Costco (Where the Strong buy Batteries and the Weak buy…Everything?)

We’re all on a budget, right? These economic times have been rough on the lot of us and I’ve joined the ranks of the many trying to spend smarter/save wiser. Then why, oh why, would I continue to send my husband into that financial sinkhole more commonly known as Costco?

Let me set the scene for you:

Him: Hey, honey. I need some rechargeable batteries. I’m going to head to Costco. Need anything?

Me: (Looking at him speculatively) Are you sure that’s ALL you need? Batteries?

Him: Yeah. That’s all I’m getting. Do you need anything?

Me: So let me get this right. You are going to Costco and all you’re going to buy are batteries and the things I ask you to pick up?

Him: (Looking at me like I’ve lost my ever-loving mind) Yeeesss.

Me: (Looking at him with worry given his sudden memory loss) So, if I say I need spinach, bananas and bread you’re only going to buy batteries, spinach, bananas and bread?

Him: (Quickly losing his patience with this conversation) Um, yeah. Batteries, spinach, bananas and bread. I’m going now.

Me: Alrighty. See you back here with batteries, spinach, bananas and bread?

Him: Ya.

End scene.

Have you ever seen the movie “The Jerk”? Do you remember a certain scene where Navin (played by comedic genius Steve Martin) after a heated moment with his lady love is telling her he’s leaving and he needs absolutely nothing.

“I don’t need this stuff and I don’t need you. I don’t need anything — except this, this ash tray, and that’s the only thing I need is this! I don’t need nothin’ but this – just this ash tray, and this paddle game. The ash tray and the paddle game – and that’s all I need, and this – the remote control. The ash tray, the paddle game and the remote control, that’s all I need. And these matches. The ash tray, and these matches, and the remote control, and the paddle ball. And this lamp. That’s right. This paddle game, and the remote control, and the lamp and that’s all I need. And that’s all I need too! I don’t need one other thing. Not one – I need this – the paddle game and the chair and the remote control and the matches, for sure.”

Argumentatively one of the funniest scenes (and movies) of all time, and strangely, an almost perfect parallel to Jer and his shopping trips to Costco.

I have this vision of him walking the aisles of that addictive warehouse pulling random things off the shelves.

“I don’t need this stuff..I don’t need anything — except these Red Baron pizzas, and that’s the only thing I need are these! I don’t need nothin’ but this — just these pizzas, and this Swiffer. The pizzas and the Swiffer – and that’s all I need, and this — a car waxing kit. The pizzas, the Swiffer and the car waxing kit, that’s all I need. And these lighters. The pizzas, the Swiffer, the car waxing kit and these lighters. And this Armor-All gift set. That’s right. The pizzas, the Swiffer, the car waxing kit, the lighters and this Armor-All gift set. That’s all I need!

He can’t help himself, you guys. I send him for four things and he brings home 2 packing boxes full. And yet I still send him. Why? Because I’m lazy and don’t have the patience to stand in those Godforsaken lines waiting to checkout and then attempt to navigate my way past the hordes of lunchgoers trying to decide between a chicken bake or polish sausage. And Jer? He loves it.

So I guess I will continue to find space for all of his finds and the money to pay for it and he will continue to preserve my sanity. What a lovely duo we make, eh?


Backyard Chickens…What?

I typically prefer my chicken wrapped up in cellophane and sporting a barcode. I’m real traditional like that.

But my hubby decided that our suburban existence was missing a vital element. He felt the calling, people, and plunged head-first into what has become his new religion.

That’s right. We’re chicken farmers. Farmers. Of chickens. In the suburbs.

Now, I am well aware of the growing “backyard farmer” trend and understand it to a certain degree, I guess. Apparently there’s something wrong with buying the offspring of our feathered friends from the supermarket. Apparently I have been doing detrimental damage to my family by serving them up sparkly white eggs.


Enter the chickens.

We started out with two Rhode Island Reds (listen to me sounding all legit!) appropriately named Ginger and Scarlet.

Husband spent my kid’s college savings on building them some posh digs. I mean, we’re nothing if not devoted farmers.

And then we started rockin’ and rollin’. The chickens were popping out eggs left and right. My hubby would run out to the coop every morning, gather his bounty, throw some high-fives at his girls and come in the kitchen with a smug “yes, I’m doing my part for this environment” look written all over his face.

And just when I’m pretty sure the hubby was ready to send in his application to the Chicken Farmers of America his good work came to a crashing halt. Ginger was sick. She took up residence in a cushy little corner of our bathtub while my man attempted to recuperate the little chicken. But, alas, it wasn’t meant to be and Ginger went home to be with her Maker in, I’m assuming, a heavenly plane of plush grass and worms a’plenty.

Sure that our new(ish) backyard venture was to be thwarted with this loss I started perusing the sales ads for Eggland’s Best. I barely had enough time to compare market prices when my hubby shows up with four new baby chicks. Four. Apparently you can’t change the world with just one chicken.

The ladies have not started laying yet but I’m quite sure that when they do we will have eggs coming out the wazoo. I mean our wazoos. Not the chicken’s. Because eggs literally do come out of their wazoos.

You get my point.

This should be fun. In a chicken poop/bawk, bawk, bawk/egg wazoos kind of way.



Hanging my head in shame…

Hello friends. Am I still allowed to call you that? Do we need to go through that awkward ‘get to know each other’ phase again?

I have been absent for a very long time. In fact, in blogger’s terms, you could say a lifetime has passed since my last post. Even truer, in Mindy’s terms (that’s me in case you have forgotten), I have grown approximately 7 gray hairs since I have last written and I’m pretty sure there may be a new crow’s foot peeking out the side of my eye. Not lovely.

You may ask where I have been that has caused my hair follicles to deviate from my natural blonde (ahem, okay, blonde with some assistance) and my skin elasticity to turn against me?

Living life, yo. Just living life. And it’s been a bit of a bitch.

Winter wreaked havoc on me and my family. We all succumbed to one illness or another and at one time 3 out of 4 of us were on antibiotics for pneumonia. Most of us got well right away but one of us had a little bit of trouble getting out of the exceedingly uncomfortable sick bed.

I was sick, folks. From the beginning of February through the end of March I battled coughing, snotting, hives, overgrowth of certain healthy fungii, decimation of any beneficial bacteria in my stomach and a one-way ticket into any bathroom within running distance. It was ugly.

For those who like to know the details: I had pneumonia/sinus infection which led to complications from my antibiotic and an apparent penicillin allergy, which led to thrush and an uber-sensitive stomach, which led to C-Diff, a nasty bacteria which took up residence in my body with the intention of slowly killing me. I’m sure of it. But, with the help of some fabulous drugs, an amazing probiotic and some very soft toilet paper I prevailed and at this point in time I can say with certainty that I am almost all better!

Which is good because toilet paper is getting expensive!

Now, enough with all that negative mumbo-jumbo. Life is fabulous again and I’m hoping I can get back to doing some more regular blogging. I’m also running around with the idea of doing some “vlogging”. What do you think? Could you handle a little virtual chit-chat?

I bid adieu for now, friends. Chat with you soon!