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My Home…Where the Buffalo Roam

April 10, 2014

Unprofessional Buffalo Picture

Unprofessional Buffalo Photograph

Three years ago, I moved about a mile down from where I used to live.  Don’t ask why I’d move a mile down the road, it’s a long story and not really relevant to what I’m about to tell you.  Anyway, I moved and immediately, my new neighbors all welcomed me in the same fashion you used to see on old TV shows like Leave it to Beaver.  I had lived on this very road for 10 years, and only one person had even noticed my arrival.  But I move a mile down the road, and I get adopted into a farm family by people who are technically my neighbors, but if I wanted to drop in and visit them, I’d have to drive because I’m too lazy to walk that far.

After years and years, I finally hit the neighbor jackpot.  I was on the receiving end of home cooked food, party invites, and random friendly visits.  I loved all the neighborly visits, but the ones I most enjoyed were from Joe.  Joe was in his 80’s, I think, and he’d drive over in his Subaru.  I knew he couldn’t get around all that great, so when I saw him pull in, I’d run out to the driveway and chat with him while he sat in his car.  Joe always made me laugh and his visits were a welcome distraction from the mundane household chores that were usually occupying my time.

I’ll never forget that one morning in December, just a few days before Christmas.  I was a stay at home mom at the time, the kids were all home on Christmas break and I was trying to enjoy a morning of sleeping in, when I felt the dog putting her paw on my head, telling me she wanted to go out.  I tried to ignore her, but she kept pawing my head and whining.  Grudgingly, I got out of bed, and for some odd reason, I just happened to look out the window before heading to the door to let her out.

As I looked out the window, I couldn’t believe what I saw.  My first thought was that I was in some sort of dream state and I just thought I was awake.  I turned my back from the window, waited a few seconds, and turned back around.  They were still there – two very large buffalo* were just casually grazing on the dead grass right in my backyard.  I didn’t know whether to pick up a phone or a camera.  Luckily, I did both.

I grabbed my cell and snapped a few pictures from the window.  Then I picked up the phone, but I wasn’t exactly sure whom I should call.  After a minute of thinking, I dialed Joe’s number.  He owned a farm; it seemed the most logical choice.

Joe answered and I told him who I was, and then I said, “Joe, by chance are you missing some buffalo?”  I was met with dead silence on the other end of the phone.  I felt the need to say something more.  “Joe, there are some buffalo in my yard, and I know you have a farm, so I just wanted to check and see if some of your buffalo were missing, per chance.”

Joe remained silent for a few seconds more, and then said, “Are you sure they’re buffalo?  I don’t have any buffalo.  Maybe they are cows?”

“No, Joe, I’m sure they aren’t cows,” I replied.

“Oh, you know, Sharon has horses.  I bet Sharon’s horses got loose,” he said, matter of factly.

“Joe,” I answered, “I know what horses and cows look like.  These are buffalo.  My third grade teacher took us on a field trip to the Litter Farm, so I’ve seen buffalo before and they are in my backyard right now.”

Until the day I die, I’ll never forget what he said to me next.  “Michelle, this is the strangest phone call I have ever received in my entire life.  Have you been drinking?”

“NO!” I exclaimed, “It’s 9 a.m.! I don’t drink until after 5 p.m.  I swear!” Apparently, there’s a nasty rumor out there that I enjoy a cocktail or five every now and then. And quite frankly, after the week I’ve had, I may just very well start drinking at 9 a.m., but that’s neither here nor there, and I certainly wasn’t doing that on December 21, 2011.

Since Mr. Joe thought I was a stark raving alcoholic lunatic suffering from hallucinations, I did what any reasonable person would do and posted my buffalo pic to Facebook and asked if anyone had lost any buffalo.  Later that day as I strolled the aisles of The Krog, doing my grocery shopping, I got 800 phone calls about the damn buffalo, including one from the local newspaper, who promptly did a story about the stray wildlife in my yard, complete with my photographic evidence, which eventually led to the owner of the missing buffalo.

Luckily, the buffalo owner was able to capture his two wayward half-ton babies and corral them safely into his new buffalo farm 1.5 miles down the road, and minus that one lapse in judgment I haven’t had any more dealings with stray buffalo.

However, I do think the next time I run into beasts in my yard, I’ll be shooting something other than pictures…


*Yes, I know they are technically bison, so spare me the know-it-all emails.   I chose to use the term buffalo in exercising  my creative liberty and as homage to my redneck roots.

Mother of the Year. Not!

April 3, 2014

motherSo, I was waiting for one of my many children to come home from track practice to start making my very nutritious dinner of chicken nuggets and curly fries so it would be fairly hot and what-not, and I look at the clock and see it’s nearly 7 p.m.  I thought it was really odd for track practice to last so long.  Naturally, as any worried mother would do, I texted him to find out where in the hell he was.

photo (2)Needless to say, I think I just knocked myself out of the running for the Mother of the Year trophy.  Is there a trophy for Most Mediocre Mom Ever? Thanks to Mrs. H for bringing him home! Now there’s a lady who knows where her kid is…and mine too.

Are You in a Miserable State?

March 11, 2014

WVSo I was perusing The Yahoo today and one of the articles caught my eye. It was titled “The Nation’s Most Miserable States” so you know I had to read it.  I wanted to see if my state made the list and, just in case I decided to relocate on a whim, I wanted to make sure I didn’t move to any of the others that might have ranked in the top ten.

Not surprisingly, my state DID make the list.  We’re Number 5, which coincidentally happens to be my favorite number.  So I’m really torn…I’m glad that we we’re Number 5 because it’s my favorite number (yay!), but I’m sad we made the top 10 in the list of miserable states (boo!).

What I did find surprising was that Louisana came in at Number 10.  I hear tell they have drive-thru daiquiri stands down there. How can that be miserable?! Sounds like heaven to me.  Plus, it’s the south and always warm and there’s an ocean nearby.  Granted, they have hurricanes that wipe out creation every now and then, but still, they have basically what’s equivalent to a drive-thru bar down there.  So even if you’re miserable, all you have to do is take a drive to the nearest daiquiri stand.  Whoever wrote this list must be in AA.

Coming in at Number 9, we have Oklahoma.  Now this I can’t disagree with, other than I’m surprised it wasn’t ranked higher in the list.  I can’t think of one thing that sounds appealing about Oklahoma.  I don’t even like their college mascot for cryin’ out loud.  What the hell is a Sooner anyways? Plus, they’re in the shadow of Texas…it’s kinda like being Jan instead of Marsha.  Sorry, Oklahoma.

Missouri wins the Number 8 position.  I will be the first to admit I know not one thing about Missouri, other than Mizzou, and I only know that because I have a kid who is the Rain Man of Sports.  Maybe that’s why they’re miserable. Oh wait, maybe they have an arch of some sorts, which again is the Jan to the Marsha of the golden arches of Mickey D’s.  No wonder America is going to hell.

And for Number 7 we have…Tennessee. Wait, what?! I used to live in Tennessee and I absolutely loved it.  It’s the home of my alma mater, the Austin Peay State University (Let’s Go Peay!) And yes, that is pronounced “pee” so just shut your mouth with all the stupid ass pee comments.  I know it’s not a motivating cheer, but it’s my college cheer so bite my ass.  And maybe it’s changed, but when I lived there, there was no state income tax.  What’s not to love about Tennessee? I don’t get it.  Great place to live.  If they had an ocean, I’d totally move back.

Arkansas comes in at Number 6.  I imagine it’s miserable to live there because it’s spelled nothing like it sounds.  That has to be a huge bummer in every day life.  Again, I’m sorry, I know nothing about Arkansas other than Bill Clinton came from here, so it can’t be all that bad.  Right?

Rounding out the middle we have OH-IO. Woohoo! Go Bucks!  We made the list because we’re angry.  So what. You got a problem with that? Go fuck yourself, random over-paid stupid list writer.  You better hope I don’t end up behind you on I-71.  Just sayin.’

Number 4 is Alabama.  I’m not sure what they have to be miserable about.  It’s the south, it’s warm, they have good food, they seem to enjoy their football, and they  have a cute nickname (Bama!). Maybe they have right to be upset that Florida hogged all but one teeny tiny portion of their beachfront property. I dunno.  Other than that, I’m at a loss.

Mississippi is Number 3, and like their counterpart Alabama, some other damn state stole a good bit of their beachfront property, but in return they got a cutesy song for kids to learn how to spell their name. And everyone uses their state to count shit out…One Mississippi, Two Mississippi… So really, Mississippi, why you so sad? Drive over to Louisiana and have a daiquiri or five, for crying out loud.

Number 2 is Kentucky. Kentuckians made the list because they are the unhealthiest in the nation.  They like to smoke and drink and take prescription pills.  I thought these things made one happy. I, on the other hand, think Kentucky is a lovely state.  It’s just a short drive from my house where one can buy Everclear, cheap cigs, and prescription diet pills on the sly. Road trip to Kentucky, anyone?

And the Number 1 miserable state in the nation…drum roll please…is West Virginia! John Denver just rolled in his grave. Almost Heaven West Virginia is the most miserable state in the nation. Apparently, our angry list writer was from Ohio and had never visited Detroit or Needles, Arizona.  Let me tell ya, once my car A/C broke in Needles, Arizona in July and I have NEVER been MORE miserable in my entire life.  Well except for the year I lived in Barstow, California.  I’ve been through West Virginia many a time (usually on my way to the Redneck Riveria – Myrtle Beach) and let me tell ya, I’ve got no problem with The WV.  Their state capitol building has the most beautiful sparkly, golden majestic top that makes you think you should be hearing angels singing on high as you glance over as you speed by on I-64.  Trust me, I’ve almost run into a few concrete walls rubber-necking at its beauty as I pass through Charleston.  The study cited reports that West Virginians had the least confidence in the US economy than any other state and greatest rates of high blood pressure.  That’s probably because they work their asses off to put food on the table while watching the fat cats in Washington dilly dally around with policies that could change things for the positive for The WV.

No wonder their BP is high. Mine is too, now.  Think I’ll go have a drink, pop some Rx pills, smoke a few, and eat some fried chicken. Jeebus.

What a Doo-zy: Yeah I Really Did That. Twice.

March 3, 2014

Grammar-Nazi-punishmentsHi, my name is Helle and I am a Grammar Nazi.  The first step to overcoming your problem is admitting it, right?  I never hesitate to correct my children’s poor grammar on Facebook (I’m sure they love that) or point out others’ grammar and spelling misdeeds.  I can’t help it.  It irks me when I see “your” instead of “you’re” or “their” instead of “they’re.”  Drives me insane.  And people who spell ridiculous with an e (rediculous)…well that just sends me over the edge.  I won’t even mention what happens when subject verb agreement is broken, because then it just gets downright ugly.  Anyone who knows me knows I take pride in being well-spoken and refined in my speech.

But as things usually happen in my life, this little problem of mine came back to bite me in the ass today.  I was talking with a client over the phone explaining that her paperwork was accomplishing just what she wanted it to do.  However, she wasn’t convinced.  I was trying to explain, in layman terms, that yes we were fixing her problem.  At a loss for words I said (you may want to sit down here), “Yes, this document UN-DO’s that.”  In case the severity of this is lost in the written word, un-do’s is pronounced un-dooze.  Yep, horrifying, I know.  I knew it as soon as it came out of my mouth.  KNEW it.  But hey, you can’t un-do words once they spew out of your mouth.  Lucky for me, the client didn’t catch onto my huge grammar faux pas.

I can’t say the same for my co-worker, who was sitting right next to me.  Nope, she immediately caught on and burst out into a fit of laughter.  She was bent over speechless and laying her head on her desk. For a minute I wasn’t sure if she was having a seizure or choking (she had just put in some very old, stale Laffy Taffy in her mouth).  Anyhoo, whatever was happening to her made me start laughing as well, so now I’m on the phone with a confused client trying to contain my laughter and failing miserably.

As if things couldn’t get worse, I said it again. UN-DO’s.  Shawn lost it completely.  I lost it completely, finally realizing the horrific thing that had come out of my mouth for a SECOND time.  I couldn’t stop laughing and I was aghast as I realized I was still on the phone with the client.  I had no choice to explain to this person why I was having totally inappropriate, uncontrollable laughter.  I certainly didn’t want our client to think I was laughing at her, so I had to fess up.  And I did.

Luckily, the client was very understanding and had a little laugh at with me.  She then told me she was adding the new word to her own vocabulary because she liked it so much.  Lord, help us.  I’m contributing to the erosion of our civilized society one UN-DO’s at a time…

I learned a very important lesson today. No matter how educated or refined you become, every now and then, your redneck roots will show.  I think our client had it right.  I’m just gonna own it.  And possibly submit my new word to

Texts from The Basement: Siri Can’t Make Pizza Rolls

February 12, 2014

I adore this kid.  I have no idea where he gets his sense of humor and creativity… ;-)






photo (1)


So I guess until there’s an app for that, the poor kid will have to make his own pizza rolls.

Be My Valentine…or Die!

February 3, 2014

It’s February and everyone knows what that means! It’s the month of love, time to declare to your sweetheart how much you love them. And what better way to say I love you than with a card.  Let’s take a look at some creepy Valentine’s Day cards.  I suggest you NOT give your beloved one of these, unless you want to end up with a restraining order and a vacay in the clink.

hannibal valentine

Now there’s a card that says I love you. I love you so much, I want to eat you. If your lover gives you this card over a lovely dinner of fava beans and Chianti, RUN!

cannibalism valentine

OK, am I missing something here? When did cannibalism become synonymous with love?

S&M Valentine

Sometimes you just want to tie up your loved one to show them how much you care.

Gun Valentine

Be my Valentine or I will shoot you! With love!

Worm Valentine

Now here’s a lovely sentiment which basically says Be Mine. Or don’t. Because I’ve got a side bitch and I ain’t putting up with yo shit.

Feel Up

What does she need? I can’t decide if it’s the Heimlich Maneuver or a trip to 3rd base.


Clearly he is aware that she has built a wall to keep him out.  But never the less, he’s got a special gun to burn a hole right through it. No means no, buddy!

Loaded Valentine

Um yeah… I’ll just let you use your imagination on that one…

I don’t know about you, but I think I’d rather just have a box of chocolate truffles and some champagne to wash them down.  Especially if you’re going to shoot me or have me for dinner later…

DIEt Another Day

January 25, 2014

dietSo the gals in the office decided we were going to try this new diet.  Well really, one gal decided to try this new diet and talked to the rest of the gals into doing it, with me being the lone dissenter.  Then I stepped on the scale this morning and decided, yes I want to be a skinny bitch too! In other words, I caved to the peer pressure.  What can I say…we didn’t have the D.A.R.E. program in school when I was a kid.

Anyhoo, after stepping on the scale I decided yes, I was in fact going to try the Intermittent Fasting Diet.  Basically, you “fast” two days during the week but you are allowed to have 500 calories.  The rest of the days of the week, you can eat whatever the hell you want.  Forgetting about what happened the last time I tried to diet, I figured I could forgo eating for two measly days a week and in return be able to eat whatever I want the rest of the week.  Who needs food?!

I pretty much had figured I was in for one helluva day when I discovered I had consumed 100 calories before 9:00 a.m. just in coffee creamer, since my breakfast is basically a little bit of coffee with a bunch of creamer and my breakfast lasts from the time I get up until about noon.  That last cup of coffee with a tablespoon of creamer at 25 calories a pop made me realize that I don’t even like coffee.  I like creamer and I just might as well give the bottle of creamer a good shake, pop a straw in it, and call it my breakfast smoothie.

Lunch rolled around and I thought, no problem! I’ll have some of my favorite sweet chili flavored mini rice cakes.  They are only 100 calories! Matter of fact, my whole diet plan revolved around this delicious bag of flavored rice cakes, since they were only 100 calories they were to become my lunch and dinner two days a week.  Then I read the label a little closer and realized there are THREE servings per bag.  I could only have 18 teeny tiny rice cakes for 100 calories.  I quickly decided there was no point in even wasting the energy it takes to eat 18 measly mini rice cakes and decided to forgo lunch completely.

By the time 5 o’clock rolled around, I was somewhat grouchy.  I snapped at D because there was a crinkly sound of food being unwrapped at her desk.  Turns out it was an envelope she was opening. Another co-worker almost lost an eye for eating a Reese’s cup in front of me.  And well T is just dead to me for eating a Casa del Taco Mexican Chef Salad and throwing away the shell.  Does she NOT know that’s the BEST part of the Casa del Taco Mexican Chef Salad?! That tasty fried shell is the ONLY reason I even get the Casa del Taco Mexican Chef Salad. Well that and the extremely delicious avocado ranch salad dressing (extra on the side to slather on the shell).

I couldn’t stand it any longer.  I broke.  I loudly exclaimed, “Y’all can just kiss my ass!” just as the Big Boss was walking past my office to leave for the day.  And then in order to cover my ass for yelling profanities in the office, I told him it was all his wife’s fault for telling me about this diet that made me a stark raving mad lunatic.  Things may become a little uncomfortable at work…

Who needs food? I’ll tell you who.  Me!!!


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