Hello everyone! I hope you had a great Fourth of July. I cleaned and sat around with a bunch of cats and dogs. If someone makes a Twitter hashtag for lame, I'm sure I could lead up the fleet with that fact. But since that's a little depressing, I'm going to start out today's blog with one of my favorite pictures from I Can Has Cheezburger?
Am I really scrutinizing you with an intense scrute? One may never know. I just think this is the cutest thing ever, but I digress.
About a week and a half ago, us slowpokes finally got around to celebrating Aunt Bev's birthday by going to a nearby small town to peruse the shops. Because this involved Aunt Bev and my mom, naturally, I have stories, though Aunt Bev was particularly well behaved until we were on our way home. She didn't really do anything Aunt Bev worthy until then. I guess we're all entitled to our days of normalcy, no matter how disappointing that fact may be.
As we were leaving the house to head out, Aunt Bev shared her thoughts on the day. They were as follows. "I hope we see some dead people in this old town! That's why I wanted to go there!" This came just after I was saying that I hope the spirits are kept to a minimum considering the history of the town, because I didn't know how many more I could take at this point in time.
When we arrived at the town, we realized all the shops they advertised were really just one building with a bunch of stuff in it, so we continued about eight miles down the road to a bigger mountainous town that none of us had been to for awhile. As soon as we got into town, my mom and Aunt Bev did what they do best and announced they were hungry. Their stipulations were that they wanted to go somewhere different and that we should look out for anywhere that had a lot of bikers or truckers, because those were usually the good restaurants. I found them one, but they thought it was hinky looking and there were too many bikers, and they didn't want to eat there. My people are scared out of town restaurants. You can take them anywhere but out. We ended up at Ruby Tuesday, but not before I had a mishap of my own.
As we were driving back toward Ruby Tuesday, me still trying to find a different restaurant than what we had at home, I turned my head to the left and saw a place with both bikers and truckers, and that had several people sitting at tables near these big windows that made up the front of the building. I suggested we eat there, so we turned around to go back. It was a laundromat. I'll give you all a minute with that.
Look, in my defense, which I hardly have one, I didn't read the sign. I know I should have, but I was too busy looking at the people sitting at tables. What kind of laundromat has tables all in the front of it? You couldn't even see the machines because of them. Also, by the looks of the building, it used to be a restaurant that was turned into a laundromat. Look, I know I'm never going to live this down, which is why I shared it with you. You all may as well laugh too. It's fine. But someone out there, *points to Portia*, needs to stop comparing me to FIL. (Unless you're one of three or four people, you're not going to get that reference. I would prefer to keep it that way.) I am not as stupid as FIL. He does stupid stuff on a daily basis. I had a senior moment, no offense to seniors. That's just cold, Portia. That's damn cold.
After we ate our good, but expensive meal, we decided to go to a little shopping center filled with local shops and antique stores. This always sounds like a good idea in theory, but when you're a psychic medium, this never ends up being such a good idea. The first store was lovely, but I only got part way through it before I was hit by such energy that I couldn't continue into the store. It was very awkward, but it was fine, because I had these to entertain me.
For a brief moment, I wanted to buy them all and become the crazy lawn fairy lady. And by brief moment, I mean I'm still disappointed this wasn't feasible for me to do.
When those lost their sparkle and luster, I found this lovely little display. I sent this picture into Ellen Degeneres. I thought it was worthy. As Aunt Bev said, it's like the sign that says, "drinking can cause memory loss or worse, memory loss."
As we perused the rest of the shops, I found a lot of spirits that really wanted their stuff back or didn't give their kids permission to sell it through a consignment antique shop. Since nothing short of reclaiming their item and taking it back to their children and yelling was going to make them happy, I tried to ignore them, but also avoided some of the shops. That was until we came across a clothing store that sold only new clothes. I thought it was safe to go in there. I was wrong. This conversation erupted.
Mom: "Ooh, Dickies!"
Aunt Bev: "I LOVE Dickies!"
Then they wouldn't stop saying Dickies. Now get your mind out of the gutter, people. They were talking about these, but once we got out of the store, I can't say you would know that.
This incident was possibly only rivaled by us running into the people my mom works for, the people she never actually sees back home, but now that we're over an hour away, they were in the same desolate store as us. Someone has a sense of humor. I approve.
We knew we weren't in our town anymore when we walked around the shopping complex and found this as the backdrop. We were in the middle of nowhere and it was beautiful there. I instantly wanted to move, but realized that unless I was planning on living in a refrigerator box, lest I be lucky enough to snag myself one of those babies, it probably wasn't going to happen.
We headed out of that town without a shopping bag to our name and made our way back to the original town we had started in. The place was a neat old opera house and mill that had been made into twenty shops, which was really just shelves of stuff that apparently came from twenty shops, but it was neat. The biggest cause of ridiculousness didn't seem to be the dead people, though the place was well over one hundred years old, yet the lady in the parking lot who rode on our ass, pulled into the parking lot at lightening speed, cut us off, parked, left her car on and running and her turn signal on. This was understandable if Chicken Little had failed to deliver a message or she was at the hospital. The lady did all of that to buy a shirt with the name of the town on it. It took her forever to pick that damn shirt out, too. She almost broke something while picking said shirt out.
With all this excitement under our belts, we waited for shirt lady to leave and then headed back out of the mountains and toward home. We stopped at Dairy Queen, which seemed to be where it all went wrong, or maybe it all went right, depending on your view of things.
The trip to Dairy Queen started out with this sign, because it's Pennsylvania. We need signs for everything, except for road names. Those signs always seem to be missing, while these signs reign all over every dang there in the tri-county area.
I did, however, learn a very important lesson from this trip to Dairy Queen. I learned that you can't take old people anywhere to eat, and by old, I mean anyone allowed to hold their own spoon. Here's why.
We got our ice cream and headed out to the car to eat it. We're weird people. If we can eat it in our car, we will. It's cleaner there. As we're sitting in the car, Aunt Bev, who has a chocolate mocha shake, all of a sudden exclaims, "I just dripped something on me. I have no idea where it came from." We waited a few minutes. The wait didn't disappoint, because the next thing we know it, she says, "It leaked again! Where in the heck is it leaking from? I look like a slob!" She was honestly befuddled as to where the leak was coming from. To this day I suspect that shake.
But the best part of this might possibly be that my mom spilled something on herself at lunch, so they now had matching stains. By only the grace of God, we got home without further incident. I did manage to bring home a new spirit, though. She left kind of quickly. I guess I just wasn't her cup of tea.
Am I really scrutinizing you with an intense scrute? One may never know. I just think this is the cutest thing ever, but I digress.About a week and a half ago, us slowpokes finally got around to celebrating Aunt Bev's birthday by going to a nearby small town to peruse the shops. Because this involved Aunt Bev and my mom, naturally, I have stories, though Aunt Bev was particularly well behaved until we were on our way home. She didn't really do anything Aunt Bev worthy until then. I guess we're all entitled to our days of normalcy, no matter how disappointing that fact may be.
As we were leaving the house to head out, Aunt Bev shared her thoughts on the day. They were as follows. "I hope we see some dead people in this old town! That's why I wanted to go there!" This came just after I was saying that I hope the spirits are kept to a minimum considering the history of the town, because I didn't know how many more I could take at this point in time.
When we arrived at the town, we realized all the shops they advertised were really just one building with a bunch of stuff in it, so we continued about eight miles down the road to a bigger mountainous town that none of us had been to for awhile. As soon as we got into town, my mom and Aunt Bev did what they do best and announced they were hungry. Their stipulations were that they wanted to go somewhere different and that we should look out for anywhere that had a lot of bikers or truckers, because those were usually the good restaurants. I found them one, but they thought it was hinky looking and there were too many bikers, and they didn't want to eat there. My people are scared out of town restaurants. You can take them anywhere but out. We ended up at Ruby Tuesday, but not before I had a mishap of my own.
As we were driving back toward Ruby Tuesday, me still trying to find a different restaurant than what we had at home, I turned my head to the left and saw a place with both bikers and truckers, and that had several people sitting at tables near these big windows that made up the front of the building. I suggested we eat there, so we turned around to go back. It was a laundromat. I'll give you all a minute with that.
Look, in my defense, which I hardly have one, I didn't read the sign. I know I should have, but I was too busy looking at the people sitting at tables. What kind of laundromat has tables all in the front of it? You couldn't even see the machines because of them. Also, by the looks of the building, it used to be a restaurant that was turned into a laundromat. Look, I know I'm never going to live this down, which is why I shared it with you. You all may as well laugh too. It's fine. But someone out there, *points to Portia*, needs to stop comparing me to FIL. (Unless you're one of three or four people, you're not going to get that reference. I would prefer to keep it that way.) I am not as stupid as FIL. He does stupid stuff on a daily basis. I had a senior moment, no offense to seniors. That's just cold, Portia. That's damn cold.
After we ate our good, but expensive meal, we decided to go to a little shopping center filled with local shops and antique stores. This always sounds like a good idea in theory, but when you're a psychic medium, this never ends up being such a good idea. The first store was lovely, but I only got part way through it before I was hit by such energy that I couldn't continue into the store. It was very awkward, but it was fine, because I had these to entertain me.
For a brief moment, I wanted to buy them all and become the crazy lawn fairy lady. And by brief moment, I mean I'm still disappointed this wasn't feasible for me to do.When those lost their sparkle and luster, I found this lovely little display. I sent this picture into Ellen Degeneres. I thought it was worthy. As Aunt Bev said, it's like the sign that says, "drinking can cause memory loss or worse, memory loss."
As we perused the rest of the shops, I found a lot of spirits that really wanted their stuff back or didn't give their kids permission to sell it through a consignment antique shop. Since nothing short of reclaiming their item and taking it back to their children and yelling was going to make them happy, I tried to ignore them, but also avoided some of the shops. That was until we came across a clothing store that sold only new clothes. I thought it was safe to go in there. I was wrong. This conversation erupted.Mom: "Ooh, Dickies!"
Aunt Bev: "I LOVE Dickies!"
Then they wouldn't stop saying Dickies. Now get your mind out of the gutter, people. They were talking about these, but once we got out of the store, I can't say you would know that.
This incident was possibly only rivaled by us running into the people my mom works for, the people she never actually sees back home, but now that we're over an hour away, they were in the same desolate store as us. Someone has a sense of humor. I approve.
We knew we weren't in our town anymore when we walked around the shopping complex and found this as the backdrop. We were in the middle of nowhere and it was beautiful there. I instantly wanted to move, but realized that unless I was planning on living in a refrigerator box, lest I be lucky enough to snag myself one of those babies, it probably wasn't going to happen.
We headed out of that town without a shopping bag to our name and made our way back to the original town we had started in. The place was a neat old opera house and mill that had been made into twenty shops, which was really just shelves of stuff that apparently came from twenty shops, but it was neat. The biggest cause of ridiculousness didn't seem to be the dead people, though the place was well over one hundred years old, yet the lady in the parking lot who rode on our ass, pulled into the parking lot at lightening speed, cut us off, parked, left her car on and running and her turn signal on. This was understandable if Chicken Little had failed to deliver a message or she was at the hospital. The lady did all of that to buy a shirt with the name of the town on it. It took her forever to pick that damn shirt out, too. She almost broke something while picking said shirt out.With all this excitement under our belts, we waited for shirt lady to leave and then headed back out of the mountains and toward home. We stopped at Dairy Queen, which seemed to be where it all went wrong, or maybe it all went right, depending on your view of things.
The trip to Dairy Queen started out with this sign, because it's Pennsylvania. We need signs for everything, except for road names. Those signs always seem to be missing, while these signs reign all over every dang there in the tri-county area.
I did, however, learn a very important lesson from this trip to Dairy Queen. I learned that you can't take old people anywhere to eat, and by old, I mean anyone allowed to hold their own spoon. Here's why.We got our ice cream and headed out to the car to eat it. We're weird people. If we can eat it in our car, we will. It's cleaner there. As we're sitting in the car, Aunt Bev, who has a chocolate mocha shake, all of a sudden exclaims, "I just dripped something on me. I have no idea where it came from." We waited a few minutes. The wait didn't disappoint, because the next thing we know it, she says, "It leaked again! Where in the heck is it leaking from? I look like a slob!" She was honestly befuddled as to where the leak was coming from. To this day I suspect that shake.
But the best part of this might possibly be that my mom spilled something on herself at lunch, so they now had matching stains. By only the grace of God, we got home without further incident. I did manage to bring home a new spirit, though. She left kind of quickly. I guess I just wasn't her cup of tea.
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