Tag Archives: raspberry dinosaur


Thanks to @kylerohde for turning me onto a new site.  I found videos that were hysterical, but best of all, I found a picture of this cat/keyboard shirt, that I’ve pasted below (Link to the source site is attached to picture).


This shirt reminded me of all the hip, slick and cool shirts I used to wear when I was a little girl – back when I couldn’t understand why nobody outside of my family wanted to be my friend.

I like to look at things like this and ponder: “How in the world did somebody come up with such a thing?”

I mean, seriously.  I guess I imagine some cat enthusiast, who happened to be an artist, was sitting around one day and thought to himself, “I think I’ll fuse a few of the most inspirational things I can think of, and I’ll display them all proudly abreast a T-shirt!  I’ll combine my passion for music, with my infatuation for physics and my love for felines.  I’ll come up with some really outstanding pictorial of cats, playing keyboards, in outer space!  And each cat will be wearing a different colored T-shirt – That’s it!  Cat’s on a T-shirt, wearing T-shirts!  It’ll be brilliant.”

I’m saving my money so that I can afford to splurge on this random piece of apparel.  I’m going to buy it and wear it proudly.  Every time I put it on, I’m going to think of the insane creativity behind the piece of art; I plan to derive a great deal of inspiration from this future purchase.  Don’t be surprised if you see me rockin’ it at our next encounter.


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If At First You Don’t Succeed, Beg.

We splurged last night and decided to dine at Longhorn Steakhouse.  No bread with butter.  No sweet potato with brown sugar and caramel sauce.  No croutons.  But we did get to eat something other than chicken for a change, and we even had a little ranch dressing atop our leafy greens.  It was so great!

The food is always yummy at Longhorn, and the service is typically pretty top-notch.

“Paul” was the name of the waiter-fella who helped us out last night.  He was a real go-getter.  He broke the ice at our table by letting us know that if we needed to get his attention, we could just feel free to “throw the salt and peppers shakers” at him.  We didn’t take him up on that offer.

Paul brought our waters out right away.  Our salads took a little longer than they should have, though.  We probably waited a good 15 minutes for them – but Paul did unnecessarily top our waters off a couple of times during this period.  “E” for effort, Paul.  When Paul brought our entrees to the table, Rick had to remind him that he had requested a side of sauteed onions.  Paul apologized, and returned with the side item promptly…and he topped our waters off a third time.  We were more than well-hydrated.

All in all, our dinner was very nice.  Paul dropped the ticket, Rick handed over the plastic, Paul re-dropped the ticket with the plastic in tow, and walked away.

But just as Rick pulled the ticket out of the little, black book, Paul was back again!  I thought to myself, “If this boy tries to pour more water into my glass…”  But no, Paul had something to say:

“Hey guys-Just wanted to say sorry for my head is a little spotted right now…I just found out today that my dog that I’ve had since it was 1 which is now 10 might have to have leg surgery, so I’m just not quite in it tonight.  Just wanted to let you know and thank you again for being so understanding.”

Um.  Awkward moment!

When Paul walked away, Rick looked up at me and said, “Is that a last ditch effort to beg for a better tip, or what?”  I just kept trying to shove steamed vegetables into my face to keep myself from laughing aloud.  But then Rick (my dear husband who is going deaf, I swear)  leaned in and said, “What exactly did he say?  Did he say that his dog had to have Lasik surgery?”

At that point, I lost it.

dog glasses

Like to learn more about dogs that require leg surgeries?  Here’s a fun-filled posting about a little dog that had to have a 5th leg removed.  No, I do not believe that Paul is related in any way to this particular dog.


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Sharp Edges, Do Not Touch

Rick and I were discussing the pains and pitfalls of our respective careers the other day.

Last week, Rick fell off of an 8 ft. ladder after losing his balance while yanking a pry-bar back and forth above his head.  But his cat-like reflexes allowed him to land on his feet.  He made it home with nothing more than a 12″ diameter bruise on his thigh.  (Don’t ask me how).

A week prior to that, Rick had to go to the doctor after getting a glass shard in his eye.  Upon initial examination, the doctor exclaimed, “What the hell did you put in your eye?!?”  When Rick explained to the Doctor that he thought it was a good idea to flush his eyeball with allergy eye drops that he carried in his lunchbox, the doctor confiscated the empty bottle and informed Rick that he would be contacting the local poison control center.

Last night, Rick held his hand out, palm face-up, and pointed out all of the many gashes, slices, stains, rips and tears.  He said that his hands were sore and callused, but that he had got used to the side effects of being a Glazier by now.

I told him that my hand hurt, too.  I showed him the wound on my ring finger, from where I cut myself very badly with a manila file folder earlier that day.  I explained to Rick that I had actually acquired two paper-related cuts on that same hand within a 24 hour period.  Just thinking about those little, cream-colored devils, sliding across my flesh makes me cringe.

Bottom line is, whether you’re a Marketer or a Glazier, you really ought to wear gloves and goggles at all times.

funny sign

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Debating the Fast Food Industry With The Fast Food Nazi

I choose to eat like a rabbit throughout the work week, and like a teenage boy on the weekend.  That’s just how I roll.

Last night, I had a hankerin’ for a Sonic chili cheese coney.  And since I had a 2-4-1 coupon to compliment my urge, we decided to go for it.

*Side note: Rick hates fast food.  He doesn’t like Taco Bell, he can’t stand Wendy’s, and he loathes McDonald’s – quite frankly, I’m not even sure how we fell in love in the first place.

Anyhow, we pulled up to the Sonice drive-up menu and I said, “I’ve got the 2-4-1 coupon, what else do you want?”

Rick said, “What – you mean you’re going to eat both of the foot long coney’s yourself?”

“No!  I just thought you might like something in addition to your hot dog.  Order whatever you want,” I replied.

He shook his head in semi-frustration and pushed the little, red button.  Rick ordered our dogs and we waited.

Our total was $4.30 with the coupon – I forgot to tell you that we ordered a $1 small fry, too.  Rick started counting out $1’s and asked if I had an extra.  I said, “Isn’t the total $4.30?”

“Yea…but aren’t you gonna give the girl a tip?”

“For what?” I said.

Evidently, this was yet another angle of the fast food world that we disagreed upon.

I told Rick that I had no problem tipping a waiter/waitress 20-25% minimum for services rendered at a restaurant or bar.  The aforementioned scenario requires time, effort, personality, customer service skills and the ability to produce a sincere, albeit fake, sparkling smile at all times.  But I wasn’t so hip on giving some little  car hop a 23% bonus for walking my sack of food the 15 foot distance from her kitchen to my car.

Rick called me “rude.”

I called him “a fast food Nazi.”

We went home, ate our dogs, and said “I love you.”

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We grocery shopped for the week yesterday afternoon.  I understand that prices for all things, for all people, are increasing all around us.  But I would like to know why it is that lettuce, of all things, has skyrocketed to double its former price?  Isn’t lettuce grown quite similarly to carrots?  Beets?  Celery?  These items have suffered only marginal blows.  But I’ve watched the leafy green stuff jump from an affordable and friendly .70 a head to $1.89 a head in no time flat!  Cheese louise!  I suppose I’ll just be glad that carrots, beets and celery haven’t followed suit and hope to heaven that they don’t any time soon.


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I Wish I Could Sing

I don’t think I have too many jealousies in life (okay, that might be a straight up lie–I probably have many–but I try to keep them at a minimum).  But I have to say, I am extremely jealous of people who can sing.  I have many other talents.  For example: I can eat 3-5 hot dogs with buns in a 5 minute sitting, I can bake the best batch of peanut butter cookies you’ve ever tasted and I can argue a formal debate at the national level.  But singing just wasn’t one of my God given talents. 

I’ve always known this, too.  It’s not like I used to really aspire to be a singer as a kid or something.  I always knew I had an awful singing voice.  Ever since the day I self-recorded myself on my little purple tape player when I was about 8 years old.  I remember playing it back and thinking, “Oh dear.  Who the hell is that?  Certainly that’s not my golden voice.  It definitely doesn’t match the one that I hear in my naive little head…” 

Well, from that day on, I adopted the habit of lip syncing in church and in the car.  But in 5th grade, Mrs. LaPort forced me into the school choir.  At my school, the entire fifth grade class was the school choir–all except for myself and Nick (the boy who sat in the back of the class and played with rubber bands and glue for 7 hours a day).  Quite frankly, I would have just assumed sit in the classroom with Nick and have special “creative time.” 

I remember Mrs. LaPort saying, “Misty, you need to be in choir.  I’ve signed you up.  Now, I am going to play the piano and I want you to sing.  I need to find out whether you are an Alto or a Soprano.”  I had no clue what these Chineese words and I was embarrassed as all hell that this woman was going to make me sing in front of her–out loud! 

Well, as I said, I did become a member of the 5th grade choir.  I was classified as a Soprano.  At the end of the 5th grade year, I was not encouraged to continue on with my singing career by my music teacher.  But that’s okay.  I went on to conquer bigger, better, less nerdy things like Debate. 

I still listen to those people who have voices unlike mine–and I wish mine were more like theirs.  But then I think to myself, “Could they argue both the Affirmative and the Negative of any resolution presented to them in the span of an 8 minute time frame, dig out necessary disadvantages, offer a counterplan, keep an organized flow and back a frazzled partner–and maintain a hair-do that looks anywhere near this good? ”  Probably not.   I guess we all have our niche.


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Who Drinks That?!?

Anybody else ever bothered to notice that the diet soda/caffeine-free drinkers are completely discriminated against in the fountain drink world?  That’s right.  If you drink diet soda, you can sit down at any restaurant or walk into any quick shop and choose from at least 2-3 different sugar-free options.  And if you’re just a caffeine-free person (or if you’re my 8 year old step-daughter after 12:00 noon) then you can guarantee that you will be given at least two different options (usually some Sprite-like substance and root beer).

However, if you require the combination of the two, you best not get your hopes up.

Good thing we’ve got water, I suppose.

Well, obtaining a CFD (that’s my new abbreviation for Caffeine Free, Diet) drink in a public setting may not be something to look forward to anytime soon.  But the folks over at Pepsi have hooked us up!   They’ve started shelving CFD Mountain Dew in grocery stores.  HALLELUJAH!  Life is good again.  I’ll just continue to carry an oversized purse and I’ll take my own CFD Mountain Dew wherever I go.


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