…… has me captivated. Truly. Inexplicably.
I’m not sure why.
But I’m contemplating putting a Ninja workout course in my back yard jungle. The Sons and I could practice together and become the first mother/sons trio ever to enter.
Stop laughing. One guy was 56 years old!
Of course, he didn’t get very far, but hell, he got further than most of you could go!
Actually, I told Son #3 that I could probably do the first obstacle (the one where you jump from one pad to the other), and then I’d be done. Although, I think I could totally do that swing thing and jump to the rope obstacle, but there’s no way in Hades that I could even get one of those rings moved (or the posts moved, depending upon which state’s competition you’re watching. Which brings up a question … and an accusation: Why do the contestants not have to do the EXACT same course?? You can’t tell me that hanging on to that circle thing with your feet wedged into place, is just as hard as hanging on to that log-thing with no place for your feet to wedge into! I maintain that these competitions are unfair. And I’m sure that NBC really cares about my opinion.
But at least I’ve put it out there.)
Anyway … all that to say … I have NO upper body strength. Well, that’s not totally true. The barre classes have helped me gain some strength up there, although I may have lost it all now, since I haven’t been in a class for over 3 weeks. Sigh …… that’s a hell of a lot of work to waste.
There are no barre classes down here. Not less than a 45 minute drive anyway. I’m thinking about starting a franchise here in my community. Just so I can go.
How pathetic is that?
So …… where was I?
I digress so easily these days.
Oh yeah, American Ninja. In my back yard.
Let’s think about it: I’ve packed up my 5,000 square feet house (with some help from friends, but mostly me). I moved most of those boxes to the new house …… by myself (the movers moved most of the furniture and the really heavy boxes).
I unpacked most of those boxes and put things away …… by myself.
I re-unpacked everything when the painters finished. And hooked up our sound system. Then dug out our old CD player (that holds 200 CDs) and wired it in, too. And it all works. (I’m more amazed than anyone!)
I’ve trimmed the trees in the back yard.
I packed up all of the stuff that we didn’t sell in the moving sale and moved it all into one room of the house and into the garage. By myself.
I helped a guy load it onto a truck today, thus leaving the house almost totally empty.
And the garage.
And the attic.
I think I need a nap.
So yeah, I might be able to train for this Ninja show.
But now that I’ve typed all of that out, I don’t think I want to.
Wow, that was a quick turn around.
So much for American Ninja.
At least that saves me a lot of time and effort in putting one of those dang courses in the back yard.
I think I’ll fix a margarita instead and watch the wild life from the back porch.
So does all of this mean that I can qualify for American Ninja?
It just means that I’m tough in other ways.
And I admire those who do qualify.
And I really admire that tiny little woman who made it over the “Warped Wall” …… the first woman to ever do so.
You go, tiny woman!!
For those of you (and I’m certain that it’s most of you) who have no earthly idea what I’ve been talking about …… NBC …… Monday nights. Watch it just once.
And you’ll be hooked.
Or go read a good book.
Tonight Son #3 kept his crown of the king of grilling …… at least in my book. He made ham steaks with a jalapeño sweet and sour marinade that was very, very good.
And, he suffered through the burning that he got on his hands and face from cutting up, and grilling, the jalapeños.
No kidding, I thought for a moment that I was going to have to take him to the ER. He ran upstairs and jumped into the shower while I Googled “what to do for jalapeño burns” — mustard, rubbing alcohol, yogurt, or fresh lime juice …… I wasn’t sure if this was going to help him, or get him ready to be put on the grill.)
Thankfully, the shower seemed to help.
The mustard didn’t do all that much.
But the ham steaks were wonderful.
In other news (I really should just try to write every day, rather than every few days because SO much goes on around here that it creates wickedly long posts. Sorry.)
World War III is going on in my back yard.
Granted, it’s only between two parties, but that’s all it takes to start a war, right?
It seems that we have a raccoon who thinks he can waddle around my property, taking whatever he wants.
Which is a bit better than our first thought: Son #3 put up humming bird feeders, filled with the red sugar solution they love. When I woke up the next morning, I noticed that one of the feeders was gone. So I went outside and noticed that it had been tossed down the hill. After it had been drained.
After it had been carefully un-hooked from the stand Son #3 had hung it on.
Our thoughts? Some big, fat bully of a hummingbird was terrorizing the other little birds and stole all of our bird juice.
And then we put more thought into it …… and decided that it was some big, fat pig of a raccoon, who had carefully unhooked it, guzzled it all down, burped, and tossed it down the hill, like a Chicago Bears fan going through a 6 pack. (I lived in Chicago and I have a tiny love of the Bears so I can write that. Ha!)
Well, I waited a few days and then put a bit of the red stuff into the feeder and re-hung it.
Then, that same evening, Son #2 was in the kitchen and there was a shattering noise outside. I, being the deaf and aging old woman that I am, thought the sound came from the TV (just shut up, ok?!). He looked around and said, “What the hell was that?!” I said, “What?”. He said, “There’s something out there.”, while pointing outside.
And in that instant, I knew. I may, or may have not, uttered a swear word as I vaulted over the furniture and ran outside.
And there, broken into a hundred shattered pieces (or maybe 20), was the very beautiful, glass bird bath that Son #3 had brought home.
Why that fat SOB wanted to take a bath is beyond me, but he has crossed me too many times.
So now there’s a trap outside where the bird bath used to be. With a can of cat food in it as a lure.
A lure that fat slob didn’t go for last night.
We may have to try something else.
Son #3 swears that a Reeses cup will do the deed.
All of you Houston-area Peeps ought to love that! It seems that even our raccoons here in KW are snobs! They won’t go for anything less than chocolate!
I guess I’ll go pick up some Reeses tomorrow.
I’ll keep you posted.
OK, that’s it.
But as you all know by now, there will be plenty to write about tomorrow or the next day.
Never a dull moment.