Insanity

Where the Sheep and Elk Roam

/ Quirky Girl / 24 Comments

I want to pack my bags and move.

To Montana.

Big Sky Country.

Away from chaos.

Away from people.

Yeah, I know it isn’t quite the beach.

But beach towns tend to be kind of…

Well…

How can I put this delicately?

Peopley.

Yeah.

There are people.

And lots of them.

Like, everywhere.

I want to live under the big open sky.

I want to see the stars twinkling at night.

And I want a Lincoln Log house.

You know, those cool log cabin houses with green roofs.

Well, guess what?

They have real Lincoln Log houses in Montana!

Except those houses have actual walls!

And doors!

And indoor plumbing!

You know what else might be nice to have?

A horse.

That’s right.

Even though I said I never wanted to ride one of those suckers ever again in my life.

But open land calls for animals, and lots of them.

There’s just something calming about wild, untamed natural beauty.

Wide open space.

And animals freely roaming around in all that openness.

Just think:

I could become a rancher!

Yeah.

A cattle rancher.

Or better yet…

A cereal farmer!

Hey, I’m all for learning new things.

Did you know that elk, deer and antelope populations outnumber humans in Montana?

It’s true.

The average square mile of land contains 1.4 elk, 1.4 pronghorn antelope, and 3.3 deer.

And the density of the state is six people per square mile.

Holy moly!

More animals than people?

Surely that can’t be a bad thing.

No wonder it’s called the Treasure State.

Although Montana does have the largest grizzly bear population in the lower 48 states.

Yikes!

But no state has as many different species of mammals as Montana.

That’s pretty exciting stuff right there.

Speaking of exciting…

It’s always important to become familiar with the laws of the land before venturing into new territory.

Did you know that guiding sheep onto a railroad track with an intent to injure the train can get a person five years in prison in Montana?

Oh, and it’s also illegal to drive with a sheep in the cab of your truck…

Unless you have a chaperone.

Well, so much for that.

I was hoping to haul a shitload of sheep in the back of my truck.

By myself.

Because I’m a rebel like that.

Montana sure is protective of their sheep.

Oooh!

Maybe the sheep are the treasure of The Treasure State.

Say what you want.

There is something appealing about a whole lot of nothingness.

And sheep.

Sheep everywhere.

~Happy Friday, friends! Hope you have a terrific weekend!~

I want a Lincoln Log house just like this one... complete with the funky green cowboy to protect us from disgruntled elk.

I want a Lincoln Log house just like this one… complete with that funky green cowboy to protect us from all the elk I might inadvertently piss off.

Mother’s Day Melee

/ Quirky Girl / 32 Comments

I’m not gonna lie.

I’m not really feeling the love.

My darling boys almost forgot that Mother’s Day is tomorrow.

Until I reminded them yesterday.

But alas, motherhood is a thankless job.

Fortunately, it’s not without its humorous moments.

So why don’t we take a moment to celebrate the awesomeness of moms?

Because, let’s face it, moms are awesome.

(Yeah. A crazy, multitasking masochist sounds about right.)

(Does going out of my mind count as a vacation?)

(Hellooo!?! Do you think I enjoy talking to myself? I’ll have you know that I do not, in fact, enjoy talking to myself. Are you even listening?!?)

(Because, evidently, nobody else besides mom can see the invisible, overflowing basket of laundry that keeps mysteriously multiplying.)

(Oops, too late. I guess 364 days was too long for my sanity to stick around.)

(Move over, Iron Man! You probably know me as my alter ego, Wonder Woman. Yeah. Take that!)

(Wearing the cape is typically too much of a hassle. And it blows our cover. We’re supposed to be human, after all.)

(Dogs love unconditionally and never back talk. And they’re always so grateful. Unlike some people I know…)

(Oh crap. Who let the cat out of the bag? Was it those darned kids? They’re lying to you! I swear!)

(Mom? Mom who? Okay, so sometimes moms find ourselves in situations where we’re forced to pretend we’ve never seen those angelic creatures before in our lives. It happens.)

(Amen to that! Now where’s my margarita?)

(Quite possibly the most heartfelt way to thank your mom for all that she has ever done for you.)

~Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there! Hope you get to enjoy a nice margarita and a day off from laundry and all that other domestic nonsense.~

The Force of May Fourth

/ Quirky Girl / 28 Comments

Happy May 4th!

It’s also Cinco de Mayo Eve…

If such a thing actually exists.

Would that make today Cuatro de Mayo?

Is that a thing?

Well, it is now.

At any rate, Star Wars fans…

Today is your day!

Presenting some of the funniest Star Wars quotes of all time!

(C-3PO has such a classy and charismatic way with words, I can’t help but respect his penchant for comic relief.)

(It’s true; Yoda looks better than most people 1/10th of his age!)

(Would the iconic Nike slogan have the same impact if it boasted, “Just try it”? Case in point.)

(Even I’m disturbed by the myriad of things that Darth Vader finds disturbing. He’s got the proverbial stick up his butt. I mean, would it really kill him to smile occasionally?)

(A fool is a fool is a fool… but my guess it’s more foolish to follow a fool.)

(If only more people would heed this wisdom and think before opening their massive pie-holes, the world would be a better place.)

(Does this apply strictly to droids, or can this approach be used with humans also? Just curious…)

(Size matters not, as Yoda once said. I’m inclined to agree.)

(Naturally, the best remedy for this is to find some type of distraction to drown out the screams of your inner voice of reason and just go with the flow.)

(Ha! Yoda obviously hadn’t met my boys, with their twisted and sadistic senses of humor.)

(A fresh new threat to employ when the kids get too rowdy in the car!)

(Burn! Hmm. Perhaps “burn” isn’t the right word, seeing as how a planet far from the sun probably wouldn’t be hot enough to burn, in any sense of the word. But yelling “freeze!” simply doesn’t have the same impact.)

(I may occasionally misplace my keys, but I can proudly say I’ve never once misplaced a planet.)

(Rogue One, we have a problem! Sure, having no horizon on the horizon is indeed problematic. But killing off the delightfully witty K-2SO? Oh, that was low.)

(I, too, have my moments. I’m not sure what that says about my other non-momentous moments, though..)

Nearly half of these clever gems are from Yoda.

I guess it’s no surprise.

He’s wise and witty.

He and I seem to have quite a bit in common.

Except that I’m not green.

Or half as wise.

Or 900 years old.

Regardless of the fact that my kids might try to tell you otherwise.

~Happy Friday, friends! May the fourth, er, force be with you!~

Taxation Without Education

/ Quirky Girl / 26 Comments

Where, exactly, are my tax dollars going?

I posed this question to my older son during a game of Trivia Crack after he answered yet another question incorrectly.

His response?

Umm…up your butt?

Hmm.

That’s kinda what I was afraid of.

Incidentally, I just received our 2018 property tax statement.

Let’s just say it ain’t pretty.

Which is precisely why a friendly lunch note reminder seems to be in order:

If nothing more, it’s a helpful lesson in alliteration.

In my son’s defense, though:

I hadn’t learned that yet… I don’t think.

Sigh.

After answering 11 consecutive trivia questions correctly myself, he offered a bit of praise:

You’re not as dumb as I thought!

Thanks.

I think.

Guess you won’t be seeing either of us on Jeopardy anytime soon…

~Happy Friday, friends! No person in history has probably ever been overjoyed about paying taxes. But on that note… Where education is concerned, investing in the future is undoubtedly a worthwhile investment. Have a fantastic weekend!~

The Chaos of Crafting

/ Quirky Girl / 48 Comments

Making memories?

Priceless.

Creating memorabilia from memorable moments?

Pricey.

And time-consuming.

But fun.

And also kind of stressful, come to think of it.

Remember my recent adventure in ocean snatching?

Well, guess what?

I finally did something productive with all those seashells, ocean water, and sand.

My masterpieces are finally done!

What can I say?

My creative streaks ebb and flow.

(Just like the tides of an ocean!)

It took me a few weeks to envision exactly what I wanted to create with all my awesome ocean loot.

All I knew was that I wanted to recreate a beach scene.

But how, exactly?

I’ve got my very own tropical island oasis right here at home, with a beachy island-themed office room that I’d designed myself.

Complete with an inflatable palm tree.

Yet, figuring out the best way to recreate the ocean at home with real ocean parts is no small feat.

Don’t get me wrong.

I love crafting.

I love making memories.

And I especially love the beach.

It’s a dangerous combination.

Forget all the money spent on the vacation itself…

If you truly want to preserve your memories, you’d best be prepared to shell out even more money with a trip to Hobby Lobby.

But first, let’s talk about glue.

One year, my brother gave my boys a cool sock puppet kit for Christmas.

But there was an awful lot of sewing involved to assemble and accessorize those puppets, and I am not a big fan of sewing.

Why sew when super glue is so much faster?

As glue oozed like a spewing volcano out of the tube, I discovered the sock puppet had become glued shut.

With my hand still inside.

Glue and I clearly have a complicated history.

And so there were all these little factors I had to take into account for my ocean project.

Like how to glue sand and seashells without having shells permanently attached to my fingertips.

And how to ensure ample air ventilation to avoid passing out from toxic glue fumes.

At any rate…

On a burst of creative energy, I was finally ready to turn my collection of goodies from the ocean into a work of art.

Or four.

One combining most of my prized loot into a display:

(A shadow box with a layer of beach sand as the backdrop for my Atlantic seashells, along with a little heart-shaped jar for the ocean water.)

Another for a more sensory-filled experience:

(My little sandy beach jar, with some of the smaller seashells. If sand beneath my feet isn’t an option, then I’ll settle for sand in my hands. Ooh, that rhymes!)

A stress-relief meditation jar:

(No, the glitter and pink water are not from ocean. And it’s also not technically a “jar”. But the seashells on top are indeed from the beach. Besides, it’s something to shake and throttle. What’s not to love?)

And another heart-shaped vial of ocean water:

(Because it seemed wrong to dump the leftover Atlantic Ocean water after all the trouble we went through to collect it. And drinking it just didn’t seem like a very good idea.)

Trying to capture the magnificence of a real beach is damn near impossible.

But if you’re going to steal from the beach, you might as well do something awesome with your loot, right?

Oh, and as for all the glue I used for my projects?

No matter how many times I scrubbed my hands afterward, they were still stickier than a pot of Winnie the Pooh’s honey.

I had to wear cotton socks to bed that night.

On my hands.

Because I was terrified I’d wake up glued to the sheets.

Or somehow stuck to the wall.

Or worse, with my hands permanently attached to my face, like that kid from Home Alone.

Whenever I use glue, I truly seem to have the whole world in my hands.

In the most literal sense possible.

Anyway…

I finally have something to show for my moment of blissful ocean kleptomania!

And yet, I still have 493 pictures from my trip to sort through, organize, and arrange into a scrapbook.

So much for the stress relief of crafting.

Where’s that !&#$ meditation jar when I need it?

~Happy Saturday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

Southern Inhospitality

/ Quirky Girl / 60 Comments

The struggle of being a former New Yorker/Washingtonian/Arizonan in an excessively friendly southern state is all too real.

One of the hardest things about being a transplant in the south is the challenging adjustment of having to talk to people.

Especially extraordinarily friendly people, because they make me feel like a sorry excuse of an ill-mannered human being.

For someone naturally reserved, such unexpected conversations with enthusiastic random strangers can be grounds for a full-blown anxiety attack.

On an exceptionally good day, I can plaster on my most natural fake smile.

Then I cross my fingers, in hopes that my face won’t actually freeze that way.

Especially if I am unintentionally bearing teeth.

When I’m out walking around my neighborhood and people go beyond the perfunctory wave and vocalize their greeting, or worse, initiate a conversation?

What am I supposed to do then?

The obvious answer, of course, is to make a run for it.

I go outside to throw away the trash in my pjs in broad daylight and the neighbor twelve houses down to the left with the terrifying horse-sized Scottish Deerhound smiles and starts waving a little too enthusiastically.

My typical instinct is to discreetly crouch down and scuttle away like the stealthy ninja that I am.

Suddenly, my brain is rapidly firing off panic signals.

Crap! You made eye contact! What were you thinking?

“How ya doing? Nice day out, don’t ya think?”

Great. Now the neighbor wants to make conversation while you’re standing outside like a fool in your Hello Kitty pajamas!

“A shame about that field being plowed down for another housing development, ain’t it? Where all them cows gonna go now?”

Might as well be standing outside naked. Maybe that’d be less awkward.

Must. Get. Out.

Quick! Excuse yourself! Get out of there NOW!

The last time I had been caught off guard by a neighbor, I managed to back out of there after a record time of 1 minute and 28 seconds.

By pleading a bathroom emergency.

Classy, I know.

But it was the best I could do after my overactive brain presented the pitiful excuse on a silver platter.

Yet once again, my brain is tasked with conjuring up “logical” excuses while my neighbor continues on with his riveting monologue about cows.

I’ve narrowed down my choices.

I have to go because:

a) Dinner is almost ready, and I need to go turn the oven off

b) The house is now on fire because dinner has been in the oven 5 minutes too long

c) The kids are beating each other within inches of their lives with Nerf swords

d) All of the above

While all of these seem like perfectly rational justifications, I naturally go with the most plausible one.

The house is on fire.

Not seeing the thick gray smoke?

Really?

Well, gotta go! See ya later!

~Happy Friday, friends! I’m sure all my fellow introverts out there can relate to this one all too well. Have a fantastic weekend!~

I made eye contact, and now it's all over. This must be the end.

I made eye contact, and now it’s all over. This must be the end.

(Southern Inhospitality originally appeared on Comically Quirky on 8/6/15)

Beep Beep Bo Bleep

/ Quirky Girl / 29 Comments

Is this the real life?

Is this just fantasy?

Well, one thing’s for certain:

There’s no escaping reality.

Fire! Fire! Carbon monoxide warning! Get out! Get out!

No.

Not this crap again.

But this time around, it wasn’t merely the obnoxious chirping signifying a dead battery.

Or the smoke detector getting triggered by my disastrous attempts at cooking.

No.

This was a full-scale notification of distress, with every single alarm throughout the house screeching in synchronized cacophony.

At a ridiculously ungodly hour of the night.

Which is obviously when I do my clearest, most rational thinking.

I’m normally the world’s lightest sleeper.

Yet I jolted from a deep sleep in a state of utter confusion.

What was going on?

Was this seriously real?

The Bigly Bestest Doggie would probably know.

For surely, if anything were truly wrong, he’d alert us and then heroically save us the way Lassie saved Timmy.

Right?

Or not.

Loud noises terrify The Bigly Bestest Doggie.

And so he just laid there in his bed, looking for a cue of what to do next.

And then it hit me:

We had absolutely no concrete plan of action in place.

No clear-cut escape routes.

What the hell was wrong with us?

What kind of parents would wait for a moment like this to start planning?

I mean, we did have a plan.

Once upon a time.

In our old house.

But apparently we hadn’t given it any thought since moving several years ago.

Did I mention my husband was out of town for the evening on a business trip?

I briefly bemoaned my myriad of failures as a mother, figuring I’d probably drop dead from a panic attack anyway before my senses finally kicked in.

Only one kid stirred with all the commotion of the alarms.

The other zombie either somehow managed to sleep through it or simply didn’t want to be bothered to get out of bed.

My oldest demonstrated impressive priorities as he sleepily muttered that he couldn’t afford to spend $200 on another phone.

I forced both kids to move their butts and get out before rapidly searching for a potential source of fire.

After examining every single room, closet, and the garage, I dashed outside to check the perimeter.

The alarms were shockingly audible outside, too, their ear-splitting decibel enough to wake up the entire neighborhood.

Speaking of neighborhoods…

We just so happen to have a rather passive aggressive Facebook page for our development.

And while occasionally helpful, the discussions can get downright ugly sometimes.

I could almost picture it…

The audacity!

The nerve of those rude neighbors allowing their fire alarm to go off and disrupt our sleep!

The next time that happens there’d better be real flames bursting through the roof!

And why is that dog of theirs running frantically down the street?

Hello, animal control?

Fortunately, the alarm stopped on its own several minutes later.

Upon discovering it had been a false alarm, I got the boys settled back into bed for whatever was left of the evening,

I warily laid back in my own bed, unable and unwilling to sleep.

I could’ve sworn I felt a surge of heat as I thrashed around in bed.

Adrenaline?

Or was something really on fire?

I bolted out of bed to do another thorough check.

Then I noticed the flashing red light on a detector above my bed.

Something in my bedroom must’ve triggered the alarm.

But what?

A sadistic insect?

Unusually high humidity?

A defective smoke detector?

(Because that’d be incredibly comforting.)

Or was it my domestic ineptitude?

God knows I hadn’t dusted all that recently…

So I suppose that could’ve been it.

I’m far from coordinated when woken from a zombie-like state of sleep.

And you know what the best thing to do when you’re exhausted and can’t see straight?

That’s right!

Haul a gazillion-ton expandable ladder out of the garage!

And then attempt to drag  that ladder through the house without taking out a wall or knocking yourself out.

Obviously.

Isn’t that what any normal person would do?

That beast of a ladder could’ve reached the top of the Empire State Building.

Hell, that thing could’ve reached the top of Mount Everest.

But I couldn’t figure out how to open the monstrous thing.

And once I finally got it open, I didn’t pay any attention to the orientation of the battery when I yanked that sucker out of the alarm.

So I fumbled around with that for several more minutes.

Thank goodness it was only a false alarm.

But it was still downright scary.

And it showed just how ill prepared we were.

Which is even scarier.

The next day, the boys and I discussed fire safety and evacuation plans.

I think it’s safe to say that while we now have an effective plan in place, I also effectively scared the living crap out of them.

Now I’m worried if there’s ever another false alarm, they’re going to bolt out of bed and jump out their second-story windows without being 100 percent certain there’s actually an emergency.

I can picture it now.

Oh well.

Better safe than sorry.

Oh, and that ginormous ladder?

It’s still sitting in the middle of my bedroom, two weeks later.

But good news!

It’s being repurposed!

The ladder works surprisingly well as a clothes hanging rack.

The Industrial Look is fashionable, right?

Repurposing is awesome!

Beep beep bo bleep!

~Happy Friday, friends! Anyone here a fan of irony? Well, guess what? As I sat here typing this, my thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the wail of tornado sirens and hail slamming vigorously against the windows. Fortunately, everyone is safe. But I think we’ve had enough fun for a while…~

Could this be the future of bedroom design? If so, I want due credit for starting this trend!

Could this be the future of bedroom design? If so, I want due credit for starting this trend!

Ocean Commotion

/ Quirky Girl / 25 Comments

This is a true tale.

A tale of ocean brawling.

Oh, and also of ocean snatching.

But we’ll get back to that in a moment.

It all started ten years ago, on a family vacation to Legoland California.

No trip to a coastal destination is ever complete without visiting the ocean.

At least, not in my opinion.

My then-2 year old son was thoroughly enjoying his second trip ever to the Pacific Ocean, collecting seashells and enjoying the feel of sand beneath his feet.

Until a temperamental wave crashed and leveled him onto the shore like a beached whale.

A few minutes later, he sat deep in thought on his ocean-themed beach towel with his plastic sand pail and shovel in hand, vengefully crafting his revenge.

Half an hour later, he left the Pacific Ocean with an ominous declaration:

I’ll get you, water!

Fast forward 10 years.

We had the privilege of visiting the Atlantic Ocean on our most recent road trip a few weeks ago.

And it was obviously time for payback.

Come at me!

My revenge-seeking child took a huge step backward, away from the shore, before continuing his tirade.

Come on! Show me what you’ve got!

Ah.

Coast to coast ocean brawling at its finest.

Then he stooped down to admire a cluster of seashells that had washed onto the shore.

Fortunately, he managed to escape the wrath of the Atlantic Ocean…

This time around.

Now, back to that whole ocean snatching incident…

My husband and I had set out with the intention of capturing an incredible sunrise on the beach.

And capture a sunrise we did.

Along with half the Atlantic Ocean.

Armed with our makeshift ocean snatching kit consisting of a freshly guzzled glacier cherry Gatorade bottle that I’d forced upon my husband…

Along with a Ziplock freezer bag that we’d been using as our travel toiletry bag and an R2D2 tote bag that held just the right amount of ocean loot.

Meanwhile, our trusty getaway mobile, a nondescript rental mini van with Oklahoma license plates, sat in the shadows of the parking lot.

It was a chilly 40-something degrees out that morning.

I couldn’t feel my toes.

But it was absolutely worth it.

For witnessing a majestic sunrise on the beach.

And feeling the lush sand beneath my feet.

And taking home the best souvenir money can’t buy.

Determined to make my very own authentic mini beach replica upon returning home, I needed to make the most of the opportunity.

And so we left the beach with bulging pockets full of seashells, a bottle full of Atlantic Ocean water, and a bag of Atlantic Ocean sand.

I absolutely love the ocean.

I love the melodious waves.

I love the paradoxical peaceful calm that dissipates with the intense crash of waves to the shore.

And I especially love majestic sunrises and sunsets.

Sunsets on the Pacific.

Sunrises on the Atlantic.

We had sacrificed precious sleep time to rise early on our vacation, just to witness a sunrise over the ocean.

But it was a sacrifice I was happy to make.

Did I mention I also love dolphins?

Unfortunately, we didn’t encounter any on this trip.

Which was probably just as well.

I might’ve been tempted to capture one and give it new life in my bathtub.

Wow.

I’m not just quirky, I’m apparently full-on crazy too.

Oh well.

I could happily live on the ocean forever.

But for now, I’m still working on creating my mini beach masterpiece.

I could really use my very own at-home oasis.

In the meantime, I’ve evidently become an ocean kleptomaniac.

I’m not sure what this says about my sanity…

But I’m okay with it.

More or less.

Now, I just need to devise a way to snatch a baby palm tree…

~Happy Saturday, friends! Can you tell I love the beach? The ocean is the most therapeutic place on earth, and I would totally live there if I could. One day…~

My prized ocean loot collection...

My prized ocean loot collection…

Comically Quirky by Quirky Girl

/ Quirky Girl / 25 Comments

Happy Friday, friends! Have you been desperately yearning to discover just how crazy…I mean quirky, I might be? Then you’re in luck! Check out my interview with Kate, the lovely creator of Meet the Bloggers. Packed with fascinating fun facts about yours truly, along with advice for new bloggers and links to my favorite blog posts, it’s a great way to pass a few minutes. (Oh come on. You weren’t really all that excited about doing yet another load of laundry, were you? Yeah. Didn’t think so.)

Rogue Rotisserie Nosh

/ Quirky Girl / 37 Comments

More skin!

Give me more skin!

Ooh, it’s so soft!

And the bone is so weak!

Yeah.

So, I made the mistake of buying a rotisserie chicken.

For the boys, not myself.

I don’t eat meat.

And I’d prefer not to look at it, either.

But life is seldom so accommodating.

And so I sit there, watching my child wave around some chunk of chicken that appears to still have a butt attached.

Or maybe it’s a thigh.

Either way, I don’t want any part of it.

Yet there he sits, unwittingly recreating the scene from Star Wars: The Last Jedi, when Chewbacca prepares to devour a freshly prepped Porg in front of all the other Porgs.

Months later,  I still can’t help but wonder-

Was that Mama Porg?

Or one of their idolized big brothers?

Or perhaps it was their wise, Yoda-like grandfather figure?

I’ll never be able to look at Chewbacca the same way.

At any rate, the chunk of rotisserie chicken looked eerily like the rotisserie Porg in that moment.

No, my son doesn’t particularly resemble Chewy, aside from the dark brown fur.

I mean, hair.

But they both make similar, indecipherable noises.

Hmmm.

Maybe my son is actually a Porg-eating Chewbacca progeny…

Whoa.

I’ve gotten a bit off topic.

As the child continues to exhibit more animal-like conduct than an actual animal, I don’t know whether to be mildly amused, mortified, or just downright disgusted.

The Bigly Bestest Doggie surreptitiously creeps into the kitchen.

With big puppy dog eyes and preemptive lip smacking, he secures his position.

He settles in under the kitchen table and enthusiastically began his complimentary floor licking service.

Maybe, just maybe.

It’s no secret kids are notorious for getting more food on the floor than actually into their mouths.

I sadistically find myself almost wishing the doggie will leap up onto the kitchen table and scarf down the rest of chicken, effectively putting an end to this horror show.

But alas, his manners are disappointingly impeccable.

Mmm, yummy chicken!

Are you sure you don’t want some?

Come on, have a bite!

Right.

I haven’t eaten meat since I was 15, and I’m not about to start now.

Especially with something that’s probably a Porg.

~Happy Friday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

Is it any wonder those poor Porgs always look so sad

Is it any wonder those poor Porgs always look so sad?