Saving Money With Grocery Lists

I am cheap, but to apease my husband I will use the word "Thrifty"
I'm not stupid.
I know if I buy an item really cheap that won't last as long as I need it to, I did not save any money.
and I know time is money, so if I have to research an item for hours to find where to get it for less [like the NorthFace jacket my daughter wanted], sometimes, it's just better to go to the source, pay the price, and go to bed.
I also don't do lists in the way that the media will tell you in those cut and paste 'saving money on groceries' articles that get passed around, and passed around until many think they are true. You know, the ones that say to eat before you go, and make a list and stick to it.
I like to go hungry, so I can fill up on samples, and won't have to cook dinner that night.
and lists?
My friend makes a list, collects all the grocery ads and then writes on that list where to go for each item. She also cuts coupons, and uses them at stores that double them. Then she calls me to tell me she paid 19 cents for a $3 item. I have never been a witness to this, however.
In fact, whatever I pay for something, she will tell me she paid less, again, something I have never witnessed, and in fact once, when I was going to buy 2 lbs of pecans for which I usually pay $15, and found the price had increased to $19, I passed on them. Later when I told her, she said one of the stores she frequents has them for $14. I was going out her way for something, and we met up, went to her store where it turned out they were $21. She insisted they had been $14 a mere couple of days before . . .

Ok, so here is what I do.
I have a list, but we [hubby and I] write stuff we are out of, or about to run out of, starting at the bottom of the pad that hangs on the fridge. See, if you start your list at the top like most people, when you go shopping, you will tear off that whole piece of paper right? Not I.
When neccessity requires that I leave the house for supplies, I simply tear off just above where we wrote stuff, leaving more paper for next time. Blame or praise my daughter for that trick. She is notorious for writing frivolous/unhealthy/expensive foods that I will never buy, [at the top] as soon as I tore off the old list. So not only do I not take her 'suggestions' with me, but her desires remain on the top of the list, saving me a lot of paper.
Now note that I said this list contains "what we are out of" It is not a wish list like my teenage daughter thinks.
When I am shopping, I ONLY buy things that are on sale. The probablility of getting something on the list is 100% if it is on sale. If something on the list isn't on sale, whether or not it comes home with me depends soley on how important I think it is, and if I think we can go without before I either 1] venture out again, or 2] it goes on sale later. Or 3] if I just luva ya. [Hubby gets everything he writes]
Now if I am not shopping off a list, and none of the stores near me offer double coupons, and even if I used coupons, they are always for the brands that are so expensive, then even with a coupon they are still more, or else they are for items I would never, ever eat, or in quantities that I would never in my lifetime use, then how the heck do I save money contrary to to what all the media says?
It very simple. I buy what's on sale. Not eveything that's on sale, mind you, but ONLY what's on sale.
We eat meals made 'creatively' out of what I bought. There's a few times, I didn't even know what it was, bought it anyway, and asked my husband when I got home. He didn't know either, so we googled it. Hey it was a good price and Jet's Ranch is good on everything!
So as a result, I get the best price on pretty much everything.
Secondly, I shop at odd hours. Early in the morning ensures that the sale items will be in stock, but if you go too early, you will miss out on the 'marked down for quick sale' items that typically appear after 9am to make room for the new fresh stuff, but will be gone by 4 pm, when all the Moms go after their kids get out of school.
So between the hours of 9 and 4 you get your selection, AND a good shot at those discount racks.
Know your store. Know where those discount racks are, and when they stock them. Sometimes even where. I was once shopping and saw the bakery lady pulling stuff off the sheves, and I asked if she was going to discount them. She said yes, and asked me what I wanted, and I told her, so she stamped it, and off I went, freshly discounted item in cart.
Is a day old bakery item 'fresh' if it is freshly discounted? I think so.

So that's how I came home with 4 - 3.5lb lamb roasts, and 10 lbs corned beef [for my next meat grind], 6 lbs of strawberries, 4 bags of cat litter [I was cleaning garage and needed it to absorb oil], several boxes of grape nuts and various other things, for $60 after having gone with a list containing 2 items.

At the very least, I am saving paper!

Pink Slime? Not in MY Hamburger!

I just heard about this pink slime stuff.
howstuffworks.com/pinkslime
It almost made me sick to think about Fat, sinew, bloody effluvia [I don't even want to know what that is!], and bits of meat treated with a puff of ammonia to make it somehow "good"
Yuk!
No wonder my own ground beef tastes so much better than store bought!
I am so glad I have been grinding my own meat for, probably a year now. If I hadn't been, I think I would have heaved upon hearing this.
I was just getting ready to grind up about 20 pounds to cook, and package up for tacos, spaghetti, ect., when the nightly news came on, and had a story about this. Apparently it's been going on for awhile now.
My advice is to get a meat grinder before the price goes up. 10 lbs can easily be done in about 20 minutes by a $5 hand grinder found at many thrift stores, or get an electric one [about $100] for more than 10 lbs at a time. Quite frankly if I didn't already have 2 hand grinders and an eletric one, I would gladly pay $20 for one now.
It's not that I am that picky, but I have a right to know what's in foods labeled for sale, and make choices based on that knowledge. If I feel a company has betrayed me by being deceptive in disclosing the ingredients or processes used to make it, I simply chose to discontinue being used/ripped off by them.
In other words, if your stuff is crap, just say so. There is still an unbelievable market for crap nowadays! Albeit a reduced one, but at least the company won't have to switch gears and/or downsize when folks discover it's crap anyways. - and they will!
I think it's almost funny the number of companies that have come forward to say that they won't use it anymore.
Yuk! That means that did!
Now the company that makes it is complaining that they have shut down for 2 months to sugar coat this mess, and if no one will buy their crap after that, they may have to shut down completely and people will lose jobs. Oh sure, blame us for losing jobs because we don't want to eat your crap!
Wasn't it originaly suposed to be for dog food anyway? What are they putting in dog food if not this? Something worse possibly? Speaking of dogfood, how 'bout we tell china to keep their crap, cuz we have enough of our own, right here! That ought to bring back a couple jobs at least.

Here is what I wrote when I started doing it last year.
http://speechlessworkinstiff.blogspot.com/2011/06/meat-beating-system-part-1_09.html
and here is why I wouldn't buy store ground beef again, but now it's for another reason.
http://speechlessworkinstiff.blogspot.com/2011/06/meat-beating-system-part-2.html

The thing I hear from people is that they don't have time to do this. Yes you do! It saves you time. I spend about 4 to 6 hours every 3 months grinding, preparing, and packaging meat. I alernate between meatloves, ground beef patties, and precooked ground beef packages, so that nothing is older than 9 months, and meals take minutes to prepare.
I've been making my own bread for about 2 years now, and just started making yogurt.
I don't even want to know what the yogurt places are putting in that stuff, and I hope I never find out.

Two stories of forgiveness

I started writing something else, but veered off the path, and I can only believe that someone somewhere needs to read this, so here you go . . .

My Dear Ol Dad passed away about a year and a half ago now.
He used to live in my state. My Sis and I were born and raised here, and after gradutating from college, my sister moved to MN. My parents devorced, and Dad was on his own for about 10 years, staying here for about 8 of them, and then moving to TX. When it became appearent that Dad wasn't taking care of himself very well, my Sis went and got him, and made arrangements for his health and living needs. God Bless her for doing that. He passed away just as his freedom was to taken away. He was about to be confined to a wheelchair, with oxygen tank, and I am positive his last 8 or so years were much better because of her.
It happened that I hadn't seen my dad since he moved to TX, and had never seen my Sis in MN either. I always thought I would go and see them both one day, but we never had the time or money.
One day out of the blue I told my hubby that I needed to go see him. After pricing airline tickets, I decided to drive, and told hubby to come with me. I called Sis and told her we were comming. She was suprised, but made arrangements to leave her camp outing and come home to meet us.
Just like a bad country song, he passed away an hour before we arrived.
Rather than dwell on that pain, I'd like you'll to know that several years back, while on the phone, my Dad told me he was always sorry he didn't stick up for me more. I always thought we both knew - that he did as much as he dared. If he did more, it would cost me. [My Mom was abusive - there, I said it! but this isn't about that] I told him that if he ever thought for one second that he failed me in some way, he should know that I forgive him. I further made it clear "For anything you think you might have done, or might have failed to do, or any tiny detail that might enter your head on a sleepless night, just know that I love you, and I know you did your best, and incase that isn't good enough, I forgive you. I'm ok now. I harbor no resentment of any kind, toward you or Mom, and God is good!"
So even though, I never did get to see him, I thought back to that conversation, and felt some relief.
How many people don't get to say those things to people that need to hear it?
So readers, please do yourself a favor. Call that family member, [don't mention the offense], and at least tell them that you love them.

For the curious, I did forgive my Mom too. It didn't work out so well . . the first time. I was 23, maybe, newly devorced from an abusive man, and had a fairy tale belief that when I told her I forgave her, she would aplogise, and we'd hug and be like a normal Mother & Daughter ever after. She didn't. The first words out of her mouth were "Who did you tell?" and all I could think about was "I am trying to heal, and you are making this about you now" I think I stammered something like "no one, I just wanted to . ." and then she broke in with "You were a crazy maker! You drove me crazy. You have no idea what it was like!" and I left.

For years, my Mom and Sis would ignore me except for Thanksgiving, when I would get a non-optional invite to Mom's and at Christmas time, when they wanted to know what I wanted. I never knew what to say. All I could think of was if they knew me, they wouldn't have to ask.
The calls were always short, and if I tried to talk about my life or ask about theirs for the past year, they were in a hurry and had to go. One year, my Mother actually moved to FL just before Thanksgiving without even telling me. I only found out, a few days before, when I called her.
Year after year they would send me stuff, rarely anything I liked or could use, and it always made me feel inadequite, I guess for not appriciating it more. In retrospect, I am not sure how I would feel if they actually sent me anything that I did like.
One night while driving, I was out of my usual radio range and scanned the dial. I came upon a contemperary Christian station playing a song that really spoke to me.
I had gotten married again, and was a bit embarrased to tell my family, plus didn't want to hear all possible negative comments. So I hadn't invited them.
That song made me realise that I hadn't really forgiven my Mother.
I pulled over and declared to the Lord that I forgave her. I told Him that "I am letting go of the debt that she owes me, and giving it to you, Lord. She owes me nothing, and I am counting on You forgiving her too"
Now I could tell you something magical happend that day, but I just don't know. I felt better, but it pretty much seemed like an ordinary day to me.
I will say that when Christmas rolled around that year, and that call came in, I was ready to tell her to please not send me any more things. That I love her, but I just don't want to ride this ride anymore. but something happened. She asked me how I had been. I answered and asker her how she'd been. We laughed and told stories for 45 mintues - a lifetime record for us at that point.
I was crying when I got off the phone. I had finally gotten what I wanted for Christmas!

There you have it. Two stories of forgiveness. Both with happy endings, but very different beginnings.
I want you to know, because I didn't at first, that you do not have to tell the person you are forgiving. If they are still in a bad place that you don't want to revisit, you can forgive them right where you are. Just let go.
but if they ever hint that the are seeking your forgiveness, give it to them and more.

I really think that when someone causes us pain, we think they owe us something. We hang on to that pain like an IOU, refusing to tear it up until they apoligise. After awhile those IOU's add up, it's a great weight to carry around, never mind the fact that probably 95% of of the folks whose IOU's you're carrying, don't even know they have an IOU in your bag. The more we feel we're hurt, the more importance we place on it, and the heavier that IOU is. The trouble, if that isn't enough, with IOU's is that they grow. They seem to feed on pain and selfishness. and Yes, I do think it's selfish not to forgive. If no one else tells you that, it's because either they haven't thought about it, or want to keep taking your money while you pour out your "poor me's" on their couch for $150 an hour.
The pain, we can't help feeling for a minute, but the selfishess . . . you take away that, and all the power goes out of the offense, taking with it the pain. Yes, I am saying "Get over yourself" The only one making you carry that burden is you.

Fogiveness is freedom. By forgiving someone, you are freeing yourself of the pain that you were never meant to carry around in the first place.

This reminds of that game Hot Potato.
Although I am young enough to remember it was actually a plastic one, the premise is the same: The one holding it at the end, loses.
What if pain was an actual hot potato, and you have it in your hands because someone tossed it to you and you caught it. It's burning your hands, so you have to get rid of it. Now, you can toss it to someone else, knowing it will hurt them or you can drop it. Either way, once it is out of your hands, it will still hurt for some time. You may even need some salve to help it heal.
Well, I am here to tell you, the pain will be less if you drop that potato instead of handing it to someone else. and the quicker you drop it, the less pain you will feel.
Learn to drop the potato!
You have much better things to do!

A Time To Kill

Spring is in the air folks!
Mainly because it felt like spring all winter, but that's besides the point.
Here's a story that happened last summer. You probably don't want it to happen to you, so take heed of the few lessons buried within.

A Time To Kill
I work taking care of animals for a man who likes everything in it's place. I've been there 5 years, so I must be doin it right. A new girl whom I trained and will call "N" and I became friends. She is a hard worker, and is honest, and I appriciate those things in people. She is also candid and funny, which makes our interactions anything but boring.
2 weeks ago, N told me she answered an ad looking for a gardener, and said she must be crazy because with her other jobs, she wasn't sure when she could do this one. She said the property needed everything done. I told her I could help her out, if she wanted, so that she could get done twice as fast. I am one of the fastest workers where we work now, so N happily agreed. I further told her, that while I may boss her a bit at our job, this landscaping job was hers, and she would be my boss - just to establish things upfront.

Suposedly, these people had money, and like I told L one thing I have learned about folks with an abundance of money [I never use the word 'rich' because I find them to often be 'poor' in pretty much everything else, including mannors] is that they waste it on a lot of things, but don't want to pay a proper wage to take care of those things.

N had met with "L" the owner of this "weekend lake house", and followed her around while she pointed, and barked out items she wanted taken care of. One of those things was a giant wheelbarrow of debris which included her precious seedum plants that a previous employee "Nick" had detatched from it's lodgings in the rock wall that separated the lawn from the beach. L was very upset, and said she wanted "every last bit of them" saved. The yard was lined on every side with greenery, along with some unkept ornimental trees. The boxwoods lining the drive were leaning like they were trying to escape, and weeds thrived everywhere. She also wanted everything weeded, and lamented that summer was half over and nothing on the property was done yet. L painted a picture of one who was taken advantage of in such a way, that N and myself felt sorry for her. Poor woman couldn't enjoy her lake house cuz everyone that worked for her, had done her wrong.

Ya'll might wanna make a mental note here folks, when a potential boss starts pointin and barkin, TAKE NOTES!
and anytime a potenial employer starts complaining that everyone has done them wrong, remember - there are two sides to every story, and the one with the most money thinks theirs is the right one.

We began on Tues, and N tells me she suggested to L [and L agreed] that we would make a "Hospital bed" where we will carefully place the seedum after rescuing it from the smoldering wheelbarrow of death, and attempt to get it to root so it can be transplanted later, when it is healthy. She places me on that task, and begins to weed on the other side of the house.

I remember thinkin "what an idiot for pulling out that seedum, could he not see it was a plant?", as I began preparing the bed by the fence. I pulled a pile of festering seedum [among other things] from the wheel barrow, spread it out on the grass to breathe, and begin picking pieces of it that looked like they had some potential. I would place a handful of this in the row, and then water it with some mixed miracle growth stuff for stressed plants. The key word there was Miracle, but I didn't know it at the time. I also didn't know who the real idiot was. I just thought I did.
After a couple of hours, I stood up, to check my progress. It looked good, but the time! Oh the time it took to painstakingly pick 4" to 6" pieces of seedum outa that seething compost pile! I just can't believe they'd wanna pay us $12.50 an hour do do this! So I stop and go tell N how long it's taking. N assures me that L wanted it ALL saved. Now I knew that couldn't happen because if you went 8" down in the wheelbarrow, it everything was moldy, and litterally smokin. We each put in 3 1/2 hours that day.
The next day she wanted me to work on that seedum again, but when it got to where it was taking me too long to pick tiny 2" inch pieces that looked like it wanted to grow, I had to stop. So I began weeding out the path from her back door [so it would be purdy when they arrived for the weekend], and then the beds next to the new seedum, that had dead things in it. These dead things wanted to be a tomato, and 2 black berry plants. It was L who wanted us to make them grow, but being they were already in a location well suited to their growth, there was nothing to do but water them with miracle growth stuff.
I also attempted to spray part of the upper beach area with some weed killer that ended with the word "Clear" [like round-up only worse - it says right on the bottle not to spray it near anything you want to grow, or anywhere you want to grow something before a year is up]. This stuff wasn't a premix, and we were not supplied with anything to mix it with. I searched our supplies to find a 16 ounce glass bottled drink to make a measuring device, and another plastic bottle which I cut the bottom off to make a funel. The spray was commin out in such a thin stream, after many attempts at adjusting it, I determined it was easier to just pull the dang weeds out myself, so I did.

We took the next day off for other jobs, and came back on Fri, the last day before the weekend, in anticipation of L and her husband comming to their beach house for the weekend, N wanted me to finish spraying the beach and driveway, so it would be nice for them, but told me to be careful of the water. I love our planet, don't you? So I pulled up weeds along the water line for the first 4 feet up. I was just finishing when MrL arrived on the scene and asked me why I wasn't spraying the whole beach. I told him about our concern for contamination of the ground water, and said I was going to spray from 4' away from the waters edge forward. He replied that he wanted the weeds gone in the water, too.
He then pointed at the sand, and said "See where there's no weed? If you don't spray here, a weed will pop up. I want the whole beach sprayed, weed or no weed"
Ok, so then I told him there might not be enough "clear" stuff. He tells me there's a whole extra gallon of it, and I reply that there's only a partial one. He looks at me accusingly and asks "Are you mixing it?" I said, yes, and the 16 ounce bottle, which I used 2 of, plus funnel I used to measure are right there. He picked up the empty container of black death, and said it was full last week. I told him it was empty and I was using it to measure the gallon of water. He shook his head, and acknowledged that the Nick, the seedum puller, must have also used this full strength. Although based on all the weeds I saw pokin up out the junipers, all over the beach, driveway, and everywhere else, it did make me wonder where he used it.

Once happy that I am poisoning the planet to his specifications, N tells him that L had asked if we wanted to get paid on the 15th or the 30th, and N had said the 30th would be fine, but then the day before told her to call her with our hours to get paid on the 15th. I heard him telling L that she shoulda had her hours in by the 10th or the 25th to get paid on those dates. I quit listening as they settled on something. Hey, I was there to work, so I did.

Aledgedly there would be a check on the way.
That Sat, they called N, said they needed to talk, and when N got there L ran around pointing and barking again, only this time insisting we didn't do anything she wanted. She pitched and moaned. Why we were there on Thursday, but had no hours written down? [cuz we weren't] When shown our hours written on a calendar, they insisted the cameras had shown us to be there on Thurs [when we were both miles away], and what were we doing there if not working? [I'd like to know that too, actually] Went on to say she never pays $12.50 an hour, that she takes bids and only accepts the lowest one. [Then why didn't she tell N to submit a bid before?] The bed that ran the length of the driveway didn't need weeding [even though it was one of the first things she pointed at the week before], they asked why I hadn't sprayed the whole beach and driveway, which I did [dontcha hate when you get accused of not properly destroying our eco system when you know you did?]. They wanted to know why it took 4 hours to rescue all the tiny pieces of that freakin seedum. Why are the tomatos and berries still dying? Why wasn't black fabric placed and covered with mulch [which they had not provided] and why did we say we weeded all those beds over there anyway since they were all sprayed?
Huh?
Oh, Oh.
I told N if that woman had told us all those beds were poisoned, I wouldn't have placed the seedum there. It's all gonna die, and I don't wanna be there when it does. She agreed, but we got a sinking feeling that 1. they were only gonna pay us a small portion of what they had originally agreed on, and that any future work would be for free, and that 2. If we told them we quit, we wouldn't get paid anything for the work we had already done. So we did what any self respecting underpaid gardener would do - ignored them. They called and called and called for 4 days [if we were that bad, why did they want us back?], and when the check [which amounted to 7 $hr] came, we drove the 20 miles to their bank, cashed it, and right next door was a Salvation Army Thrift store, where I got a great deal on some fabric and 2 giant quilting hoops! but I digress. I let N call them back and tell them we were not suited to their needs, Or some fancy crap that means we are taking the $7 an hour the cheap hustlers sent us and runnin for the hills!

I don't know what they paid Nick, but I'm no longer thinkin he's the only idiot. Clearly he got paid to kill seedum, tomatoes, berries, and a few weeds.

Self Service At Walmart

I just came back from Walmart, and now I know why I don't go there. I got some extra money this week, cuz we're short man power at the assylum, and I got that quilting fabric itch. I heard Walmart is starting to stock and sell fabric again, and I want to check it out. There's a Walmart about a mile away from the Joanns I conveiniently plannned on going to, so I decided to go there first to see if they had fabric.
The short answer is yes.
The long answer is good luck getting it. I needed browns and greens for a butterfly quilt that is still in the dreaming & fabric gathering stages, so when I saw a nice brown for $1.50yd, I got all excited. I grabbed the brown, 2 greens [4.94yd], a nice turquoise floral print with a bit of brown in it that I know will cost me a bunch more money when I go to use it, and need that special color to make it happen [$2.50yd] and some other pieces of possibility [also $1.50yd], ect. 8 fabrics in all.
Then I waited. and waited. and rang the bell. and waited. and waited. and rang the bell. and waited. and rang the bell. and waited. Finally I went to find the nearest employee, which turned out to be the cell phone guys. I asked one of them to please call someone to come and cut fabric for me. I heard him call as I was leaving. Then I waited. and waited some more. and then my body began doing things, that I just could not stop. I reached into my bag, and got out pen and paper, and began cutting the fabric and writing down the yardage, and the color. I stacked up the bolts in one pile and the cut pieces in another.
When I was all done, I pushed my cart to the cell phone guys and asked if they would ring it up for me because I had things to do. I was in Walmart over an hour - most of that time was waiting.
They very nicely rang it up for me, because they knew how long I was waiting, and couldn't believe no one had arrived. They figured out how to scan the bolts and enter the yardage using my notes.

After I paid for it, I put my fabric in the cart, with the bolts on top, and returned them to their places. A lady came up and asked if she could help me. I said "No thank you, I'm all set" She said something about the Pellon, and I said, yes, I had it, put I put it back. She asked if I needed anything cut. I said I already cut it. She replied that we weren't suposed to do that, then asked to see the tags, which the cell phone guys had placed on the fabric, and I showed her. She said something about being at lunch. I told her she was perfectly entitled to her lunch, and that Walmart should have covered her area. She told me the assistant manager said he was watching, and there was no one there the whole time. I leaned in and said "Someone's been fibbing to you" I was not the only one who came in and looked at the fabric, so between me and others, there was easy 2 customers there at any given time. They just didn't have the balls I did. I drove 20 miles one way [that's $8 in gas for the trip] and I want my $1.50yd fabric darn it!

Now, I had 5 more items in my cart, I went to the checkout and began ringing up the packages of quilt batting, which didn't even fit in the bag. I asked the U-Scan monitor if they had any bigger bags, and she disappeared. She returned with one bag, that only one of the battings fit into, so I just tossed those in the cart, and bagged up the fabric that was already paid for. Pushed the cart out with all 5 items plunked into the cart unbagged, and 2 receipts totaling over $100 in my pocket. I felt like I was at one of those Clubs.
Self serve to the max.

Little Yippy Dog

One of my past jobs was delivering newspapers in a repressed area, that was being converted to a "motor route" meaning we'd put up tubes on a pole that I could shove the paper in from my car. This was considered by more than a few to be a "bad neighborhood" but I didn't see it that way. I think things are generally as bad as you want them to be. I did put up the tubes myself, so I could be seen pounding them into the ground, to reinforce to the young troublemakers that I was not a push-over. I also got to meet a lot of the other residents that no one talks about. Many of the residents were black folks from the south, who moved up here to work in at General Motors, and were now retired. They were very nice, self respecting folks who mowed their lawns weekly and even though, they said things like "ya'll" and "ain't" they also said "Please" and Thank you" where white folks generally didn't. I never could figure out why some white folks thought they were better than blacks, when they weren't nearly as polite, and didn't even keep up their yards nearly as nice.

Now because some of my customers were handicapped, or couldn't get all the way down their driveway with ease, I would walk the papers up to their door. I had about a half dozen of these.
One of them was home to one of those annoying little yippy dogs. You know the kind. They resound like nails on a chalk board, and their owners must have been deafened by them, because they seem to not be able to hear them.
Every day, without fail, I would walk up this lady's drive to be met by such a dog. This dog clearly was saying "Hey you! Get Out of here! This is my house, and you don't belong here! I'm tellin my mommy on you!" Look, it's 4am, I have 2 jobs, and no patience for this, which was clearly not part of the job description. Most animals like me right off, but this one sure didn't. I don't really like yippy dogs either, so we're even.
Almost.
To make it really even, I decide to talk back, but I can't be heard cussing out folks dogs, or word would get around that I'm a big fat meany, so I began talking to it in a voice that anyone who could hear my voice but not the words, would think I was being nice. I told that little yippy dog [in a voice that a toddler would love] "Why, aren't you just the ugliest little thing? Yes, you are! Yer just the uglyiest little thing. Look at you! My cat is bigger than you are. Yes, she is. You little ugly bugger you!" Every day I insulted that little dog while it chased me down and then back up the driveway, nipping and yipping it's threats at me.
After some months of this, there came a day I didn't see it out, so I put the paper by the side door like I always do, and high tailed it outa there, happy that my ear drums were gonna get a break that day.
About halfway down the street, I catch something in my rear veiw mirror. It's that stupid little dog. I stopped the car and got out. I couldn't believe it! That annoying little dog missed yipping at me, and had to chase me down to make it's day complete! Knowing little dogs don't like to be grabbed around the middle, I carefully scooped him up in my forearms, and got in the car with him in my lap. I backed the car up all the way to his house, stopped, got out, and carried the dog to his door. The lady hadn't heard the dog bark, so she came out to see whay he wasn't yipping, and see's me there holding her dog. I told her that I found him running down the street, thinking, surely she would scold him for this, if not the yipping, and she gasped and said "I can't believe you're holding him, and he's not biting you! He hates everybody!"
Turns out the lady could hear him. He was her "newspaper" alarm. She purposely put him out every morning before I came by, knowing he'd yipp annoyingly at me, because he hated everybody!
Except me - now.
Great. Just what I need - a yippy dog for a friend.
Darn dog fooled us both didn't he?

Ember & The Exploding Lamp Oil Bottle

Every week, my friend and I go out Saling. We buy stuff we need/want for our homes including groceries. Now I hear-tell that used groceries can be rather unsavory, so we buy used stuff instead, saving our money for new, sale priced groceries. We headed north this week, and I guess I shouldn't have been surprised at the number of "Free Kittens" signs I saw.
It's a shame they don't just fix their cats, when clearly they are broken.
I've been wanting another cat, since I had to let go of Oz last fall. Well, not just a cat, really - truth be known, I'd really just like Oz back, but he's waitin for me on the bridge. There was just something about him. We needed each other. He was an older cat in a shelter with a limited shelf life. He never talked, he just indicated his needs with a pleading stare, or wave of his paw, and I guess focussing on his needs kept my mind off of my own fading dreams at the time. The 13 years he was with me was way too short, but we are both in better places now.
Which is why I did not come home with a kitten.
I do have a short haired-teenaged-back-talkin-cat, that my daughter begged for 2 years ago, and hasn't fed once. I would like a fluffy cat to cuddle with, cuz Ember [think smoldering fire] isn't very cuddley. I have been teachin her, though. I pick her up, give her a big fat kiss, and then put her down before she has time to complain, and I think it's beginning to work. Now when shes sees me comming, and flops on her back to tease me, she doesn't chew on my hand as much when I fall for it - and I always do. At least once a day, she comes to me wanting to sit on my lap, and tuck her nose under my arm. Sometimes, she follows me downstairs, aka "lair of the evil snake" which means she trusts me to protect her from the air compressor. So while she's not squishy cuddly, we do seem to have an understanding: She's all I've got, and I'm all she's got.

After a long day of saling, I got home, and slowly began to unload and unpack stuff. One of my purchases was a bottle of lamp oil for 10 cents. I was tired - gonna putting this last thing away, saving the rest of the stuff for later. Sometimes, I'm just a bit meticulous, and noticing a dent in the bottle, I had to fix it. I loosened the the cap, and it appeared to be going successfully, and then the darn thing exploded all over me. I think I stood there dripping in oil, shocked that plastic would break apart like that. I was almost completely covered, ruining my favorite tank top [actually purchased new!], so there was to be no damage control - except for how to get myself to the bathroom without dripping oil on the way. I lathered up with Body&Bath's Black Amethyst [bought on sale - but normally reserved for special osscasions] shower gel to lift my spirits as well as the oil off of my skin. I got out, dried off, went back downstairs to put a piece of cardboard over the spot, so no one else would walk in it until I could clean it and started to go to bed.
Hmm, I seem to be missing a critter.
Where is Ember?
Found her in a corner lookin confused. She musta been right behind me when the oil exploded, cuz there she was, furr all slick & spikey lookin, and she didn't look happy. Darn it! The longer I think about it, the worse it will be. I turned on the bath water once again, quickly grabbed her, squirted the Black Amethyst down her back [why not?] and held her under the faucet with one hand, while rubbing her down with the other. She seemed a bit shocked at first, but that may have been left over shock from the oil explosion. She did seem to like the warm water cascading down her back, and the massage didn't hurt either. After, I hugged her up in a giant fluffy towel, which she completely soaked, no easy feat for a short haired cat.
She still didn't come to bed with me, probably sulking and licking herself dry most of the night, but this mornin, she doesn't seem to be mad at me, even though she is still a bit greasy.
Maybe she is sucking up to me so I won't give her another bath?

Update: I really feel bad, but what more could I do? I didn't know she got hit with the oil or I woulda stuffed her in the shower with me. It wouldn't be the first time I took a shower with a cat. [but that's a story for another time]
She was sick for a few days. Sick, laying around not eating much, and weirdly affectionate. After a coupla days, she began eating and following me around, climbing in my lap, and all clingy and stuff. A silly person would think her to be greatful cuz I saved her life, but remember this is a teen-aged-back-talkin cat, and ya'll know that teanagers only talk to their parents when they want something . . .
While I was petting her, I noticed some tuffs of hair stickin up funny. I put on my reading glasses and poked around to discover some flaky skin. I got a fine tooth comb and began combing her head, and she began to purr. Yep, her hair is commin out, and her head itches.


Her new nickname is, . . you guessed it - Baldy.