8 posts tagged “silly”

So, I don't have the all yet, but I made significant inroads today on getting product shots done, descriptions written, and all of it up on the site. 

Behold the Glories that are Soapy Hollow Microbe Gift Baskets of Dooooom!

Do you think the text is too over the top?  What about the pictures, are they ok?  I'm not a great photographer...I mean, I try...but it's like graphic design...I'm not really sure I have the innate talent. 

Anyway, there they are, tell me if it makes you giggle.  :)

In other news: Buzz Kitten found a mouse. A tiny field mouse, who is apparently related to the Kangaroo, as this mouse can hop about two feet off the ground. Picture it, if you will; hopping mouse being chased by hopping kitten being chased by short, round woman holding a mayo jar.

(Why a mayo jar? I don't really know. That just seems to be the universal "catch whatever of the wilderness has made it inside" tool.)

Then, without warning, the mouse hopped at me! At me, mind you, the very person trying to rescue it from the cat! So, I did the only thing I could do. I jumped and shrieked like a 1950's housewife.

At the same time, Buzz pounced, caught the mouse in midair, and by the time her teeny paws hit the ground, there was only the tail sticking out of her mouth...like twitching rodent linguine. Except that the mouse was too big for her mouth and her jaws would open a little as the mouse squeaked and bounced.

I grabbed the cat, and held her head over the mayo jar and and tried to convince the kitten to release the mouse. Kitten was having none of it. Kitten really wanted to play with this furry, squeaky, bouncing thing. So, I put the jar on the floor, and try to shake the mouse out of the cat.

Kitten drops mouse into jar. Mouse tries to hop out of jar. Mouse is really stupid. Were it not for the possibility of diseases, I would let Buzz eat the mouse, if only on Darwinian principles. Kitten looks betrayed and angry. Gods I hope she doesn't widdle on my pillow. Mouse still trying to escape into the jaws of waiting kitten. Stupid mouse. I do the only logical thing. I open Boy's aquarium, mercifully free of the parade of disposable goldfish, toss in some newspaper shreds, some water and cheese (I dunno, mice eat cheese, right?), empty the mouse jar into the aquarium, then pile about 10 pounds worth of stuff on top, to stop Flying Walinda Mouse from doing an grande jeté into my kitten's tummy.

Epilogue: Boy wanted to keep the mouse. Mommy was having none of that. Boy and Man released him in the back yard, out by the willows at the duck pond. Hopefully, ducks don't eat bouncing mice. I'm still trying to figure out how the mouse got in the house. Kitten, who Did Not widdle on my pillow, seems to have forgiven me after judicious application of tuna, catnip and attention, and all seems right with the world.

Man...the holiday season tried to kill me. :)  Between business and travel and sick Man and sick Boy, it was quite a season.  I hope everyone had a great holiday; that much love and happiness was had, much grog was consumed and that Santa left present for everyone. 

Yesterday I found the xmas cards I was supposed to mail a month ago.  So...I suck.  At my current rate of speed, I think everyone will get xmas cards in June.  But that's cool, because as we've all learned from watching any iteration of the Dicken's Christmas story;  It's better to keep Christmas all through the year...and god bless us everyone, and all that. 

So, I have surgery on my feet scheduled in February, which means I'll be off my feet for a month or 6 weeks. (Well, I'll be on crutches for a few weeks...but I think managing giant vats of oils on crutches seems like a bad idea.)  I've got tons of stuff to do before then. 

I started doing end of year inventory, and have decided to radically simplify my life by just counting everything together, rather than by variety.  So, instead of counting, for example, 2 bars of Fire and Ice, and 10 bars of something else, I'm just going to count all the bars.  I mentioned this to a friend and she said "You have bars left?" and I said, well...not many, which is why counting them all together will be so much easier."

The whole business side of the business is still sort of baffling to me.  I've owned businesses before, but they were never inventory businesses, they were service businesses, and service businesses are a much, much easier type of accounting.  (I spent X, I charged Y, I owe taxes on the difference.)  Not so much with Soapy Hollow, where some materials transfer from year to year, like packaging and materials and stock.  And I don't even know how to figure out how to account for things like the essential oils.  I mean, I know how much it costs by the kilogram, by the ounce, even by the teaspoon....but when you've got 2.5 kilogram bottles, any amount I give is going to be a guess.  (I think there's about a third of the bottle left, sort of thing.) 

I just want to make soap.  I want someone else do deal with icky empire building part.  I mean, I want an empire, don't get me wrong...but damn....queens shouldn't have to count lotion bottles.  ;) 

It was easier when the company was first started, because I used pretty much everything I bought.  But this year, I started buying like a real manufacturing company, and in order to get that supply chain, I had to buy a large amount of a lot of stuff.  Some of which I now have to figure out how to count. 

I wish I understood accounting.  I have this insanely expensive software from Peachtree that will do everything I need.  It tracks all your items as you get them in stock, it tracks you use to manufacture items, it lets you know when stocks are low, it does these amazing reports at the end of the year...and I've had the box for over a year, and can't get it installed.  I have no idea what the software is asking me for.  It wants all this data, and it assumes I know how to do double entry accounting...a variety of math which bears no relation to reality...and so seriously, a year later, I've still never gotten it installed.  Huge, vast, massive waste of money, since Peachtree won't let you return software, and wants to charge a hefty service fee to help you install it. 

Anyway, I think I'm babbling to avoid facing the racks and racks of bags, boxes, bottles, paper, oils and soap that needs to be counted.  But it must be done, as I'm almost completely out of soap, and I have to get back to manufacturing...which I can't do until I count the materials. 

So, I'm gonna go count, and then read some journals...then count some more, then read some more journals, but if anything super important has happened:  You got married, were abducted by aliens, Elvis gave you a brand new Cadillac, you've joined a convent, you've raided a convent, you've abducted a nun, and were married by Evis on an alien Cadillac, please drop me a line here and point me towards the entry on your journal, so I'm sure not to miss it. :)

The Boy and I were making sack puppets.  We're gluing on pompom noses, and big ears and whatnot and I said to the Boy, "What else does your puppet need?"  He thought for a moment, then said;  "Brains!  Give my puppet Braaaaaaains!"  Hee.  Who's been letting the 3 year old read the Zombie Survival Guide? 

So, I've taken the Boy to every single election since he was born.  Local dog catcher, Regime Leader, whatever...I've dragged him into the polls.  This year was the first time he was really old enough for us to have the discussion about what I was doing and why it was important.  

So ensued a long discussion about Democracy and The Republic, and citizens and the responsibility as a member of a Republic to cast votes on people and issues that you think drive the society in the direction it should go.  There was even a chart.  Yes, I made a chart.  Shut up.  

So, we're in the polling place.  Waiting in line to show my voter's registration and get my ballot.  The Boy, was sounding out words written on the windows. (Voting was at an elementary school.)  One of the darling, friendly, ancient people they unfreeze to work elections peered over the table at The Boy and said, "Hello young man, are you here to vote?".

To which the Boy responded; "Oh, no. My mom just needs to pick some new people to yell at on TV."  

Bwhahahahahahahahahaha!

Every once in a while, I do something so stupid, it beggars the imagination.  It doesn't happen often, but I'll admit, I know before I do it, it's a bad idea.  Thinking about doing it is a bad idea, and it always leads to me doing it.  It's a weakness.  I am ashamed.  Yes, I'm talking about buying hair color, and tinting one's own hair. 

See, I have a problem finding people to do my hair.  I have difficult hair.  There's a lot of it, and it's very curly if it's not fairly long.  When I say very curly, I mean I could do a good Carrot Top impression with the wrong haircut.  A veritable flock of hair, is my point.  And I found a colourist who is also a god at cutting hair, except that 1.) he works at a studio 300 miles away, 2.) it's a couple hundred dollars to walk in the door, 3.) while his cuts are absolute genius, it requires 45 minutes every day to make it look like he's cut it to look...and I didn't even own a blow drier, which suggests the likelihood of my actually spending almost an hour on my hair is slim to nothing. 

So, it's been about four months since I had my hair done, which meant I had 4 inch roots...a thing which I could no longer abide.  And thus, I colored my own hair.  It turned out a little dark, but I think the color is mostly even.  It's not right, but it'll do until I can either schedule a trip down to Austin, or find a nice flamboyant gay man in Dallas.  Yes, I know it's a stereotype, but every flaming gay man I've ever had do my hair has been a genius, and every straight person I've let near my hair has given me bangs.  I want swish with my snip...and if that's wrong, I don't want to be right.  For the record, a lot of my friends are gay, and almost none of them are swishy, so it's not that I think gay=swishy, it's that I think swishy=hair genius. I'm fully aware that it's probably an act, but to me...it shows a certain level of dedication to giving suburban moms that TV experience.

That said, if you know any swishy genius hair stylists in the Dallas area, I would be your best friend if you tell me about them.  ;)

Let's make a list.  What are 20 things in your life that you're grateful for? 
Inspired by wyndslash.vox.com.

In no particular order:

1.) my husband

2.) my son

3.) the rest of the loonies related to me

4.) my friends

5.) Darvon

6.) Modern medicine (yes, I know Darvon is a result of modern medicine...but considering the sheer volume of darvon it takes to get me through the day right now...it deserves it's own category.)

7.) My Biker-size guardian angels...cause having them is the only way I could possibly have lived this long, considering my ill-spent youth.

8.) My ill spent youth. :)

9.) My brains.  (Braaaaains! Braaaaaaaaaaains!)

10. Technology

11.) The intarweb...even the 2.0 part

12.) France - thanks for the booze and the food and the art and culture and all that.  Annoyed by the fashionistas...but the cognac makes up for it.

13.) Cervantes, Homer, the Eddas and all the other literature ever written

14.) My critters (which, if the list were in order, would probably be way higher, simply because I have a 10 pound cat sitting on my head, and she's got 5 pointy ends, doncha know.)

15.) Greece - because I like knowing it's there for me.  And someday, I shall go to it, and I shall never leave.  Baklava for everyone!

16.) Chocolate.  How women survived PMS without chocolate, I'll never know.  Those were indeed the Dark Ages. 

17.)  My body.  It may be short and sort of round, and it hurts a whole lot, but it usually does what I want it to do, even if it is under protest.

18.) The printing press.  Knowledge to the people!

19.) Free Will

20.)  My life in general.  It's been a good run so far.  A little weird, a little messy, and with a few bodies along the way...but overall, it's good to be me. 

I've just had the greatest idea.  You know how NASCAR drivers are all covered in labels of their sponsors?  And when race drivers talk they say things like "The Bubba Burger Yugo was good all night long, I'd like to thank my sponsors; Eunice's Unique Boutique and Beer Palace, Mel's Moonshine - it probably won't kill you, and of course the Lord and my Momma."

We should make our Congresscritters wear jumpsuits with the logos of their corporate donors.  The larger the donation, the larger the logo. So, when some Congresscritter starts pontificating about how owning a Hummer is better than worrying about some weird Caribou we can't even hunt, you could see his ass-sized Oil Company logo, and you would know that his take on the issue is probably a little tainted.  

We should enforce mandatory uniforms on Congresscritters.  They should have to wear the badges of their sponsors...since it sure isn't the citizens.  Also, their staff should wear helmets.  Not for any safety reason, but just because a room full of helmeted political wonks would be funny.  CSPAN would be way more interesting if all those people scurrying around the place looked like aliens.  

So, that's my proposal.  Now...how do we get it enacted?

So, my three year old has discovered flight.  Or gravity.  Well, both really.  His new found joy is finding things that make a good launching pad from which to attempt to fly. (His definition of good and my definition of good being radically different definitions.)  Today he's jumped from a couch, a chair, a potty, a bed, a pedal car, a stool,  and god knows what else when I'm not looking.  When I say "You know sweetie, you might not want to jump from there", his response is "No, it's ok, I have titanium alloy wings!" as he holds his arms in a Jesus Christ pose and leaps. 

I blame my husband.  He introduced the Boy to Toy Story.  Now, my son thinks he's Buzz Lightyear.  And bless his heart, he has almost eidetic memory, so all morning...it being a rainy day and too wet for him to jump from the 10 foot tall fort we built just weeks before the "flying" phase...what I've heard is "Buzz Lightyear, to the rescue!" and "To Infinity and Beyond!".  Also, he's decided that I'm Woody, or Slinky Dog...depending on the scenario...and then, if I don't remember the movie lines, he acts as a little prompter:  "No, Mom, I mean Woody, you're supposed to say Reach for the Sky!" 

Right at this moment, apparently the stuffed animals in my office are a menace to the universe, and he's walking around shooting them with his arm "laser", while pressing one nipple and trying to call Star Command for backup. 

On the plus side...at least it wasn't Star Wars. 

;)