Happy Anniversary! ( I think)

Let me preface this by saying that my husband and I do not make a big deal over our birthdays, our anniversary or Christmas.  Pretty early on in our relationship, I learned that he was just not a celebratory kind of guy. Actually, I became painfully aware of that fact on a camping/riding trip, that took place several years before we were married.  Knocking around in the mountains, on our horses, there was some conversation over something that he had forgotten to do.  After we had established the fact that he had, indeed, forgotten to do whatever it was that he was supposed to do, the conversation went like this....

Him: You can't expect me to remember everything!

Me:  Actually, I don't expect you to remember anything! Do you know what today is?

Him:  Well...it's not our anniversary? (back then we used to celebrate the anniversary of our first date)  It's not a holiday...ummm...

Me:  It's my birthday.  Today is MY BIRTHDAY!!! 

Him: Oh. Uh.... sorry, Baby.

He lived a hard life for the next few days.

Yesterday was our 6th anniversary.  Earlier this week the following conversation transpired.....


Me:  Friday is our anniversary.

Him: That's right! It is on Friday!


Me:  I'll bet you don't even know how many years we've been married.

Him (All indignant like) :  Yes, I do!  We've been married for six years!


I was impressed BEYOND belief...until yesterday...... when I came home from work and this conversation took place...

Me:  Happy anniversary, Baby! 

Him:  Happy anniversary!  How many years has it been?  Five?

Am I living in the fricking TWILIGHT ZONE???

Just Bury Me In The Backyard, But You Go First

Lately my husband has become obsessed with the idea that he wants to be buried in the backyard.  He has brought this matter up several times and has asked me to check into the legalities.  I keep promising to do so, but then I imagine calling Randy at the zoning board and saying something like, "Hi, Randy!  How's it going?  How's the wife?  Got a question for ya.  When the old man kicks off, can I bury him in the backyard?"  Then I picture him hanging up the phone and immediately calling the sheriff, who agrees that my mental stability has always been questionable.


Well, last night the do-it-yourself home cemetery plot was brought up again, only this time he added, "While we're talking about this morbid subject, we need to figure out what we'll do about all these animals."  WHAT?  Then he specifically mentioned Gaye and Skeeter.  (The two cats who have been de-clawed and can never be "outside" cats)  That's when I realized that he was talking about me taking the "big exit" first!  You see, the hubs has a very weak stomach and couldn't handle a litter box.  He manages to shovel out the dog lot as long as the poo is solid, but if one of the little turd morsels happens to mush-up at all, then he has a big ol' gag-fest.


I have heard a story about when my step-daughter was three and was left alone with her father. It seems that she had an unfortunate accident in her pants and Daddy hosed her down outside.  He claims, in his defense, that it was ninety degrees that day.


Apparently, horse excrement is far superior to that of dogs, cats and even humans, because I have witnessed (on many occasions) Johnny sitting by a trail, eating a sandwich while the essence of  horse manure hangs heavily in the air.  Shoveling horse dung is not a problem for him, either.


Anyway, I came up with the obvious solution to the problem of what to do about all of the animals, in the event of my early demise.  I told Mr. Gag-O-Ramma that he is to immediately find and marry someone who cares about animals.  That prompted him to launch into what his online profile would say. It went something like this:

Baggy-eyed old man, recent widower, 40 pounds overweight, missing a couple of teeth, likes his liquor, quite likely to be unemployed soon, owner of 4 cats, 4 dogs and 2 horses, is in desperate need of female who loves animals.

What woman wouldn't jump at that chance?

An Open Letter To The Beanee Weenee Folks

Dear Beanee Weenee Folks,

First of all let me say that I have long been a big ol' Beanee Weenee fan. Packing 13 grams of protein and sealed in a flip-top can, (the size of which nestles nicely down in my saddle horn bags) I consider them the perfect trail food.

Recently, while shopping at a chain grocery store, (that I will refer to as "Lie-Lo") I made a discovery that got me in a snit, put my panties in a wad and made indignity rear it's ugly head. The Beanee Weenees had gone from eighty-five cents per can to $1.12!!! Mad I was! Mad as a hornet! (In case you didn't know, hornets get pretty mad)

So, there I was all snitty with wadded panties, and I made a decision to write an angry letter to you folks. I thought about telling you that, if you had gold beans and a platinum wienie, then and only then would I consider paying the price which Lie-Lo was asking. I was going to be mean and write all kinds of terrible things, but first I had to investigate and get all of my ducks in a row, because I like ducks in a row and I believe ducks like being in a row.

On my high horse I climbed. A consumer on a mission.

Well, the investigation ensued and what I found completely changed my tune and even unwadded my panties. (What a relief) For one thing I found Beanee Weenees at another store for $0.87 per can and that appeased me pretty good, but that doesn't have anything to do with my investigation.

After peeling the top off from the easy-open can, I poured the contents on a dinner plate. Surprising it was, when I lined up all of the wienie segments and had what looked like a whole wienie! There were actually thirteen wienie pieces and that made me happy, since I'm not the least bit superstitious. While I was pretty impressed with the wienie data, the best was yet to come. Upon completing the tedious task of counting beans, I was filled with shame for ever entertaining the thought of bashing your fine product. There was a grand total of one-hundred-ninety-nine beans in that one little can!

I have decided that Beanee Weenees are a deal at any price! That being said, I'm going to wash the nasty taste of crow out of my mouth with a can of pleasingly delectable Beanee Weenees.

Very Truly Yours,
Cindy Guiton

P.S. I've never squeezed that many animal euphemisms in one letter before.

My Loaded Bucket

For whatever reason, I woke in the middle of the night and began thinking about what I might put on my bucket list. I thought and I thought, but drew nothing but a blank. My fear of heights prevents me from listing things like sky diving, bungee-jumping and parasailing, and my lack of enthusiasm where foreign countries are concerned prevents me from listing a lot of other things.

Rather than a list of things I haven't done, what formed in my mind was a list of things that I have done. It blew me away.

First and foremost, I am the mother of two great children who (in spite of me) turned out to be really good people. Granted, the things I am mentioning in this paragraph are not really what people put on a list of things they would want to do before they die, but this is MY blog and I'll mention whatever I choose. I have two really cool step-children. It's so nice when your step-kids tell you that they love you and you believe them! There are six awesome grandchildren sprinkled in the mix, too.

As for my life experiences, I have:

• been snow, water and jet-skiing as well as snowmobiling.
• gone whitewater rafting.
• sat on Virginia Beach and ate ice cream with all three of my sisters.
• driven the longest bridge in the world, Lake Pontchartrain Causeway. (24 miles)
• driven the Mackinac Bridge. (one of the worlds longest suspension bridges)
• driven the old Sunshine Skyway Bridge in Florida.
• seen buffalo, bear, moose and elk in the wild.
• chased a bull while riding a horse. (tequila courage)
  
• visited Niagara Falls several times.
• been at Mt. Rushmore twice.
• watched in awe as the Northern Lights danced in the sky.
• been on Mt. Mitchell. (the highest peak in NC.)
• played a bass drum in the worlds longest parade. (Detroit 1976)
  
• looked out over the Badlands in South Dakota.
• watched the sun rise over the Atlantic and watched it set on the Gulf of Mexico and Lake Michigan.
• driven on Daytona Beach.
• seen the Rolling Stones in concert, twice.
• ridden my horse on the highest peak in Virginia.
• looked at actual Revolutionary war bullet holes in the Old North Church.
  
• driven much of the Blueridge Parkway.
• literally had my breath taken away by the beauty of the Rocky Mountains.
• bought a coffee cup on Pikes Peak. (after 33 years...I'm still drinking coffee out of that cup)
• had my picture taken by Plymouth Rock.
• seen Tina Turner in concert. She put on an AWESOME show!
• almost gotten caught peeing on the Appalachian Trail.

The last one is not one of my finer moments, but (in my defense) I didn't even realize that I was on the Appalachian Trail at the time. I sought cover behind a boulder and found what looked like a deer path. Thankfully, the bandanna-wearing dog emerged before the hikers.

Spinach-Ranch Pizza Half-Assed Acres Ranch Style

Nothin' we like better here at The Half-Assed Acres Ranch, than some spinach-ranch pizza. It's quick, it's easy and it'll make your taste buds do si do and promenade all over your mouth!

If you're one of those people who has no imagination and has to have exact measurements, then don't waste your time reading any farther. We run a "fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants" operation around here. Sometimes a little chaotic, but it works.

This time I used 9 inch tortillas, because that's what I happened to have in the refrigerator. Even though you only see two in the pics, I actually made three, because the two of us eat like hogs. Suppertime is never pretty at our house.

Rub your baking sheet lightly with oil and lay on the tortillas. Drizzle on the ranch dressing and spread it around with a fork, your fingers or whatever. You vegans and vegetarians might like to try sweet vidalia onion dressing and you can figure out what else to do in order to make the pizza to fit your lifestyle. Load on the spinach leaves! You'll notice that I just piled them on rather than arranging them perfectly, because that's how I roll. If you happen to be a big, prissy, sissy then feel free to arrange them in any fashion you like.

Drain a small can of sliced black olives (a little over 2 ounces) along with a small can of mushrooms and distribute over the spinach. For me a little chopped up left-over chicken served as another nice topping.

Pile on the cheese! No such thing as too much cheese! I used whatever part-skim mozzarella I had along with some kind of 4-cheese Mexican blend. (even though I seriously doubt that the Mexicans had much to do with it) Sometimes I add some Parmesan on top, but I didn't do that this time.

Sprinkle garlic powder over the top and stick them in a 350 degree oven. I think I baked mine for about 20 minutes, but to be perfectly honest, I had had several drinks by the time I put them in the oven and I even had a couple more while they were baking. I guess you can understand why I forgot to keep close track of the baking time. Besides, if you're too stupid to be able to tell when they're done, you probably shouldn't be using an oven in the first place.

Well! Well! Lookie here! I actually remembered to take a picture of the finished product! (when I woke up this morning I was trying to remember if I had gotten a pic after I took them out of the oven)

A little side note: I meant to buy fresh mushrooms, but I forgot. That's why I used the canned mushrooms which were fine, because (around here) we embrace all things half-assed.

Eggs Over-Medium With Love

He likes them scrambled and wouldn't even consider eating any runny yolk. I like them over-medium, but we usually just have scrambled. Easier. Saves time.

I tend to be a little critical. Something that I've noticed about myself and I'm working on that unflattering habit.

So, I bit my tongue this morning when he was frying my over-mediums at a temperature that was clearly too high. I made this conscious effort, because I love him.

While I was eating, it occurred to me that he had prepared eggs that turn his stomach, because he loves me. Enough said.

No. There is one more thing. Those were the best eggs I've ever had.

Counting Sheep Is So Bahahahahd!!! (just like that joke)

How do I lose sleep? Let me count the ways:

1. Hot flashes. There I am snoozing, snuggled under a quilt in my nice, cool bedroom...... when...DING! DING! DING! DING! There's a four alarm fire going on inside my body! Off goes the quilt and I lay, sprawled across the bed to cool down. Before long I begin to snooze again, only to wake up, because I'm shivering in the cold. Big fight with the dog to get my quilt back.


2. I accidentally hang a foot or a hand over the edge of the bed. Anytime an extremity is hanging over the edge of the bed....it just freaks me out! You may find that a little silly, but the fact is: that creature has been living under my bed for 51 years and I doubt that he's going anywhere soon.

3. It's 2:00 AM! For whatever reason 2:00 AM is the magical hour, when I wake and begin to think about things. Things like: what I'll fix for supper that night, anything I may have said that made me look like a dumbass, wonder if I set the alarm, wonder if I set the coffee pot, anything and everything that has pissed me off over the past 30 years, etc.......

4. The dog has nightmares. I wake to soothe her and tell the poor baby that everything is alright.

5. Husband has nightmares. Something is always after him. This starts out with a little moaning and rapidly escalates to hideous screeching and flailing arms. I am jolted awake with a rush of adrenaline, begin screaming at him as I get into "defense mode" protecting my face and head from his large, out-of-control arms. The other night a "big cat" was after him. The dog, who had been asleep on the couch, ran in to see about the commotion. The husband apologized to the dog for waking her up. Here's a confession: Several years ago Mr. Something's-After-Me had pissed me off before we went to bed. As luck would have it, he began having one of "those" nightmares. I slid out of arms reach and whispered, (over and over) "It's gonna gitcha."


6. Husband has to roll over. Imagine me in the middle of a good dream, a really good dream, I mean a REALLY good dream! (Sorry. No juicy dream details. It's my dream) Now, imagine a six foot long, 230 pound fish lying on it's back, right next to me in bed. The fish begins thrashing violently, making odd noises, eventually coming to rest on it's side. So much for my REALLY good dream. Dammit! After a while I drift off to sleep and have nightmares about being stabbed in the stomach with a dorsal fin.