WHO ARE YOU!?!?
OK, so I have this new program which allows me to see where people are reading Oh Roo! from, what ISP they are using and what their social security numbers are (alright, maybe not that much.)
What it doesn't clarify is your damn name!!!
It appears there are about 50 of you a day who peek into Oh Roo.
Why don't cha post a comment?
You can use a code name if you'd like, or give me a little hint to see if I can guess who you are. Or just comment anonymously so I know what you're thinkin' about.
For those who don't know me personally, but still read, how did you stumble upon The Roo?
And to those who leave comments on a regular basis.... you are my favies! Thank you ;-)
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
I'm Still Standing
A little update from the previous post's saga:
The Landlady is out of town (gone to Europe for a whole actually) and with her, seemed to go the drama.
Basking, basking.... if only for a few short weeks.
***
In much healthier news;
Quack and I are into our third week of "Mission Mini-er Butts and Gutts"
Between the two of us, we are down about 16 lbs. Not gonna say who's lost what, or where, but the total poundage lost sounds a lot more dramatic, don't cha think?
With this mission has come the influx of fruits and veggies and the introduction of one of the greatest services of my adult life.
An organic delivery service which drops off a mixed-bag of whatever green goodness is hot that week!
This is great for a million reasons. To name a few:
Now that we're livin' in the city, we have to shop at the city grocer's. It sucks.
Evidently, the local chain out here thinks the people in the city deserve poor produce. For example, week one of "MMBNG" we stopped by the city store to get raspberries. They looked good enough, but it's a damn good thing I didn't dump those suckas on my Kashi b/c even though the berries you could see looked OK, every single interior berry was a hot moldy mess! The very nature of the raspberry made it even worse - little red pockets filled with black shmutz. Blech.
I must say this experience was the catalyst for the veggie box.
Another good reason for the box includes the consumption of F&V's I wouldn't usually pick out - and with that - the drive to find and try cool new recipes! We've munched on assorted veggie soup, acorn squash, yams, nectarines and anything else you can schmear peanut butter or hummus on.
Only one criticism of the service - they don't send a bonus roll of toilet paper with each order. They should consider this b/c we are blowin' through the stuff!
I remedy this by taking some time in the bathroom while I'm at work... I think it's funny that they are paying me to poodle.
A little update from the previous post's saga:
The Landlady is out of town (gone to Europe for a whole actually) and with her, seemed to go the drama.
Basking, basking.... if only for a few short weeks.
***
In much healthier news;
Quack and I are into our third week of "Mission Mini-er Butts and Gutts"
Between the two of us, we are down about 16 lbs. Not gonna say who's lost what, or where, but the total poundage lost sounds a lot more dramatic, don't cha think?
With this mission has come the influx of fruits and veggies and the introduction of one of the greatest services of my adult life.
An organic delivery service which drops off a mixed-bag of whatever green goodness is hot that week!
This is great for a million reasons. To name a few:
Now that we're livin' in the city, we have to shop at the city grocer's. It sucks.
Evidently, the local chain out here thinks the people in the city deserve poor produce. For example, week one of "MMBNG" we stopped by the city store to get raspberries. They looked good enough, but it's a damn good thing I didn't dump those suckas on my Kashi b/c even though the berries you could see looked OK, every single interior berry was a hot moldy mess! The very nature of the raspberry made it even worse - little red pockets filled with black shmutz. Blech.
I must say this experience was the catalyst for the veggie box.
Another good reason for the box includes the consumption of F&V's I wouldn't usually pick out - and with that - the drive to find and try cool new recipes! We've munched on assorted veggie soup, acorn squash, yams, nectarines and anything else you can schmear peanut butter or hummus on.
Only one criticism of the service - they don't send a bonus roll of toilet paper with each order. They should consider this b/c we are blowin' through the stuff!
I remedy this by taking some time in the bathroom while I'm at work... I think it's funny that they are paying me to poodle.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Desperate Houserenters
Act One; Scene One -
The scene opens on a pleasant block in Historic Hoodville, PA.
Large shade trees line the block, providing perfect cover for those strolling along the way, and for those running from the cops.
The homes have flags flying out front, and hung in windows, and painted on cars and wadded in heaps in backyards.
It's Saturday, the sleepy kind where folks stay in their jammies past noon and keep the coffee pot on all day long.
Just after 2 p.m., when it's time to put on a baseball cap and make a Target run...
"Pop... pop, pop, pop, pop!" Shots ring out.
Veteran neighbors peek out the window to see if they can i.d. anyone. Others, like the Midwestern transplants, hit the ground and army crawl to the basement.
Close scene.
Act One; Scene 2 -
Scene opens on empty aforementioned street. No one is hurt, the hoodlums have fled, the neighbors are crawling up from their basements (some of them anyways) and the police are on the scene.
Police: "Who do you know, what did you see, where did they go..."
Neighbors (collectively): "Uhhhhh?"
With the exception of one wacky landlady.
Landlady: (screaming into the street at no one in particular) "I have surveillance cameras on my home! You can't get away with this on my block! I'm going to find out who did this and report you to police!"
Close scene.
Act One; Scene 3 -
Scene opens as landlady sits at her day job desk.
Phone rings.
Caller: "I have checks to cash with you." (Code language for I'm going to snuff you out if you rat on me to the cops.)
Landlady: "Uhhhhh...? "
Finally silenced, the landlady goes into immediate hiding, leaving her tenants to fend for themselves.
Close scene.
Act Two:
(This act will simply be told by the narrator to speed up the story.)
Narrator: While the landlady is in hiding, she stands up her tenants for a meeting regarding the sale of the buildings they are living in. One day later, the heat to the building is turned off b/c the landlady has failed to fill the tanks with oil. This comes just in time for the first real cold snap during the peculiarly warm winter.
The landlady is unreachable, as she is still in hiding, and the tenant are being frozen out. The one year old child who lives with her rents in the upper is taken somewhere warm and the other tenants are so cold they go to the gym just to get their blood pumping again.
Despite the cold, and the drama, and the lack of communications, Landlady sends a Realtor and possible buyers to look over the house (the tenants have yet to be formally told the house is actually up for sale).
Moments away from the tenants contacting the Attorney General's Office, The landlady's oil company and handyman magically appear, and the heat is turned back on.
The tenants are pissed - and in so many words, they let The landlady know.
Now Landlady is pissed.
Everyone is pissed.
Close scene.
Act 3; Scene One -
It's 1 a.m. the day after the pissy conversation. The neighborhood is finally quiet and the heat is back on.
The tenants have relaxed and they are all cozying into their beds for some zzz's.
The female Midwesterner is still awake, but barely. As she drifts off to sleep, she thinks she smells something.
She sits up in bed and sniffs the air.
Girl: "Is that smoke?"
Girl brushes off the scent as sleep deprivation and goes back to bed.
Moments, seconds, later-
The sounds of sirens accompanied by their flashers fill the sleeping homes. Girl shakes her partner awake and the Midwesterners look out the window to see the landlady's home veiled by plumes of smoke.
Everyone gets out, and the landlady and her bed buddy are not staying at the house (they are STILL in hiding).
The firefighters rescue the people in the other apartments and the animals and then set out to demolish the fire, and everything it's touching.
The newly renovated home is pick-axed into an oblivion so they can soak the burning material and all of the landlady's thing quickly turn into items that smell like, or resemble, dried beef.
The neighbors all come out into the street, in various stages of undress. One is wearing a blanket, others have hastily thrown on soggy slippers instead of shoes.
They stand in the rain for hours, trying to stay up long enough for the landlady to show, but as 4 a.m. rolls around, they slowly shuffle back to their homes and the firefighters pack up their hoses and leave the home in a smokey, sloppy, ashy mess.
Landlady never shows.
Close scene.
Act 3; Scene 2:
Pretty much unwritten as all the events prior have yet to be resolved or communicated about. The landlady has made a few brief appearances over at the fire house, but none at the tenants homes (which are still for sale as a sign appeared in the lawn this morning.)The fire was called "electrical." The neighbors are whispering "arson."
The rest, is still unwritten.
Act One; Scene One -
The scene opens on a pleasant block in Historic Hoodville, PA.
Large shade trees line the block, providing perfect cover for those strolling along the way, and for those running from the cops.
The homes have flags flying out front, and hung in windows, and painted on cars and wadded in heaps in backyards.
It's Saturday, the sleepy kind where folks stay in their jammies past noon and keep the coffee pot on all day long.
Just after 2 p.m., when it's time to put on a baseball cap and make a Target run...
"Pop... pop, pop, pop, pop!" Shots ring out.
Veteran neighbors peek out the window to see if they can i.d. anyone. Others, like the Midwestern transplants, hit the ground and army crawl to the basement.
Close scene.
Act One; Scene 2 -
Scene opens on empty aforementioned street. No one is hurt, the hoodlums have fled, the neighbors are crawling up from their basements (some of them anyways) and the police are on the scene.
Police: "Who do you know, what did you see, where did they go..."
Neighbors (collectively): "Uhhhhh?"
With the exception of one wacky landlady.
Landlady: (screaming into the street at no one in particular) "I have surveillance cameras on my home! You can't get away with this on my block! I'm going to find out who did this and report you to police!"
Close scene.
Act One; Scene 3 -
Scene opens as landlady sits at her day job desk.
Phone rings.
Caller: "I have checks to cash with you." (Code language for I'm going to snuff you out if you rat on me to the cops.)
Landlady: "Uhhhhh...? "
Finally silenced, the landlady goes into immediate hiding, leaving her tenants to fend for themselves.
Close scene.
Act Two:
(This act will simply be told by the narrator to speed up the story.)
Narrator: While the landlady is in hiding, she stands up her tenants for a meeting regarding the sale of the buildings they are living in. One day later, the heat to the building is turned off b/c the landlady has failed to fill the tanks with oil. This comes just in time for the first real cold snap during the peculiarly warm winter.
The landlady is unreachable, as she is still in hiding, and the tenant are being frozen out. The one year old child who lives with her rents in the upper is taken somewhere warm and the other tenants are so cold they go to the gym just to get their blood pumping again.
Despite the cold, and the drama, and the lack of communications, Landlady sends a Realtor and possible buyers to look over the house (the tenants have yet to be formally told the house is actually up for sale).
Moments away from the tenants contacting the Attorney General's Office, The landlady's oil company and handyman magically appear, and the heat is turned back on.
The tenants are pissed - and in so many words, they let The landlady know.
Now Landlady is pissed.
Everyone is pissed.
Close scene.
Act 3; Scene One -
It's 1 a.m. the day after the pissy conversation. The neighborhood is finally quiet and the heat is back on.
The tenants have relaxed and they are all cozying into their beds for some zzz's.
The female Midwesterner is still awake, but barely. As she drifts off to sleep, she thinks she smells something.
She sits up in bed and sniffs the air.
Girl: "Is that smoke?"
Girl brushes off the scent as sleep deprivation and goes back to bed.
Moments, seconds, later-
The sounds of sirens accompanied by their flashers fill the sleeping homes. Girl shakes her partner awake and the Midwesterners look out the window to see the landlady's home veiled by plumes of smoke.
Everyone gets out, and the landlady and her bed buddy are not staying at the house (they are STILL in hiding).
The firefighters rescue the people in the other apartments and the animals and then set out to demolish the fire, and everything it's touching.
The newly renovated home is pick-axed into an oblivion so they can soak the burning material and all of the landlady's thing quickly turn into items that smell like, or resemble, dried beef.
The neighbors all come out into the street, in various stages of undress. One is wearing a blanket, others have hastily thrown on soggy slippers instead of shoes.
They stand in the rain for hours, trying to stay up long enough for the landlady to show, but as 4 a.m. rolls around, they slowly shuffle back to their homes and the firefighters pack up their hoses and leave the home in a smokey, sloppy, ashy mess.
Landlady never shows.
Close scene.
Act 3; Scene 2:
Pretty much unwritten as all the events prior have yet to be resolved or communicated about. The landlady has made a few brief appearances over at the fire house, but none at the tenants homes (which are still for sale as a sign appeared in the lawn this morning.)The fire was called "electrical." The neighbors are whispering "arson."
The rest, is still unwritten.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
"Do you want a hug?"
I really showed T-bag and Mattingly my true colors this weekend.
The full spectrum of snuggly brown to ragin' red! Booze'll do that to ya.
Since the whole scene replays in my mind much like dial-up Internet, so I'll describe some of the more amusing snippets... in no particular order with some details missing.
The band "Sugar Pop Lolli-Dopes" or something campy and crappy name like that, was comprised of several members, none of which I can recall, except for the lead/backup singer who was clad in a cinched up tank, miniskirt and furry boots (resembling the cottony version of Zena Warrior Princess. ) If you ask me, she was nothing more than a glorified microphone stand.
Joan Jett you ask? Oh, you better believe "I Love Rock and Roll" was her opening number.
Mattingly and I, who fancy ourselves decent vocalists, critiqued her performance down to the very last hair toss....
"Nice Set," I said to the bouncy microphone stand when we were in the bathroom.
Just call me Catty McCattersons.
Somehow, I ended up back at our neighborhood cabana bar.
When Mattingly and I walked in, we were the only two people in the bar, next to the bartender who was washing bottles, and the bouncer, who was eating hot wings like it was his job.
The good thing about this was that both the men's and women's bathrooms were open (singles stalls, yo!)
Um, fellas? What's the deal with those pink stink-disks? I can't believe urine actually smells worse than those things.
5 mins. later - 50 people are in the bar, Wh-what?
Later, T-bag and I dancing cheek-to-cheek to a Stevie Wonder joint, with our butts pushed out behind us like old folks.... we thought this was HI-larious.
Some jolly, drunk, gap-toothed Velcro-inclined lad renamed the Irish Car Bomb for T-bag after demonstrating his gulping abilities. Holding a cashed ICB -shot glass nested in a pint glass- high above his head this guy proclaims:
"When you hear this sound (rattling the glasses - clankity, clank, clank, clank) you know you just had a T-bag!"
Last call.... large Latino fellow (We'll call him Jose Cuervo here) tells everyone to get the hells out!
T-bag: "Jose Cuervo, I know who you are. You're the baddest M.F'er in the city."
JC: (in a 'I'm about to kill someone tone') "Who's calling me by my government name?"
T-bag : "Gulp..... It's me, T-bag, you know, from little league baseball?"
Jose drops to his knees with glee and greets T-bag with kisses.
Whew. Rumble averted.
Final scene of the night includes some sort of an afterbar party at our apartment... someone gets tossed through a wall (this may be a bit of an exaggeration) and Flee looses her mind.
Mattingly: "Do you want a hug?"
Flee: "No. What I want is for all of you to get the *effinhymer* out of my house."
Close Scene.
______
You'll be happy to know this final tantrum only brought us closer. Our heads were pounding the next day, but it's hard to say if it was from the booze or the laughing fit we had recounting the "final scene."
I really showed T-bag and Mattingly my true colors this weekend.
The full spectrum of snuggly brown to ragin' red! Booze'll do that to ya.
Since the whole scene replays in my mind much like dial-up Internet, so I'll describe some of the more amusing snippets... in no particular order with some details missing.
The band "Sugar Pop Lolli-Dopes" or something campy and crappy name like that, was comprised of several members, none of which I can recall, except for the lead/backup singer who was clad in a cinched up tank, miniskirt and furry boots (resembling the cottony version of Zena Warrior Princess. ) If you ask me, she was nothing more than a glorified microphone stand.
Joan Jett you ask? Oh, you better believe "I Love Rock and Roll" was her opening number.
Mattingly and I, who fancy ourselves decent vocalists, critiqued her performance down to the very last hair toss....
"Nice Set," I said to the bouncy microphone stand when we were in the bathroom.
Just call me Catty McCattersons.
Somehow, I ended up back at our neighborhood cabana bar.
When Mattingly and I walked in, we were the only two people in the bar, next to the bartender who was washing bottles, and the bouncer, who was eating hot wings like it was his job.
The good thing about this was that both the men's and women's bathrooms were open (singles stalls, yo!)
Um, fellas? What's the deal with those pink stink-disks? I can't believe urine actually smells worse than those things.
5 mins. later - 50 people are in the bar, Wh-what?
Later, T-bag and I dancing cheek-to-cheek to a Stevie Wonder joint, with our butts pushed out behind us like old folks.... we thought this was HI-larious.
Some jolly, drunk, gap-toothed Velcro-inclined lad renamed the Irish Car Bomb for T-bag after demonstrating his gulping abilities. Holding a cashed ICB -shot glass nested in a pint glass- high above his head this guy proclaims:
"When you hear this sound (rattling the glasses - clankity, clank, clank, clank) you know you just had a T-bag!"
Last call.... large Latino fellow (We'll call him Jose Cuervo here) tells everyone to get the hells out!
T-bag: "Jose Cuervo, I know who you are. You're the baddest M.F'er in the city."
JC: (in a 'I'm about to kill someone tone') "Who's calling me by my government name?"
T-bag : "Gulp..... It's me, T-bag, you know, from little league baseball?"
Jose drops to his knees with glee and greets T-bag with kisses.
Whew. Rumble averted.
Final scene of the night includes some sort of an afterbar party at our apartment... someone gets tossed through a wall (this may be a bit of an exaggeration) and Flee looses her mind.
Mattingly: "Do you want a hug?"
Flee: "No. What I want is for all of you to get the *effinhymer* out of my house."
Close Scene.
______
You'll be happy to know this final tantrum only brought us closer. Our heads were pounding the next day, but it's hard to say if it was from the booze or the laughing fit we had recounting the "final scene."
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
What a long sick trip it's been...
Well, I'm back from hell! And when I say hell I don't mean the trip back to MN, but the trip into the cough syrup induced coma I've been swimming around in for the last three days.
The trip to MN was the business.... I felt like a true jet setter, zipping around that frosty state (from Winona to Duluth and everything in between) to see my peeps!
I think I managed to see everyone I had planned on seeing (except for one friendly lady who was tanning her hide in Fla.)
There were many bevies paired with quick pleasantries and then I was off again! One encounter was so quick it was no more than a hug, kiss and ciao! (Mmmmwa D-town Divo!)
With all that hugging and carrying on, I was bound to contract some sort of sickness or another. I felt it coming on the day after we got back (a Thurs.) But did that stop me from celebrating our return with T-bag and Mattingly? Oh hell no!
Over the course of Sat. night, the Irish Car Bombs we were drinking managed their way into my lungs of all places, and come Sunday morning, I was a gurgling mess.
Fast forward through three days of restless sleep, interrupted by rattling lungs and mucus the consistency of chicken dumpling soup. (Shit! I just grossed myself out on that one!)
RICOOOOOLA Bitches! I'm back :-)
Well, I'm back from hell! And when I say hell I don't mean the trip back to MN, but the trip into the cough syrup induced coma I've been swimming around in for the last three days.
The trip to MN was the business.... I felt like a true jet setter, zipping around that frosty state (from Winona to Duluth and everything in between) to see my peeps!
I think I managed to see everyone I had planned on seeing (except for one friendly lady who was tanning her hide in Fla.)
There were many bevies paired with quick pleasantries and then I was off again! One encounter was so quick it was no more than a hug, kiss and ciao! (Mmmmwa D-town Divo!)
With all that hugging and carrying on, I was bound to contract some sort of sickness or another. I felt it coming on the day after we got back (a Thurs.) But did that stop me from celebrating our return with T-bag and Mattingly? Oh hell no!
Over the course of Sat. night, the Irish Car Bombs we were drinking managed their way into my lungs of all places, and come Sunday morning, I was a gurgling mess.
Fast forward through three days of restless sleep, interrupted by rattling lungs and mucus the consistency of chicken dumpling soup. (Shit! I just grossed myself out on that one!)
RICOOOOOLA Bitches! I'm back :-)
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
