Filed under: mi familia

Odds and Ends

Tonight while I was cooking dinner I noticed Marco trying to shove himself under the stove, which was kind of interesting since he’s about the size of a fully-grown Jack Russell terrier these days. After watching him for about five minutes while stirring the food, I finally realized that he must have knocked a mouse under the stove. So I got down on the floor and pulled out the oven drawer and found not one, but NINETEEN toy mice under the stove. Damn. There are rabbit fur mice and gingham mice and felt mice and yarn mice. There are mice with yarn tails and mice with feather tails and mice with no tails at all. There are mice with catnip and mice without catnip.

Because I’m stupid, I pulled all nineteen of them out and put them in the toy basket, and the cats have been going absolutely batshit crazy over them all night. So! Many! Mousies! They hardly know what to play with first. So instead of just picking one, they’ve been racing around with one after another and now my entire house is littered with toy mice, their basket is upside-down, and their bed is halfway across the living room from its usual spot.

Actually, Marco appears to have finally worn himself out, as he is conked out in the middle of the kitchen floor. For pictures of his random decision to hang out under the back door rug the other night, check out the newest additions to my Flickr photostream over there on the right.

I got scorched this weekend. Yesterday I went to a baseball game with my mom and dad for Father’s Day and it was only about 90 degrees and blisteringly sunny, and despite my fair skin and my history of bad sunburns, I forgot sunscreen. I’m a dumbass. Honestly, I know how bad it is to get these sunburns, and I certainly don’t enjoy them, but on the other hand I tend to burn almost as badly with seventeen layers of SPF 150 as I do with nothing at all, which is why it’s easy to forget to put on sunscreen when I should. Sometimes it feels like it doesn’t help at all. So now I’m fried. And it hurts. And I know, I’m going to get melanoma, believe me I have worried about this so no need to admonish me about it. And you may also check out my hideous shoulders in Flickr if you’re so inclined.

The thing that sucks is that all day long when my coworkers saw my sunburn they would ask me if I finally made it to the pool this weekend, so I ended up telling the broken swimsuit story about a million times today. Or maybe three to five times. It’s hard to say for sure.

When I was at home, we located my 1996 Speedo among Sammi’s college things, and I tried it on. And it’s a good thing I didn’t wear it to the pool, because the fabric on the ass of that suit is so worn-out that you can see my buttcrack right through it. The homeowner’s association put out a written set of rules about the pool a few weeks ago, and one of the rules is specifically that the pool is to be family-friendly, and so no string bikinis or skimpy suits are allowed. With this chest, the string bikini won’t be a problem, but I’m guessing that even a full-coverage Speedo might count as skimpy if the ass is completely see-through. I took another spare suit from Family HQ but I’m guessing it’s probably time to do some serious suit-shopping. JOY. I just can’t wait.

I am also supposed to tell you that in the car yesterday, my mom was trying to talk about the intro to a song, and instead of calling it the teaser she called it the tinkle. It seems that if a song has a really good tinkle, then you’ll be more likely to want to hear the rest of it. Mom also thinks that the words that run across the bottom of the screen on FOX News are called the scrawl. We think this is terribly adorable.

And that’s all I have for you today.

10 Comments June 19, 2006

Watch Out For The Cletuses

Family Headquarters is located in a very redneck neighborhood. Although their house is likely the least rednecky in the neighborhood, I’m still embarrassed to invite you there unless I know you really well, because you have to drive by the neighbors’ houses before you can get to my parents’ house. I have tried to teleport in from the main road and it never seems to work.

They talk about moving sometimes but, so far, haven’t made any serious plans to move away. It’s in a convenient location, my Nanie lives next door, Jamie’s still in high school, it’s pretty cheap to live there, and they live on the top of this big hill on several acres of land. The views up there are beautiful, and if you don’t look down you can sometimes pretend the shitty neighbors’ trailers don’t exist.

Some of the neighbors – just a few – keep their property in good condition and, for the most part, seem to be good people. The rest of them are insane.

The place next door to my parents on the left is a rental property, and for a while last year the property was occupied by a family we’ll call the Cletuses, since that’s what we called them (secretly) the entire time they lived there. The Cletuses seemed like they were good people at first. They helped out with some stuff on our land, and they were friendly, and they seemed to be cleaning up their place and my dad, who has a workshop out back, loaned them some of his power tools so they could build and fix things.

Sammi told us that she thought this family was the same family that had come through the drive-through at her McDonald’s once and threatened to call the police because when they got their order it was short a cheeseburger, but since she hadn’t actually witnessed this and they seemed nice enough, we figured it was just a rumor.

But they were just weird. They had possibly a million children, and they behaved oddly, and one of their kids just randomly showed up at our house sometimes to talk, and I don’t know. They were a little strange.

The Cletuses had a wooden storage shed in their side yard, kind of between their house and ours. Some time after they moved in, it came to our attention that they had a guy living in the storage shed.

And then, evidently, they evicted the guy and put a padlock on the shed.

And then, in the middle of the night, the shed renter came back and busted up the door to his shed-home with an axe and got all his shit out of there where it had been held hostage by the Cletuses.

I don’t know if it was related to the shed renter or not, but not too long after that incident, the Cletuses out of the blue packed up all their shit and moved away, possibly also in the middle of the night although I’m not sure about that. They took my dad’s circular saw, which was only worth, you know, a couple hundred dollars. And they left behind their pregnant cat.

As it turned out, that part worked out okay, because three days after we trapped the pregnant cat and brought her in the house, she had a litter of kittens which included Abby and Marco.

So I guess I could thank the Cletuses for that, if I knew where to find them.

For the record, this post was originally intended to be a story about the gun-totin’ redneck children in my parents’ neighborhood, but this has gotten long so I’ll have to tell you that one another time.

1 Comment June 10, 2006

Longest Tuesday Ever

Ugh, I feel like crap today. I think I’ve been getting sick all weekend, but yesterday I thought the tiredness and coughing were just results of our road trip to Charlotte on Sunday to see Kelly Clarkson. Make fun of me all you want to – the show was awesome. Even Sammi, who’s very rock-not-pop and started the concert standing there all sullen in her emo glasses and her black ONE tee and ratty jeans and Chucks, said at the end that she was surprised and impressed, and that Kelly rocked harder than she’d thought possible. It was the first overnight road trip for the four Hoovgirls, and a good time was had by all.

Also, for those of you who care, Sasha crept around the house all freaked out for about an hour after we got home on Friday, and since then she’s been back to her happy self. I’m going to be very busy and traveling frequently over the next few weeks, but once my schedule settles down a bit I will probably find a pair of kittens to come live with me.

I want to go to sleep.

3 Comments July 26, 2005

3 Down, 1 to Go

Today is my sister Sammi’s 18th birthday. She knows that we all love her and wish her a great year, but you can leave messages to that effect in the comments as well, if you wish. She’s an obedient younger sister and reads daily.

8 Comments May 24, 2005

Jamison, Manservant

This family is big on weird nicknames. I was known as Stumpy the Christmas Elf for way too long, and I suspect that this will become a popular nickname again since I’ve just reminded my sisters they gave it to me.

As the youngest child and the constant victim of our taunting abuses, Jamie’s probably had the most nicknames. Once, when she was a toddler, she randomly told us to “just call her Stripey,” and so we did for a while. When she was about five and in her first years of basketball, we called her Home Fries. I don’t know why. A few years ago, she was J.Ho. Her teammates call her J.Hoov. And we – well, we call her Jamison, Manservant.

Jamie actually came up with this all on her own one day, as we were walking out of the grocery store. She was carrying all the shopping bags and said we ought to just call her Jamison, and she could be our manservant. And so it went. Now, we’re calling her Jamison pretty much all the time.

Through a combination of her natural helpful personality and that whole youngest-child thing, Jay has been the go-to person for fetching things, picking things up, taking things to other places, and all other manner of household servitude practically since she learned to walk. Sometimes she gets mad and throws a fit and refuses, and sometimes she actually offers to help. And besides, “Jamison” has a good ring to it. It has such a good ring, in fact, that it’s permeated the household.

So, yeah. We call her Jamison all the time. And when we colored eggs for Easter, we had one of those wax crayons to use for drawing stuff on the eggs, and that’s how we ended up with a Jamison Easter egg. We also had a Midget Easter egg, but I don’t really know what the story was there. Mom becomes Momison. Dad becomes Dadison. When we drive on the “new-and-improved” Jamison Avenue, we’re all, hey, it’s your road!

And of all the nicknames we’ve called her over the years, this is the one she seems to mind the least.

4 Comments May 12, 2005

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