Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorched

You know, it's weather like this that keeps you locked up inside your house because it's too damn hot. And when there's eight hundred (give or take four hundred) wildfires blowing around Northern California and killing people's homes, they tell you to stay inside because of the air quality. Unless, of course, they're telling you to evacuate. So you sit on your couch of nails, watching the weather channel, ants crawling all over you because you just HAVE TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE BEFORE YOU KILL SOMEBODY!

So you leave the house. And while you wait for the air conditioner in your car to blow out cool air because right now, the interior is searing you like Sushi Grade Ahi Tuna, you see the grey hazy air that looks like a foggy winter day, except that you're beginning to sweat. A ball hangs in the sky like an out-of-focus fuzzy orange, as if you forgot to put on your glasses. And you hear the news radio guys talking about the heat and the fires and you immediately switch it to your Pink Martini CD to get your mind off this ever-lovin' heat. You pull up to a red light and take a look at your dashboard:

GAHHH!!!!!

Some anal retentive angel is running around up in Heaven like a headless chicken right now yelling, "Good Lord, who left the oven on? BAWK! BAWK!"

Oh, by the way, did I mention that it's hot here today?

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Nanny Goats would like to thank Don over at It's A Funny Thing for adding us to his blog roll. Under the "Some Funny Some Not So Good" category. We would like to be so egotistical as to think that we fall under the "Some Funny" part.

Speaking of "some funny", you can click on this link to Humor Blogs in order to vote with a LOL Smiley Face to help keep Nanny Goats in the Top 30 (which seems to be a bit tenuous at the moment)

After the KISS, They Wanted to Rock and Roll All Night

I was never going to get married. Or have kids. I'm 1 for 2 so far and it looks like that whole childless strategy is going to pan out. The thought of planning a wedding makes me want to take a nap, so when it was my turn, we eloped. I don't know whether to admire or shake my head at all the women out there willing to go to hell and back to have the "perfect day". But stress themselves out they do and without them, the rest of us wouldn't have such events to attend. And criticize afterwards.


So we're at this outdoor wedding the other day with MrMudPuppy playing the role of best man. It's an uncharacteristically gorgeous and cool 74 degree day in the foothills above Sacramento. I can't imagine the Farmer's Almanac predicting anything below 95 degrees at this time of year. A perfect day for a wedding.


Behind The Headquarter House, wooden stairs and hills lead up to a plateau of green grass with a gazebo. Coincidentally, the last time MudPup and I were here, back when the place was a restaurant, we celebrated our own engagement. You don't see the railroad tracks behind the row of nearby trees, but just as the reverend announced the Mister and Missus, a freight train roared by, violently vibrating away any sentiment our hearts held moments before. But this was a Rock and Roll wedding, 80's metal making most of the play list, so this was merely viewed as perfect timing.

At the beginning of the reception, we formed a two-line gauntlet and each member of the wedding party was introduced. They came through us, slapped our hands, acting like the rock stars they were. I was scrambling my brain trying to think of something crazy fan-like thing to do when the MudPup was introduced. I had too many underthings on blocking any quick panty removal to toss his way, so I did the next best thing...

Van Halen's And The Cradle Will Rock... erupts from the speakers while the DJ introduces MrMudPuppy to the cheering crowd. When he enters the gauntlet, I jump into it and run toward him frantically waving my arms and screaming like a properly obsessed fan. I plant a big wet one on his lips like a teenage girl who has rushed the stage and is about to be hauled away by security. We spin around - I see cameras everywhere capturing this Rock and Roll moment - and he struts down the rest of the gauntlet. And for some reason I'm giddy with excitement, having slobbered all over my husband in public.

For the lead-in to the garter toss, the groom disappeared head first under the bride's dress, lingered a little too long as if he'd gotten lost in there, and then jumped up producing a rubber chicken. He dove back in and began pulling out a string of flags that ultimately ended with the garter tied at the end.

As the bride and groom made their grand exit to the limo, we blew bubbles.

A playful wedding for a playful couple. It was perfect.

Kind of blows the wind out of this cynic's trash talking sails.

So, what's the coolest or most unusual thing you've seen at a wedding?

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Nanny Goats Shout Outs

A big THANK YOU to The Learning Curve for linking to my Timeshare post. And for complimenting the story. And for mentioning Nanny Goats In Panties near a picture of some hot looking Laker Girls! Methinks he likes the ladies in uniform. The Learning Curve is also a member of the Sacramento Top 25.


And another shout out to After The Dust Settles who has generously added Nanny Goats to her blog roll. You have GOT to check out her pigs. A fabulous gift idea, if you ask me.

And How Was The Weather In Your Neck Of The Woods?

Because it was a little windy over here yesterday.

I mean, it's no Coloradan tornado or anything, but...

101 Degrees of Perspiration

Sacramento's heat is like a stealth bomber. Its viewfinder captures the tiny, naive people in the city below. It maps their coordinates and hears their thoughts. Thoughts like, "Oh, it's only May. Since gas prices are killing me, and I wanna be a good doobie, I'll ride my bike to work." Or: "Hey, since parking is such a pain in the wahtoosie where Sheila lives, I'll walk over there. It's only a mile. And it's only May. Lord knows, my fat ass needs the exercise." Or: "Hey it's Friday. Let's hit that weekly Concert series thing at Cesar Chavez Park."

Meanwhile, the stealth bomber locks its sights on these tiny urban dwellers with silly little notions of various outdoor activity. The entire city is in the cross hairs and click! - the heat bombs fall. Then BOOM! - the oppressive missiles crash and explode on all the unsuspecting victims, killing just about every one. Bodies are draped over bus benches, dried tongues hanging out of their dehydrated mouths. The whole city is devastated.

Luckily, though, I'm safe and locked up in my bomb shelter with the air conditioner set to 65 energy-wasting degrees.

If I had to write an open letter to Sacramento, it would look a little something like this:

Dear Sacramento,

Look, pal. It's bad enough you swelter us during the summer, and I understand you've gotten all caught up in the instant gratification craze that we all suffer from, but can't you wait a little bit longer before you pelt us with your triple digits? I mean, seriously.

Also, would it kill you to cool down sooner in the evenings? Certain event organizers (I won't name names, because I don't actually know them, but maybe they know who they are) insist on holding events outside. At 5pm!!! The hottest part of the day.

Speaking as a former long-sleeve-wearing, wool-uniform-even-in-the-summer-donning, marching member of the Sacramento Youth Band, I beseech you to cool off! I'm stuck here. Many of us are stuck here. We are all but naked before you, peeling off our wet perspiration-soaked rags, secreting salty, watery fluid from the glands in our skin - not to mention, sweating to death. We beg you, stay away from the One-oh-somethings!

And if you can't avoid the hot hot summer, could you at least wait until the goll-durned summer before we are doomed to feast in all your blistering glory? Have mercy, already!

Your loving, albeit panting citizen,
Nanny Goats In Panties

I'll Have the Short NoFoam Extra-Dry Life, Please

I don't know about you lot, but this Pasadena smoke is putting a damper on my plans for "going outside and getting some fresh air".

I know you are all wondering about another item as well, but the jury is still out on what caused the power outage in my neighborhood last night. It could have been the copious amounts of air-conditioning that L.A.'s Westside was gulping but does not typically require. One nameless theorist suggested the Pasadena fire as the culprit (although it's many miles away).

But I like the idea that the lights and the DVD player and the TV flickered off just after Phillip Seymour Hoffman's and Laura Linney's characters asked their Dad what to do if he was in a coma. My roomie and I were watching The Savages and it was a gripping scene. The three characters are in a coffee shop and the father yells, "Unplug me!" People at the neighboring tables turn their heads toward Hoffman and Linney and their father. Within seconds, our whole neighborhood was blanketed in darkness.

Perhaps we'll never know, but odds are, some idiot was talking on two cell phones while leaning over to pull something out of his ass the glove compartment and plowed into another car which, in turn, smacked into a power pole.
And walked away from it.
And did not have a valid driver's license.
Or insurance.
And will not suffer any consequences as a result of his or her bad (let alone illegal) behavior.
And will do it again in the future.
And will probably kill someone next time.

Tune in tomorrow for my lecture on Optimism: The Secret to a Long Life.
Unless of course, I should meet my demise before then, in which case, you're all on your own.