Skunk and Parties and Irene

So The Man checked the basement for a skunk. His preparation was a bit like Tallahassee when he went looking for the last box of Twinkies left on the planet.



He grabbed an implement of destruction that resembled a Garden Weasel, and descended into the deep dark cellar. He came back a few minutes later with the "all-clear", but it's an old dirt floor basement with lots of places to hide. I'm not truly convinced that there isn't a skunk still skulking around down there. Which will make going down there in the future oh so much fun.

So in true Oldest Urchin birthday party fashion, something to thwart me occurred. Namely Hurricane Irene. Our house is not a good place to have ten 2 to 7 year olds confined, playing carnival games, but alas the weather was too bad to have it outside like I'd planned.

But I survived it. Along with her first week of first grade. So with those hurdles leaped like a capital T in a single bound, I'm now on to working on my wip faster than a rolling O. (Anyone remember where those phrases came from? Bonus points to you if you can guess!)

Carny Part Deux Railroaded By Skunk

So, I was going to report about the Fireman's Fair, but there really isn't that much to tell this year. We had lots of people come and enjoy it with us. The antique tractor parade was as quaint as usual, and the food was awesome- especially since I didn't have to cook any of it.

But new developments must be reported upon.

I'm terrified that a skunk is in our basement.

Yes, you read that correctly.

We woke up at about five this morning to the smell of skunk. I figured one got hit on the road out front and, considering it was the oldest Urchin's first day of school, that I would have to deal with disgusting, smelly road kill as we waited for the bus. But when we trudged down to the end of the driveway at 7:50, there were no bloody, flattened, carcasses to be seen. Which, as anyone knows, is a source of great rejoicing.

It's been windy here today, and I expected the smell to dissipate quickly. And most of it has.

Except at the side porch.

Where the only access to our dirt floor basement is located. With its doors wide open and a fan blowing up the stone steps.

I am a-feared that the smell is emanating from there.

I've reported my suspicions to The Man, because as repeated frequently here at Tongue In Cheek, at Chez Quinn the disposal of animals falls directly into Man-land territory. (Okay, there was that one carny fish incident and oh, the dead uber-mouse where I took matters into my own gloved hands, but for the most part, Man-land.)

So I will now have to update you with the skunk report once things get checked out. I'm sure you'll be waiting with bated breath.

As will I, citizens.

As will I.

First Carny Report

I truly am in denial. The oldest urchin starts first grade next week. I've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to do all the back to school necessities and jam in as much summer as possible.

All at the same time.

And in the midst of my self-created chaos I realized something. I didn't report back on the backyard carny action. How rude of me!

It'll have to be a quick preliminary run-down.

First and foremost, I'd like to thank the family man who expanded my vocabulary the very first night. This wiry fellow with the motorcycle boots and stringy grey goatee toured the midway with his arm around his Harley Mama as his two delightful little girls fought and whined down the middle of everything. He sported a delightful tee shirt. In that neo nazi lettering, you know the font, it harkens back to WWII Germany, read the following words: crotch cannibal.

I'll leave the Google search to you.

The fried cuisine was exquisite, the carnies were wonderfully colorful, and the rides were sufficiently amusing. More details to come. For now, I'll leave you with my musings from last year, in which I defiantly proclaim that There's A Lid For Every Pot.

Enjoy!

Iowa Knows How To Do It!

Okay, I'm still reeling from my four day carny extravaganza. But here is something to tide you over until I can recover and get back to you with my full report.

At the Iowa State Fair they are making deep fried butter on a stick. I kid you not.

Carny In T Minus Two Hours

And I'm all a-quiver. In less than two hours I will be dining on all things carny. Not only that, but I will be in hill-billy-watching hog heaven. Although it's not as educational as the Moonshine and Fried Possum Carnival where I was crowned as the 'Possum Queen for the county, but it'll still be one helluva hoe down.

And the food! If it's deep fried and you can shove it on a stick, it will be in my hand.

Now, it won't be all fun and games for me. I'll need to put in a royal appearance. Do the glad handing and the photo ops, as per my contractual obligation to the Pot Bellied Processed 'Possum Products corporation. I will be wearing the taxidermy crown for at least one hour. Good thing it's not as hot as it has been.

So I will hopefully be watching all the crazed rednecks, carny operators and their significant others as the carny takes off full blast in my back yard.

Ahhh, life doesn't get any better than this.

Alright, Who Here Knew . . .

That Ricardo Montalban was such a cool customer?



I mean, he was Kahn. (KAAAAAHN!!!)



Are you feasting your eyes on that magnificent mullet? And I don't need to remind you, fair readers, of the Merits of the Mullet.

But I really only saw him as Mr. Fantasy Island with the white tux, hanging out with Tattoo.

Not Mr. Suave.

Or even the man of rich Corinthian leather of Chrysler Cordoba commercial fame.



But dang, when he was young he was fierce! Did any of you know that already? And if you did, why didn't you clue me in?

Okay, One More Re-Run

Here I thought things would settle down for me. Silly me. So here is one more re-run for the summer.

And then it will be carny time!! The time of year when the fireman's fair erupts in my back yard and for four days I eat all things deep fried and stuck on a stick.

Here's your re-run for today. Two things to know. It's one of the longest posts I've ever written. And I've sprayed expanding foam in all the runs and haven't seen a mouse in ten months. Hooray for science and expanding foam!

So here it is.

The Dead Mouse Disposal Saga of a Reformed Horror Flick Junkie

Read at your own risk.