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Category Archives: Personal Experience

Whipped cream coffee & sandwich

Image via Wikipedia

Approximately six years ago, my wife’s son got
her hooked on the Vinte’ Starbucks Mocha
Frappacino with two shots of espresso, and of
coarse, tons of whipped cream.  He should have
been ashamed of himself, knowing how
susceptible his mother is, to such fantastic
delights.  She is the carbohydrate, raw sugar and
espresso queen.  However, she does not have the tiaras to
prove her royalty, but it is true.

Three years back she proceeded to get me
hooked on the same Starbucks drink with, yes
(my head is hanging low in shame and severe
self loathing) the additional espresso and a
whole lot of whipped cream.  Who would have
ever thought that being a sweet mocha caf-fiend
whipped cream junkie could be so blessed
heavenly.  I am a true sap.  I know she led me by
the string around her cute little pinky into my
tragic addiction just so Iwould be her Starbucks
supplier.

Happily, I can say I did get even a few months
ago.  In my abnormal desire for anything sweet
and satisfying, I stumbled with beady bloodshot
eyes down the ice cream isle at the grocery store
frantically searching for the magic container at
the end of an hallucinated rainbow.  Sweating
profusely, I was literally frothing at the mouth.
Suddenly, there between two other brands sat
the crown jewel of cold creamy gems and I knew
at once I was saved.  My guardian angel was with
me.  Trembling, I hastily grabbed up two pints
of Starbucks Mocha Frappacino Ice Cream, even
though it does not come with added espresso.  I
raced home hoping not to get a ticket for licking
from an open container.  Vengeance is a tasty
delight, because now she buys my ice cream.

Wait a minute, me thinks I have been duped yet
again.  My lady uses my coinage.   

Copyright 2011, by Glenn Raymond.

Polaris Ranger UTV.

A Sweet Little Tank.

My Polaris Ranger UTV, Utility All Terrain
Vehicle, is a sweet little tank.  I have to say it is
the most versatile and durable tool I own.  As a
4×4 it takes me over the roughest terrain and
through the densest woods on my mountain
property.

Copyright 2011, by Glenn Raymond

So My Wife Will Love Me.

Copyright 2011, by Glenn Raymond

She Will Love Me, She Will Love Me, She Will Love Me.

This red devil has a handy dump bed making
unloading firewood for winter heat extremely
easy.  During summer months heavy mountain
rains wash out the driveway “goat path.”  The
Polaris Ranger gets me down the road and
back with loads of “my own” replacement gravel.
I do have to be able to get my big cruiser out “so
my wife will love me.”

Copyright 2011, by Glenn Raymond.

I Think She Loves Me.

With a winch, the optional 73 inch snowplow
for the Polaris UTV makes keeping up with 
heavy mountain snow storms simple.  Afterall,
my driveway is nearly one-quarter of a mile long.
A neat and clear route for my wife insures me
dinner, so even the dog loves this little beast.

This mean creature has paid for itself many
times over.  This Polaris Ranger UTV is by
far one of the best investments I have ever
made next to my wife, of coarse.

 

Copyright 2011, by Glenn Raymond.

Modern compound crossbow

Image via Wikipedia

Our chickens tend to make all the local predators
salivate profusely.  There was a determined red fox
hanging
around quite a bit and I pursued him every
opportune moment.  However, no matter what
I did, I always missed him and I am not a bad
shot.

One early evening the usual racket from the
hutch yanked both my wife and I to our feet.
I grabbed my Horton 175 lb., Compound
Crossbow.   The 20 inch carbon bolts shoot out
of this bow at about 320 foot per second.  I had
been itching to use it and this was my first big
chance.

“I’m going to nail it this time.”  My wife was hot
on my heels as I ran for the shed.  “When I get up
there you hand me the bow.”

I swear, the darn fox is a mind reader.  It sat
down about 50 yards from the shed in clear view
and proceeded to pretend we were not even
there.  It was a clean shot, guaranteed.

Only perhaps a fraction of a milla-mother of
one second before I gently squeezed the trigger
on my crossbow, the fox scrambled quicker than
a confused streaker in a convent.  It was long
gone before the bolt ever left my Horton.
I was not a happy hunter.  Once again I had
missed and if a crossbow could have human
qualities, mine would have beaten me bloody.

Suddenly my wife was laughing so hard she
nearly fell over.  I did not find anything funny
about missing the fur ball, yet again.  It was bad
enough the little snot was off in the woods
somewhere having a good hard laugh, while 
recounting the tale of the crazy human to the
bobcat, mountain lion and bears.

“What?”  I felt bad enough, this was almost too
much to swallow.  “I didn’t flinch or hesitate!”

“You are standing on the roof of the shed in
broad daylight, wearing one blue sock, one
white one, and your tighty-whities.  Have you
ever noticed just how bow-legged you really
are?”

As I looked down at myself she laughed even
harder.  “No honey, you didn’t flinch.  That fox
was laughing so hard it had to leave before it
peed its fur.”

I ask you, how was I to know my wife was saying
prayers for the foxes escape?  

Copyright 2011, by Glenn Raymond.   

I have got to know, is yogurt a woman thing?

My wife lives on sweets which are completely
unhealthy, yet she loves yogurt.  I get the drift
that yogurt is somewhat healthy.  She also drinks
Diet Pepsi and Diet Coke because they are not
too syrup-like.

Personally, I think yogurt has about a 1.3
second gag time (the amount of time it takes to
make me gag.)  Therefor it could not possibly
be a man thing.

When it comes to my wife’s extremes between
unhealthy sweets and yo-gag, and diet sodas,
she says the yogurt and sugar-free cancels out
the calories and unhealthiness of the sweets.

Someone has got to let me know, but I think it
truly must be a woman thing.  I do mean woman,
as in my woman’s thing.

Copyright 2011, by Glenn Raymond.

Years ago I placed drywalling on the back
burner only doing it on a part-time basis.  I
decided to buy a little grocery store in the
town of Bailey and see how things shook out.

The Bailey Country Store was a lot of fun and
work, but well worth the twenty years I spent
there.  It was the one place on main street
where everyone gathered to chat, flirt, this
is how I met my wife,
and once in a while get
free snacks.

I learned quickly that if I wanted to sell things,
I had to have product to sell.   It was very
important for me to ask the local customers
what they wanted.  Before long I carried a little
bit of everything, from a great selection of food
and household items, to electronics, hardware,
makeup and pantyhose, vitamins and over the
counter medicinal items, kitchen utensils, rolled
up feather beds, towels, Kamasutra oils, movies,
and gift items.  You name it, I would carry it
right down to the old building’s ghosts.

I love to cook and cooking requires a full array
of spices.  Not everyone likes the spices I do, so
as they neared their expiration date I would pull
them and replace them with new ones.  I soon
had a vast collection of unsaleable spices.  This
required fast thinking to keep from losing money
on them.  I came up with my own version of the
Santa Maria seasoning for beef, and a kick butt
hot Cajun seasoning blend for chicken.

I utilized my butcher shop and pre-seasoned tri-
tip roasts, wrapped them snugly at put them in
the case.  I did the same with my Cajun recipe on
wings.  The food was selling so fast I could hardly
keep up, and it was not just the meat.  People had
to buy everything they needed for the full meal.
Before I knew what hit me, I was up to my blood
shot eyeballs in alligators. 

People started coming from all over to buy meat
from my butcher shop.  Whenever someone 
asked how to cook the roasts my line was, “Just
roll it around on the grill for six to eight beers,
about forty-five minutes.  A few less beers if you
like beef really rare,” 

I hung in there for a few (twenty) years of twenty
four, seven work.  I was very proud of that place
and, as you can imagine, my recipes.  People
came and went, nothing took place in
Park County without word of it arriving
at the good old BCS first.  Life was a constant
gathering of dear friends.

I do miss the Bailey Country Store and all of the
people who stopped in.  There is a huge lonely
spot in this old drywaller’s heart.  Yet, I still run
across customers from back then and we’ll shoot
the breeze just like old times.  They always scold
me for having sold the business, because good
meat and customer care are so hard to come by
these days.  It was an honor for me to serve Park
County, and residents of Bailey, Colorado and all
those who traveled from everywhere to buy my
Santa Maria tri-tips and Cajun style wings.

By the way, this really does make my wife “The
Butcher’s Wife.”
  That is what she gets for
watching that movie so many times.  Just
don’t tell her I said it’s fine to call her that,
and you can.

Copyright 2011, by Glenn Raymond.

It's been one of those days.

Yes, I did say a few of those words.  Mill marks in
this drywall set the scene for a twisted, chaotic
kind of horror.  I am glad it broke before I got
out on the high plank, much higher and longer
than the one you can see beyond me in the
photo.  Those planks have a tendency to bounce
when you walk on them.  I so hate falling from
high places and blowing out my knee or breaking
bones, because regardless I have to continue
working.  I like to get paid so there is no room
for pain.

I can just imagine the headline, “Wife Breaks
Husband’s Neck After Breaking His Fall.”

Yes, it really is me (back in the day).

 

Thanksgiving has come and gone again and I just
realized I have some “need to know” information
for all of my fellow “anti-shop with the ladies”
men out there.  This is a true story and I never
have to shop with my wife again, because of it.

My wife loves to shop, so her gift has always
been to take her shopping.  Now guys, this is
not a good idea.  Such a gift will take years
from your life, trust me.

My lovely wife was dragging me around the
mall by the pocketbook (nose).  At the end
of $200.00 she suddenly remembered she
had to have a couple of good fitting bras.  I
had no clue what exactly I was in for when
she dragged me by the hair, kicking and
screaming into Victoria’s Secret.

I blushed at first, but then I gladly noticed
several other unlucky, red faced men
mulling around as well.  Actually, looking
back on it, a few of them seemed a tad too
happy about it.  They had most certainly
been brainwashed to appear happy at all
times by their significant others.

To my horror this place had undergarments
practically tied in knots, piled and heaped in
handy, pre-sized bins.  My wife began pilfering
the merchandise and for a few moments I
actually entertained the possibility that she just
might fall in head first and never come out again.
All of the male natives had the look of certain
uprising in their eyes.  I began plotting my
fast and safe escape route.

Thirty-five minutes in my wife holds up six sling
shots (bras) and announces to every man in the
store that she is going to try them on.  She
demanded that I stay firmly planted right where
I was.

I waited.  Panic was crawling and writhing about
in the pit of my gut and a few guys looked as
though they were either going to toss their
cookies or pass out.  Either way it was not going
to be pretty.  I waited.

After what was certainly ten years of my life, the
dressing room finally regurgitated my wife.  She
happily handed me one bra and tossed the rest
back into a bin.  I was so happy.

“We can go now?”

“Not on your life.  I’ve only found one.”

The ritual began again, and men let me tell you
it is not at all like the catalogs.  I never got to
see one of those gorgeous models.  Five bra’s
later my wife disappeared into the changing
room again.  My peaceful waiting had ended
though.

She must have heard me laughing, because she
tried those things on in a flat minute.  It had to
be some kind of bra hooking speed record.  It
was a complete shame the Guinness  people
were not on site.  She may have made me
famous that night if they had been.

I relished the horror in her eyes when she
emerged from the dressing room and caught me
parading her black bra around the store perched
perfectly around the crown of my cowboy hat.

I had never, and probably never will again,
experience that blushing,  “momma takes scalps”
look of complete and utter “giving birth” facial
expression again.

Without further hesitation I announced just
how fine it would be if stores like this one would
kindly install a bar and big screen television, so
we men could lounge around with dignity while
we were held hostage to wait for so long.  Every
man laughed and agreed with me.  I was glowing.

Clearly horrified, my wife rushed forth removing
my (her) elastic and lace hat band.  She was
clearly muttering vehement expletives in my
general direction.  With two bras in hand she was
escorted to the front of a very long line of angry
women.  I had performed much better than
planned.  The women who worked there loved
me so much they let us go first.

“I am SO so sorry.”  My dear wife looked quite ill
as we approached the register.

“Oh, no honey.”  The clerk replied.  “We’re sorry.”
She looked me over sideways.  “We are very
sorry for your misfortune.”

I think they charged me double, but it was worth
it.  The sound of clapping and cheering from the
other men rang out behind us. 

I have not had to go shopping with my wife
since.  So take it from me you guys, a few well
thought out, quick-witted tricks and your time
is just that, yours.  Enjoy.

Copyright 2010, by Glenn Raymond.
Photograph of Glenn Raymond, Copyright 2010,
by Glenn Raymond.  All Rights Reserved.

I am sure some of you are thinking a lot about
Halloween, haunted houses, costume parties,
and even scary movies right now.  Well guess
what, there is something a whole lot more
horrific lurking at my house right now.

When I got home from my 10 hour day of
hanging drywall, I found my wife standing in
our bedroom looking at her feet.  She wore a
rather hot looking red spike heel shoe on her left
foot and an old dirty sneaker on her right.  What
was worse, her closet door was wide open (this
is new.)  I know I have never looked in there
before.

My mouth fell open, and our new dog who stood
happily up on the bed licked my tongue.  No,
that is not the scary part, stick in here with me
while I finish.

There were no clothes in the closet, but it was
heaped with shoes and boots of every shape,
color and texture imaginable.  I am certain she
had at least 2 of every style known to woman
kind in there.

My face must have drained of color, because the
dog howled, then rolled over and played dead.  I
was trying not to show my terror at the unknown
expense of all those shoes.

“What’s for di-dinner?” 

“I don’t know.”  She slid off the red shoe.  “But I
baked a dark chocolate espresso cake.  That’s
what I’m having.”

Copyright 2010, by Glenn Raymond.