Welcome to Fun With Foibles, an ongoing series wherein I helpfully point out what is wrong with other people & things, while remaining quiet about my own failings. Today’s topic is…
In case, somehow, you are unfamiliar with Whippy Frosting, it is a vile, faux-vanilla flavored concoction of Crisco, Cool Whip and Peeps, blended together, making what bakeries try to pass off as frosting for cakes.
Whippy frosting is an abomination against man and God.
In fact, while often omitted in modern translations of the Bible, everyone knows that on the eighth day God created cake. And He said: Let there be butter cream frosting on all cakes. Henceforth and forevermore. Amen.
[That would be “Fiat Yum” in the original translations.]
Yet some people, mostly heathens I’m assuming, continue to buy cakes with whippy frosting from the bakery– thereby encouraging the bakery to ignore God’s perfect creation, butter cream frosting, and to continue to make said sub-standard frosting.
And try to pass it off as edible. WHICH. IT. IS. NOT.
So I urge you, gentle readers, as a favor to me, who asks so little of you, to not buy cakes with this stuff on it. Maybe then, it’ll go away.
This summer has been humid and wet– mold everywhere on the roses, on the tree trunks, on the sides of terra-cotta pots, on stones along the paths.
Perennial plants, such as cat mint, are so waterlogged that they’ve wilted, unable to spread their roots, trapped in clay soil that has formed its own kind of water-filled hole around them.
And then we have some potted annuals that are going out of their way to show-off their colors. Like these petunias, for instance. That have gotten leggy and dramatic, attempting to cover the entire deck.
On a weird note, unlike previous years in which squirrels took over our property, this year has brought us rabbits, snakes and one red fox. The rabbits seem intent on eating all the weeds [yeah!], while the snakes lurk under bushes, near the front door.
Not happy about that. Neither one of us is.
The red fox seems to be joyful as he jogs across our property. Don’t know much about him, being a newcomer to the suburb ‘ya know, but from the skip in his step I can guess that this summer is his kind of weather.
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On an encouraging note, I’m happy to report that two of my three my milkweed “experiments” are doing well. The plants that I started from seed didn’t take, but the white milkweed, a sturdy plant that I purchased at the garden center, is growing 30″ tall in the back yard near the woods.
No flowers yet, but looking good.
The yellow milkweed, purchased at the same garden center, looked half-dead when I bought it. Withered brown-tinged leaves. Not so big. But now, planted in full sunshine near the garage, it’s about a foot high and has pretty yellow flowers on it.
Just goes to show, don’t judge a potted plant by its leaves. 😉
I’m not certain but I think that we are beginning to get monarch butterflies here. Zen-Den saw one when he was mowing out back– and I snapped this photo of a butterfly [moth?] when I was out front.
Usually by mid-summer I’ve glorious flowers, waiting in the sunshine to be photographed. But this year I have Noah on speed dial while my camera naps the days away.
While on vacation last weekend, I spent one leg of my travels on a flight from hell, trapped inside a MRI with wings. This would be a plane that is known to aviators as a Bombardier CRJ 200.
This airplane, while not the smallest one I’ve ever flown on, was the worst flying MRI I’ve experienced because– and I hope that I’m not going to get too technical here— THERE WAS NO AIR CONDITIONING AS WE WAITED AT THE GATE AND THEN ON THE TARMAC FOR TAKEOFF… ON A HOT SUMMER DAY… AT MIDDAY.
I’d love to tell you what airline I was on, but I’m not sure. It was some pokey little airline, doing business under some obscure name, for some larger, formerly independent, airline recently acquired by some huge US airline.
In other words, the usual inane flying experience that I’ve come to know, pay exorbitant amounts of money for and loathe.
# # #
As fate would have it two things occurred simultaneously while I was on this flight from hell trapped inside a MRI with wings.
First of all, I had a hot flash.
To be clear, that would be my body spontaneously increasing its core temperature while I was sitting in the middle of the airplane, Seat 7C, where the ambient room temperature was close to 100ºF.
Trapped, I was.
And so far beyond toasty that I could barely keep conscious. I could see my vision begin to tunnel– and I knew that I would faint, unless I thought of something fast.
So I shut my eyes, let my head droop and begin to remember how cold and bleak it was on our screened-in porch in February, when I’d step out there for a bit of fresh air, mid-afternoon, with my mug of hot tea.
Oddly enough this mental distraction kept me from passing out and it gave me an opportunity to decide that, if I lived to tell the story, I’d call out the airline on this unconscionable, unhealthy, inhumane, ridiculous, shameful, cheap-ass behavior.
Didn’t their mothers teach these airline PTB to not treat other human beings as chattel? Hmmm?
# # #
This would be the end of the story if it weren’t for the man next to me on the flying MRI with wings from hell who was an employee of one of the airlines that was part of the afore-mentioned cluster.
And he was taking notes. Lots of them.
And he was telling me EVERYTHING that this flight crew was doing that was wrong, that was illegal according to FAA standards, and that was just plain stupid.
So despite being the most physically and emotionally uncomfortable I’ve been on an airplane in decades, I had the pleasure of knowing that this flight crew, a bunch of yahoos who really should be ashamed of themselves, were going to get in trouble.
AS IN FAILING TO PASS INSPECTION. JOBS ON THE LINE. HELLO REVIEW BOARD [I CAN ONLY HOPE].
It is because of this note-taking man that I can look back on this flight as a learning experience for the crew as well as for me. To wit, I will never, ever in a hundred years set foot inside a Bombardier CRJ 200 again.
And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t either.
1) DO NOT set up your electric coffee maker, which has a delayed brewing option, the night before you want your coffee. Instead, go to kitchen in morning while still groggy and make coffee.
2) TURN ON overhead lights in kitchen using dimmer switch to provide a minimum of light onto counter. Pull machine out from under cabinet while confirming that brew basket, glass carafe and plastic lid appear to be in their proper places.
3) PLACE PAPER filter into brew basket, measure water + ground coffee, then place each into its proper compartment within electric coffee maker. Turn on machine and wait for brewed coffee to drip into glass carafe.
4) HEAR BEEPS that tell you that your coffee is ready and with favorite mug in hand pour yourself some coffee from what seems to be an unusually light carafe.
5) DO NOT stop to think about why this carafe is so light and that there might be a problem here as you take your first sip of coffee.
6) SPIT OUT “not coffee” into sink as husband enters kitchen. Describe foul “not coffee” beverage using colorful language, thereby piquing husband’s interest.
7) TURN ON overhead lights in kitchen to full wattage while examining electric coffee maker from whence the “not coffee” came. Snarl loudly and turn to husband who is trying to make quiet exit from kitchen.
8) ACCUSE SPOUSE of incompetence while putting away clean dishes night before. Mention that just laying plastic lid on top of carafe will not work. Reinforce idea that securing plastic lid onto glass carafe is what allows coffee to flow from brew basket into carafe because lid pushes spring on bottom of brew basket open.
9) NOTICE SPOUSE looking guilty and explaining that it’s all his fault. Agree wholeheartedly while cleaning out sludge formed by coffee grounds and hot water trapped in brew basket. Try to be angry with husband but decide that it’s not worth the effort.
10) DECREE THAT there is a new house rule. Specifically, henceforth and ever after the glass coffee carafe will always have plastic lid secured on top of it before placing carafe into electric coffee maker… on penalty of no access to any TV remote control for a month. Capiche?
Late Tuesday afternoon we received an email from the HOA. The message in the email told us that there had been 4 burglaries in the past 10 days in one part of our large subdivision.
Even though the break-ins are miles from where we live, the HOA asked that all residents turn on their outdoor lights at night. This is because the burglaries happened in the middle of night while families were at home, asleep upstairs.
[I’ll wait here while what I just wrote sinks into your brain. At home. Asleep. While having your house burgled. YIKES!]
# # #
First of all let me tell you that we are a cooperative bunch of suburbanites when under attack. To wit, the last few nights our part of the subdivision has been so well-lit that pilots would feel comfortable landing their planes on our streets.
[So that’s a good thing. For us. And for Duke Energy, as well. *sigh*]
# # #
And secondly, while I’m not thrilled with these latest developments, they do underscore the need for everyone who lives around here to be more aware of everyone & everything that goes on around here. That is to say, it’s time for you, my lovely neighbors, to look up from your smart phones and actually interact with your environment.
You know, like we did in the dark ages when phones with cords plugged into walls. And neighbors said “hello” to each other when they met on the street. And burglars knew that somewhere in every neighborhood was a nosy, noisy Gladys Kravitz who saw everything.
[Oddly enough, that’s who we need around here. Her prying eyes would be most helpful right about now, don’t you think?]
# # #
It’s 10:00 a.m. Friday morning and we just received this email update from our HOA:
“… we learned that there was another burglary attempt around 3am this morning at XXXX Drive. The police spotted the intruders before they were able to enter the home. The accomplice was caught, but the other burglar was able to get away.”
Now how long until the accomplice turns on the other burglar?