Ridiculum

I may have mentioned in the past that I am a serious fan of ridiculousness.  Back in the days when I worked part-time, I had far more outings with my kids during the day, so understandably a mixture of calamity and nonsense followed me everywhere.  My children would embarrass me in public bathrooms with their BM narration, or I would embarrass myself by stopping to talk to someone at Sam’s, only to notice a prominently displayed 500-pack of tampons in my cart (at least it wasn’t something like incontinence medication).  

Now that I spend my days sitting in a chair growing varicose veins and rushing to the grocery store over my lunch hour, there are limited opportunities for observing (or participating in) ridiculous behavior.  Lucky for me, there has been a recent influx of ridiculum (I made up this word) to fuel my winter entertainment.  I’ll share some of it with you in case you also have an appreciation and are experiencing a drought. 

Lost-and-Found

The lost-and-found at our church always seems to have a number of items in it.  My son is often troubled by the fact that people have carelessly abandoned their items and there they sit, pathetically waiting to be claimed.  Since it is prominently displayed in the coat area, we have a conversation about it every week. 

A few weeks ago, I noticed a new addition: a fax machine!  Perhaps someone brought their fax machine to church, then inadvertently left it on (or under) their chair.  So, if you are missing your fax machine, I have a pretty good idea where you left it.  As usual, I had to take a picture of it.

Cookery

I recently discovered (though this may come as no surprise to my husband) that I’m somewhat delusional.  I always feel that there some sort of catalyst between me and success that just needs to be identified (or more often, purchased).  Much like my son who is completely taken in by infomercials (particularly the birdhouse that suction cups to your window and those night driving glasses), I feel that if I could just buy the right product, all my wildest dreams will come true.  There are those shoes that will help me run a marathon, those exercise clothes that will wake me up in the morning, and most recently, the cast iron pan that will help me turn into a master chef.

Last month, I informed Mark that I was buying this pan, and consequently I would be cooking us an expert meal every night.  Naturally he seemed skeptical, but then again he can't see the untapped potential lurking below my past failures.  I told him this could effectively turn our kids from vegetarians (by default and noodle overload) into carnivores.  So I made the purchase, watched several YouTube videos on how to season and care for my pan, then went to work. 

The first meal of pork chops met the same fate as all the meats before it, overcooking with the added bonus of charred onions and garlic (plus serious smoke and splatter). I reasoned that I was new to the cast iron scene and there was a learning curve and all that other stuff.  In the time since, we have dined on dried fish disaster (shown below), chicken nonsense and another set of pork chops so leathery no knife dared challenge.  The dried fish disaster also suffered from overspicing after an unfortunate incident involving the wrong opening in the spice container.  That's an overabundance of lemon pepper making the bottom one yellow.

I decided today that all that stands between me and overwhelming success is the instant-read meat thermometer.  I’ll be stopping by the store tomorrow (which will be one day after I massacred some chicken tonight).

Injuries

Marina tripped in a parking lot this weekend.  She didn’t rip her pants or really have any blood, just a little scrape.  Since she was overtired, she cried nonstop for 20 minutes after.  Then she limped for two full days.  Her limping is lacking in convincingness.  I filmed her just like those 20/20 hidden cameras following the people who pretend to be injured at the grocery store so they can get money.

Grundies

Today, while in a public restroom, I started to walk into stall #2 when I noticed something on the floor in there.  It was someone’s underwear... and scandalous ones at that!  I was so taken aback that I made a distressed sound, then just stood there in shock.  The person in stall #6 probably thought I was having some kind of intestinal trouble.  Predictably I ran back to my desk for my phone so I could take a picture.  My brain was trying to concoct what sort of scenario would result in a pair of discarded underwear in the women’s bathroom.  This isn’t some dive bar where that kind of thing would make some kind of sense.  

After I left the bathroom, I acted like a junior high girl and told everybody I saw.  Someone else must have thought it was funny too, because they ended up hanging from the hook on the wall (which I also photographed).  So once again, we have a bit of an odd lost-and-found situation. This one is causing high drama and fueled many conversations throughout the day.

So that is the end of the chronicles of recent ridiculousness.  I hope it touched your life as it has mine, particularly if you happened to lose your scandalous underwear from beneath your skirt in stall #2 today.