There's a Violet On My Toilet

The toilet in our master bathroom died a slow, painful death a couple of months ago. It was just before Christmas when I found myself making an executive decision regarding our home. Typically, home repair dialog in the CofaCMGD household goes something like this:

Me: Honey, I don't think Appliance X is working.
Ty-man: OK.
Me: *Blink, blink*
Next day...
Me: Ty, Appliance X is still broken. It's definitely dead.
Ty-man: Examining said appliance. Huh, I think you're right. Walks away.
Me: *Blink, blink*
Next, next day...
Me: Um, hon? Appliance X...
Ty-man: Done. Finished. Already taken care of. Ordered a new one/called a repair company.
Me: Wow. Awesome. *Blink* Cool.

This time was completely different. Ty-man was in the middle of the 9th circle of Hell writing his company's proposal and didn't have time for broken toilets. Before I could even get the sentence Hon, I'm pretty sure our toilet is broken out of my mouth, Ty was all Yeah, um, can't deal with that right now. You go take care of it.

Much blinking ensued.

So, off I went to Lowe's with this in mind:


I walked right in, went up to the toilet section, looked at the guy and said, I want that Kohler toilet from the commercial where the guy is trying to flush an African violet down his toilet because there's a cute plumber next door who he wants to come over to his house and nothing is clogging it because it's a Kohler. Not even dog food. That one. That's what I want. Because I'm tired of sitting on the toilet, doing my business, flushing before even wiping, and the damn thing clogs up. I mean, what the Hell? I can't even empty my colon without breaking out the plunger? How awkward is that? Like I enjoy unclogging a toilet with my undies at my ankles, butt hanging out, all because Al Gore wants to save the frakking planet. Please. I just want my toilet to flush my poop.

Yeah. The Lowe's guy blinked a lot before he gave me a slow Oooookay and showed me my options.

I got my Kohler. And it flushes every time with no clogging.

And my wonderful neighbor/ex-HOA prez/confidante presented me with an African violet for my birthday, just so I could flush it down my new Kohler toilet.

That, people, is love.

I might wait until it's dead, though, because I will inevitably kill it and it's too pretty right now to flush. But when I do, I will certainly post the video here.

Beware What You Google

For the Hell of it, I Googled my first and last name last week. And this is what I found on WikiAnswers (poor spelling and grammar left in place because, well, it's just awesome):

Question: Is heather dumbass* a lesbion trany part chicken alien?

Answer: Yes she oncetook me up 2 her spaceship and herpart roostermom and dad raped my parent whilst her an herbrother chased me round the giant spaceship barn with sex whips an fluffy hand-cufs and botllesof chiken hormnes

I. Shit. You. Not.

So, you've now been warned. I'm a lesbion (not lesbian, mind you) trany part chicken alien.

Pardon me while I go chase the neighbors with "botllesof chiken hormnes."

*Not my real last name. Well, on some days it is.

Scuba Diving Fool

I love to scuba dive.

I started diving in 1999 when the Ty-man gave me scuba lessons as a gift for Christmas, 1998. At that time, I loved caving (call it spelunking and I will cut you) and I decided I wanted to learn to cave dive.* In March, 1999, I dove 12 feet into Atlanta Scuba's pool and began my love affair with the underwater world. A year and two months later, I found myself 25 feet deep in the sludge known as Lake Lanier working on my scuba instructor certification. For six years, I certified more people than I can remember and had an amazing time doing it. I was underwater constantly, whether I was in the pool, the freshwater springs in Florida, the Atlantic, or the Caribbean.

As an instructor, you need to be able to commit numerous weekends every year to either work with students in the pool during confined water scuba classes or to travel with students for certification dives. Now that I'm a parent, I really don't have time for that. And so, my last, honest-to-goodness dive trip was a Turks & Caicos liveaboard in March, 2008.

I miss it. Terribly.

When our trip to Mexico was canceled, we luckily purchased trip insurance and got a refund. That's when Ty said Pick, hon. Mexico or Bonaire. I instantly picked Bonaire because it is my favorite island in the Caribbean. It's small, not crowded at all, and the diving is amazing. And after a six year absence from the island, we've returned.

On my birthday, we flew south to Bonaire and I hope, as I write this on Friday, February 5th, that today, Monday, February 8th, is a day I'm conquering the waves.



* I never received my cave diving certification. In November, 2000, I was diving on a wreck off Panama City Beach, Florida, using a semi-closed circuit re-breather. I nearly drowned. After that afternoon, when I was able to shoot straight up from that wreck to sweet air, I realized that if what happened to me in open water had happened to me in an underwater cave, I would have died. My caving and my diving will always stay separate.

Happy Birthday To Me!

Here is a video my mom and I made two years ago. In it, she tells the story about the day I was born. Enjoy!



If you're reading this post on Facebook, click here to see the video.

They Call Her... The Stigette!

Dear Top Gear producers,
I really, truly think your show is awesome. The cars, the hosts, the laughter, the craziness, all makes for perfect telly watching. You're just missing one thing.

A Yank. A lady Yank. In particular... me.

OK. Here's the deal. I would laugh at all of Jeremy Clarkson's bad, inappropriate jokes. I would openly ridicule James May and his incredible slowness. And I would hug Richard Hammond. Every five minutes. And help each of them prank the other. Relentlessly.

In addition, I cannot fake a British accent, but I know a few British slang terms. And since I will most likely use them incorrectly, your home viewers will have a great time ridiculing the stupid Yank tart and ratings will climb! Plonker! Sod off! Bloody Hell!

Plus? My retired-cop father took great pride in teaching me defensive driving, a.k.a. "Run the stupid f*ckers off the road!" On snowy days, he would drive me to school via the back roads just so he could rip some doughnuts on the slick, icy roads. Am I as skilled as he? No. Am I scared of speed and spinning out? No. Could I be the Grasshopper to The Stig's Sensei? Oh, hell yeah.

And the best part? I'm a sucker for peer pressure. Meaning, if Jeremy or James or Richard start pouting and whining "Oh, come on Heather. The Stig says if you don't do this you're a smeghead. So, get on, will ya?" Meaning, if you apply enough guilt, and then hand me the keys to a McLaren F1 and tell me to race it through the streets of London with Scotland Yard on my tail, all while the cameras are rolling, doing all this because I'm trying to beat Jeremy, in his Bugatti Veyron, to Buckingham Palace, and the first one there gets to swipe the hat off a Queen's Guard and promptly get arrested, I'll probably say, "OK. Why not?"

In conclusion, I would like to present my introduction onto the show. I can hear Jeremy saying it now...

Some say she invented Princess Leia's cinnamon buns and that if you were to introduce her to George Lucas, she'd hump his leg and name the baby Han. All we know is... she's called the Coal Miner's Granddaughter!

And the applause, if not thunderous, would be polite.

I eagerly await your answer.

Warm regards,
Heather
a.k.a. The Fourth Top Gear Presenter
a.a.k.a. The Stigette

Happy Birthday, Ty-man!

Today the Ty-man, the apple of my eye, turns 38.


He's a Jedi Knight at heart:


An admirer of Superman:


And is staunchly Team Jacob:


Happy Birthday to the most amazing man I know and to the best husband in the world! I love you. Very much.

So go! Right now! Leave him some love in the comments or send him birthday wishes (or LolCats) here.

Many thanks to PhotoFunia for the awesome pics.

Oh, Frak.

Dear Neti Pot,
In four days, I'm supposed to be underwater, doing my check-out dive, from the beach of the Plaza Resort Bonaire. After that? I'm slated for 11 boat dives. Ah, bliss.

Right now? I've got sinus pressure. And that ain't gonna fly when I'm trying to descend to a leisurely 60 feet where I may enjoy corals, sponges, and all manner of fish.

Please? I'm begging you? Work wonders. And I will love you forever. And place you in a hallowed spot in my china cabinet, since you resemble a teapot and all.

Thanks and much love,
Heather

PS If I'm still stuffy by Sunday? You're goin' down. Kiss kiss!