Jenmenke

Road Warrior

sarcasm

Murder at the Menke’s. A Cat-astrophe!

I needn’t belabor nature’s harsh pecking order. You know it, I know it. We can choose to close our eyes to the gore, to the unflinching honesty of it all. We can TURN THE CHANNEL. QUICK. TURN THE CHANNEL, dammit!

Why men love to linger, while surfing channels to utter distraction, on the bucolic scene of baby quail bobbing along behind their mother, is beyond me. YOU KNOW THEY ARE GOING TO DIE! TURN THE CHANNEL!

And yet.

They don’t.

So, we are forced to either watch or get up and leave.

Recently, I’ve noticed that Dave isn’t even accidentally watching nature shows – he is actively seeking them out on YouTube. He even laughs sometimes and says, “Here, you gotta watch this.” And I’m like, “No, I don’t. I don’t need to.”

“It’s funny. Watch it.”

And I proceed to watch a Rhino peacefully grazing alongside a couple of wild boars, suddenly scoop one of the boars up with his tusk, goring him. He flies high, high into the air and lands on flat his back from a height of about 15 feet. And the movie cuts out.

“What happened? Is he dead?”

“I don’t know. It’s that funny? Rhinos are tough.”

And I’m left to wonder: is he dead? Is he suffering? Why did the Rhino do that? Why did the movie cut out? That poor wild boar…

It affects the rest of my day. Or the rest of my night. I have thought of that wild boar often since then…

Until I had something new to consume that space in my brain. If there was ever a misguided thought that cats are adorable, cuddly pets to be simply loved and protected, think again. They are the domesticated animal equivalent of the homicidal sociopath. The killer no one ever suspects. “He was always our nicest neighbor. Always helpful and kind.” …while he quietly racked up heads in his basement.

Cats are like that. You lull yourself into thinking, “not my cat” only to walk into a scene like this:

A murder scene.

For, no other description fits.

This wasn’t a cat eating a bird.

This was a death scene. This blood spattered high on the wall, the victim clearly pleading for his life.

I ask you: What in the Sam Hill was going on here?

Terror. Carnage. A miniature CSI scene.

What poor little — or not so little — animal met it’s end on Dave’s beautiful new garage floor?!

I think this one know’s and he isn’t talking.

Surprise!

What do you give the guy that has everything? No, that’s not quite right…

What do you give the guy who doesn’t want anything?

…No, that’s not quite right either. He always wants a jacket. He has a jacket fetish. We actually have an entire closet in our laundry room to house his collection.

But even a huge walk-in closet isn’t enough for him.

No.

For, this fall, he constructed a new area for a different ‘class’ of jackets. Oh, you know, hunting jackets and waders and stuff. Cuz, you know, they don’t belong in the main closet. Plus, Charlie’s airsoft stuff is in the closet (and the cat box) and, it’s just such a hassle to get in there…

So I guess I was exaggerating, as I am prone to do at times, when I say that Dave is a guy who wants nothing. Because, you know, I could buy him another fricken’ jacket.

But I refuse to do that.

Here’s why.

One time, several years ago, I decided to purchase a nice, lightweight soft-shell jacket for him for Christmas. I researched and researched. I agonized over color, and in the end chose a red Cloudveil. He loved it. He still loves it. I am serious when I say he really loves jackets.

Fast forward a few years to a yucky day that was windy and drizzly. Dave was complaining bitterly that he really lacked an appropriate jacket for the elements. To say I was agog would be too mild. I sputtered out, “What about the Cloudveil?” You know, the 3 oz, waterproof, windproof, nicely tailored, cool colored, superbly comfortable, ridiculously expensive Cloudveil?!

To which he responded with equal aghast — and I swear his face lost color — “That jacket is for skiing!”

You see, Dave has a dedicated jacket for every conceivable activity. And he never uses, say, a waterproof soft-shell jacket that he has earmarked for skiing about 10 times a year for, say, a rainy and windy drizzly saturday to watch soccer– which, I might add, he does far more than skiing. No, that requires a nicely tailored, lightweight, waterproof ‘out-around-the-town‘ type jacket. Which, sadly, he does not currently own.

Well, I refuse to feed his addiction.

Instead, I wrack my brain and ferret away any feasible gift idea that comes to mind. No matter the hassle or cost. For I, my friends, am a thoughtful gift giver. I do not shop from lists. No! I go above and beyond.

[And dammit, you better love it. –right Bennett?]

So, for Dave’s birthday this year, I gave him a new garage floor.

It wasn’t easy.

But I did it.

That’s just the kinda gal I am.

It was two days of sanding and sealing and keeping my dog away from their dog.

And when Dave came home from out of town and couldn’t open his garage door because I had disabled the opener (I thought of everything). He came in to check out what was wrong and saw his new, beautiful floor.

 

Surprise!

I thought he was going to start crying. He loved it. [Because I forgot to mention that he also has a garage floor fetish.] And to him, it was a thing of utter beauty.

He still doesn’t have that ‘out and around town’ jacket. But I might cave. I’m running out of ideas.

And money.

 

 

So…

It’s been — what? Two weeks? Three weeks?

Did you miss me?

According to my loving and supportive brother, there is likely no one out there anymore TO miss me. And that’s, well… that’s totally understandable. And I’d have to say it’s hard to believe there was ever anyone in the first place, so it’s a good thing I’ve got roving spam bots to keep me company.

I’m not going to go on and on about how busy I’ve been. We’re all busy. I mean, I’m almost 100% sure I’m busier than you, but you don’t want to hear that, do you? You wouldn’t believe me anyway. Because you are equally 100% sure you are busier than me. Right?

What in Heaven’s name are we doing to ourselves? And we all pretend we are all just FINE.

“How’s your summer going?”

“Oh. Just W O N D E R F U L. YOU?”

“Lovely.”

I actually don’t say that. Just ask my poor friends. It’s a wonder I have friends at all.

“How’s your summer going?”

“Pretty crappy really. Not relaxing at all. I’m hoping August is better. Oh, it’s fine, really, I’m just saying it’s not what I picture summer as being….”

And then I go in to this long diatribe about all the wonderful things I do for everyone but myself. All but negating the whole idea of the Happy Helper. The Selfless Giver. The biblical Good Samaritan.

It’s just not in the cards. I do try. But you would never know I try. I’ve never made it past saying “it’s fine.” Not once. Not even to someone I don’t know.

I can’t begin to imagine what kind of little old lady I will be.

But really. Is this really what I’m supposed to be doing? Driving my kids all over to Hell and back in the name of what? Never-ending to-do lists? Guilt that piles on top of guilt that piles on top of guilt? Is it really that important to grow my own damn sugar snap peas? Does the pumpkin patch seriously need to be perfectly weed free? Really?

Do I really need to understand iTunes Home Sharing? Really?

Is that extra $5 off the shoes I am hunting for online really justify the 2.5 hours I spent looking? Really?

Does Crow River Soccer really need a pretty web site? Really?

Maybe I’m being too nostalgic.

Could we ever really go back to the 80’s? Before cable TV? Before computers and iphones and the need to stay plugged in all the time? The crazy need to return a call or an email within an hour of receipt? The need to google every stupid question that comes up in conversation?*

When kids played outside?

And moms had coffee together?

And happy hour started at 4 pm daily?

Or was that just my mom?

Ha ha. Just kidding mom.

And no, I don’t just need a vacation. Because I’m going on a vacation soon and that just adds to the stress. And coming back from vacation is worse than getting ready to go. And when you add those two together, don’t they more than negate the wonderful time you were away? When you were in your car with the MiFi on, doing work in between towns big enough to warrant 3G, while the kids are in the back watching movies, playing online games and facebooking and complaining about the crappy Verizon data coverage?

While we are on a “CAMPING” trip!**

I know what you are thinking.

That I’m just a bad parent.

Or a cry baby.

Or a complainer.

Well you’d be right.

I ask you again: Did you miss me?***

*Nope. Couldn’t give up Google. I love it.

**You think I am kidding? Just wait. Road Trip #3 is coming soon.

***If so, I have included the only photos taken of me all year from fourth of July in Hayward. –When I happily blew off every commitment on my to-do list for 6 days and have been martyrishly paying the price ever since. If not, please disregard.

 

Must-Have Gift for Teenage Girls

I’m trying to get into the spirit of the season.

We got our tree. We haven’t put it up yet, but we’ve got it. I have the tree tops for the planters. I haven’t put them in yet, but I did haul the soggy pumpkins to the compost, so the steps are an open vessel awaiting my creative touch. I spent the weekend with my mom, like all post-Thanksgiving weekends, making cookies, a gingerbread house and three wreaths (more on that later this week). I’ve thought about gifts, but I haven’t bought any yet. I even started looking through our family photos to start work on Christmas cards. But I was dismayed by our general lack of photogenic genes.

And here is my top gift for a sixteen year old girl. It will work for girls as young as 13 and as old as me, but will be most appreciated for girls right in the middle of the teen years. They can be so hard to buy for!

It is available at Amazon here for $6. You might even find it at Home Depot or your local hardware store. I don’t remember where I picked this one up. I stumbled upon it when I was going through cabinets in the garage. I stuffed it there to hide it, lest my own 15 year old daughter find it and ruin the fun!

Recently, I opened it up for a test drive. To recommend something this highly, I really needed to make sure it was all it promised to be.

And it is! It’s simple to use and cheap to buy.

It will bring hours of entertainment.

It will last for years.

It’s called the Zip It.

And here’s how it works:

You insert the Zip It into any bathroom drain regularly used by a 16 year old girl.

Then twist and pull.

Then repeat a few times.

Your daughter can use the Zip It herself with no help from you.

Or, you can do like I did, and use it for her and simply leave it for her and share the love.

Zip It even works in sinks with no extra hardware!

It’s sure to be at the top of every Mom’s list buying for a teenage girl. Imagine their surprise!

******************

I know what you are thinking:

  1. That I am mean.
  2. That I never clean our drains.

My response to those are:

  1. I cannot deny that it is true.
  2. I do too clean our drains. I believe the last time we routered out Morgan’s shower was a year ago.

In teenage daughter’s defense:

  1. She has beautiful, long, curly hair.
  2. She claims not to allow hair to go down the drain. From the hair I find on the walls of the shower, one might actually believe this to be true. However the Zip It is also a lie detector, because clearly, hair is going down the drain. And it isn’t the boys.

If you can get past the gag factor, Zip It is actually pretty fun to use. No pliers needed to remove the stopper. No fighting with the 12′ long metal snake that is pretty gross since it’s been down so many gross drains already. No reason to put it off.

Buy yours today!