Invasion of the Loco Locusts

I filled my backyard with sunflowers because

1. They are pretty and they make me happy

2.  According to theory, the bugs and other pests will leave the garden alone, and only eat the sunflowers.

Maybe this is true.  The sunflower leaves are infested with aphids, and my cucumbers are just fine.  But the sunflowers are covered in these crazy grasshoppers.  Then they ate my apple tree!

Once again, I think that planting sunflowers amongst the garden might be just another wives-tale passed onto the pilgrims from the ancient Indians.  (The feather Indians, not the dot Indians.)

I watched this permaculture video by this guy in Australia named Geoff Lawton.  He said that if you have a grasshopper infestation, then you have a lack of ducks and geese.  In my own little fantasy land, I have a full functioning permaculture food forest.

In reality, I’ve got a backyard full of weeds and mis shapen fruit that tastes kinda bad.  I guess I could dig a pond and get some geese, but my kids will drown in the pond, the geese will fly away, and the neighbors will call the code enforcers on me.

My husband, Clyde, told me that if I want to get rid of the grasshoppers, then I need to get rid of the sunflowers.  The sunflowers are looking kind of scraggly looking, and I guess it’s time to get rid of them.  They shade out the rest of the plants, and hog all the nutrients from the soil.  I guess I planted them too close to my other plants.

So one night, I started pulling up the sunflowers, and those evil grasshoppers started swarming and landing all over me.  I had a bad experience with grasshoppers lately.  The last time I declared war on the grasshoppers and started killing them, one of the twins, Nick Kick, had a terrible accident with a shovel.

But of course, that’s ridiculous.  Those grasshoppers don’t really have supernatural powers.  That’s impossible.  That’s just silly.  But still, I wonder.  It seems like ever since that week that I went around smashing grasshoppers, those little buggers keep flying into me and landing on me.  It’s almost as if they are trying to intimidate me.

Just look at them!  They’re everywhere.

They’re evil and they’re just waiting for the perfect moment to attack me.  So when I started pulling up the sunflowers, I started thinking of that old movie by Alfred Hitchcock called “The Birds”  I guess being attacked by a flock of birds doesn’t seem as scary as Friday the 13th or Nightmare on Elm Street, but when you’re being attacked by dozens of little varmints, it’s a whole nother story.

Those grasshoppers landed all over me.  It was freaky.  I just knew they were after me.  I’m bigger and stronger.  So I started pulling them off and squishing them so I could run back inside where it’s nice and safe.  Boy was I wrong.  Those things are telekinetic.  As soon as I got inside, the other twin, Porkchop Flannigan, did a summer sault off the back of the sofa and landed flat on his face.  He got a bloody lip and busted a tooth out.  He looked like Mohamed Ali after a boxing match.  He spit out a tooth and a mouthful of blood.

It makes me wonder though, is it the grasshoppers doing this, or is it my own telekinetic powers gone crazy due to fear.

Silly pants and Spanish Soldiers

The best thing about being rich and important is the fact that you can make people dress up in ridiculous clothing.  Just look at these guys in Spain.  They’re saying “Look at me in my silly pants.  Don’t I look stupid?”

 

I actually kind of like those pants.  But I bet you those guys have friends at home that laugh at them and make fun of them.  Unless they’re rich.  When you’re rich, you can wear anything you like and get away with it.  The camera men will take your picture and call it fashion no matter how stupid you look, because you’re rich and famous.

 

Look at this rich and famous guy.  He’s getting paid to look silly

You can only get away with an outfit like this if you are in an elite social class.  When I was 16, I did not know this. 

I had a fashion sense of my own, and I just don’t think the people of Denison,  TX  were ready for high fashion such as mine. 

This one time, My sister Clementine was going to Deep Ellum with her boyfriend, Mikey.  Since I was paying for the gasoline, they were going to let me tag along. 

Before it was taken over by Yuppies and totally ruined, Deep Ellum was this artsy Punk Rock Downtown area of Dallas.  They had cool shops, and these outside vendors that sold the coolest jewelry in the world.  We weren’t actually old enough to get into the clubs, but it was still loads of fun. 

If you went there, though, you had to look as punk rock as possible so that you wouldn’t be considered a trendy. 

Trendy: A yuppie prep conservative who is just wearing new waver clothing to follow a fashion trend.

Clementine wore her ripped fishnet panty hose with some thuggish looking outfit.  Mikey wore a mohawk, a Fugazi T-Shirt, shorts, and bright yellow Doc Martens boots that went halfway up his shins. 

Somehow, they were cool and I was not.  What I wore that day, went down into their hysterical deed recollection bin and the “Clotilda Fashion Story” was told over and over again at parties and other social events.  They did not think it was a punk rock outfit, they just thought it was absolutely hysterical. 

I wore a 1950s bathing suit that I got out of my grandmother’s closet.  She wore it one time, was scared to death of the water, fish and snakes, and never went swimming again. 

The bathing suit looked like this one:

 

It was made from thick black rayon.  I wore it with black and white striped tights, like the wicked witch of the west

 

and a pearl necklace that went down to my knees and a pair of mary janes. 

I thought I looked punk rock.  If I had been Paris Hilton instead of Clotilda Spampacker back then I might have just got my picture put in Vogue magazine.  Instead, I was the laughing stock of Denison, TX.  They almost didn’t take me to Deep Ellum in that outfit.  They let me tag along, but they made fun of me all night long.  Then they told everyone all about my silly outfit, like it was some sort of a joke. 

It’s just not fair.  Look at these ladies, they are just walking around town in their 1950s bathing suits.  Nobody’s laughing at them.  They even got their picture in the Wall Street Journal.

They can get away with it too because they’re rich.

I wonder if they really are rich, or if they just look rich because of their silly clothes. 

 

Oopsie. I made a mistake. Sorry about that.

 

I would never make mistakes If I had nothing to do.  But since I have so many thing to do at any given moment of the day, I guess that makes me a total screw up.  But hey, at least I’m having a good time. 

 

For a good time call 1-800-Jamcracker….Just two dollah, me love you long time.

Just kidding. 

Pain Doesn’t Really Hurt

There is  a modern day group of women who, in order to prove their womanhood, have gotten together and decided to give birth to their young with absolutely no pain killer.

Going through such excruciating pain is supposed be an uplifting wonderful experience.  So why don’t more people opt out for the Novocaine and laughing gas when they get their teeth pulled?

More and more women are having their babies at home these days to have a bonding experience free from the hustle and bustle of those horrid hospitals.  They really do it to save money.  So why not pull your teeth out at home?  I did.  It was such a wonderful bonding experience, that I decided to keep them and wear them on a necklace.  My sister did.  That’s where I got the idea.

For some reason, people freak out when I show them my wisdom teeth.  I only had 2, though.  That’s nothing.  My husband has eight of them and they are still in his mouth.  I asked him if I could have them when he’s done with  them.  He gave me this horrified look.  What?  I don’t get it.

Okay, I’m totally kidding about the teeth thing.  I had pain killer  when I had those teeth pulled.  But I did give birth to twins with no pain killer.  I was supposed to have a C-Section because one of them was breech.  However,  my kid’s butt was halfway out of the birth canal by the time I got to the hospital. I didn’t get an epidural.  I didn’t even get a freaking Tylenol.

Why is childbirth supposed to be this wonderful and beautiful thing?  It feels like your arms and legs are tight to different freight trains that are running down the track at full speed in opposite directions.

That which does not kill us makes us stronger.

No pain no gain.

If you want to be muscular and have those six pack abs that drive girls wild you have to lift weights until the point of utter exhaustion, your muscles hurt for days.

If you want to hot and sexy, you gotta go with out eating long enough to get to the desired weight.  You have to be able to endure the stomach pains for a while.

If you want to be a doctor, you have to endure the pain in the brain that you get when you try to comprehend organic chemistry.

But childbirth?  Why is is so important to go through all that pain for nothing?  I didn’t even get a trophy for that, or a medal of endurance.

Lord It’s Hard to Be Humble When You’re Perfect in Every Way

Lord, it’s hard to be humble, when you’re perfect in every way.

Thus sayeth Willie Nelson….

Frankly, I have found that being humble is just hard even if you aren’t perfect.  There is nothing in the world more degrading than pure humiliation, and I have endured a lifetime of it.

The hardest part of saving money, is the part where people all think that you’re poor and pity.  People automatically assume that if you look poor, you are poor, and you always will be.

It seems to be sometimes, that all the “nice” people want to make sure that they hang around with all the right people in the social groups in order to succeed in life.

Meeting these standards can get expensive and can really drain the bank account on a regular basis.

If you have a high income, it’s very important to show it off in order to socialize with the elite.

You must

1. Drive a BMW or a Mercedes, or other expensive car
2. Always keep your nails and feet properly manicured
3. Buy an expensive haircut every six weeks
4. Buy expensive clothing on a regular basis
5. Buy the nicest house the realtor will sell you
6. Socialize regularly at places that cost lots of money
7. Go on Cruises at least every other year.
8. Hold parties to impress your friends.

If you suddenly start to save money, people think that you are either having a tough time financially, going through marital problems, or are suffering from strange syndrome very similar to the one Ebenezer Scrooge had in “The Christmas Carol”.

Saving money is not entirely socially acceptable, and doing so makes you a bit of a social outcast.

People treat you better when you dress nice.  They take your advice, they honor and respect you.  You can say what you like, and if it’s a bit weird, then you’re just an eccentric.

If your clothing is patched and you have a Band-Aid on the huge dent in your car, the “nice” people avoid you like the plague and think that you are a crack head ignoramus.

This one time, I was at my kids school dance and I was talking to this rich lady.  Her name is Nancy Palace Soda.  As soon as this lady saw her other rich friends she just walked off while I was talking to her.  You know why?

She saw my house right after I moved in.  We’d got a great deal on a foreclosure, and hadn’t fixed it up yet.  She’d seen my junky car…

…and just assumed that I was a pauper, not good enough for her elite club of snobs.

Well, screw her!  I almost gave her the evil eye and used my mind tricks to make her husband lose his job or cheat on her or something.  But I didn’t.  I don’t do mean stuff like that anymore.

So why do it?  Why save money when you really don’t have to?

There is a time in everyone’s life where they really hate their job and want to quit.  But they can’t because the bills are far too high.  So they have to keep trudging on through misery.

Sometimes this is not the case, and unforeseen tragedy occurs, they get laid off, the company closes down or moves away.  Then what do you do to pay the bills?  It can be very stressful.  Then a person really is poor.  This is embarrassing.

Saving money and paying off debt is just a means to an end.  If you do it long enough, you just might not have to be frugal anymore.

I still think up money saving ideas.  It’s fun.

Here’s my latest:

I like to have my dishes perfectly spotless, and sometimes it seems like the only way to get them that way is to buy those expensive Cascade Tablets that cost $4.00 per week.

I like to cut back where I can and I’m always trying to find a way to wash my dishes cheaper.  That’s when I found this:

This is a bottle of Dawn power clean detergent.  Five minutes of soaking in this is like soaking your dishes overnight.  So I mixed just three tiny drops of  of it with about a cup of water, stirred it around, and threw it in the dishwasher.  I ran the light china cycle of my dishes, and they came out virtually spotless.

It seems to be that a lot of my money saving ideas end up breaking my appliances.  I’ll let you know if my dishwasher breaks.  I wouldn’t be surprised.  Everything in my house keeps breaking. 

My Very Eager Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas

The guy in this picture is really short. Does that mean he’s not really a person?  Does size matter?

Speaking of short people, this is CD Holder

(That is actually his real name.  I’ve heard that it stands for constant dick, but I think that’s just a rumor.  It suits him though.)

CD Holder was the shortest guy in my high school. He was a couple inches shorter than me.  He wasn’t short enough to be a midget, but not quite tall enough to play basketball or reach the glasses out of the cabinet without getting a chair or climbing up onto the counter.

This is Melissa

She was a wee little lass.  I would say that she was short enough to be a munchkin in “The Wizard of OZ”.  She wasn’t a dwarf or a midget or anything, just extremely short.

There is a habit among most people, to just say every thought that pops into their head. It is for this reason, that so many people are great at mind reading.

If you want to do well in social situations, and get along marvelously with your peers, the thing to do is keep your mouth shut and plaster on the poker face.  Stating the obvious is considered rude and downright annoying in our society.

When I was in high school, I did not know this.

One cold and rainy autumn morning, I was prancing down the hallway  in a cheery delightful mood and I saw something that I had never seen before in my life.  I was so excited with this thrilling experience, that I stated my observation loud and clear so everyone around could see what an amazing brilliant observer I was.

I saw CD Holder and Melissa Heeler walking side by side, hand in hand in the hallway.  So I said “Oh my goodness gracious, isn’t that so adorable.”

They both looked up at me and shot me the evil eye.

Now that I think of it, this incident might have been the reason why CD Holder went a little crazy shaving my head at summer camp, and it might have been why he was so eager to throw a phone at me in the Lollapallooza incident.

I really don’t understand why it’s so bad and insulting to be short.  Being short might be wonderful.  You don’t have to eat as much food and can save loads of money.  You can buy clothes in the children’s section.  They get all the good clothes.  So what’s the big deal.

But alas, I guess they hate it because they are not considered real people by the rest of the world.

Modern Day Scientists have recently redefined the qualifications for being a real person.

1. You have to be tall enough to reach the gas pedal in a car.

2. You have to be tall enough to look the teller at the bank in the eye when making a deposit.

3.  You have to be tall enough to dress in the adult section at Macys.

If you do not meet all three of these requirements, you are not a real person.

Oh, I suppose that sounds pretty nasty, don’t you?  Well it is.  I made all this up.

Do you know why?

Because a bunch of geeky scientists who have nothing better to do with their time, all got together and decided that Pluto is not really a planet because it doesn’t have enough gravity to keep all the asteroids away from it.  Pluto is not orbitationally dominant, so it no longer qualifies as a real planet.

So my very eager mother just served us nine….

The mnemonic rhyme no longer works anymore thanks to the big headed know it all scientists who think they’re better than everyone else.  That is sooo not cool. I’m a tad bit offended that Pluto isn’t considered real anymore.  It orbits the sun.  It’s round and has a moon!

But no, it’s just not good enough to qualify as part of our solar system.  It’s not perfect and so we cast it aside like a leper at a debutant ball.

Everybody has to do with what the scientists say, because they talk in mathematical equations that are so complicated that everyone thinks they are the smartest people in the world.  But guess what!  They’re all a bunch of idiots who wear stupid looking clothes.

So I have decided to make up my own rules.

Rules to be a real person

1.  You have to admit that Pluto is a real planet

Midnight in the garden of Slugs and Locusts

You can learn a lot from a garden.  Gardening is a metaphor for real life.  If you work hard, you will be fruitful.  “By their fruits, ye shall know them,” so it goes. 

To produce the best tasty fruit, you have keep the soil right, and constantly pull away all the weeds.  The same goes for life.  You have to constantly weed out things you don’t like like in life, like bills, and annoying people.  Get rid of things that sap away your energy, time and money, and you will be prosperous.

In life, there are many obstacles to overcome, the same goes with gardening.

In life, there are sleazeball people that we refer to as “slugs.” 

In gardening, I’ve heard, you have to get rid of slugs, or they will devour your garden.  I’ve heard this, but due to an unfortunate accident that occurred over a decade ago, I now let the slugs roam free. 

Slugs may not look like sentient beings, but they have a strong essence in the universe.  Beware dangers that can befall you, should you harm the clan of the slug.

Many years ago, on a night just like this one, I saw thousands of slugs slithering through my beautiful garden, oozing their toxic slime all over my garden knomes and prize winning begonias.  I knew very well that these were tiny evil invaders that must be destroyed. I declared war on those futile beasts. I armed myself with a jar of pickling salt and marched off to battle.

When most people kill their garden pests, they go to the garden section of their local store, and purchase bait stations.  They place them in strategic locations, and unfortunate creatures die of their own stupidity. 

Most people are completely sane and have never suffered at the will of a psychotic torturer.

I felt the need that evening, to take out all my anger and frustration on those slugs.  And so years of being beat down, tortured and degraded arose in me, and I took it out on those creatures.

I had a feeling deep down inside that what I was doing was both wrong and demented.  I knew this, but I thought my feelings were only part of a psychosis that I was suffering from me.  I thought these feelings should be suppressed.

So for the next hour I set out with a flashlight hunting slugs.  Whenever I saw one, I sprinkled it’s plump slimy body with salt.  As I tortured my creatures I cackled “die, die, die,  heh, heh, heh, that’s what you get!” And I watched the little thing shrivel away into nothingness as I laughed maniacally. 

I would like to tell you that this is where the story ends.  It would be for normal people.  But since I am not a normal person, normal things don’t happen to me. 

It turns out that slugs have spirits.  These spirits left the bodies of the slugs and set forth on a quest to get vengeance upon their killer. Truly death was in the air that night and it traveled into my house and caused the most tragic death that I have ever seen in all my days of living. 

Warning:  The following story is disturbing, and may cause trauma and nightmares, so please stop reading if you are weak kneed and faint of heart. 

The next morning I woke up and turned on the light to my aquarium of brightly colored ciclids.  But something was not right.   The water was white and milky.  All of my beatiful fish were swollen and floating belly up around all the rocks and plants.  The heater had broken during the night and boiled my fish in the night. 

It was the most horrible thing that I had ever seen.  I shrieked and wailed.  I tore my garments and pulled out my hair.  I trembled and wept bitterly at the sight. 

The souls of the slugs had murdered my fish in the night.  I may have won the battle, but they won the war.  I swore after this night, that I would never kill again.

But as the years passed, I realized that perhaps this was just a coincidence, even though, I still, to this day, cannot harm a slug.  There are thousands in my garden, and they don’t seem to be hurting it.

There are, however, thousands of these evil looking grasshoppers.  Throughout the history of time, these vile beasts of destruction have devoured entire crops and caused many innocent people to suffer from starvation and even die. 

It was just fine when they were just hanging out in my garden munching the sunflowers.  But just look what they did to my apple tree!

Oh, and not only did they eat ever single leaf on the tree, but now they are using it as a love pad.  These two love birds had the unmitigated audacity to just sit there and get it on right in front of me on the very tree that they tore to shreds. 

A few days ago, I decided to declare war on these horrid beasts.  They are no longer welcome in my garden.  So I started smashing them.  And just to make my message clear to these unholy creatures.  , I decapitated a few of them and stuck them on the ends of the branches of the apple tree for all the other grasshoppers to see and understand that I mean business. 

After I did this, I started to get the feeling that maybe the grasshoppers might be a bit angry and want to attack me for murdering their friends.  Images of being attacked by swarms of grasshoppers popped into my head.  Every time I went outside after the murder, grasshoppers flew into me as if trying to attack.  But this is just a coincidence.  Maybe they would have done this anyway.

But I think the souls of those dead grasshoppers decided to send me a warning to leave the clan of the grasshopper alone.

Yesterday morning, the oldest twin, Nick Kick, went out into the backyard to bury his teddy bear.  He was pretending it was dead.  He plowed the little shovel into the ground and instead of hitting the ground, he smacked the tip into his foot and gouged a big hole deep into his skin. 

So.  I guess I should leave those grasshoppers alone.  

Here’s the freaky part:

The day before Nick Kick’s terrible accident, his identical twin brother, Porkchop Flannigan woke up with an excruciating pain in his foot.  The kid limped around all day long, and his sister even made a wheel chair to push him around in so he wouldn’t have to walk.  The next day, he woke up, and his foot was fine.  A couple hours later, Nick Kick, slashed the same foot. 

In fact, every time one of them gets a cut, the other gets an identical cut within hours.  Coincidence?   I think not.

There is an energy field out there that we cannot see with the naked eye.  It is the uncreated light.  It is the spirit that I like to call Ethriel.

Oh, and by the way.  The events in this blog, really happened.  Nothing is made up.  Truth, is indeed, stranger than fiction.