Hungry Like the Wolf, Mucus, and Tin Foil.

Look at the outside temperature on that thermometer!  It’s January 31st in Pennsylvania, for crying out loud!  It’s not supposed to be 61 degrees!

Why are you complaining about nice weather?  What’s your problem?!

My problem is that no one told me there would be nice weather today.  I wasted the whole day.  I could have sent the kids outside for recess at lunch and had a few blessed minutes of peace and quiet.  Or at least a few blessed minutes of tv.  Whatever…

Yeah, I could listen to the weather reports on the radio, but if your only options were the abysmal radio stations around here, you wouldn’t listen either.  You can choose from among 500 country stations, 1 pop station, 1 classic rock station (read: all bad 80’s), or fuzz.   If I have to hear “Hungry like the Wolf” one more time….

Since I can’t tolerate country music, and am forced to listen to pop at the skating rink, I resort to the classic rock station.  And they play weird stuff on that station.

For example, right in the middle of a normal lineup, without even the slightest hint of irony, they played “Ghostbusters.” Ghostbusters?  Really?  Out of all the music ever performed, they play Ghostbusters?

I’ve given up on music.  Soon I’ll be listening to Chinese classical music like Darling Husband.  Now there’s a man with some unusual taste in music.

Back to the weather:

Darling Husband has a special weather radio.  When there’s bad weather in our area, alarms will go off and a voice comes on telling us, “This weather advisory is to alert you that there is a horrible disaster coming your way.  Don’t you wish you’d taken it seriously when they told you to have 40 gallons of water per person on hand, along with your fully stocked pharmacy and fully loaded automatic weapons?  Too late for you, you lazy bum.”

Along with the dire advisories, I think the weather radio should give out fair weather advisories.

That way, when I gather up the boys and stuff them into their winter coats, only to walk outside to a balmy 61 degrees, I won’t have to rail at the heavens demanding my customary rain, sleet, or snow for grocery shopping day.  The day was taunting me with its warm sunniness.  It knew I wasted the whole day inside.

When I was in high school a classmate from China used to say, “Sixty degree, you wear short!”  I’m not trying to make fun of her accent, but whenever it’s in the 60s, I can still hear her voice, “Sixty degree, you wear short!”

In China they don’t add an s to pluralize words.  Our word for deer is like that.  One deer, 10 deer.  So, for her, one degree is the same as sixty degree.  I’m not sure why the musician 50 Cent calls himself 50 Cent, because it’s supposed to be 50 Cents.  And yes, it bothers me.  I take it personally.  I wonder if his agent ever tried to tell him that he’s saying it wrong, and how that conversation went down.

Today at Walmart, I learned that “the real problem isn’t always the mucus.”  It’s good information to have.  That’s why I’m passing it on to you.

I learned that little nugget from those tvs they have stationed around the store.  I resent those tvs.  I take them a little personally, too.  Especially when they tell me about mucus.

———————–

Watched while cooking/cleaning the kitchen:

The rest of “The Last Man on Earth.”  It followed the book almost exactly, but the book ending was slightly better than the movie ending.

Malcolm in the Middle.

Star Trek stats:

# of women in tin foil costumes: 1

# of shirtless men, including Kirk: 2

# of kissing scenes: 4.  The kids were appropriately disgusted.

————————–

Helpful hints (and not about mucus):

If your grapes are a little sour, dip them in cool whip.

If you get tired of standing around while the kids inspect every toy in the toy department, sit in one of these kiddie carts.  They’re way fun when the kids push you around in them.  As long as you don’t get caught.  Then it’s a little embarrassing…

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9 thoughts on “Hungry Like the Wolf, Mucus, and Tin Foil.

    • I think you’d write a great blog. Just don’t make a commitment to a picture a day. It takes over your life. When I wake up, the first thing I think is, “Oh no! It’s a new day! I have to come up with another picture! Dang it!”

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