tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57212154903453506192017-07-23T05:24:38.700-04:00Malapropos FREAKAbbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.comBlogger80125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-45582596133320144532015-10-21T21:27:00.001-04:002015-10-21T22:15:52.254-04:007 things to do on Halloween if you're apathetic<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pdpGQNJkIss/Vig-cDQCgKI/AAAAAAAAAX8/VSF2ldMpXqc/s1600/Monster%2BClementines_2015.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img alt="@abbienourmel" border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pdpGQNJkIss/Vig-cDQCgKI/AAAAAAAAAX8/VSF2ldMpXqc/s320/Monster%2BClementines_2015.jpg" title="@abbienourmel" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Halloween isn't for everyone. Personally, it's like my Christmas. However, many people just don't feel the need to be festive - my husband included. So, if you are among the few that are completely disinterested in this holiday, I have come up with some excellent tips on how to make it a lot more interesting for you. <br /><br /><i>(DISCLAIMER: Do not try this at home. This reading material is for entertainment purposes only. If you are under 18 you probably shouldn't be reading this. If you do these things, you may actually be committed to an institution. Just saying. I mean, not really, but sort of. So, I guess just make smart choices. Maybe just turn on the Disney channel, put on a little rouge and some fangs for Christ sakes and call it an evening.) </i><br /><br /><br />1. Run down the street in a diaper and cape screaming "IT'S CONTAMINATED WITH ENTEROVIRUS!" while you randomly throw your candy into the air, at old people, kids or at trees.<br /><br />2. Go back later and pick up all your candy, and hoard all the others too, since they're too afraid to eat yours and they probably tossed theirs in avoidance of an ER visit. (SCORE!)<br /><br />3. Randomly answer the door while simultaneously blowing your nose and uncontrollably hacking into the dish. Wipe your nose all along your sleeve for effect. You'd be surprised how long your candy lasts and how many people politely run away from your stash. <br /><br />4. Dress up as half Hannah Montana and half Miley Cyrus. In one hand hold an over-sized Haribo bear whilst half your hair is twisted into a stunted unicorn horn, and in the other a Jem and the Holograms inspired outfit with a microphone laced with Disney images. Say things like, "I'm being true to Miley," and, "Noh ah sayin'?" and, "Respect my journey." (It is especially awkward if you say this while you repeatedly slap your inappropriate areas with a foam number one finger/hand.) <br /><br />5. Skulk around your supermarket, especially around the candy sections, asking people if they want your signature. Hiss at them while flicking a snake-like tongue when they say no. Hand them your resume after.<br /><br />6. Wait for trick-or-treater's to approach your door while you hide in the bushes. Then when they ring the doorbell, run out of those bushes dressed like a horse-headed-man. Then take off your horse head, apologize, and explain to the kids that this is a direct result of you watching the Godfather at a very young age, and how they should be vigilant about TV ratings and viewing restrictions. Also, they should avoid eating cannoli at any and all costs.<br /><br />7. Fill up "boo bags" with pennies, bobby pins, old keys, unused 3m strips, a few dryer sheets, odor eaters, and old pastel candies. Ring and run neighbors houses - but then stand at the end of their driveway in clear eyesight. Laugh maniacally when they look directly at you, strangely confused by your behavior, then wave and ask them if they are doing anything later. <br /><br /><br /></div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-2587107969922356392015-04-24T17:56:00.000-04:002015-04-24T17:56:42.522-04:00The hell that is stay-cation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RebcXVbzSbY/VTqz8HpZ-YI/AAAAAAAAAVM/RclZMG3nXmg/s1600/IMG_7654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RebcXVbzSbY/VTqz8HpZ-YI/AAAAAAAAAVM/RclZMG3nXmg/s1600/IMG_7654.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div><br />Alright. I'm just going to lay it all out there. It is this stupid, asinine, DIY night light project I created that inspired me to write about the horrors of staying at home with my kids this April vacation. Anyone who is a parent and reads this is just going to laugh, nod their head in painful acknowledgment, and empathize with what I am about to write. Not because they are just a parent, but because if they have school aged kids like me, they also know what parental torture it is to have your kids out of school for an extended period of time without any scheduled activities. There have been some comments to my parenting rants on my social media accounts from people without kids who clearly have no idea what parents mean when we say these four words: STAY-CATION WITH MY KIDS. <br /><br />So, what does a "stay-cation with kids" mean? I'll break it down for you in very simple terms. It means this:<br />EVERYDAY UNTIL SCHOOL RESUMES, ALL THE FUN THINGS ARE SUPPOSED TO SPONTANEOUSLY FLOW FROM YOU (NON-STOP) FOR 12 HOURS LIKE SOME FRIGGING ELF WITH MAGICAL FUN DIARRHEA. <br /><br />It starts the first day away from school. The rapid fire questions on repeat (as if you never answered them at all). "Is it a school day today?!" "Can we go to a fun place?!" "What are we going to DO today?!" "WHY AREN'T WE HAVING FUN YET??" And then, before you can even open your mouth to groan a hoarse response, or push the button to your coffee maker for that oh so lovely rocket fuel you need to endure the next 11 hours, the arguing starts. I still haven't cleared the sleep from my eyes, and I don't even think I got to pee yet... They've been up for 5 minutes. "I'm STARVING MOM!" Then the arguments commence. Non. Stop. Arguments. ALL DAY. One every 5 minutes. You can't let it go, because if you don't intervene, it escalates quickly into eye clawing, head butting and biting. (Yes, at 7:00 AM.) So, you do what most parents think to do - get them outside, ASAP. I scheduled play dates, took them to fun centers filled with bouncy things, and did basically anything to keep them occupied. I have done this every day, for 5-6 hours each day, and adding ice cream trips on top of that, then fun art projects, with even more fun dinners and followed by fun shows/ movies to watch at the end of the day. At the end of this 8 hour escapade there is little thanks (unless it's prompted), and all I have actually done is set the bar higher. Just when I am thinking, "Phew! Either I have contracted a scorching case of mono, or I'm just completely exhausted from my kids!!" This insane boot camp schedule is TOTALLY going to make them go to bed early and sleep in a little. I'm such a good parent." NOPE. Nice thinking though. (How positive of you!) Of course they wake up an hour earlier the next day - just for poops and giggles. They are even more revved up for a new day of talking back, fighting, stealing from each other, whining, screaming, tantrumming, aggressiveness and overall nastiness. And that's exactly how they acted during the arts and crafts project I did with them out of the kindness of my heart.<br /><br />Oh, and while you are wondering what kind of lazy, no good, awful parent I am for writing this... Well I'm not an awful parent. I'm a good parent, and in fact, I'd say I'm pretty darn good parent. My kids have schedules. They eat balanced meals that are organic. I closely watch their sugar intake. I help them with their homework. They read and do arts and crafts more than watch TV, and they didn't even know about video games until 3 months ago. I'm a hands on parent who seldom takes time for anything but taking care of my kids - I don't just throw Twinkies in their mouths across the room while letting them absorb into unsupervised TV land. But this stay-cation crap is for insane people! Just know that if a parent is posting some random thing about doing a DIY craft with their kids and happens to mention that they are screaming for a margarita, it is because anyone in their right mind would have run screaming down the street by 2PM after a day like theirs. It's because, if Dante had ever revised his book to include an 8th circle of hell, it would be a stay-cation with your kids. If enemy countries were seeking out new versions of torture, it could easily include a week with your children without school. Do you feel like being a cheerleader of fun for 10 hours a day, every day, for 10 days or more, without compensation, with little to no sleep, and barely breaks for food, or breaks for peeing?? NEITHER DO PARENTS. But we signed up for it, and do it gleefully in the presence of our children. Why? Because we love the little hormonal buggers. With all our hearts and every morsel of our soul. But, when and if we can steal 60 seconds to poop, we may occasionally "potty post" about how horrid the day has been and how we can't wait to have an alcoholic beverage later to soothe the massive stress that has accumulated throughout the day. So sue us for not being Facebook happy and perfect, and for counting down the minutes until we get that glass of wine/ margarita, beer, or whatever. <br /><br />Cheers.</div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-20757863538251353492014-09-29T13:02:00.000-04:002014-11-03T12:41:36.639-05:00Why chipmunks are the devil<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-08WJ01VMDMI/VCmYoIGon6I/AAAAAAAAAR4/eETkwggWRs4/s1600/photo(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-08WJ01VMDMI/VCmYoIGon6I/AAAAAAAAAR4/eETkwggWRs4/s1600/photo(2).JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br />Yes, CHIPMUNKS.<br /><br />These cute little boogers are not only stinking adorable, but can also be tremendous pests. I chase them out of my garage and away from the paint cans. I spook them out of the holes in the side of my house. (They were actually clawing away at the inside wall of my kitchen for a while.) I rush them away from climbing up my gutters and getting stuck in my soffits. I literally swerve my SUV and screech to a halt every day - while nearly ending the lives of my children and myself - trying to avoid hitting them as they bolt across the street. Side note: Since when did chipmunks and squirrels have such a death wish? WE HAVE DEATH WISH CHIPMUNKS! WHY do they only bolt across the street right when a truck is less than 5 feet from their general vicinity? Twice this week I have come across a gallon of dirt that has poured out of my retaining wall from what I assume to be the burrowing chipmunks. Then I started to look around. Literally every 9 inches there is a frigging hole the size of a chipmunk. They are the devil. A cute, little, furry, squeaking devil. This is the side effect of living in the woods, in a rural town, where there are no street lamps but wild roaming turkeys. <br /><br />I'm not one for killing helpless and adorable animals, so I'll have to figure out something else to repel the little poopers. At least I can keep them away from my house long enough to infest another neighbor. Ideally it would be that neighbor who hates me, and always looks the other way when I wave... purposefully. I could bore the chipmunks to death by crowding them all in my dark unfinished basement with nothing but Dora The Explorer episodes screaming at full volume, on repeat. Or, maybe I could stick my preschooler on them? She has this particular pitch of voice when she is whining that is like a whistle scream, cymbals, and Freddy Kreuger nails on a chalk board - all combined. It hits your ears with such a horrific pierce that you willingly want to stab your ear drums out with the nearest number 2 pencil and run down the street. If that doesn't work she could definitely infect them with a horrible virus within hours by sneezing and coughing in the face and mouths of every one of them. Perhaps either of those could inflict a certain amount of brain shock that they'd go running for the conservation lands. Maybe I should put out mince meat pie? What the hell is mince meat pie anyway?? Isn't it a natural repellent for just about anything? <br /><br />After a small amount of research... VOILA! My essential oils have come to save the day again! Peppermint oil apparently works wonders with a slew of rodents: field mice, chipmunks, squirrels, gophers, etc. Mr. devil chipmunk it's on. I'm about to go all terminator on you with... wait for it... PEPPERMINT OIL. Ooh... My chipmunk threats are so apocalyptic. *Rolls eyes.* I'll keep you posted, because of course you care, and won't leave out one oily detail. <br /><br />Over and out. </div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-925609783430562422014-09-06T16:33:00.001-04:002014-09-06T16:33:56.998-04:00Home crap home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HKeoJjmsfoo/VAtsqOVBZlI/AAAAAAAAAP8/ETEp_yH-UW4/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HKeoJjmsfoo/VAtsqOVBZlI/AAAAAAAAAP8/ETEp_yH-UW4/s1600/photo.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div><br />Sigh. <br /><br />That is about the only thing that I can summon up as a response to a vacation home I rented on Cape Cod with my family for two weeks. Don't get me wrong, it was quaint, cosmetically beautiful, decorated in the quintessential cape cod beach decor with a subtle hint of farm house element to it. But... I got really tired of dealing with fifty carpenter ants a day (which were competing with the beach cockroaches for the food.) Spiders, ants and bugs a plenty. Our first hour there my kids went to use the upstairs bathroom and wash their hands. The water was on a total of 2 minutes. This flooded the bathroom floor, which leaked through the ceiling and onto the main bathroom floor (which was a second flood needing to be cleaned up.) Perfect start to a vacation, right? As we were mopping up the water from the floors, we simultaneously took care of multiple carpenter ants which had found a home in many of the walls inside the house. They were merrily climbing on the walls, across the floors, over the furniture, around the windows... EVERYWHERE. <br /><br />The problems with the upstairs sink were fixed within three days of being there. Just in time for the second sink to start leaking and flooding the floor on the main level. That was fixed within a day, so that wasn't too terrible... But then the shower doors came off of their hinge in my master bathroom. I was able to fix that on my own and set it back on its track. Have I mentioned how the beds squeaked to high hell if you even so much as scratched your ankle with your toenail? Oh, and they were as comfortable as an old, overused futon with a cheap foam layer on top. Two of the windows broke within an hour of being there. Yup. I know. As if all these things were not enough to have dealt with while on vacation (for only a week mind you), I went to wash dishes after breakfast (on the morning of day 7) and the water refused to come out of the faucet but instead only through the spray nozzle. Humph! What the hell kind of vacation home was this?! It was falling apart! And worst of all, I just paid GOOD money for two weeks to be an exterminator and a fix it girl. Insert-swear-words-here. Considering the condition of everything else, an executive decision was made to just avoid use of the dishwasher and call it a loss. YAY.<br /><br />What's my point in all of this rambling, you ask? Well, do your homework when looking for rental properties. Don't make the same mistakes I made, because I made them in haste and in a fit of exhaustion trying to just book something before I went insane. Just because something opens up in the area you want, doesn't mean you actually WANT that property. Listen when the owner describes it as an updated "older" home. Ya, OK... don't you mean, "falling apart and barely holding itself together?" I'm reminded of that scene in "A Good Year" where Max Skinner becomes the owner of a broken down vineyard overnight. Upon describing the condition of this new property to his real estate agent, his agent simply states, "We don't say shabby, Max, we say: filled with the patina of a bygone era." This was filled with the patina of a crap-tastic poop hole. It really did look great - ONLINE. The pictures were wonderful, and it even looked pretty. Sadly, the reality was totally different, especially when you had a chance to peel back the lemon rind. <br /><br />We decided to just make peace with our little crappy home while on vacation, and spend as much time outside of it as possible. What other choice did we have? Were we exhausted from being outdoors all day and night? Yes. Was the vacation fun despite the problems? Yes. Were the ants and cockroaches victorious is winning their domain over this building and forcing us out? Yes. Next time will I seek out any amount of luxury even if it's in the size of a closet? YES. <br /><br />Win for the ants. Loss for Abbie.</div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-10250072015908544852014-08-05T10:55:00.004-04:002014-08-05T10:55:43.067-04:00Where do you put your Big Ass?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Seriously. It's a real question. Because this is a real thing. And I don't mean your buttocks. Believe it or not, there really are items you can purchase under the name, "Big Ass..."<br /><br />That is what I found out the other day while indulging in a Coastal Living Magazine, sitting on the couch, minding my own business. It's very difficult for me to have a normal response to the mundane every day things in life. This is especially so when I have such an easy target for my deranged humor. And then there it was... Glowing like a beacon of light from the magazine pages. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eBOl_HoXMyE/U-DuDNkj0xI/AAAAAAAAAPU/nnQJSmG0R-8/s1600/Big+Ass+Fans.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eBOl_HoXMyE/U-DuDNkj0xI/AAAAAAAAAPU/nnQJSmG0R-8/s1600/Big+Ass+Fans.png" height="400" width="395" /></a></div>Big Ass Fans.<br /><i>"You'll like the way it looks. You'll love the way it feels."</i><br /><br />Because, I mean, come on... Who doesn't love a Big Ass? Can I say Big Ass a few more times? I don't think that's possible. *Trying to restrain myself from uncontrollable potty mouth humor.* Nope. Maybe one more for good measure? BIG ASS. Nope. Still not enough. Once you start the Big Ass jokes you just can't stop. <br /><br />Where do you like to position your BIG ASS? I like to position mine in a room with style. Or perhaps position it over the veranda to ensure maximum air circulation to my area. I'm snorting right now, I can't stop the laughter. <br /><br />OK, OK, I'll stop now.<br /><br />Oh, dear lord, yes please. Thank you. Roaring laughter ensued, followed by snarky cackles for at least an hour. I plastered all the social media accounts with it and of course had to follow up with a blog about it. This was the best little gem so far on my family vacation. A vacation, which up until now, has been filled with sick kids and work pings for the husband. AWESOME.<br /><br />Thank you, Coastal Living Magazine. (Wipes tears of joy.) Thank you.</div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-80089190373254963192014-08-03T15:12:00.001-04:002014-08-03T15:13:42.353-04:00Top 3 Easiest Diets<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mHzhOXJWy4Y/U96Jgud1rQI/AAAAAAAAAPE/yuCl3Vik9Lg/s1600/Diets.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mHzhOXJWy4Y/U96Jgud1rQI/AAAAAAAAAPE/yuCl3Vik9Lg/s1600/Diets.png" height="400" width="395" /></a></div><br /><br />Why diet when you can continue to just live your life every day, and in the process also expose yourself to a number of viral and bacterial infections guaranteeing you rapid weight loss? I've collected a few "diet" friendly illnesses for your Abbie Nourmel reading pleasure. They're a little unconventional, but, hey, what diet isn't nowadays?<br /><br />1. The Stomach Virus Diet<br />Go to a mall bathroom, a preschool classroom, an elementary school or summer camp and touch at least twenty different doors or surfaces. Do NOT wash your hands or use antibacterial gel. Immediately bite your fingernails, or order a really messy sandwich that will ensure heavy finger licking and/or hand to mouth contact. Buffalo wings are especially effective for this purpose. Within 24-36 hours you'll be vomiting uncontrollably out of every orifice. This will last for 2-4 days. This diet is guaranteed to make you drop 5-7 pounds in 2-4 days. <br /><br />2. The Flu Diet<br />This one is especially easy to catch - er - do during the winter months when you've packed on those pesky hibernation pounds. Also, as my kids preschool teacher found out, it is very accessible even in June or through the summer months. Hang around any public grade school or public recreation facility and make sure to touch the front doorknob. Another option is to volunteer at an urgent care facility or just sit in the waiting room of one asking random people if you can smell their breath. Within 2-5 days your entire body will feel so horrible that the thought of getting up off the couch to pee solicits feverish waves of emotional meltdowns. The feeling that Ebola is easier to deal with frequently comes to mind while in this state. Mainly because experiencing death over this flu seems like a wonderful gift from heaven. After about 6-7 days of feeling hotter than Mars and your body seems as if it's just endured a swim across the Atlantic Ocean, you'll start to feel the subtle signs of being on the mend. At the end of it all, none of your clothes fit, you've lost 10 pounds from a lack of eating brought on by sheer nausea and water loss from sweating profusely out of places like your neck, earlobes and belly button. <br /><br />3. The Lung Infection Diet<br />Ah, the piece de resistance. My all time favorite. Or so my doctor seems to think, since I happen to catch variations of this little lovely EVERY SINGLE YEAR. We're besties, the lung infection and I. This one starts off harmless enough, with sniffles, a slightly off feeling and overall decrease in the ability to get a full breath. Within 1-2 weeks you are hacking so severely that you barely catch your breath before the next bout of chest spasms occur. Your eyes are bleeding slits from the force of the coughing and you are contemplating a job as the new mascot for RedBull. Forget about eating. You can barely drink water since everything you put in your mouth becomes a choking hazard. You thrive solely on your mucus and tears. Which there is plenty of, so no worries there. Once you're on medication for a week you finally start to resemble a person who isn't communicating a horrible airborne plague. Oh, and you have probably dropped about 5-10 pounds as a result of being unable to ingest anything. The bonus is that you have had one hell of a chest and abdominal workout for three weeks! Abs of steel!<br /><br />Disclaimer: None of these diets are real. They are all real medical situations though. I am not a doctor. I have problems. I am also not an ANIMAL!</div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-45038909270682582872014-07-25T16:17:00.000-04:002014-07-25T16:17:41.211-04:00Raspberry Blueberry Mint Smoothie<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lkm5pu3erFw/U9K6a6YfkGI/AAAAAAAAAOw/gvVP5BTP4vs/s1600/photo.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lkm5pu3erFw/U9K6a6YfkGI/AAAAAAAAAOw/gvVP5BTP4vs/s1600/photo.PNG" height="400" title="@abbienourmel" width="391" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Here's another recipe post for you... Although today wasn't that hot, I was definitely needing a pick me up by three o'clock. The final result was RIDONCULOUS. This is lactose free, gluten free and vegetarian. It was too delicious not to share. :)<br /><br /><br />Raspberry Blueberry Mint Smoothie<br />Serves 4 <br /><br />1 cup of frozen blueberries<br />1 small package of frozen raspberries<br />3 medium sized bananas<br />2 cups of coconut milk<br />1 TBSP of white chia seeds<br />1 TBSP of camu powder <br />2 TBSP raw honey (or maple syrup for a vegan version) <br />I large handful of fresh mint leaves (I left the stems on)<br /><br />Mix together in your blender on the smoothie or ice cream setting. If you don't have those settings you can just replace the frozen berries with room temp ones (as they will blend easier.) Drink on its own, or mix with your favorite rum/ vodka. It's lip smackingly delicious!<br /><br />Ciao!<br />Abbie<br /><br /></div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-18158932110847611742014-07-11T11:42:00.003-04:002014-07-11T11:46:34.158-04:00Super Fruit Smoothie<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EtmGNQwYQGA/U8AAuK1cuQI/AAAAAAAAAOc/ZvlzXmkLvOs/s1600/Superfruit+Smoothie.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="@abbienourmel" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EtmGNQwYQGA/U8AAuK1cuQI/AAAAAAAAAOc/ZvlzXmkLvOs/s1600/Superfruit+Smoothie.png" height="400" title="Superfruit Smoothie" width="398" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Hi kids! How are you? No kidding!? I know, it's been a while. I will pretend that you have missed me terribly, and that you are dying to know what is in my crazy mind that will explode into a post today. SPOILER ALERT: I've been busy being a super mom to my two little devils. Shocking, I know. And yes, they have been little devils. Gorgeously delicious little devils... but devils none-the-less. This summer (with the kids in camp at least a half day) I have decided to dust off my website and stop neglecting it so much. I am also moving away from using Instagram and will be focusing on my Twitter account more. So, if you are on Twitter, come find me and follow @abbienourmel!<br /><br />Today's post is a recipe. Those of you who follow me on Instagram already know that I am a bit of a foodie. This picture received so much attention (on both of my social media accounts) that I decided to post the recipe on my blog. It's been getting hotter and hotter these days, and my super fruit vegetarian smoothie is just the right treat to cool you down and replenish those vitamins. :) It's not only delicious but it supplies you with a host of vitamins and immune boosters. It is best to use organic, non-gmo, and raw ingredients (if you can find them) to lessen your intake of pesticides and maximize the vitamin benefit. Enjoy, and let me know what you think if you end up making it yourself!<br /><br />Super Fruit Smoothie/ Sorbet<br /><br />Equipment:<br />* Blender with shake or ice cream setting<br />* Spoon<br /><br />* 1 banana<br />* 1 - 1 1/2 cups of frozen strawberries<br />* 1/2 cup of frozen blueberries<br />* 1 cup of pineapple chunks<br />* 1/2 - 1 cup of coconut milk (I use Silk brand coconut milk)<br />* 1 - 2 TSP chia seeds (white or black)<br />* 2 TBSP of dried raw mulberries<br />* 2 TSP of lucuma powder<br />* 1 TSP of camu powder<br />* 2 - 4 TBSP of raw honey (for vegan you can substitute with maple syrup or sugar)<br /><br />Blend until all ingredients are smooth and creamy. Try really hard not to give yourself a red mustache. :)<br /><br />Footnote: The less liquid you use (and the more frozen fruit) results in a thicker smoothie, and it becomes a sorbet or gelato consistency. You can switch out fruit if you want, but I happen to like this little mix of fruit together. I made mine to the sorbet consistency and topped it with fresh basil leaves, but you can just enjoy it straight from the blender. It saves well in the fridge for a few days, and is EXCELLENT mixed with tequila or rum. I mean, I have heard that it is? </div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-21949574566293541682013-09-19T14:25:00.002-04:002013-09-19T14:25:18.700-04:00New Webster's dictionary words (part deux)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yOQ-BpJ4NmA/Ujs-MfSIgCI/AAAAAAAAALc/V3gXu2qkP7k/s1600/Trampion+and+Hocano.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yOQ-BpJ4NmA/Ujs-MfSIgCI/AAAAAAAAALc/V3gXu2qkP7k/s400/Trampion+and+Hocano.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="GingerNoCheckStart"></span>"Out of the mouths of babes." - Psalms 8:2 </div><br />In its traditional meaning, the above quote refers to children saying statements which are prematurely insightful or wise. For today's post, I'll be using a less than traditional interpretation of the phrase. Especially since these are words my toddler has regurgitated and I'm finding a way to twist that into something crass, dark and witty. I'm such an excellent mother. Anyway, these two little gems popped out of my toddler's mouth the other day. I was lucky enough to have my phone's notepad ready to record these little verbal diamonds. Since many words have multiple meanings, I have also provided multiple inappropriate definitions for your amusement. <i><br /></i>I think it's pretty obvious where I am going with this, so don't act all surprised and shocked.<br /><br /><b>TRAMPION </b> <br />/<b>Tram-pee-uhn</b>/ (<i>noun</i>)<br />1) A person (non-gender specific) who takes sleeping around to a sport like level; competitions are optional. <br />2) An avid trampoline jumper who has advanced their levitating skills to a "champion" like ability.<br /><br /><b>HO-CANO</b><br />/<b>Ho-kay-noh</b>/ (<i>noun</i>)<br />1) A fierce explosion of promiscuity that hits you when you approach a brothel, seedy bar, or randomly at the ice machine of a Super 8 motel. <br />2) A dizzy, spinning, inspirationally explosive sensation that overcomes you whilst perusing around your favorite DIY store garden tools section (similar to experiencing a volcanic eruption and a tornado at the same time). This sensation is usually followed by an intense need to purchase the entire row of garden tools, starting, of course, with the hoe.<br />3) The overwhelming, uncontrollable onset of explosive gardening tool mouth diarrhea. Most often, this affliction attacks the overknowledgable employee in the gardening section, with whom you randomly run smack into with your mouth dropped wide open in an "I don't know what I'm looking for?" look on your face.<br /><br />I should start my own Abbie <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_mark" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="755969a2-2f9f-4cb7-8df9-85e7b94e087f" id="90a040b5-bd9a-4cfd-b0d3-08a387db6cfb">Nourmel</span> dictionary. <br />All the people would buy it. <br />I'm not narcissistic, but thanks for putting that thought out there. <br />I think I'm onto something here... :D<br /><span class="GingerNoCheckEnd"></span><br /></div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-1802645650482325932013-07-18T19:27:00.002-04:002013-07-18T19:33:04.483-04:00Poopy Ice Cream cupcakes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qxFKjNcjtxU/Ueh4rmsYwyI/AAAAAAAAAK8/QIIxRpx6I58/s1600/Poopy+Party+Cupcakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qxFKjNcjtxU/Ueh4rmsYwyI/AAAAAAAAAK8/QIIxRpx6I58/s640/Poopy+Party+Cupcakes.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Oh yes, yes I did. I made these. I made them specifically to celebrate my little 3 year old going poopy in the potty, but whatever floats your boat. Hey, you could make them for the same reason. Why not? Maybe if I celebrated myself more with poopy cupcakes then I would have more of an enlightened soul. Chew on that one Ghandi.<br /><br />Ok, since I've had a few requests now on how to make these, here you go. It is much, much simpler than you think, and it's very tasty. I cheated on a few ingredients making my life easier, but not necessarily following the mantra I typically adhere to: organic "real" ingredients... but, whatever. It tasted really good.<br /><br />Serves 6-12<br /><br />Need:<br />- 12 count cupcake baking pan<br />- 1 pkg of foil cupcake liners<br /><br />Ingredients:<br />- 1 qt of Ice cream (I used Vanilla, but you can use your favorite flavor)*<br /><i>(This can be made non-dairy as well using coconut or tofu ice cream) </i><br />- 1- 2 containers of Hershey's Shell Topping (or your favorite chocolate melted to room temp)<br />- 1 pkg of your favorite mini chocolate chips<br />- 1 pkg of mini marshmallows (I used large ones, lesson learned)<br />- 1 container of your favorite sprinkles<br /><br />Optional:<br />- Crumbled Graham crackers<br />- Oreo cookies or Ginger Snap cookies (depending on your flavor vision)<br />- Candied Ginger pieces<br />- chopped pretzel pieces (especially yummy mixed with Caramel flavored anything)<br />- Fresh fruit or fruit preserves (if you are not using the Oreo cookies)<br />- Snow caps (or even fancier, Non-Pareils for top garnish)<br />- Whipped cream <br /><br /><br />How you make it:<br /><br />Start with 6 cupcake foils, pour enough of the hard shell chocolate sauce into the bottom of the liners (roughly about 1-2 TBLSPN's). Make sure you tilt the liners and rotate enough so that the chocolate sauce whirls around and up all the sides of the liners. It doesn't have to be perfect. You want to make sure there is a substantial bottom to hold the weight of all the layers, and enough on the sides to support it like a cupcake. If you want to add any cookie crumbles, this is the time to sprinkle that on top of the bottom chocolate layer before chilling. Place chocolate glazed liners into a cupcake baking pan for support, and into refrigerator for 5 minutes* (if you are using fresh melted chocolate chips instead of the hard shell mix, then place in freezer until hardened).<br /><br />Take out the ice cream, and scoop out 1-2 large spoonful(s) of ice cream per liner into a bowl (depends on how high you want to make the cupcake). The ice cream can be hard to manipulate when just out of freezer, so you may want to scoop out a bunch into a bowl then let it soften a little to the point where you can manipulate ingredients into it easily (but not melted!). This is also a point where you can play with mixed in ingredients - merge fruit or cookies or whatever into the ice cream (honey, caramel, etc.) - but quickly as you don't want the ice cream to get to a melted point. Next, place it into cupcake liner and gently press into the shell lining up to 1/4" below liner rim. You can add another layer of chocolate (and cookie crumbles) and hard shell on top if you like making it a parfait type cupcake. I added a layer of chocolate chip sprinkles. Yum. Place both the semi-made cupcakes and bowl of softened ice cream in freezer for 5-10 minutes or until hardened. Take cupcakes back out, and add another scoop of the bowl hardened ice cream on top, to create a risen cupcake batter height. Quickly place a mini marshmallow on top for a garnish (or a Snow Cap, or whipped cream - the possibilities are endless!), then drizzle in zigzag pattern more hard shell topping to affix it to ice cream. Before it hardens dash some sprinkles on it, and throw back into freezer. VOILA!<br /><br />If you aren't going to eat them right away, you may want to transfer them to a freezer safe container or wrap them to avoid freezer burn and/or picking up other freezer smells into the ice cream tastes.Salmon flavored Vanilla ice cream is not really my cup of tea. <br /><br />TRUST ME, your kids (or you?) will LOVE THESE. You just take them out, peel the liner off, and place in a shallow bowl. The kids got slap happy over this, and I think, will probably want this every time little kid has a poopy. LOL.<br /><br />Happy eating!<br /><br />~ Abbie<br /><br /><br /></div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-66772037906698890282013-06-27T21:52:00.000-04:002013-06-27T21:52:18.580-04:00The Tao of Mr. Bunny<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DoNotShowInsertionsAndDeletions/> <w:DoNotShowPropertyChanges/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> 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QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/> </w:LatentStyles></xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]><style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style><![endif]--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This wise little bunny rabbit comes to visit me each morning and night, hopping merrily along for hours, right behind my house and along the stretch of my backyard. Lately, he's been gracing me with his presence in the afternoons too. I’m especially appreciative of this gesture given the “at home camp” I have become for my children this summer. AKA: MOMMY CAMP. In the simplest of terms, I am responsible for one hundred percent of their activity from 6:30 AM until 8:30 PM - every minute, all day, and every day – until summer ends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to be camp counselor, mommy, nurse, friend, play date, story time reader, personal chef, arts and crafts teacher, swim instructor, sometimes a shark, an equestrian ride, most of the time a cheetah, and… well, you get the picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Endless bickering, social emotional relationship managing, diffusing blood curdling tantrums (you name it) has left me utterly spent, stressed out, and by three in the afternoon I have absolutely nothing left. Can you imagine what type of random serendipitous act would have to take place in order to change my thought process?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here I am drowning in this feeling of being broken down, and then, all of a sudden, this cute little bunny tail makes its way into my backyard. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br />His appearances are usually just after dawn, perfectly timed I think, in hopes to remind me to quiet my mind and savor the small glimpse of tranquility the earliest bit of morning can bring. His half drawn eyelids (while sitting peacefully in a spot of sun) tell me to stop and feel the breeze rustling through the trees. A twitch of his whiskers hints to me that I should smell the fragrance of the freshly cut grass or the nearby pine tree. By slightly raising his ears he beckons me to listen to the sparrows chirping blessing everyone with their morning song. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br />The sun is shining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lie still. Be calm. Just BE.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br />This, I believe, is his message to me. This is what I have come to refer to as, “The Tao of Mr. Bunny”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gently he whispers these revelations to me, of which I desperately need to absorb, despite how impossible it seems amongst the constant hectic energy that surrounds me literally every day. He’s just there exhibiting a cool, calm demeanor all the while completely aware of the calamity that is my children - who are just a stone’s throw away from his reach. He remains emotionally serene. Little bunny just eats his clover, minding his own space; meanwhile I sit back admiring his effortless Chi from afar. He seems to understand the unspoken laws of nature, and the striving for its intangible balance. In this sense, meaning when to sit and savor a moment and when to self preserve. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br />I look forward to his cathartic visits, and the subtle reminders he brings me with each one. Everything in life - no matter how small and insignificant, or big and important - has a purpose. We all have our paths to choose, and we will eventually choose, but it's important to remember every once in a while it’s so imperative to stop and sit in that sunny patch of grass for a while... off the beaten path, letting the sun warm our skin. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br />Life is short, soak it up… all of it. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br />Today is simply what I choose to make of it, which is basically my perception of my overall experiences. So for now, I'll just sit on my porch, breathing in the fragrant damp post-rain air, and counting my blessings… until 8:30 PM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><br />Thank you, Mr. Bunny.</span></div></div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-2081746813144952132013-04-19T15:53:00.001-04:002013-04-19T15:53:51.591-04:00Tragedy and Resilience<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Over the course of the past few days, Boston, Massachusetts has been inundated with back to back, seemingly non-stop tragic news. Despite my speckled humorous tweets, and various social media statements, it's not gone unnoticed by me. I was born here, and now I'm currently living back in this great city with my own family (which includes two beautiful children). Although, I reside in a bucolic suburb of Boston, the city itself still remains a part of my everyday. Trips with the family to museums in town, maintaining connection with friends and family members in the surrounding immediate suburbs, driving my husband to the airport for business and picking up visitors from afar - these all contribute to my daily life experience, even living in the suburbs. Boston is a part of my every day life here.<br /><br />The Boston Marathon tragedy and following (and still unfolding) events have changed our memories of Boston, as we know it, forever. The echoed heartbroken sentiment seems to be clear: "We just never expected anything like this to happen here." Things here are surreal, and shock value is at an all time high. Today, as the majority of Boston is hunkering down in their homes and businesses, the streets are (and I quote from a news report) "almost post apocalyptic". Just hours ago, what were once bustling and thriving streets, are now barren. It's like a ghost town. Residents are wanting to get out, fists up, fighting in any way they can for their city and for their freedom, but are held under lock down as authorities are combing the streets on a manhunt for what has been labeled a "terrorist". We could never have possibly imagined what these last five days would have manifested into our reality. News broadcasts in cycles of the same information (with pockets of slightly new data waiting to be confirmed), people sitting on the edge of their chairs in front of their televisions... as we wait to hear whether the party responsible for killing and injuring so many in our hometown has been captured. It's a stressful, unknowing, and horrible state of emotional imbalance as we all strive to maintain some sense of normalcy outside of the true horror going on around us.<br /><br />That being said, as a mother to children too young to be aware of these events, I feel that the most important lesson in all of this is to try to find a balance, and most importantly, keep living your life to the best of your ability. Tragedy is a part of our human existence. These events have been horrific, and not one person you meet (including me) would argue otherwise. But, how does one possibly create balance in such an imbalanced state of affairs? From my perspective, which admittedly is one that luckily hasn't been touched personally by these tragedies... well, this is my personal feeling....<br /><br />Self-educate but don't over saturate your mind, keep abreast of the details but don't be afraid to steal away moments to build a fort with your kids, be quiet when updates unfold but laugh even louder at a joke just forwarded, pray for victims but then dance at that fun song with your friend. If I am unable to do this, in my mind, they have won. I'm an American, and I am free. Horror, tragedy, terrible unspoken things, they are all around us... but resilience, resilience is there too. It's there to pick us up from the ground, dust us off, band us together in the face of terror, uniting us in a way that perhaps wasn't attainable before such an event. Terrorists you have NOT won. You have succeeded in making Boston EVEN STRONGER. We will PREVAIL. WE WILL FIGHT FOR OUR FREEDOMS. We WILL NOT lie down and accept this. You have merely put a scar on our hearts, but NEVER on our spirits. <br /><br />From the mouth of this one strong and proud Boston girl, WATCH OUT TERRORISTS. You just increased the "neighborhood watch" by millions. We will find you, you will pay for your crimes, and you will one day feel the weight of all the victims pain and the lives that you prematurely stole. Karma is a bitch, and our Boston is a city of fighters. So put your boxing gloves on, it's going to get Patriotic up in here.</div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-87687213179340032732013-03-15T19:25:00.000-04:002013-03-15T19:27:13.116-04:00The Preacher and the Tired Waitress<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">A friend recently visited me from the west coast, and as I was meeting her boyfriend for the first time, she divulged to him that her long time friend (me) has a twisted and bitterly sarcastic humor she adores. At least in my narcissistic universe that's how I think she feels about me. She recants this story, which quite honestly I had forgotten, about a time when I expressed my well known quick nasty wit and thrust its sleep deprivation induced venom upon an innocent preacher one morning. Luckily the guy had a GREAT sense of humor, and we both had a good laugh at the end of it. I guarantee it was the most interesting door to door experience he had that morning.<br /><br />Once upon a time I was a waitress. This one night I stayed way past my grumpy time working, then didn't get home until the wee hours of the morning. In that type of working situation, you're not an early riser. Let's just say that awakening a hibernating Kodiak bear would have been more pleasant than waking me from my slumber given the circumstances. Groggy eyed Abbie hears a "Knock, Knock", at the door at 7:30 AM. I ask myself, <i>Who the h*** is knocking at my door at this ungodly hour?</i> Opening the door, I see this lovely man dressed in spiritual garb and offering a welcome to his new church down the road.<i> Nice man, seems sweet. Too bad he knocked on my door, poor guy doesn't know what verbal poo is about to hit him in the jugular. </i>Understand that I have nothing against spirituality, people of god, or those who want to work as their messengers. I just like sleep.<i> A lot.</i><b><br /><br />Preacher: </b>"Hi, I'm (blah blah blah) and I'm looking for people who are interested in joining my church down the road. We just opened our doors, and I'm hoping we can interest you in stopping by to see our service. (<i>I'm nodding, and not really paying attention.) </i><i></i>Let me ask you a question, If you were to walk out your door today, and get hit by a bus, do you think you would go to heaven or to hell?"<br /><br />Now, I'm one for a good spiritual debate just as anyone else, but on 3 hours of sleep there is no way MY brain is able to function on any level of social appropriateness. I'm not even able to do that on a full nights sleep... on a good day... when the sun is shining... and even if I had all those teleprompters in front of me telling me the right things to say like the President. This being said from a descendant of catholic nuns no less. I think I mentioned before I have issues... but, I digress... onward with the true story.<br /><b><br />Abbie: </b>"Oh, Pssht! That's an easy question... <i>(his associate scoffs and replies under his breath, 'Easy?')</i> HEAVEN. I'm definitely going to Heaven. <b> </b><br /><b><br />Preacher: </b>"Well! (LAUGHING) You certainly seem convinced of this answer, are you sure? If you stand firm with your reply, why, may I ask, do you feel so strongly about that?"<br /><b><br />Abbie: </b>"Well, you see preacher, I've already BEEN to Hell. So if I *DON'T* go to Heaven, there IS no God." *<i>Insert-Cheshire-Cat grin-and-sleepy-rub-of-eyes</i>*<br /><br />At this point he breaks out into laughter, and so does his assistant. They both agreed that was the best answer they had heard in their entire career of soliciting followers. We shook hands and he gave me a literature packet so that I could decide later if I wanted to follow his church to make him smile more. I thought since I subjected him enough to my torture, I would let him go on his way, making others wonder about their own mortality and how quickly their life would end by being hit with a bus at 7:30 AM. <br /><br />True story.<br /><br /></div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-55604492511163749132012-11-28T21:30:00.002-05:002012-11-28T21:52:48.014-05:00This Holiday it's Avoidance I'll Bring<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Holidays can just absolutely suck. <br /><br />I've personally never been a fan of them. Except, of course, for the ones that are very easy - like Halloween. Halloween is easy-peasy. On Halloween, I make my living scaring the crap out of people and just basically acting the way I want to act the other 364 days of the year. <br /><br />That's besides the point, I'm digressing, let's get back to the holidays sucking... <br /><br />Having just finished the latest round of holiday fantastical "magic" with Thanksgiving, I thought I would humbly appease all of the cynics, sarcastic people, shut-ins, socially challenged and even the not so socially challenged with a little acrimonious pick me up (given what we all endure over the holidays, this is an especially nice gesture from me. Eh-em, you're welcome.). Especially since the *magical* "Christmas" experience and the *awesome* New Years holiday are right up on our butts too.<br /><br />Here's a little ditty I just conjured up. I hope it brings as much bitter snarky laughter to you as it did to me. Yes, I have serious problems. <br /><br /><br />This Holiday it's Avoidance I'll Bring<br />(Sung to the tune of "My Favorite Things", Sound of Music Soundtrack)<br /><br /><br />Stuffed roasted turkey and rosemary potatoes<br />Hot as hell family rooms packed with crazy kiddos<br />Incorrectly spelled name tags adorned with festive bling<br />This holiday season it's avoidance I'll bring<br /><br />Sparkly silver ornaments and sweet cranberry ale<br />Barely known relatives who's attitudes just friggin' fail<br />Turtle doves adorning much needed cocktail things<br />This holiday season it's avoidance I'll bring<br /><br />Men dressed in their best and Gals matching with flair<br />If I don't get the hell out of here soon, I'll pass out on the stair<br />Nightmare Autumn gatherings that roll into Winter shindigs<br />This holiday season it's avoidance I'll bring<br /><br />When the patience snaps<br />When the insults fling<br />When I'm feeling hopeless<br />I simply remember my emotional avoidance<br />And then I don't feel so bad<br /><br />- A warm and fuzzy holiday song, by Abbie Nourmel<br /><br /></div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-29756073117301995702012-08-01T22:44:00.002-04:002012-08-02T22:21:50.896-04:00Bonjour maggots, we meet again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Engarde! Monsieur Maggot! We meet again... and this time there is no mercy my friend. Yes, sadly (AGAIN) I am dealing with maggots within my lifetime. Once more than I would have liked to of course. The problem lies within a party host, who is not very good with details, and forgot to line the trash bins with liners. "So what?", you say? Sure... probably not a big deal if you are disposing of plastic, or random beer cups. Unfortunately, our waste was the result of a Hawaiian pig roast, and the remnants of said swine and a plethora of accouterments into the garbage can (all unlined). Corn, beans, pork, seasoned ribs, potato salad, salad, etc.<br /><br />As soon as I was approached during the party, by a few guests, what were they to do with said garbage items, I looked to the host(s). One, who was more than a rock star, suggested one of the items on the co-host's list was the garbage and he had nothing to do with it - fair enough. It just happens to be that the co-host responsible for garbage is also family to me... and I know what their follow through is on minutia, and especially garbage detail. *Sigh*. After multiple neighbors convince me otherwise (what were THEY thinking???), I decided to reject the idea of immediately taking the pig and resulting garbage out of the bins in my full Hawaiian dress at 11:30 at night. This, I fear, was a huge mistake. Not the drinking too late into the evening, nor the tomfoolery (or cacophonous noise I was making or other things not worth mentioning), just the garbage was the most evident mistake. <br /><br />I warned, nudged, pleaded, nagged "please, please, please take the garbage out and put it into separate bags, don't leave it un-bagged in the bin!"... nothing budged said partner to change the scenario outside - even after several days post party. His reasoning? "It takes a week before maggots show up. It will be fine." My response?, "Fine. When the maggots show up - you're dealing with it, not me." He agreed. Finally, two days after, he moved AT LEAST the swine into a bag. But, alas, nothing else... so basically it did nothing for the result I was looking for (no maggots). I come out three days post party (fully knowing what to expect) and of course, as predicted - full on maggot infestation. Laid bins out for trash pick up, felt like an a**hole towards the Garbage men, and waited. Please GOD, take these bins. <br /><br />So, back to today... I come out to see if the bleach I poured onto the bins last night worked in terms of the infestation reducing. Nope. There is this little pile of maggot worms laying at the base of each bin. OMG, I want to projectile vomit out my eyes. At LEAST 100 lying there, and more squirming out the sides. This is like a Wes Craven Horror movie. BARF. I am PRAYING that the men take these bins. Especially since I had gone out last night in a fit of despair, and doused the bins with bleach - no dice. The little worms of horror are invincible. It's unbelievable. Eight O'clock comes around... They took it - phew. I had been watching feverishly through the window the whole time the men took the bins. Images of holding back barf were flowing through my mind. I couldn't BARE the thought of what it would be like taking care of this myself if they refused it, carrying those bins in the back of my perfect Tahoe. Then the HORRID realization comes to me. Husband: Just. Can't. Deal. With. The. Aftermath. Of. Cleanup. F*&$. OK, I get that he has a shiza load of responsibility on him right now, so do I, but what happened to the "man's work"? I'm now doing both the man's work and the woman's work?!?!?!? GRRRRR...<br /><br />That's it. It's four days post party, and I've had it with patience. Someone needs to do this, and I guess it's going to be me. I pull out every frigging bin and container I have of Vinegar and environmentally biodegradable bleach (this type of bleach breaks down to salt water - like the kind you use to clean your deck), and I SOAK the suckers. I have full on plastic gloves and am spraying the wet, maggot infested garbage down, and just dousing the disgusting awfulness that this is. Then I have to pick up the wet maggot garbage and reload it into new garbage bags. VOMIT fest. For a sensory sensitive person like me - especially olfactory like mine - this is the worst job you could possible hold in the world. Never-the-less, it has to be done, by someone, and STAT. Neighbors are walking by, moms are instructing their kids not to breathe, people are walking to the other side of the street - its bad. But after one solid hour of this hell - we're back BABY! Clean bins, smelling like Lysol bleach and vinegar fresh, at least for the time being. I think I may have to re-bleach the bins... and there were a few extra "worms" hanging around I didn't catch from my relentless hour long power spray from the hose throughout the colonoscopy of the garbage bins I performed... but WTF? I sprayed until the potential thunderstorm lightening bolts above my house were right above my garage. I did my part, and THEN SOME. Hubby asks if I took care of it when I walked in... Is it wrong to want to slap him in the face? :-/<br /><br />No words, my friends, no words, just a nice strong martini and maggot free garbage cans at the side of my house. Also, VERY happy crows (and neighbors)... side note: I kind of like crows more now? </div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-313942446743128612012-07-25T00:17:00.002-04:002012-07-25T00:18:12.358-04:00Stalagmites are good teddy bears<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">...When you are living in a cave. At least that is what I assume, and also I'm sincerely looking forward to snuggling with them. Since my next place of residence will be a dark secluded cave as far away from human existence as possible, and without any direct human interaction (outside of controlled response internet) what so ever. I'm looking forward to getting to know more about my mineral based calcified rock friends - seriously. <br /><br />Some bonuses to that relationship: <br />They don't look at you awkwardly when you say something off key. <br />Stalagmites don't want to avoid you if you come across weird. <br /><br />There are many things that make me adore the idea of Stalagmites as a teddy bear... but mostly those above items. Frequent delivery of pitted Kalamata olive jars in the cave would be cool, but still - the location of the cave needs to be far away, so that may not be possible. The notion of living in a cave is WAY better than the realism of interaction I get now, which is the head-jerking-back-rolled-eyes-freakish-glare look I presently receive when just about anything comes out of my mouth. Sigh. It's so hard sometimes to be abnormal, and pretend to be NORMAL. I joke about how fun it is being weird... and sometimes it really is fun!, but most times it's just sad. Sad, like in a way that you wish your dog had a play friend and wasn't depressed all the time, sad. On the whole, though, it's just incredibly isolating. One bad comment from me leads to a slew of other people's judgements, and then you try to make up for that comment by digging yourself a bigger hole through explaining yourself with other comments that backfire (come on, people just don't get you already!, why keep trying?!?), then the blank listless stare from your listening party ensues... this is horribly bad. This is the worst sign that you are the biggest loser ever. Ugh. The icing on the cake is when you hear the tell tale sign (and from a close friend), "You're weird!" This, unfortunately, is what I get A LOT. It's enough to want to make me curl up in a fetal position, with a bottle of VERY good Grey goose, a couple of lemons, and a snuggly blanket - all in a cave of course with a horror movie. FAR AWAY from society. Away from all the non-understanding stares regarding the verbal diarrhea that comes out of my mouth. I can't help it sometimes the verbal gook that just vomits out under stress or anxiety fueled times. It's compulsive. I abhor it, but it's true. <br /><br />This is what makes me different from most. I have no filter. I have no ability to discern others emotions whilst in the throws of the conversation. I can read faces, but I don't *really* get it - until its too late. I can't say or suggest things without having an air of efficiency and logical distinction. It SUCKS. Why am I so weird? Anyways... back to my Utopian condo nestled in the volcanic mountains of nowhere... I can't wait to make a dirty martini and play with the Dolphins... outside of mating season of course, because they're awfully aggressive during that time. But seriously, I can't wait to find my own "Nim's Island". Maybe then, on my island of "nowhere", I won't be seen as a social abomination, but a master mind of brilliance. <br /><br />"So, I have that going for me, which is nice." - Bill Murray, Caddy Shack</div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-43653381446040229842012-07-12T14:37:00.000-04:002012-07-12T14:37:07.712-04:00My ghosts are lazy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">OK, so after all that serious, spine chilling, Alfred Hitchcock-esque talk about weird paranormal experience and other strange happenings in my house, I decided I should lighten up a bit. After all, this is supposed to be a funny blog, with real moments only sporadically. Pfft.<br /><br />I got to thinking in the shower the other morning, I do my best thinking in there, and I believe my friend had the right idea. She suggested that I need to put the ghosts to work and then maybe their presence wouldn't be so awful. What could these ghosts do to make me feel better about them being around all the time? Interesting question to ask myself, but I actually came up with some great answers... I hope they're listening.<br /><br />Things my house ghosts could do to make our coexistance better:<br /><br />1. Fold my laundry. <br /><i>I mean really. There are, like, literally mountains of unwashed, and washed laundry. I SERIOUSLY hate folding laundry. If they're going to be up all hours of the night, folding a few loads isn't too much to ask, is it?</i><br /><br />2. While we're on the laundry topic, why not run a load in the washer for me? <i><br />If they can lift crap off the shelves, then they certainly could lift a pour of Oxyclean and Tide into the washer, at, oh, say 1 AM? Make your poltergeist activity work for YOU. Ghosts, if your feeling naughty, maybe iron a few shirts too? Just sayin.</i><br /><br />3. Wash all the dishes and clean the kitchen at night. <br /><i>You know what nights I am talking about. Those nights where your meal has created a mountainous volcano of dishes - ready to erupt onto your floor - and you're starting to notice goats roaming around your perimeter. Those nights it would ESPECIALLY fantastic if the ghosts would just take care of that for me. </i><br /><br />4. I really don't like pulling crab grass from the garden. <br /><i>As much as I love playing tug of war with a rhizomatous chlorophyll beast, I REALLY don't like all the spiders in the bushes I need to brush up against to do it myself. Clearly ghost weeding is in order. Benefit for the ghost? It could get all that pent up otherworldly frustration out in a healthy manner... instead of, oh I don't know, throwing my clock off the wall.</i><br /><br />5. Massage my feet?<br /><i>Instead of wasting all that manifestation power with pushing down on my chest, flipping my arms out of bed, or paralyzing me with fear, why not just do something nice for a change? Massaging my feet would help bring our relationship to the next level and simultaneously bridge the gap that is our lack of trust with one another.</i><br /><br />Obviously, there are so many other things that the ghosts could be doing to make my life better, but this is a start. Once I feel like the above have become an effortless routine for my spooks, I might actually be able to overlook the damaged clock and my worn out pscyhe.</div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-59527332062826091772012-07-10T09:00:00.000-04:002012-07-10T09:00:11.417-04:00Paranormal Story #1 - My history of activity in this area<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Being "sensitive" has always been my gift/ curse. I have had so many experiences, that I will just have to give you some of the highlight reels. This will just include stories from this general area that we have lived in (mostly our house now, but I've had spirits follow me from one home to another). Maybe later I can embellish on what we believe are spirits that used to talk to my little sister in our living room growing up...<br /><br />Back when we were living as boyfriend and girlfriend in 2000-2003 in what was<br />hubby's apartment at the time, I would get a NASTY spirit visiting me only when<br />the boyfriend was not home or traveling. This was a male energy and gave me the immediate feeling of terror I felt when it would appear and that I was being ogled for sexual violation. This black mass would stand at the end of my bed. I could feel it appear, and it usually was just after hearing heavy footsteps walking up the stairs with no one there. After this *thing* being around me too many times to count, and only when the man was not there and I was alone, I did a smudging. That cleared the icky- nessout until we moved to our first "condo" two blocks away. The nasty thing followed me to the next place. I did another smudging, and it went away. Haven't had that one around since.<br /><br />Now skip ahead to post baby, now living in newly built home (where we currently reside). Big kid is 10 months old. She's in a crib in her baby room (now little kid's room), and frequently upon checking on her at night I would get that feeling<br />like I just walked in on someone in the bathroom stall. It wasn't negative or a bad feeling per se, but I just *felt* I had walked in on an energy and startled it. I had a deep feeling it was a family connection to my husbands side. One day I noticed a deeply embedded black ash smudge on the carpet 2 feet into the room from the door (we don't wear shoes in the house). It was so far down enmeshed into the carpet it was at the base of the strands and still loose/ coming up onto my<br />finger. It was the circumference of a cigar ash dropping. It appeared overnight. Freaky. Shortly after big kid started to climb out of the crib at eleven months, we moved her onto the floor and quickly into the next bigger room for more play space. SECOND ASH MARK appeared right next to the edge of her bed on the carpet - same description - except now it's right by her head. Also appeared overnight. Double freaky.<br /><br />Since then we have had a PLETHORA of experiences... big kid has never been afraid of the dark until she was four and a half. It was then that she was waking up scared at 1 or 2 AM and not wanting to go back to her room because of what she described as "the hammering on her ceiling". Yup. Poor kiddo. Now we do hail mary's every night as some form of protection - I'm not even that religious. That was inspired around the time I kept seeing orbs flying past little kid's head, stopping and hovering above her, then reversing (all over the baby monitor). For almost three weeks straight I would come to check on little kid and the camera cord attached to the wall would be ripped off. It's secured with a cross hold and is affixed with adhesive to the side of the molding. I tested it every night from there on to make sure I couldn't rip it off, only to come back in to find it ripped off. Once while watching her sleep on the monitor, I saw the cord rip off on its own! I was freaked. This was during her nap time in the middle of the day (have I mentioned that this stuff also happens in the day time?). My portable makeup mirror would crash into the sink where it originated from the middle of the<br />counter. I would hear bangs upstairs while little kid was sleeping, etc. I never<br />liked that the attic access was in the baby room (what builder does that???), so<br />we had it moved out to the hallway, with the only entrance available being right<br />outside of big kid's bedroom door. We have a ladder attached to the door to get<br />up there. Currently the stuff in little kid's room has stopped, but I wonder if that access has some activity tied to it.<br /><br />I never did like it anyways... more stories to come.</div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-19040662729069543312012-07-09T21:31:00.002-04:002012-07-09T21:31:44.897-04:00Paranormal activity continues<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MFwpi76mq9o/T_uFr-xZYUI/AAAAAAAAAKI/X1t44pWLvvQ/s1600/Morton%27s+rock+salt+pic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="www.malaproposfreak.com" border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MFwpi76mq9o/T_uFr-xZYUI/AAAAAAAAAKI/X1t44pWLvvQ/s400/Morton%27s+rock+salt+pic.JPG" title="www.malaproposfreak.com" width="400" /></a></div><br />If you read my last post, then you would know I have been experiencing some weird phenomena occurring at my house. This is nothing new, and hasn't been anything new for the last 5 years of living here. Recent activity is fairly new in that I haven't had anything happen since May when the house was blessed by a Catholic Bishop (by the way, I'm not catholic). Mr. Clock projecting from the wall was a nasty rude awakening, but it didn't end there. After calming myself down, speaking with friends, family members and more friends to gauge my sanity... they admitted, I'm a pretty logical person, with weirdo tendencies, but pretty logical. <br /><br />In the wee hours of the morning following the previous 5AM clock experience, I'm again in the family room watching the food network. Another bout of insomnia has taken me and as I watch the TV time show that it's reaching 2 AM I'm actually getting a little tired, finally. I had the remote lying in my lap in the middle of my legs, totally still. I start to dip my eyes, open, dip, open, dipping more... ok, getting tired, this is good. Out of nowhere, the TV, tuner and speakers all shut down. Simultaneously, my remote which has a fresh set of batteries mind you, dies instantly. Not even a backlight. Nothing. Room turns cold like the AC is on at 50 degrees. WTH? It's 85 out? It's 75 in here. Weird. I felt something strange, but held my ground. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I don't like it. <br />I immediately say out loud, "This is MY house. Go back to where you came from, you do NOT belong here." I'm pseudo freaking out. Hair on my body has been standing up solid since the AV equipment shut off. Let me tell you, I have a fancy AV system in my house. You can't just hit a button and things shut off. You have to select the source, then hit the zone, then select power off. Not likely that any movement of my body did this instant shut down. No storms. No power flickers. Just weird. It still doesn't explain the remote?!? That thing can be dying for days and it will show you the status of the battery with a picture icon at the top. Died instantly. I walk upstairs, grab my children, force them to sleep in my bed for the night. <br /><br />What's on the agenda for tomorrow?: smudging, then lining the whole perimeter of my home with Sea Salt. Looks like the Bishop didn't leave much of a mark for this unwanted guest... I need to look at all avenues. <br /><br />Will keep you posted, and have now decided to post a few more of my ghost stories that have occurred here... so if you're interested, check back. There are some that would make your hair curl.</div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-69891120941070349762012-07-06T13:10:00.001-04:002012-07-06T13:38:46.720-04:00My haunted house<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7LGxvcOJMYs/T_cRFD1WrbI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/joLcOsPjS88/s1600/Ghost+Clock_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="www.malaproposfreak.com" border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7LGxvcOJMYs/T_cRFD1WrbI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/joLcOsPjS88/s400/Ghost+Clock_07062012.JPG" title="Frozen at time it projected from the wall." width="400" /></a></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /><br />It's a little disturbing to admit that I have ghosts in my home. I should state, however, that they generally are nice ones, or so it seems, but every once in a while I get large pockets of "activity" that are not so nice. Or shall I say, FREAKY. I've had some seriously whacked experiences here, but luckily things have been sort of quiet for a while. Until this morning. I hadn't slept well to start off with. I've been under a tremendous amount of pressure and stress and with that combination, insomnia usually creeps into my brain. I finally dozed off about 3:30 AM, only to be startled awake by a cacophonous crashing and smashing sound. At first I didn't understand what happened. I was just coming to from a deep REM sleep, so it took me a minute to adjust and get my brain wrapped around the fact that the crashing sound came from below me, one level, in my kitchen area. Now, logic always kicks in first when strange things happen. Big kid <i>has </i>been waking up earlier than everyone lately during this summer break and helping herself to the iPad - until she's hungry, or other people wake up, or she wakes me up. My first thought was, "Did she try to reach some food up high and something crashed on her?!?". Although even this thought immediately seemed unlikely, because it's very seldom she's waking up at 5:15 AM. That's even too early for her. Next racing thought passes... OMG!, it's a break in. That sound was way too close to a *breaking-glass-crashing-through-a-door* sound to be something trivial, or unworthy of scoping out. I look around my room for something to use as protection and I'm just failing miserably with the task. I decide to just go without protection and check it out... I figure the longer he's in the house, the greater the risk to my children and myself. At least that made sense in my sleep deprived mind? <br /><br />I walk down into the kitchen to find nothing... wait... that's impossible! I know I heard one of the loudest sounds I have ever heard in this place! What the heck made this horrific crashing sound? I notice that the thirteen inch clock that rests above the deck doors has not only removed itself from the wall, but has flung itself halfway across the kitchen floor in a projectile manner. <br /><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s1600/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="www.malaproposfreak.com" border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6DHv8-AIrec/T_cRG0FeadI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8-LGdi-3iBE/s400/Paranormal+Clock+projection_07062012.JPG" title="Ghost clock projected across room 5'5" from wall." width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />This wasn't a simple falling down. It lifted and projected across the room (under the chair in the foreground is the back of the clock where it landed - another foot above the top of the doors *which the top foot of the door is cut out of the photo* is where it originated from). The fan is on the lowest speed which is creating a wind current the same force as one of those classic Chinese folding hand fans. It would have to be a LOT more forceful than that for this clock to be lifted upward off of the flat head nail base it's on (which the nail head is on an angle - head pointing up towards the ceiling), removed from the wall, and projected 5'5" from the wall. <i>As it stands without paranormal activity going on, just to change batteries, I have to stand on a chair to reach it, lift it upwards towards the ceiling about two inches to remove it from the nail head, and pull it out.</i> I just sat there in complete shock, terrorized and paralyzed with fear. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. I couldn't even figure out what expression I felt... it was THAT scary. I picked up the clock, which was frozen on the time that it was flung onto the floor at 5:20 AM since the battery had been knocked out by the sheer force of the drop. I placed the battery and clock on the counter, regrouped my emotions enough to form words, and asked, "What do you want?!?". Nothing. Silence. Just frightening silence and an intense cold air surrounding me. With body tremors on full throttle speed, I walked back upstairs, lie in bed... still shaking uncontrollably... and heard a whimpering cry of a boy saying what sounded like "mom" (?) and decided to ignore that completely. I'm just too frightened to acknowledge anything more in this moment. Then I do the only thing I know to do (not overly religious at all BTW), I said at least a thousand Hail Mary prayers for an hour until I fell asleep at 6:30 AM. Waking up at 7:30 AM things seemed fine... but that shell shocked experience is looming over my head like a storm cloud waiting to burst. I'm alone with the kids for the next 2 days at least... I'm beyond spooked to know what the next few nights have in store for me?<br /><br />I'm frightened.<br />I'm depleting the stock of rock salt from all my neighborhood stores.<br />Paranormal thing... it's on.</div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-21778012450892723432012-07-02T17:33:00.001-04:002012-07-02T18:37:02.494-04:00Dear ATM Debit Machine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X3g_mTCUYps/T_IifrCAsRI/AAAAAAAAAJo/6RSL05FLlQQ/s1600/i+hate+debit+card+machines.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="368" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X3g_mTCUYps/T_IifrCAsRI/AAAAAAAAAJo/6RSL05FLlQQ/s400/i+hate+debit+card+machines.bmp" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br />Why must you torment me so? When I swipe my card, I don't know, can you just REGISTER it? By registering it, I mean, can you please just read the data and go about your business? Do I have to answer all these asinine questions before my purchase can be completed? I think two questions MAXIMUM should be allowed. Anything more than that is utterly ridiculous, and just an absolute waste of my time and everyone else behind me. <br /><br />Why, prey tell is it ridiculous, you ask? I will inform you.<br /><br />In this world full of instant gratification and multiple choice, we have over delegated options for choices to the debit card machine. It should be swipe, punch in pin and you're done. Get out. Get on with your life.<br />But, no, wait!, now you have to ask if I have a *special-like fancy* frequent buyer card, and if not, "what's my phone number?". After that, I swipe my card, yet again, another question irrelevant to my purchase. "Would I like to donate and support Dolphins with athletes foot?". I have my own charitable donations I participate in, and no I would not like to participate today. Do you think that's the end of relentless debit card machine and the twenty questions game? NO. Nooooooo. I'm barely reeling back from the last questions time sink - and pondering my sanity as I feverishly eye-scan the isles adjacent to this machine for my whirling dervish children - next round of questions is, "Would you like cash back?". No, I don't, I just want this to END... but I can't find the frigging button to select that option since it's hidden and basically like 20 times smaller than the actual size of the other buttons. THEN I am asked to swipe again. AGAIN!?!? Holy mother of all that is decent... I'm about to blow a major fuse and start to spark electricity simultaneously from my butt and ears. My kids are screaming and running down the isle behind me to my left (outside of eyesight), and the cashier asks me to scan the card again. OMFG. I literally exclaim out loud, "AGAIN?!?!?!" and scan it again. FINALLY the purchase is complete. Apparently, I have a new frequent special card, my phone number is listed for it's use when ever I want it (DIDN'T ASK FOR THAT AT ALL), and I have donated 50.00 to Dolphins with athletes foot.<br /><br />I grab the bag, run after my children and gather up what is left of my fragmented brain from this entire experience. I. NEVER. WANT. TO. GO. TO. A. STORE. AGAIN. That's it, I'm going to make a garden and just grow everything I need. I'll have bushels of things growing fruitfully from trees... things like ear thermometer batteries, lactaid, toothpaste and toilet paper. Then I won't have to deal with the evil debit card machine EVER AGAIN.<br /><br /></div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-71020547856910417802012-06-23T21:00:00.001-04:002012-06-23T22:03:26.672-04:00I'm tired because your insaneYesterday I missed a post in my month of June self imposed blogathon. I decided I could blame it on the Mayan calendar ending this year, premonitions of the end of the world being overwhelming and all that... faking how its emotionally affecting me. Basically taking a day to serve as my moment of peace. Whatever. It's all bull anyway, I was really just consumed with summer, kids, mommy camp and all the other crap I deal with on any given day. Here's my post for today, it's kind of, "Meh?", but it entertained me to a level of snorting under my breath so I thought I would share it. Enjoy! <br /><br />These are things I don't feel like doing anymore today for my kids:<br /><br />- Telling you to stop yelling, shoving, licking, pushing, hair pulling and tantrumming for the 7,856,932th time.<br /><br />- Asking you to use your "nice voice" for the hundredth time this last half hour.<br /><br />- Advising that NO, in fact you do NOT deserve to watch Scooby Doo after falling into a pile of hysterical screaming tears... at Home Depot... when I was trying to ask a complex plumbing question to the nice man who was forced to endure your monstrous behavior.<br /><br />- Shutting you down for yet ANOTHER glass of water... At like nine pm. Are you a frigging camel?<br /><br />- Explaining that I can NOT read you a seventy five page historical novel that you RANDOMLY picked when it's already fifteen minutes past your bedtime. <br /><br />- No you may not horf your corn back up and spit it into the carpet, because you "don't like it". <br /><br />- State that, NO!, I'm not going to explain, AGAIN, that it's time for bed and there is no more talking. You can ask me to explain what chlorophyll is and what it's scientific compound is tomorrow. And that's when I'll tell you to ask me later because I've not had nearly enough coffee yet.<br /><br />YAWN. Crap.Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-31176270707453259852012-06-21T20:20:00.001-04:002012-06-21T20:26:37.099-04:005 new Webster's dictionary wordsStarchle: it's starchy, it's sparkly, usually used to describe a piece of clothing that omits a certain crispy twinkle to its texture.<br /><br />Chibble: chewed food in your mouth that dribbles down your chin in a chunky solid line, usually when you're too lazy to wait until you are finished eating to talk.<br /><br />Brozone: the unspoken designated area of a party where all the men disappear and congregate to, if approached by a female it either spastically dissipates or forms an impenetrable force field of testosterone.<br /><br />Snough: (pronounced: sn-OFF) the act of sneezing while simultaneously spastically choking and coughing. Usually accompanied with a small amount of urine in your underwear created by the sheer force of the physical event.<br /><br />Spazzle: the description of a person being completely spazzed out and frazzled over what everyone else thinks is absolutely the most non-important thing ever. <br /><br />Poopettes: when you think you pushed out a small animal from your colon but instead it's tiny little poop pellets. Similar to the size of rabbit turd.Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-6853144951324979052012-06-20T17:33:00.001-04:002012-06-20T17:44:50.045-04:00Jaded Kindy Nursery Rhyme by Abbie<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oNu8jOFmN9w/T-JD57kbD7I/AAAAAAAAAJU/MkRlSU42kT0/s1600/Last+Day+of+Kindergarten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oNu8jOFmN9w/T-JD57kbD7I/AAAAAAAAAJU/MkRlSU42kT0/s400/Last+Day+of+Kindergarten.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />(Read to the tune of "Hush Little Baby")<br /><br />Walking to Kindergarten<br />It's your last day.<br />The sky is so bright<br />And the air freakin' hot today.<br /><br />Love you so much,<br />I'll see you at pick up.<br />Just 'member how fun it'll be<br />Sleeping in, not having to wake up.<br /><br />Take home all your drawings, <br />Say goodbye to friends at school.<br />Hugs to all the teachers.<br />There's no more classroom rules!<br /><br />Excited we wait,<br />To hear about your day.<br />As you approach, you exclaim,<br />"STOP TALKING!" and run away.<br /><br />Here we go again,<br />After school 'tude to the max.<br />I'm so glad that this is over,<br />Now where's my friggin' Zanax?<br /><br />I'm sweating profusely,<br />This heat I can barely fare.<br />No you can't go to the playground.<br />Sorry, mommy can't breathe in this air.<br /><br />In through the door,<br />You just can't seem to wait...<br />To tell me how horrible I am<br />And flourish me with hate.<br /><br />You're sent to your room<br />And I am off to cry.<br />You just don't seem to realize,<br />My cup has runneth dry.<br /><br />Don't worry, I'll soon forget,<br />How you wished for a new ma.<br />Right around five o'clock,<br />When I crack open a Corona.<br /><br />Hellfire, cheekiness,<br />Attitude & more...<br />Pour out from every orifice,<br />Behind your bedroom door.<br /><br />Repeatedly, I ask myself,<br />"What karmic sin did I commit,<br />To be thrown into <br />This cyclonic blame storm of sh**?".<br /><br />Breathe, sigh, breathe<br />And breathe some more.<br />You emerge with a drawing,<br />Of cute puppies and smiles galore.<br /><br />Crap, seriously? I can't effing deal.<br />This isn't even the first day?<br />I'm already dreading this transition<br />And the next thing you'll say.<br /><br />Ok fine, summer sucks<br />And this heat is unbearable.<br />Your rudeness is worse<br />and flip flopping unfathomable.<br /><br />Guess I'll just suck it up<br />To you being six years old.<br />Note to self: stock beer<br />And keep Martinis ice cold.<br /><br />I love being a parent,<br />The rewards are tenfold.<br />But on days like this dear,<br />My cards are ready to fold.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Here's wishing I get through<br />Yet another summer day.<br />I'm counting minutes 'till school starts,<br />And ferociously praying.</div>Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5721215490345350619.post-80255800816243247162012-06-19T11:02:00.001-04:002012-06-19T11:03:23.747-04:00Narcoleptics should notI was watching the TV last night, and on came some advertisement for a program that showcases strange disorders. The one they were describing last night was Narcolepsy. Oh. My. Dog. This disorder would just SUCK. I sat and watched this man doing perfectly normal daily activities (like making a PB & J) and slumping over (and whacking his head on the counter mid fall) in the middle of it to sleep. WHOA. That is some heavy shiza. Can you even imagine what kind of life you would have with this disorder? The limitations placed on your life experiences just based solely on your inability to protect yourself from inevitable harm, well, it makes it seem awfully suffocating. You'd literally have to become a bubble person. I really don't think living in a helmet would be all that snugly. I started to think about all the things they couldn't do and the list started to get pretty lengthy...<br /><br />People with Narcolepsy shouldn't:<br /><br />Swim with sharks, or just actually be anywhere in close proximity of a body of water.<br /><br />Work with sheet metal fabrication.<br /><br />Make hand blown glass.<br /><br />Cook meals or learn how to chiffonade fresh herbs.<br /><br />Rototill or mow their lawn.<br /><br />Handle rock salt or pesticide.<br /><br />Operate a wave runner, motorboat, or motorcycle.<br /><br />Change cat litter boxes, or become dog walkers. If they did, it certainly could give new meaning to becoming sh** faced.<br /><br />Roast marshmallows or make s'mores... Really they should just avoid anything related to camping or the outdoors. Bears get hungry.<br /><br />Go spelunking. Because falling asleep on the floor of a cave fifty feet below ground level is so not cool.<br /><br />Take a bath.<br /><br />Play with icicles.<br /><br />Walk on stairs. Period.<br /><br />Become electricians, or high voltage technicians.<br /><br />Clearly Narcolepsy really takes away from just being able to do everyday typical things. Poor helpless Narcoleptics. Stop whatever you're doing right now and hug a Narcoleptic. Then quickly run away so they don't crush you.Abbie Nourmelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08453298348551392044noreply@blogger.com0