Hire Me

So, I'm sure its not a secret to any of you that my current job makes me want to gouge my eyeballs out with a rusty spoon.  If I could just make cakes for a living, I would not want to engage in eye-gouging.  This is where all of you come in.  You see, you should all begin to buy cakes from me.  Cakes for every occasion.  I can do mini cakes and cake bites and cake balls and cupcakes and big cakes.  There is always a reason to have a cake.  Your kid made honor roll?  CAKE!  You passed your emissions test? CAKE!  You paid off your Blockbuster late fees?  CAKE!  You can even have cake for sad occasions because eating cake always makes you feel better.  You got dumped?  Cake.  Your goldfish died?  Cake.  You have gout?  Cake.  Making cakes for people makes me feel like my insides are being tickled by rainbows.  And the BONUS is that I don't have to get fat because YOU'RE eating them instead of me.  My current diet and exercise program is prohibitive of eating cake, but it doesn't say anything about MAKING cakes for other people.  So buy some cakes from me.  If enough of you buy cakes from me,  I can give my current job the big eff you and make cakes all day, which is my dream.  So tell your friends.  Tell your neighbors.  Tell your mailman.  Tell them they need cakes.  I figure if you all buy a cake a week, I can quit my job on Monday and if you each tell three friends to buy a cake a week, I'll have my own Food Network show by mid-March.


In case you needed some extra persuasion, here is my complete cake portfolio for your perusing:

Know what would be great for breakfast all week next week?  Lucious red velvet cake with lemon mascarpone cream cheese frosting. 

How about a wedge of dense buttermilk chocolate with velvety swiss buttercream?  You want that........

Doesn't a hunk of moist vanilla cinnamon cake with whipped almond buttercream sound delicious right now? 

Thanks to my cleverly placed subliminal messages,  you might have an inexplicable yearning for cake now.  You should probably order cakes for your next two dozen events before I'm booked solid.  Get cracking, people- the cakes aren't going to order themselves.

The Woman Who Had No Face

My current glasses are about ten years old.  I often fall asleep in them watching tv and then I take them off in my sleep and roll over on them, rendering them wobbledy and ill-fitted.  So I decided to get new ones.  This morning I went to this web site I heard about (Thank you, Rick!!) called Zenni Optical to order some glasses.  On this site, you can order ridiculously cheap glasses- like, $7, $10, $15 including lenses.  It's like they're giving the shit away. 

They have this feature where you can upload your picture to "try on" the different glasses.  I uploaded my picture and got this error message:

Apparently I am a non-entity. 

The Party of Two is NOT Going to Hawaii *UPDATED!!

*This blog has been updated.  I hope everyone (read: Erin) is happy with it now*

A few weeks ago, I posted a blog about how Cody and I decided to go to Bora Bora for Christmas next year.  I made pictures to go with it.  

Yesterday, Cody informed me that my map showing Bora Bora was *actually* incorrect.  The little finger was *actually*, he said, pointing at Hawaii.  He made sure to point out my error in the comments section.

Geography has never been my strong point.  As far as I'm concerned, this is an updated version of what a map of the world looks like:

 *I only know where Bora Bora is because of Cody.  Thanks, Cody!

*After reviewing my reader comments, I have updated this map to include several other points of interest.

Being a semi-intelligent being, I wanted to rectify my error, so I asked Cody to point out where Bora Bora *actually* is on a map and he did.  Apparently I was looking at a used Taco Time napkin instead of an Atlas, so you can see how I would have gotten confused.

I would like to apologize for my egregious geographical oversight and assure you that I will not be making any further geographical errors in blog posts because from now on, I will have Cody proofread them first to ensure accuracy.  Meantime, I'll be sure to brush up on my world maps so that I don't get kicked off of our Applebee's trivia night team.  Here is a corrected version of the picture, which I have also replaced in the original post to hide my ignorance correct my mistake.

Actual Conversations: Toe Edition

Cody and I have been watching our food intake lately, so we've been pretty vigilant about our fat and booze consumption.  We're trying to limit ourselves to one serving of healthy fat per day.  Yesterday after dinner, Cody told me his toe felt like painy-sick-deathfulness.  The fat intake and the toe are unrelated, I just have no way to transition smoothly between the two topics.  He shows me his toe and I deduce that he has an ingrown toenail.  I knew what to do with it, having endured dozens of ingrown toenails during my years as a dancer.  I went upstairs and got my nail kit and I remedied the offending toe the same way I have done dozens of times before with my own toes.  I assured him it would take a few days, but that it would heal up and stop hurting soon.  This morning at work we had the following instant message conversation regarding the toe situation:

Cody says:
 My toe is killing me today
 Can hardly walk on it

Rae says:

 Is it?  I'm sorry!  It'll heal.

Cody says:
 I woke up at 3am... it was killing me.

Rae says:

 Well, go to a podiatrist

Cody says:
 There's no way I can effectively work out with it hurting like this...

Rae says:

 Does it feel hot?

 Like, to the touch?

Cody says:
 I dunno... I haven't touched it.
 Why?

Rae says:

Well, if it feels hot to the touch, it might be infected or something.  You could have an infection in your toe bone.  It happens sometimes.......

Cody says:
Seriously?

Rae says:

It might just be that it needs a couple days to heal, babe. 

I mean, ingrown toenails really suck

Cody says:
 Yeah... walking today hurt like a mother......
 This morning for breakfast I had a teaspoon of olive oil.

Rae says:

 ?

Cody says:
 And some coffee from Moxie... but they put too much sugar and cream in it.

Rae says:

 I'm sorry.....go back to the olive oil?

Cody says:
 What about it?

Rae says:

 Why would you eat a spoonful of olive oil?

Cody says:
 That's a good way to get your metabolism going....

Rae says:

 Says who??  That is icky, babe.  How did you even manage to choke it down?

Cody says:
 I read about this guy that wanted to lose weight... and he used olive oil as a way to stop fat cravings and it worked really well.
 Not that I'm craving fats or anything.

Rae says:

Where did you read that?

Cody says:
 I can't remember

Rae says:

 Hmm.....well, ok.  Whatever twirls your beanie.

Cody says:
 So, that was my fat for the day.

Rae says:

 I can't believe you wasted your fat for the day on a spoonful of olive oil.  That's sad.

 But if it works it works, I guess..........

Cody says:
 Anyway, yeah...

Rae says:

WebMD says that you should keep your toenails at a moderate length- like, even with the end of your toe- to prevent ingrown toenails

Cody says:
 As opposed to cutting them too short?

Rae says:

 Yes.  If you cut them too short, they can get ingrown

Cody says:
 Hmmm... well OK
 Maybe that's what I did

Rae says:

Who knows......just trying to help.

Cody says:
But now that one edge of my toenail is REALLY short...

Rae says:

But it's short in width, not length

Right?

Cody writes:

Rae says:

 LMFAO!!!!!

 Did you just draw that just now?

Cody says:
 Yeah

Rae says:

ROFLOL!!!!!!

Cody says:
 That's my toenail

Rae says:

 I know what it is.

Cody says:
So I hope that one edge doesn't start digging into my toe again...
Cuz it's cut waaaay back

Rae says:

It probably will.  You'll probably have to have it amputated

Cody says:
Well at least then I could exercise

Rae says:

 Without your big toe?

 You severely underestimate how important your big toe is for balance.

 You should probably go to a podiatrist so he can saw off that half of your nail bed.

Cody says:
 Seriously?

Rae says:

Well, if people have chronic ingrown toenails, sometimes they remove a portion of the nail bed to prevent it from growing there anymore.

Cody says:
Well I don't think mine is chronic quite yet....

Rae says:

But given that your toe isn't oozing or bleeding, I think you'll probably get over it

Is it oozing?

Cody says:
No, no

Rae says:

Is your toe bulbous?

Cody says:
Well... yeah... but it always is.

Rae says:

No, I mean is it MORE bulbous than usual?  Like this-

Cody says:
 LOL!
 No, if it looked like that I'd probably be at the doctor right now.

Rae says:

So it's probably not infected. 

It's just your garden variety ingrown toenail.

Cody says:
It feels OK as long as I don't put weight on it.

Rae says:

Cowboy up- it'll heal.

Cody Says:
Yeah......

Rae says:

OMG!

I totally know what's wrong.  I know what it is.

Cody says:
 ?

Rae says:

You have vaginitis in your toe.

[Cody has signed out of messenger]

The Poop Squad

Allow us to introduce you to our two cats, Moe and Trooper.  Cody has dubbed them The Poop Squad.

I've had Moe since he was born under my mom's bed when I was 9 and I have successfully kept him alive, fat, and happy for the last 16 years.  We acquired Trooper on a trip to visit my uncle in Lewiston a year ago.  She was diseased, blind, and clinging to life in a sawdust pile.  We hauled her home and brought her back from the brink of death with three different medications and a couple of trips to the vet.  She is very skittish and runs away every time someone sneezes.  Cody loves this effing cat (despite frequent declarations to the contrary).   He is the only person who can pick her up and she's even started sleeping at his feet on the bed.  He has a special squeaky voice that he uses whenever he talks to her.  When he sees her he says "Helloooo Miss Priss!" and when he feeds her he says "It's time for the FOODIES!" and when we go to bed he says "Bedtime for KITTEHS!!!" He is not alone in ridiculousness.  I call the cats "my friendlies" and I have conversations with them, answering for Moe with my best impersonation of Eric Cartman and imagining Trooper as a sullen young emo cat who refuses to speak, instead writing responses to me in crayon with some of the letters reversed. 

Now let me tell you a little story about how these two beasts of burden repay our kindness............

About two weeks ago, I was decorating a cake in the kitchen when Cody informed me that he was going to clean out the litter boxes.  I told him to just wait and let me do it, but he insisted he could handle it.  A few minutes later, he came back downstairs.  His foul mood actually entered the room a few seconds before he did.  He informed me that both cats were going to the pound.  He reported that there had been some sort of security breach in one of the upstairs litter boxes.

I did my level best not to laugh at his hair-trigger gag reflex as he explained, between violent gags, the carnage that had unfolded upstairs.

I managed to retain my composure until he left the room.  After he went back upstairs to finish his doody duty, I collapsed into hysteria.

Apparently at some point during the last few days, the cats had held a meeting and decided that they were tired of our oppressive litter box regimen.  They would no longer be subjected to the indignity of relieving themselves where they had been forced to.  In order to most forcefully protest our authority, they began to practice what can only be described as free-range pissing and shitting- just outside the confines of the box.

From his description, I can only imagine it looked something like this:

We would have no choice, Cody said, but to burn down the house with the cats inside and then get a new house that doesn't have cats in it.

After some deliberation, we decided that until an enclosed litter box could be purchased, we would have to construct some sort of barrier to prevent the cats from future carpet-pissing.  Working together, we creatively constructed an "accident proof" litter box area in the closet using a board, a ripped open Hefty lawn bag, and some masking tape left over from our painting project.  The cats sat together nearby, watching with disdain as we labored.  While we worked, Cody pondered out loud to himself about which one of them could possibly have instigated this heinous crime by firing the first shot.  He's sent the samples to the lab for analyzing, but we don't have any results yet. Once we know, we will shave the culprit bald and turn him or her loose outside to fend for themselves in the cold.  He's also investigating a motive, but I'm sticking with my cat-powered "damn the man" revolution theory.

By the time we were finished, the setup looked like this:

It wasn't pretty, but it got the job done.  At least we hoped it would.  After the construction process was over, Cody turned and issued a challenge to the poop squad.  "Do your worst, you stinky buttholes!"  Trooper slunk to the ground and sped out of the room, but Moe simply sat there, glaring at Cody with his ears back as if to say "Oh I will, you sad little man....I will."

Later that evening, I was in the rec room watching a movie when the MVP of the poop squad waddled into the room.  After a few sniffs at the litter box in there (which is an enclosed, error-proof box), he reached up with his evil little paw and attempted to push open the closet door a little further- presumably to get in the closet alongside the box and take a big smelly doody on the floor.  I indulged my oft recurring impulse to throw things (see this post) and hucked a magazine at him.  This seemed to get the message across, in addition to satisfying my need for revenge.

There were no apparent problems with either litter box for a few days.  Then on Thursday, when I walked in the door after work, I noticed an aroma that could only be described as "zoo".  It had been awhile since we changed the boxes, so I took it upon myself to go upstairs and change them, hoping to eliminate the pissy odor before Cody got home and hauled both cats out into the countryside to dump them off.  Why did I cover for them?  I don't know.  I guess we have a love/hate relationship.  When I pulled the box out of the closet to dump it, this is what I saw:

 One of them had obviously hung their hind end over the edge of the box and taken a big leak to show us what they thought of our newly crafted barrier.  Touche, beasts of burden, touche.

I have since made improvements to the design, adding additional weight behind the barrier and more masking tape for extra hold.  We will not surrender this war, dear friends.  For you see, we are humans and they are cats.  We have opposable thumbs and advanced problem solving skills.  We have superior intellects.  We have utilized the History Channel's programming to educate ourselves regarding military tactics because we can work the remote control.  No ammunition is too harsh.  We can institute a food embargo or lock them in the bathroom or invite Dwayne's pitbull over to play.  I am currently formulating some strategies for our next move:

 

We may not have won the battle, but we will win the war.  Bring it on, Poop Squad.......