Monkling's Blog

When it gets cold out, sometimes we get mice in our attic. I have no idea how they get up there or why they go there. It’s not like there’s any food up there and it really isn’t all that warm. Regardless, every couple of years, 1 or 2 wander in & we hear the little mouse footsteps as Mickey and Minnie run around.

I hate creepy creatures. That would include anything that can be termed a bug and a rodent. (And let’s not get into pigeons, which are kind of like flying rodents. Not as nasty as bats, but annoying.) I may have married a man named after St. Francis but that doesn’t mean I have to buy into the whole, “Oh, let me love every creature on God’s earth.” Nope. The only good mouse is a dead mouse.

Thus, the traps. I went for overkill. There were maybe about 6 up there, all baited with peanut butter. (Hmmm… too bad I didn’t buy any of the recalled brand. Now that would have been double kill!) I set them up around the perimeters of the attic. Then I waited.

The next day, I went on my mouse hunt. I carefully opened up the attic stairs. You never know if one of them was standing up there at the edge, awaiting revenge, ready to hurl one of his dead companions at me. The coast seemed clear. I climbed upstairs.

Armed with a heavy flashlight, I checked the traps. They were all in place, all unsprung – except for one. It was gone. Now I know sometimes when they spring, they can fly off a bit. Carefully, I looked behind boxes, examined insulation. Nothing. I sent Frank up when he got home from work. He moved some boxes out of the way, came back down and announced that there was no mouse or mouse trap in sight.

Today I went up again. I searched the attic from front to back. I’m figuring the mouse apparently wasn’t killed and crawled off with the trap still attached but just how far could he have gotten? I crawled around, shining a flashlight into every possible spot a mouse with a trap hanging off him could have been hiding. Nothing.

I’m thinking they are up to something. They took the trap and hid it just to make us nuts. Next time I go up into the attic, I will see 40 traps. Only they’ll be human size. And the suitcases will be gone because they packed them up and left for Disneyland.

We all fall down – from weakness what with the lack of eating and all. Okay, fine. I’m exaggerating. It’s what I do best. No, that’s not true. What I do best is make wise ass comments.

So for those of you who are not Catholic, today’s a day of fasting. That means 3 small meals, no snack. While that doesn’t sound like a hardship (& it really isn’t) the mere fact that one cannot eat anything in between meals is enough to make one think they are famished.

Actually we are a bunch of wimps. It’s not like we’re doing the Yom Kippur thing. Now that is serious fasting. I’m not sure if the rules are different if you’re a moderate Jew or a conservative but I do know my friend & her family ate dinner the night before and then ate absolutely nothing until sundown the next day. Not even water. Nothing.

Then there’s me. I keep hearing things call out to me. Sounds from the refrigerator: “Come on. I know you gave up goodies but you can have a carrot or 2 or 3465. Sure you can. Pretend it’s just part of your dinner that you forgot to eat earlier.”

When I was in the basement getting the clothes out of the dryer, a bag of pretzels tried to jump into the laundry basket. They were claiming they’re not really snacks and who’s going to know if I ate in between meals, anyway.”

Oh, no. I’m having auditory hallucinations. It must be from hunger…

Normally I like to be faithful to tradition. Mardi Gras, to me, means New Orleans, beads and Cajun food. Usually I cook Cajun food for Mardi Gras. That was before I discovered this Italian pastry thing so today, instead of Fat Tuesday, we’re going Italian: Buon Carnevale!

This is what converted me was this recipe found on another blog, Bleeding Espresso:

They’re called by different names and there are a dozen different recipes so, since no one could concur with exactly how to make them, I made up my own recipe. The result – little pastry strips of heaven.

I will try not to eat them before Frank gets home from work tonight. I’m sure he’d like them if only he got a chance to taste one or two.

In case you are wondering what seminarians living in Rome cook for Mardi Gras, apparently it’s gumbo. Large quantities of it. We spoke to Steve on Sunday and he was complaining that his hands still smelled of garlic from 2 days before. (It seems he was in charge of chopping onion & garlic.)

I’d write some more but I have to go run inside to eat some more.

Last night I was a horse. Twice. That is not a typo. Luckily, I did not have to dress up in one of those horse suits where I could possibly get stuck being a horse’s ass.

It happened like this – we went to a fund raising event. It was one of those Night at the Races things. I had been to one years ago and they used films back then for the races. Ah, well it seems the Knights of Columbus are more into the whole interactive experience.

So there I am, sitting and minding my own business, when one of the guys running it passes by our table and asks me if I want to be a horse. I’m not quite sure he actually said, “Hey, you look like you’d make a good horse! Get up there,” but we’ll go with that version.

Did any of you watch that show Romper Room when you were kids? Remember they had those horses on a pole and used to race around to some song? “Oh, come with us and gallop….” It was a pole with a horse’s head. That’s what I had last night.

There were 8 horses per race. There was a grid drawn on the floor and horses moved based on dice. I came in dead last both times. It wasn’t bad enough the first time. Oh, no. Being a loser once just wasn’t good enough.

There was someone there with a video camera. If that thing ends up on YouTube, there’s going to be trouble….

No, I am not having one. I do, however, have a whole lot of questions about the whole thing. Since I’m not having one, I suspect that’s why I have questions. Otherwise I expect I’d know the answers.

For instance, should I be having one? Is there something wrong with me because I haven’t had one? (Wait. That’s not a fair question. Everyone knows there’s something wrong with me.) Am I just a late starter and will a midlife crisis suddenly sneak up on me? What if I already had it but missed it entirely because I didn’t know I was having it? If I don’t have one until I’m 70, does it still count as a ‘midlife crisis’ or will it then be called a ‘late-life crisis’?

You see? Tons of questions. I just don’t get the whole thing. I don’t need to find myself. I already know where I am. I’m right here in the den/office sitting in front of the computer.

What if we break down the phrase? Maybe that will make it easier to understand. Let’s see: midlife. Well it’s the middle of your life, right? On the other hand, how do you truly know you’re at the middle until you get to the end? If I had suddenly kicked the bucket at 30, that would mean midlife for me would have been at 15 and how the heck would I have known that at 15? And I certainly can’t be at midlife now because that would mean I have to live to be 100 and quite frankly, I’m really not sure I want to get that old.

Forget figuring out the ‘midlife’ part and let’s move on to ‘crisis.’ Now why is it called a crisis, anyway? A crisis is a big emergency. Is redefining yourself an emergency? Will people’s lives hang in the balance while you’re having a midlife crisis? I guess maybe that’s possible but I don’t think it’s likely. Personally any of my crises involve losing Internet access or running out of coffee or not having any snacks in the house. Now those are true emergencies.

I propose we rename the phrase. Don’t ask me what we’d rename it to. I have no idea. Hey I just come up with the big ideas. Let others work on the details.

I posted on Facebook yesterday that I was having a problem with what I’m calling Blogger’s Block. I figured the second I said it, ideas would just flood my brain. They didn’t, although my brother was kind enough to reply to my Facebook post saying, “Maybe you should eat more fiber!” Maybe I should have had him filling in for me here.

The problem is, things have been too quiet around here. Not that I mind quiet but there’s nothing funny to write about it, either. Ya’ll better hope the weather warms up soon & I get out of this house more or you’ll all be checking my blog to use as a sedative.

I have a really good stock for all of you to buy into. Well, not exactly a company. Just a generalization. Buy stock in companies that make moisturizer. Seriously, with all the baby boomers who are hitting menopause & peri-menopause, I’m telling ya, that stuff is going to go flying off the shelves.

No one ever told me it would be like this. I did hear something about dry skin. I thought to myself, “Well how bad can that be? So you use some moisturizer.” Having had somewhat oily skin my entire life, I was clueless.

No one explained the details to me. No one told me just how bad it would get. They failed to say that it wasn’t just dry skin. It was so dry that you feel like ripping your skin right off and you have to slather on an entire bottle of moisturizer every single day.

I don’t much like this getting old stuff. Nor do I like the whole mental-pause crap. Nope, don’t like it one single bit.

Go. Run to the nearest online trading website. Prices are down now. Get that moisturizer stock. I’m telling ya, you’ll be rich in 5 years.

I stole this off Facebook from my friend. The reason I stole it is because I just think it looks really cool:

No, that is not anything disgusting hanging off his nose. Those are icicles, plain & simple. And oh, look – Larry (the photographer) seems to have drawn some graffiti in the shape of a heart on it. Let’s just hope he doesn’t get arrested for defacing a Long Island Landmark.

Seeing the duck has made me want to go on a quest. When the weather gets warmer, I have decided I am going to take photos of strange things in NY (& anywhere else I may wander) and post about them. If I don’t know the actual history of any particular item, I will make stuff up. Heck, I think I might make stuff up, anyway. The time is quickly approached to whip out that camera.

Aren’t we all supposed to be out watching some horror movie tonight because it’s Friday the 13th? The most horrifying thing I encountered today was when I went to the Italian grocery and they were out of fresh ravioli. Can you believe I had to buy frozen ones? What is the world coming to these day?

They’re for tomorrow’s dinner. We don’t go out for Valentine’s Day. Way too crowded. We’ll probably go out Sunday or Monday instead. I did, however, leave a box of candy and a card in Theresa’s car last night. Then today I sat wondering all day if she had any reason to go out to her car yet. Haven’t heard a word so I’m guessing no. I wonder what happened to that candy, sitting in the car, with the sun beating down on it all day.

Oh, and the card? Care Bears. I couldn’t resist. It reminded me of when the kids were little.

Getting back to the whole scary Friday the 13th thing – ya know, when you live in a house that has 2 floors and you’re upstairs folding clothes and you hear noises downstairs, it can freak you out just a bit. Or if you’re not prone to getting freaked out, it will at least make you pause for a minute and wonder who the heck is in your house.

I swear to you, the noise sounded like someone coming in the front door and I knew it couldn’t be Frank because it was an hour early. And the dog is in the back of the house. Apparently, though, if he thumps down hard enough, the sound echoes through the entire house. You’d think for a 13 1/2 year old dog to plop down like that, he’d break something. Seriously. There are times the entire floor will vibrate.

And now I hear the front door for real. Time to go warm up dinner for my Valentine.

Finally – the last of the 25. Thinking these things up sure hasn’t been a picnic.

19. I hated every single moment of junior high school. For 3 years I was tortured by my ‘friends’ and classmates and was made fun of for everything imaginable. That horribly shy, socially awkward kid? Yeah that would have been me.

High school was a bit better but only because there were so many in the school, it was easier to get lost in the crowd. One of the torturer/friends from junior high and high school wrote in my yearbook, “I hope you make many friends that are nicer to you.”

And yes, I have, thank you.

20. I never liked playing with dolls. I did not own a Barbie doll. I might have when I was very young but after that, it was just too tame. I’d much rather be outside running around, playing ball with the boys.

Unfortunately, once I hit around 11 or 12, my sports playing days were over. The boys enforced a “no girls allowed” rule and that was the end of it.

21. I don’t wear make-up. I will wear it if I’m going to a wedding or something but otherwise, nothing. It’s not because I have anything against it. It just seems way too much trouble & I’m lazy. Plus I just don’t like how it feels. Then there’s the part where you can’t touch your eyes or you’ll end up looking like a raccoon and with all my allergies, that is an issue.

22. I don’t lie & I hate being lied to. Not only do I not lie, I can’t. The kids found this out ages ago & use it to their advantage. It’s not that I don’t attempt to lie if they were to ask me something I don’t want to answer. It’s just that they can tell I am lying. My face is a dead giveaway. Guess I better never go for Professional Poker Player as a career choice.

23. I have 4 children, not 2. I lost 2 boys in 1992. I’ve found that any time I mention that, it’s usually met with dead silence. It’s not like I bring it up all the time or that it just creeps into everyday conversation but it is what it is.

And I’ll tell ya something else. After enduring 4 months apiece of pregnancy and 3 months apiece of morning sickness, I’m darn well going to acknowledge those other 2 boys & I don’t much care if it makes people uncomfortable.

24. When we were growing up, I couldn’t stand my sister. Oddly enough, it turns out that she’s my closest friend now that we’re adults. (It’s okay for me to admit this here where she can see it. She knows this.)

The reason I didn’t like her is because she was the good daughter. She was how my father wanted me to be; a little girly girl. I was the daughter who always got in trouble, who mouthed off all the time.

25. I am a conservative, magisterium following Catholic. (I may have just made up a phrase.) That doesn’t mean I’m a saint. I can go through the list of 7 deadly sins and find a whole bunch of things that are my pitfalls.

And now back to your regularly scheduled blog stories.