Swingin'*

Here's how a conversation between Cassie and me evolves (devolves).

First, I read a Dear Prudie column about a lady who seems only to be attracted to men who are swingers.

Then, I write to Cassie, telling her that I read the letter that she sent in to Prudie and that we all knew Hugh was a swinger all along.  She agrees, and wonders how she could ever have thought him so perfect.**

Later I found this article that discusses the top ten signs a couple will divorce.  Number one?  Being swingers.  So,  naturally, I sent it Cassie's way.

An exchange:

Cassie: Who knew swinging was such an issue?

Me: I think swinging is like camping.  It seems like it would be fun, but really it's just wet and gross and you wake up in the morning wondering why you make such bad life choices.

Cassie: Oh, and there are weird sounds you've never heard before and you are stuck in an uncomfortable bed all night wondering how in the world you got here.***


*The title of this post could also have been, "How the hell would I get through by day without email?"


**For the record, I don't think that Hugh and Cassie are getting divorced any time soon.


***It should also be noted, Grandma, that we are not swingers and have no plans to become swingers.

Little Miss Hurricane

Every time I hear anything about Little Miss Hurricane Irene, I can't help but to start singing Johnny Cash's old "Goodnight Irene."  And what's better, then, than a little porch trio singing it?*



For those of you in Miss Irene's** path, be safe, stay dry, and don't try to go swimming in a flash flood.  It always seems like it'll be way more fun than it ends up being.  (Kind of like camping.)

And come back soon, because this weekend I'll be working on a tasty treat revelation (it is like a vision from an angel), working on a few little house projects (because the in-laws are coming next week and the house needs to look like less of a disorganized pile of garbage), and maybe even taking some pictures of Mitch (in case you forgot what he looks like).  If we're lucky, I'll get Matt all liquored up and make him perform dramatic interpretations of Lifetime movies.

Happy weekend!  T minus 45 minutes until I'm inhaling some Mexican food!


*Note to self: start banjo playin' porch trio band with Matt and Mitch.  


**Also can't help but to think of Irene from the Seattle season of The Real World, who told angry Stephen that he was gay and then was the recipient of "The Slap Heard 'Round the World."  TV history!

Serve and Protect, My Ass

Our dryer broke again, which meant that I had to call a guy to repair it.  The repair guy happened to be African American, which sent my racist dog into a 2-hour long frenzy.  The dryer guy laughed and said "serve and protect, huh?" to which I just uncomfortably giggled, completely embarrassed by my bigot of a dog.

He is a Tea Party republican, after all.

Later that night, while Mitch was outside lying in his dirt spot, an evil murdering tree frog broke into our house.  I saw it on the door frame and thought that it was a leaf or something, so I tried to rub it off with my toe.  And then when the frog jumped on my foot, into the kitchen, and began to crawl up my refrigerator with its long murderin' poison legs, I screamed like I'd just seen the Trinity killer in my bathroom.  I screamed and screamed some more as the frog decided to stalk me from between the refrigerator and freezer doors.  It even whispered "You're gonna die, lady" in a scary Southern accent.

What did the dog do?  Did he hear his mother, the woman who birthed him from her body, screaming hysterically and facing death and then run to her rescue?  Did he kill the frog?  Did he call the police?  Did he even bother to get up out of his dirt spot?

No.

Serve and protect, my ass.

Love and Marriage

Me: Oh, hey, I took the elliptical apart.  And I didn't put it back together because I found some brown recluse eggs in it.

Matt:  WHAT?

Me:  Oh, yeah, but it's okay.  I sprayed them with WD40.

Matt:  You sprayed them with WD40?

Me:  Yeah, I thought to myself, "If I was a tiny spider, what would I hate to have sprayed on me?"  So I went with WD40.  It makes sense.

Matt:  Oh, well that's good.  Now we've got extra slippery deadly spiders in our house!

This and That

 I love the week between Christmas and New Year's.  I love it even more when I don't have to work.  Horray for holidays!  Here are some random musings to get you through the next few minutes, or to keep you from checking Facebook compulsively.  Be forewarned, though: you may be dumber after having read it.

1.  All I can think about lately is ice cream and waffle cones.  Yesterday I bought David Lebovitz's The Perfect Scoop, and I couldn't be more excited about learning all of the new recipes.  That man's an ice cream genius!

  

2.  Saw True Grit on Christmas and The King's Speech yesterday.  Both are wonderful, perfect films that I plan to watch dozens more times.  Why are the Coen brothers so good?  And why is Colin Firth so self-depricatingly dreamy? 

3.  Yesterday we went to the mall and were afraid to get out of the car because there were a bunch of birds with really sharp beaks who seemed just a little too comfortable with the idea of killing after-Christmas shoppers.

4.  If you haven't made Hugh and Cassie's David Chang brussels sprouts, you need to. 

5.  How cute is Opal?

6.   I know everyone else in the world is dealing with blizzards and all, so this probably isn't as exciting to you--but on the day after Christmas it was snowing in Savannah (you have to say that the way Michael Scott said "There's been a murder in Savannah" on The Office).  It wasn't accumulating or sticking even, but it was snow, and it was beautiful, and it felt Christmasy.

7.  Mitch has taken to sitting in Matt's recliner.  It's never not funny.

8.  And, finally, this has been my official uniform of Christmas Break 2010.  It's basically a "homeless Punky Brewster" look. When I have to go out of the house, sometimes I put on actual shoes.  But I've not removed that hoodie from my body in over eight days.  Fancy, huh?

Happy Tuesday to you!  Hope you're enjoying your week!

Jesus Christ Lizard!

Okay, so that year that I was homeschooled I missed a life science course.  I also watched every episode of I Dream of Jeannie.  It's possible, that in missing that course, I also missed out on learning about something that Matt claims everyone's seen and knows about. 

Does everyone know about the basilisk lizard?  I sure didn't, and when Matt showed me this video I laughed for seven full minutes.  Then I said that I was going to put it on the blog and he said that would be dumb because everyone knows what a basilisk is. 

In case you are an ignorant fool like I am, or in case you spent a year of your life being "homeschooled" and missing out on life science, or in case you just need a good laugh, here's the basilisk lizard in action. 



Ha!

Cheap Wall Art

So, my new favorite room in the house, the Lagoon, is still in need of a few finishing touches.  For one, I need to install some quarter round, since the room used to be a porch and the other day I watched a baby spider crawl in under the baseboards.  Second, I was in need of some wall art.

The one wall in the Lagoon is between 4-5 feet wide, and made of the most difficult material to drive nails into that I could possibly imagine.  (I would bend about 8 nails for every one that I finally got to go into the wall.  There were hammered thumbs, and many a choice word directed at the wall.)  Originally, I had planned to do a little photo gallery featuring some pictures of food, friends, and family.  But then I realized that I would have to drop lots of money on cool frames, and I would have to spend hours upon hours cussing and trying to get nails into the wall.  Plus, I had a revelation: I am no good at constructing photo galleries.  No good at all.  While I'm usually pretty good at spatial relation-type stuff (or, as I tell Matt, I'm good at shapes), there's something about the photo gallery that is just out of reach for me.  Maybe that can be a goal for next summer?

Anyway.  Here's the wall before.

And, here's the wall now, inspired by this post from Young House Love.  (Also, note Mitch's weird "getting off the couch" stretching move in the background.)

Oh, and the cost?  One fifty.  One fifty as in $1.50--as in, cheaper than the Simply Raspberry lemonade that I drank while shopping for the clothespins at Target.  (I already had the ball of twine, a la Gary and Elaine, which I picked up in Target's dollar spot years ago.)

The twine clothesline (or pictureline?) is so fun to me because I'll be able to switch the pictures out any time I want.  (Matt put it well:  "Yeah, and then if Opal really pisses you off you can just rip her picture off, tear it to pieces, and throw it on the floor.")  Cassie brought up another fun point, noting that this will be a great place to hang Christmas cards.  And, of course, if Mitch and I do any paw painting, then I will have a great place to display his creations.

Demon Frog

It is really, really hot outside. 

Like, really hot.

Like, I took the pup for a walk at 8:45 and it was still 95 degrees.

Like, my hydrangeas are wilting.

Like, I am wilting.

But you know that it's hot.

What you probably don't know, though, is that we here at M Cubed have been being stalked, harassed, and generally mistreated by an evil poisonous Georgia frog.

This frog. 

(see him, way up at the top?)

I think he may be a Georgian River Frog**.  Or he may just be a demon.

When I was outside yesterday, minding my own business and watering the hydrangeas, the frog suddenly inflated his entire body and began to belt out some hellish squawk yell thing. 

And I don't like frogs, anyway.  I mean, they're like the thing I fear most (unless you want to count albino children), and I'm pretty sure that they can sense my fear (both).

But I'm working on overcoming these anxieties.  How can I ever convince Mitch to be okay during a thunderstorm if I myself can't be okay around a teeny tiny [poisonous and homicidal] little frog?

So today I went back out to those hydranges, and this time I had a camera so that you could witness his big scary inflated body.  The camerawork is shoddy at best, and I have only a rudimentary knowledge of any movie-making software, but, please, enjoy the voiceover work.

Oh, and while I was sitting here in the living room tonight--again minding my own business--I heard his little frog war cry again.  There's a 78% chance that the next time I step outside there will be an army of frogs waiting for me, and they'll all jump down my throat and jump on me and then I'll choke to death on poisonous and hateful and mean frogs.  And then they'll all inflate again and make that noise again to celebrate their victory.

**Also, he's probably not really even this kind of frog.  But he is an evil frog.

Poof!

There's just something about summertime that pits me against nature.  (Or pins me against nature, if you're like stupid Olivia on The City.  I hate her with every ounce of my being.)  If it's not mosquitoes or nearly dead moles or jumpy frogs or slugs or snakes, then it's something else. 

As I was driving down the parkway this morning, groggy because I'd had to peel myself out of bed at 7:45 (so early for summer!) and because I failed to eat a healthy breakfast, I became a murderer.  The incident happened shortly after I merged, when I was going between 45-55 mph, and some very intelligent bird was  hovering about four feet off the ground, directly in front of me.  I tried to brake, and I couldn't swerve without getting into an accident, so I hit it. 

Thump!

Horrified by my murderous act, I looked in the rearview mirror.

Poof!

There was a poof of feathers at the scene of the crime, almost cartoonish.  It was like a pillow fight on a sitcom.  Actually, it was like the end of this Pixar short (around 2:30). 



Or this disturbing few seconds that Matt recommended of Randy Johnson hitting a bird with a fastball.



Gross!

Anyway, I'm still driving around with souveniers of my kill.

Ugh.

Anyone have some rubber gloves?

R.I.P., bird.  Sorry you're dead.  Maybe as a ghost bird you can go to all of the other birds and instruct them to maintian a high altitude when flying around such busy roads?

Leopold the Lizard

Leopold the Lizard, just what do you think you're doing on that lantern?

Lanterns aren't for lizards!

I don't care if it's warm in there.

Stop looking at me!

You're freaking me out.

Mitch > Margaritas

A few days ago, Matt and I had endured a terrible day at work, and decided it would be fun to decompress in Mexico. And by Mexico I mean our favorite Mexican restaurant. We would have a couple of margaritas (they're two for one!), eat some chips, and get the anger and resentment out of our systems.

We decided to go home and change first. On our drive home, though, we saw a huge thunderstorm fast approaching. And we have a certain dog son, Mitchell Pancake, Mitchard Doggins (dog athiest enthusiast), who HATES thunderstorms.

So instead of heading off to Mexico, Matt and I comforted our son. The three of us retreated to the bed, our favorite place in the house. Mitch nestled between us, and we pet him and tried to make him forget about what was happening.

We held him and talked to him and tried to make him feel better. And we knew that our margarita plan was out of the question. Each time a huge crack of thunder would sound, Mitch would moan a pitiful dog moan. We'd then hold him tight and talk to him and pet him and scratch him and give him a bone.

We tried to make him feel better (and even entertained the idea that perhaps Mitchard Doggins was manipulating us into giving him so much attention). Eventually, he buried his little dog head and body under the comforter, and we all fell asleep. We didn't wake up until 9:00. (PS--Have I mentioned that I love my life?) No happy hour for Matt and Mandy.

I adore this dog, and so does Matt. And obviously, the well-being of the dog trumps our desire to drink cheap tequila (delicious, cheap tequila). I'm not angry at the dog for being upset and anxious, but I must admit that I was a little bitter about missing out on two for one margaritas in Mexico.

First the rash, then the opossum, then the almost black eye (to be explained later), and now missing happy hour?? Come on, dog. Still, though, I am obsessed. I can't stop talking about how cute you are or kissing your head or feeding you cheese. That's love.

M Cubed--Now Providing Counsel!

We're launching a new feature here at M Cubed, an advice column. You submit your dilemma, and we will provide you with insightful, and likely catty, answers. Expect advice from one, two, or all three of us.

And if we can't come up with a good answer for you, we'll consult an expert.

So, let's get started. Email your questions to me.