otherwise the next time I see him…. I’m going to stand on our deck and throw darts to release him from his inflatable prison.

 

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Now that’s a birthday present!

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I’ve never been thrilled with celebrating my birthday.

I don’t want a party.

I don’t want to stand on a restaurant table and have waiters sing to me. What am I…. 3?

And please, don’t throw me a surprise party. If people jump out behind doors and furniture and scare me? They’re apt to get punched.

The older I get the less I enjoy the event, so a nice dinner out and some flowers is usually how my husband marks the occasion. But after seeing what my girlfriend’s hubby did for her?

I realize mine has been slacking for a long time.

 

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This was her birthday present.

 

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A convertible 442 Olds.

But the really amazing part was this was what it looked like when he first bought it:

 

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Yikes.

A year long full restoration?

 

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Now that’s true love.

💖

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A Booze Cruise….

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(The time honored Maine tradition that has very little to do with cruising and a lot to do with booze.)

This event was the annual  “Blow off the steam of being a federal government employee”  and trust me, a lot of steam escaped. My husband’s co workers may be Feds…. but they also know how to let loose.

The boat was two stories, with two full bars and a live band on the upper deck.

 

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My first clue that it was going to be a good time was the fact that we hadn’t even pulled out of the harbor….

 

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And were already doing the first round of shots.

 

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We eased out of Portland…

 

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And started cruising…  (read, drinking) …  in earnest.

 

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We passed the Portland Breakwater lighthouse….

 

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Which, for reasons unbeknownst to me, is called Bug Light.

 

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The cruise was 3 hours long…. and let’s just say no one went thirsty.

The band was pretty good, even if their name was Rock Hard Johnson.

(Yes, you read that correctly. They might have been good, but they certainly weren’t subtle.)

Booze cruise clip

 

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Of course, when this drone flew over a booze cruise full of FAA inspectors… inside the  illegal 5 mile from an airport radius?

 

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Not everyone was pleased.

🤣

 

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At 3:00pm we slid back into Portland, past DeMillo’s… the city’s famous floating restaurant. The food is mediocre, overpriced and geared toward tourists but it’s a refurbished old Staten Island Ferry and lots of people love it.

So we had a great time… even though the weather didn’t cooperate.

Yes, it rained.

And no, no one cared!