The Junk Drawer | Humor for the Masses

I love to mow the lawn. It’s good exercise. But there’s one problem. I suck at it.

While my husband Dave is recovering from shoulder surgery, I’ve taken on the chore of mowing every weekend. He feels bad he can’t do it, but that’s not the reason he should feel bad.

He should feel bad for the mower itself and everything it touches.

Herewith are the things I’ve done to the mower or with the mower in the last year:

1. I took out part of a tree he planted in the front yard. I don’t know how. All I know is when I motored past it, an entire branch broke off and got stuck in the hole that keeps the pull string attached to the mower. I threw the branch to the ground and mowed over it a bunch of times –the equivalent of hiding the body.

2. The first time I mowed alone, I got too close to a curb and the mower tipped over into the street. I heard a horrible propeller-type banging. That’d be the blade striking concrete at 3,600 RPM. I didn’t turn off the mower for a really long time because — all together now — I’m an idiot!

3. Dave likes to remove the metal rainspout extensions that run parallel to the ground before mowing. You know, so the grass is cut evenly. Why move perfectly placed rainspouts when you can run right over them? That’s mowing the efficient Kathy way.

4. Those big gashes at the base of the mailbox post? Sorry.

5. Remember, honey, how nice the front yard used to look when I would take the time to make nice diagonal lines through the yard? I know it looks like a child hopped up on Jujubees mowed it now, but really, can’t the grass just be short? We’re not going for design points, are we?

6. If the azalea bush doesn’t blossom next year, well, let’s just say I was getting tired and I had to take it out on something.

I love mowing! It’s so easy my way.

Dave, you’re not reading today’s post, are you?

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WARNING: This post is not safe for reading while eating. Put your forks and spoons down and proceed with caution. Even if you’re not eating, you still might puke.

I’m about to show you what the Friday What’s That? item is. Lots of you were really close, guessing it was some kind of nest, pod or cocoon, that if poked, would ooze spiders, bugs or other crawly things.

The correct answer is much, much worse.

The object pictured was part of an owl pellet. According to Wikipedia, a pellet is the mass of undigested parts of a bird’s food that some bird species occasionally regurgitate. The contents of a bird’s pellet depend on its diet, but can include the exoskeletons of insects, indigestible plant matter, bones, fur, feathers, bills, claws, and teeth.

Teeth!

Still with me? OK. The woman who took the picture was alerted to its presence by the keen eye of her daughter, who recognized it from a lab she took in grade school. Apparently she sends her daughter to a school whose teachers don’t mind their students blowing their lunch having to dissect these.

Yummy!

You might ask yourself where you can get one of these find specimens to dissect yourself (or not). If you do, you can order a variety from Pellets, Inc. Now don’t rush the site all at once!

I’ve had my fair share of school lab grossouts. In high school, we dissected frogs and I was glad to not be part of the group who discovered that their frog was pregnant at time of death. I remember someone screaming. I don’t know if they continued on with their dissection, but I’m very sure no one ate the rest of the day.

Sorry no one guessed this edition of What’s That? But I promise next time I’ll go back to regular household items that don’t have teeth and hair in them. Promise!

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By now you know that my What’s That Wednesday series isn’t always on Wednesday. I don’t know why I keep calling it that. If anyone has a better idea, raise your hand and make a suggestion.

Today we have something very unusual. This picture was taken by my colleague Heather. The only detail that I’ll give about it is that I think it looks like a face. That won’t help you guess what it is, since I’m not inclined to help you in any way. Ha!

How to play:

1. The photo shows a small portion of a larger object.

2. First person to guess the object it’s a part of wins a Junk Drawer magnet and a mystery prize.

Go!

I have a little tip for some of you. If you are irritated that people make guesses well ahead of you, consider following me on Facebook. My new posts automatically appear there when I publish, so if you’re on Facebook more than your blog reader, you’ll see them sooner.

UPDATE: OK, folks! Here’s a hint from Heather: "It is organic material.  It has not been processed by a human in any way.  And it is indeed gross."

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So, OK. I’m going to the BlogHer conference in Chicago where I’ll get some good tips on blogging and blog marketing, meet up with bloggers I only know online and see the sights in a city I’ve never been to before.

I’m also going to see my girl JD of I Do Things puke up her lunch because she got accepted to read one of her very best posts in front of a million strangers. Please pray for her.

I knew the conference was Friday and Saturday, July 24th and 25th. I knew I bought a two-day pass that covers admission for both days. I knew I wanted to book a flight the day before the conference so I can get settled, meet up with JD and be well-rested before the start of the conference.

The day before the conference would be Thursday for those keeping count.

When did I book my flight? For Friday morning, of course. Well after the conference is underway.

How much did this mistake cost me? One hundred smackeroos. Frack it all! I booked my flight and hotel through Expedia and they do allow changes at no cost, but the airline charges its own fee for dumbasses like me.

The good news is that the Expedia rep first quoted me a fee of $100, but came back a few minutes later to say it was really $150. Since she misquoted the fee initially, she offered to give me a $50 credit on the extra hotel night I booked.

I believe that’s what you’d call pity for the dumbass.

Oh, and incidentally, JD won’t be the only one puking. This flight will be my first flight going it alone. I’m petrified. I plan on bringing my blankie and teddy bear and I don’t care what that’ll look like.

To recap, you are praying for JD to get through her reading on Friday, July 24th and you are praying for me to get on the plane on the 23rd. You should also get out the rosary beads on the 27th when I fly home. I leave out of O’Hare Airport, where I will get lost as soon as I step foot in the door.

If you don’t see a post from me soon after, it means I’m probably still at the airport, riding a luggage carousel, sucking my thumb and crying like a baby. I want my Mommy!

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This isn’t a humor piece, but I’ve been bothered by an event that happened this morning and felt better writing about it.

I wanted to share it with you because it reminds me of the fragility of life as I know it and how one fraction of a second made the difference between me having a normal day and my husband getting a dreaded phone call.

Friday began like every other work day.

Cup of coffee, feed the cats, some blog stuff, shower and jump in my car. The most remarkable thing about my ride to work was that I got an early start. I would soon wish I hadn’t.

Somebody else was heading to work, too. Someone who should have had his eyes on the road instead of his head in the clouds.

I know people get distracted while driving and cause accidents.

I know that 40,000 people die on U.S. roads each year in car crashes.

I know lots of unlucky people before me have found themselves in the path of an errant driver and never lived to tell about it.

But it’s always other people.

Today I was almost one of them.

On a green light, I approached an intersection near work. As I pulled through and made a left turn, I saw a pickup truck to my left. Coming on fast. I’m not a sitting duck. I’m moving, thank God. I know I’m moving, but am I moving fast enough?

I hear his tires screeching. Might not be enough time. I see the grill of his truck. It’s close. Very close. Are we gonna hit? I start to think this is my unlucky day. God? You there? Help me out here.

In a moment that lasted an eternity, I could see the face of this distracted man, who is now no longer distracted.

He looks at me, and I at him. Our eyes are wide. Our mouths agape. I clear his front bumper by mere inches. I scream and lay on the horn. I glance back. I see he landed askew in the middle of the intersection. I quickly check to see if he still had a red light. Was it me who screwed up?

No. His light was redder than red. And he didn’t even see it.

I consider if I had entered the intersection one moment later. A single second later and someone would be calling my "in case of emergency" number.

I wanted to pull over, get out and scream at him. I wanted to let him know that someone almost had to peel me off his truck. I wanted to tell him to pay attention next time. Every time, dammit, because all it takes is one moment of inattentiveness to change someone’s life.

But I didn’t. I drove on. Slow and shaky. Nothing happened. No harm, no foul.

Except it could have so easily been different.

If not for ONE. SPLIT. SECOND.

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Though my husband Dave is recovering from very painful shoulder surgery, I consider myself the one who had the real major medical problem of late.

I had a wart. On my forehead. For any woman, a crisis of epic proportions.

After a day of searching The Google for wart remedies, including wearing duct tape on it (not kidding), I came to the conclusion that I really ought to ask a doctor about it before I go making things worse.

So I called my sister Ann. Ann is a nurse. Fact: If you work in the medical profession in any capacity short of the janitor in a hospital, you are the doctor in the family.

I asked her what I should do to get rid of Walter the Wart, who I’d gotten so used to seeing every day that I named him. Yeah? What of it?

She gave me a quick reply: Vitamin E.

Every night before bed, I pricked a capsule of Vitamin E and spread the miracle juice all over Walter and then put a Band-Aid on him. We slept like babies.

The next morning I would remove Walter’s bandage, wash up and go out in the world with a big wart on my face.

To my co-workers, thank you for not wondering aloud why I looked like a Cyclops for two weeks.

Gradually, over about ten days, Walter got smaller and smaller until he disappeared and I returned to looking normal, which isn’t saying much.

So there you go. Vitamin E, the wart remover and scar preventer, brought to you by my non-doctor sister. If you’re absolutely sure you have a wart and not something scary like skin cancer, give it a try.

Footnote: In my research, I learned there are several causes for warts, among them stress. You know what causes stress? A giant wart on your forehead.

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The effects of a grueling work week washed away in an instant following this exchange with my husband as I loaded the dishwasher tonight.

I called out to him in another room:

Are there any dishes out there?

No. Just you, Kathy.

He may need his eyes checked, but if he sees a dish then so be it. God bless that man.

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A few weeks ago, I glanced out at the back yard and noticed a patch of what looked like weeds. I didn’t think much of it until they started to grow larger like this:

I decided to bring this situation to my husband’s attention and it was only then that I found out he surreptitiously planted sunflowers.

Sunflowers?! How could you?!

I know. I should be glad. Sunflowers are…. well, sunny. And happy. And yellow and bright.

But they scare the crap out of me.

Why?

Because Dave planted them at our old house and at night, in the faint glow of a street light, they looked like PEOPLES!

Big, swaying heads of PEOPLES in the darkness!

So now when these things grow right next to our house, I’ll be jumping out of my skin every time I look out the window.

Would it be bad to call 911 because I think flowers are breaking into my house?

OK, let’s hear it. What irrational fears to you have?

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Wow! I gotta tell you guys. Your guesses for the What’s That contest were outstanding! So many good ones, but only one correct answer and only one winner.

The first person to guess the object correctly was Maya, who said it was part of a Brita water filter.

Congratulations, Maya! I’ll be in touch with you shortly about your prizes.

In other Junk Drawer news….

I spent Thursday in a hospital with my husband Dave, who had rotator cuff surgery. Despite an annoying four hour delay, all went very well and he’s coping OK with the pain, thanks to some delightful Percocet.

Commence mini-rant.

There is perhaps no greater annoyance in hospital waiting rooms than a too-loud TV mounted on the ceiling that you can’t turn down or control the channel. That is why I spent most of my waiting time in the cafeteria reading a book in peace and quiet.

After playing nurse and not getting enough sleep last night, I had a doctor’s visit myself this morning. While sitting in the waiting room, I was subjected to the horror that is early morning TV news, complete with inane chatter and all-too-chipper people for eight in the morning.

Is it just me, or wouldn’t people who are probably not feeling well rather just sit quietly waiting for their names to be called? Instead, we had listen to a performance by the Dave Matthews Band outside the news studio. Since when did morning news shows involve screaming loud music before people have had their coffee?!?!

For all the people who hate this sort of thing, I’m pleased to tell you that I risked getting yelled at by the office staff, stomped over to that TV and MUTED IT!

That’s right. I’m a badass. Fear me.

Next up in waiting room annoyance reduction? Throwing my shoes at loud cell-phone talkers.

You’re welcome.

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Time for a What’s That? contest!

This is one of those times where I think the object will be either incredibly easy or mind-numbingly hard.

How to play:

1. The photo shows a small portion of a larger object.

2. First person to guess the object it’s a part of wins a Junk Drawer magnet and a bacon-related mystery prize.

Go!

What’s is that?

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In case of donut emergency, call husband.

In case husband laughs at wife’s misery, post on blog.

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Anyone who knows me knows I can’t cook. Never really tried. Didn’t get the gene.

But after enjoying a delicious meal at the home of Kim and Bryan, the bloggers I met last weekend, I decided I might like to try my hand at it. You see, Kim made homemade manicotti, including making the pasta shells from scratch!

I thought it would make a nice birthday dinner for my husband, Dave, and so I slaved away in the kitchen making my own pasta. You do it by pouring a thin mixture of eggs, flour, water and oil in a saute pan and swirling it around like you would a crepe. When the top dries, you simply pop it out on a plate and instant pasta!

I made 15 of those beauties and confidently went on to make the cheese filling and meatballs. Didn’t they turn out nice? Thanks for the recipe, Kim!

I basked in the glow of knowing that if I apply myself, I can pull off a decent meal and no one even has to go to the emergency room to get their stomach pumped.

And then God said "Get over yourself. It was a fluke."

The very next day I made a grilled cheese sandwich in the brand new saute pan I’d bought to make the pasta in, but didn’t wind up using.

When the pan heated, I started smelling something. I chastised my husband for not cleaning some burned food off the stovetop.

But the smell wasn’t exactly burnt food. Oh, no.

It was the smell of stupid.

We had a good chuckle over it, took this picture for proof a moron lives here and I ate my grilled cheese sandwich.

The very next day I was making an omelette in the very same pan.

Hmmmm. What’s that smell?

That’d be the smell of short term memory loss.

You’ll be happy to know I finally took the paper off the bottom of the pan and my house doesn’t smell like burning barcode anymore.

Is this universe’s way of telling me to get the hell out of the kitchen and leave it to the experts?

Yeah, I thought so.

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Been three weeks since the day we became one.

Three weeks of sheer torture.

I wake up to it.

I shower with it.

I cook with it.

I go to work with it.

It’s with me right now.

It haunts me.

It’s sneaky. It’s merciless. It’s painful.

It may never leave.

But I don’t want it.

And I can’t take it.

I want peace.

I need to quiet the voices in my head!

The voices of ….. The Pointer Sisters.

Yeah, the song I heard over a grocery store speaker three weeks ago.

They’re. Still. Here.

Someone once told me the best way to rid yourself of an earworm is to give it to someone else.

Else, it’s all yours:

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Do you hear me?! I AM AWESOME! I recently posted that I was meeting up with some fellow bloggers 200 miles from home, and it would be the first time I ever drove such a distance by myself.

Sure, I was pee-in-my-pants scared getting there, but the way home was an absolute breeze. After a short time, I was whizzing by slow poke drivers, eating a box of chocolates off my lap, steering with my thumb, and cursing at all the amateur drivers who annoyed me because they seemed lost and inept. You know, like I was two days before. My, how I’ve changed.

The weekend with Kim, Bryan and Jenn was a laughfest and what a joy to finally meet them after a year of knowing them only through their blogs and emails. Kim and Bryan were the consummate hosts and Jenn was fun company at the B&B where we both stayed.

As a bonus, Bryan’s hilarious sister Lisa traveled over an hour to visit with us, along with her cutie pie son, who upon meeting me tried to ride my leg while I was sitting on the couch. I considered it a high honor.

Let’s review some random trip details, shall we?

1. A deer saw me naked. Freshly showered, I stepped out of the bathroom, turned to a window that faces the woods and saw this. I decided it was OK because he didn’t snicker or call over any of his deer buddies to get a look. In fact, he stared a long time. I think he wanted me.

2. Even though I took my cell phone, I lost reception during the return trip and later learned that a "reboot" would fix it. Until that discovery, I had to find a pay phone to call home. I found one on a desolate road, but some guy was using it and wouldn’t hang up! Why? Why would you talk on a pay phone in the middle of nowhere for ten minutes? I figured he was saying "There’s a lady here who looks desperate to use this phone, so I’m gonna keep talking about nothing, OK?" Jerk.

3. It took me three weeks to lose four pounds before my trip. I gained the four back in three days. I won’t be eating again until Thursday. That oughtta do it. 

4. I don’t get out enough. Kim planted some lovely Lamb’s Ears in her front lawn. I’ve never seen them before, and after Jenn told me "Feel ‘em, they’re velvety soft," I stooped down to touch every Lamb’s Ear I encountered from then on. I’m not sure if everyone thought that was endearing or just sad. I’m guessing sad.

5. Kim needs her own cooking show. In the span of a day, she made homemade soup, homemade bread and homemade manicotti and meatballs. My version of homemade means "I made water boil and dumped a box of pasta in it, in my home."

6. I overpack. It’s a disease. On checkout day, my fingers slipped and I dropped my suitcase flat and it almost blew a hole in the floor and killed Jenn in the room underneath. When will I learn I only ever need half of what I think I need? 

7. Bryan agreed, at my request, not to take any photos of me. Yes, yes, I need therapy. He decided instead to take pictures of only my feet at various places we visited. Check out his foot photologue for proof I was actually there.

8. I hope someone located this lost baby. I found a "Missing" flyer taped to an ice cream shop window, but I can’t figure out why the baby would be wearing a collar and a harness. And only a $50 reward? That’s shameful. 

9. All of my pictures of the beautiful Pennsylvania Grand Canyon look like this. Each one features a view-obstructing railing because I refused to step any closer. Railings good. Falling hundreds of feet to my death bad. I thought it best to enjoy the pictures that others took; people who aren’t afraid to live close to the edge. Literally.

So there you have it. The trip I made all by my lonesome awesome self!

Next up? I fly alone for the first time this summer, wherein I’ll cry for two hours, clutching my blankie and teddy bear. Or maybe not. Awesome people don’t need no stinking teddy bears!

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Do you have a monkey butt? If you do, I’m very sorry. But don’t worry. Apparently there’s a product on the market to cure your ill. I found this stuff at my local Rite-Aid pharmacy and gasped when I saw it.

It’s the kind of thing that’s easy to mock, but I’m also guessing people actually need it and buy it. Kudos to the company for trademarking "Monkey Butt." I would have loved to sit in on the marketing meeting where the name was suggested and agreed upon.

And, yeah, I took pictures right there in the first aid aisle. Luckily I was wearing my Blogger Press Pass. It helps if you look official.

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