Because I tend to get lost, NOT because I'm a prepper!

I'm not a doomsday prepper.  I promise.  I just like to know how to do cool stuff, like build a shelter (fort) and start a fire (pyro).  I'm not at the food hunter/gatherer level yet... I did buy the 'edible plants book' though, and I may read it one day... All I know so far is I can boil up the leaves from a stinging nettle and eat a dandelion.  hm, I think I'll start a new diet program.  If I could only eat those two things, I bet I could whither away to about nothing in a matter of days!

Nettles

So when you are lost in the woods, make sure you have some olive oil handy and a wok.  Pick some wild onions, then take your pants off.  Proceed to walk through tall weeds until you feel a vary unpleasant stinging on your nethers.  Then pick the offenders and fry them up!

Dandelions

I'm actually a bit intrigued by the idea now... I've never eaten those horrible stinging nettles, but  it seems a proper end to a weed that put my legs through hell.

Or you can do what this fancy pants did with the dandelion.  And don't forget the pretty bowl to serve it in.  After all, when lost in the woods , it is most important to bring the essentials.  Oh, and bring some bacon along to sprinkle on the dandelions.  Really, it's not much fun to be lost, but if you add bacon, it will be alright.  ...I found the fancy pics here and here.

I was looking up, on the wonderful webosphere, survival skills.  Most posts I found were directed toward men learning how to be manly men.  Hence this post.  It made me a teesny bit grumpy seeing everything directed toward men, because women can be very awesome womenly women too, and I bet we could make a nicer fort.  And we would bring the pretty dishes.

So I'm going to do a series of very cool things that we (Women AND Men) can learn in order to make conversations more fun.  Seriously, everyone gets tired of hearing about how your kid avoided lice by bathing once a month, but everyone will listen when you tell them how you dug a root cellar with dehydrated corn husks.

So come back soon and I'll make the world your oyster.

What IS That?!

Every once in a while I remember that I have a blog, and that about 6 people actually read it, so I should think of something to say.  Many times something just happens and poof, blog post.  Unfortunately, nothing has happened that I felt was blog worthy.

Until now.

Or a few days ago really... I've been busy getting injured then miraculously getting better just in time for the doctor appointment that I made when I was in pain.  Because I'm stubborn and a bit paranoid, I'm going to go to the appointment anyway.  I don't think I'll fake it, but I could... I could just do the proper wincing at the proper poking, and maybe come away with some good drugs.  That's a lie though... I still have a dozen oxycodone left over from when I had a wicked bad ear infection.  See, even when I have party drugs I don't take them...  I really did hurt my shoulder though.  I thought I tore my rotator cuff, but maybe I just dreamed it.  I guess the doc I see today will have the 'a crazy hypochondriac lady came into the office today..' story to tell his wife.  Of all the reasons to go to see this doc, being the star of his story after his day at the office isn't the worst reason in the world.  More of a purpose.  I aim to give someone a good story, even if it is at my own expense.  Kind of makes me a saint, no?  I should write the Pope.  I like this Pope.  Wasn't to fond of ExBenedict, we never really connected.  But this guy seems like he would smell just as bad after a long hike, so we can be buds.

And the shoulder isn't even my story.  (It's the doc's, duh)

The other day, I was walking out of my daughters school when my foot began to hurt.  I figured there was a tiny thorn or something stuck in my sock, so when I got to the car, I sat on the edge of my seat and stripped my foot naked.  There was a tiny thorn, or more like a fiber from a cactus that found its way into the ball of my foot. It was maybe three millimeters long.  No biggie, right.  I just took hold of the end and gently pulled.  and pulled , and pulled.  The fiber kept coming out.

Y'all, it was more than an inch long.  And it was a hair.  And it wasn't ATTACHED.

It was like finding a strand of hair in jello and pulling it out.  There was no pop at the end as you would feel pulling a hair from your scalp.  It just slid right out.  Holy crap, I had a HAIR embedded in my FOOT.

How the heck does a hair end up inside of a foot?!

I remember seeing a story on the interwebs a while back of a toddler that had a feather embedded in his neck.  There were pictures, so I know it was real... can't fake that stuff.
I feel an odd connection with feather neck now.  Two freaks with weird stuff in their bodies.

I might join the circus.

MAYDAY! It's on my PENIS!!!

Tick season is here.  And yes, the first casualty was my son's penis.  It's weird that it isn't very weird anymore.  I think our area has perverted ticks.  They like penises and underwear lines.

I wonder if there is tick porn...
If there is, they get the ticks from our area.  They are dirty little beasts.

Of all the bugs in the world to focus all of my hatred on, more than half of mine goes to ticks.  A friend got a Christmas tree one year that had ticks in it.  I guess the tree was harvested from prime tick mating territory, because when the tree was brought indoors and into the tropical warmth of their living room, the infestation began.  I don't know how many babies one tick can produce, but there must have been 8 million pregnant ticks.  And you know how our cycles seem to get in sinc when we ladies hang out together, well I guess the same is true for lady ticks.  (and after writing that, I actually feel a slight bond with them... you go sister!) They all popped at the same time.  All of a sudden, teeny dots of black started falling out of the tree and moving into the house.  I picture that like a slow moving lava that gradually eats up anything in its way.  But it was a slow moving wave of parasitic little demon ticks.

I would have preferred lava.

In fact, I would have burned down my house and told people it was a surprise lava flow.
I probably would have blamed it on an experiment that my husband was doing.  You know, like trying to create synthetic lava, and it worked, but in turn it burned down the house, so all of the evidence was destroyed, so there was no proof that his experiment worked...  poor guy.

The remainder of my loathing goes to roaches.  I don't think I need to give an explanation.  If you are a person that likes roaches, you need to check into a booby hatch ASAP.  I hope they never let you out.

...except for the hissing roaches.  They are still defined as an accident of nature, but they hiss, so you can admire them without the threat of being committed, but you still can't be my friend.
Unless it is the albino hissing cockroaches, and they are weird enough to be slightly cool.

This picture was taken in an insane asylum.
Bunch of freaks they were.

Is Plant Waterer a Job?

I wish figuring out my future was as easy as it is for my kids.  Asking them, they answer the question with not even a small sense that the dream might not be compatible with real life.  My daughter will be a scientist/artist.  My son will be a monster truck driver/artist/plant waterer/demolition man.  Me? who knows...

There are the things that I'm pretty sure I don't want to be... like a roofer/baker/house keeper.  ...oh wait, I am supposed to already have two out of those three on my list of current occupations.  Damn.

I have to ponder this.  Again.  Because the program that I just wrote about has been delayed.  The school usually starts a new class every fall, like every school in the known universe....except this one.  After some super duper go go Gadget PI skills, I was able to find out that the program will now accept students for a class starting in May.  of 2014.  And that's if the email from this teacher turns out to be true.  I have big doubts, so I'm hedging my bets and looking at other options in case my fears are later confirmed.

So now I get to start anew.

I have a feeling that 'blogger' won't be the golden ticket.  It's a bit difficult to write a blog without using bad words and having to be nice.  I could be much funnier if I let the four letters free while talking about the crazy goth guy wearing white make-up and black, floor length rags I saw walking through town.  He was funny.  I wanted to take his picture, but he was also a bit scary, so I kept driving.

See, as I write about goth boy, I am thinking about some other characters in my town.  Like the woman that has exercise bulimia and runs for hours every day, or the guy that rides his bike in full down hill armor and baseball catcher protective gear.  ...but now I'm pointing out goofy things about other people, and goofy people are the only ones who read this blog.  If I make fun of goof, well, I'd hurt my own feelings.  And I can't have that.

I wonder if the local high school guidance counselor will see me and give me one of those personality tests that tells you what you'd be suited for?  My luck, it would say that I should be an artist/plant waterer.  I think I'll take that test, even if the high school turns its back on me.  And just maybe, my son and I will be the best dern plant watering team out there.  Yay future.