There’s a version of this taste test circulating on the Interwebs where a family of four is at a table, and the dad is tasting this foul fish in a can that’s hilarious (warning: if you can’t handle hearing people gag and dry heave, this isn’t for you), but I thought this one topped it by an Irish mile. That isn’t even a thing, but it totally should be.
Word to the wise: Don’t eat and watch this. And don’t watch it if your stomach is revolting on you today. You’re welcome.
There was much to get excited about, so ready those exclamation points, people!
New York! Cleveland! Montreal! Quebec!
Well, now you’re all caught up. And my exclamation point key needs a breather.
School’s out and we’re on the prowl for some summer fun. Niagara Falls, anyone?
What’s new with you? Where have you been lately?
The Girly’s room hasn’t had a facelift since before she was born, so we decided it was high time for a change. I feel compelled to pass along what I learned, since I’m practically a professional decorator now. Following are some steps to help guide you through a room redecoration of your own:
- Move child out of bedroom and place furniture in tiny upstairs hallway creating an American Ninja Warrior obstacle course for all to enjoy. (Optional game of “How’d I get this bruise?” also likely)
- Take turns camping out on the couch, enjoying sleepover fun and assorted back pains.
- Purchase primer for any parts of walls previously coated with dark paint.
- Head back for vat of primer after realizing the wall is a hot mess when only dark parts are primed.
- Prime that somb!tch again when you realize that the dark paint is still playing peek-a-boo through the fully primed walls.
- Hippity hop to home improvement store for perfect color paint and assorted supplies.
- Don painting duds and crack open paint can. Hallucinate dancing bovines in unitards due to noxious fumes.
- Return offensive paint to store and head to professional paint store for better quality paint.
- Present color swatch to paint dude five minutes before closing time. Note that the color doesn’t really match swatch when wet and hope it will match once it dries.
- Open can with great anticipation. Fall to knees clutching throat as lungs fill with ammonia vapors. Add insult to injury when noting color most certainly does not match the swatch when dry.
- Proceed to super swanky paint store to buy the kind of odorless paint used in hospitals.
- Go all Bob Vila Ross on that room for the next few days.
- <Optional break in action here for multi-day, area-wide power outage>
- <If you opted to continue painting without power as daylight waned instead of taking measures to prevent the untimely demise of your frozen foods, take note of spots you missed on the walls once power is restored>
- Fix bare spots and paint trim.
- Catch sight of ancient water stain on ceiling.
- Chat with your now bestie in the paint dept at Lowe’s and decide to try out the least stinky version of water stain primer.
- Paint ceiling. And Floor. And your hair. And anything else below ceiling level.
- Vow to never paint another ceiling due to herculean physical effort involved.
- Select carpeting and set up install date. Eagerly await the 7-10 day arrival.
- Wonder why noxious off-gassing of newly installed carpet hasn’t ceased after two weeks of airing out and dousing with baking soda.
- Call carpet rep to ask if his nose can come over to sample the smell.
- Have carpet installer un-install carpeting.
- Reluctantly select new carpeting and wait ANOTHER 7-10 days.
- Breathe sigh of relief when new carpet seems far less smelly.
- Decide after the standard 72-hour off-gassing period that no amount of airing out is going to rid the room of this brand new smell from hell.
- Draw straws to see which unlucky bastard gets the couch this week.
- Grant carpet store owner’s nose permission to stop by and sniff.
- Happily accept his offer to tear out this carpeting himself, since the regular installer has trotted off to Florida on vacation.
- Select hardwood flooring and wait impatiently STILL ANOTHER 10 business days…
So there you have it. Helpful tips for redecorating any room in your house!
By today’s standards, my vehicle is pretty old school. No Bluetooth or Wi-fi, no fancy controls on my steering wheel. If a vehicle gets into my personal space on the highway, there’s no light or sound to indicate impending disaster. Just good old peripheral vision and a collection of expletives set aside for such occasions. It’s a no-frills ride, which suits my needs at the moment.
I used to have an Acura Integra that had what passed for a high-tech safety feature at the time–an automatic seat belt. This mechanism ensured you buckled up before takeoff. Once you closed the car’s front door, the seatbelt would glide from a forward position to one over your shoulder, snugly securing you in your seat. You then merely had to engage the lap belt for full coverage, which I dutifully did after reading horrific tales of decapitations from exclusive shoulder belt use. *gulp*
It was a brilliant feature.
Until it wasn’t.
Cut to grandma settling into the passenger seat for a lift to ladies’ lunch. Sweet Jeebus, you’d better be sure her heart meds are on board before closing that door. The concept of this maniacal belt snaking its way over her head to points beyond could be unnerving for someone who was still getting used to the concept of an electric oven. Transporting such individuals required building in an extra 10 minutes for explanation, regrouping, and general counseling purposes.
Admittedly, it managed to startle even me on occasion. Reaching in to help frightened passengers sometimes led to an unexpected knock in the head. An ill-timed kiss goodbye through that window could prove catastrophic.
God forbid you pulled up to a stop light and needed to open the door a few inches so you could expectorate that coffee-ground laden final sip from your travel mug’s morning brew. The seatbelt sprung into action, mistakenly thinking it was time for bodily extraction, and engaged you in what amounted to a stranglehold. With any stroke of good luck, the light didn’t turn green before you regained consciousness and untangled your melon from the belt’s deadly embrace.
There was also no peeking out the door to ensure you’d angled correctly inside the lines of a parking space. That sucker dutifully rocketed to the forward position and locked up your cranium faster than you could say, “full nelson.” I suppose it was the price I paid for technology.
I think I’ll stick with simplicity for now. Fewer bleeps and bloops and wrestling moves on board. If you see me on the road, give a friendly tap of the horn before drifting in my general direction, m’kay? I’m cruising low-tech up in here.