Why goatygoat?

Why goatygoat?? The question is, why not goatygoat? Goatygoat is a spring in your step, a roll in the grass, and a tin can for dinner. Goatygoat enjoys candlelit dinners and long walks on the beach. Goatygoat lives in the now! Goatygoat is all this, and more.

 

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I Took The Handmade Pledge! BuyHandmade.org

Google searches leading to this site, or, a window into strangers’ brains (my favorite of which is “fuck me clogs”):

  • Hardnose Mrs. Hatcher commercials
  • Heirloom tomatoes pink flamingo pictures
  • Muppet characters angry photos
  • Scrabble haiku
  • Don’t Bring Me Down, Bruce
  • Motorhome jalopy
  • Motorhome wedding shower
  • Broken leg on my wedding day
  • Cheese Platter Gilbert Gottfried
  • How to fix a broken leg the “pioneer way”
  • How pioneers fixed broken legs
  • How to fix a broken leg in the pioneer time
  • Healing a broken leg in pioneer times
  • Cynthia Casas showing her boobs
  • Wedding plates for broke under bird feet
  • Haikus on baking
  • I love Renton
  • “toneski”
  • Just screaming and throw a fit they put me in the hospital
  • “fuck me clogs”
Favorite things

Hummingbird Feeder

I got this as a gift from Olivia for my bridal shower in Minnesota. Or, rather, Ollie took the time to hop online and find a boutique in my town, so I wouldn’t have to carry anything back on the plane. This is what I picked out with her gift certificate.

It’s made of recycled glass, and the birds love it!

Heirloom Tomatoes

tomato_heirloom300w.jpg

I love these lumpy, discolored tomatoes more than just about any other foodstuff on earth, with the possible exception of soft, stinky cheese. More on that later. These tomatoes taste like tomatoes are supposed to…acidic, tangy, with a finish of earthiness that makes me think of childhood. Also, they’re pretty, which is more than can be said for the mealy pink tasteless circles of tomato that you get on your Big Mac.

Plastic Yard Flamingos

flamingo.jpgMy yard is covered in these awful creatures. I love them. Our neighbor’s kid takes pleasure in rearranging them a few times a week, so I never know where they’ll be when I open the front gate. We’ll probably never live in another neighborhood where it’s acceptable, downright encouraged, to have a yard full of the ‘mingos, so it’s now or never for the Mingos Dynasty.

Soft, Stinky Cheese

Seastack2_1.jpgSeastack from Mt. Townsend Creamery is where it’s at, kids. This stuff has a vegetable ash rind, a very smooth liquidy first layer, and an earthy-tasting inner cheese that’s to die for. Even Randy, man-who-likes-few-cheeses, asks for this one.

« Happy Birthday! | Main | Dale »
Monday
06Jul2009

Carol

Carol, my mom, spent last night sleeping on our couch in the Airstream, and as you read this we’re bumming around Seattle on one of our all-too-few visits.

Mom and I have always been close, even through the hellish puberty years, and to this day she remains my closest girlfriend. So much of our times together hinge on the fact that we can always make each other laugh; whether the joke was intentional or not, well, that’s another story.

When I was growing up, Mom had two house rules:

  1. No holding the cat when you’re naked.
  2. No eating steak when you’re drunk.

If Dad and I could abide by these rules, the family was a happy unit; if not, well, someone wasn’t having a good day.

Mom is the most even-keeled person I’ve ever met, other than my husband. She’s often been the voice of rationality in my more heated moments, for which I’ve been grateful since I emerged from the womb.

I remember our vacation to Cancun when I was 13, when we giggled for a solid week about Juan Carlos, the group activities director who always wore a speedo, and his weiners…or “winners”, which is what he thought he was shouting into the microphone.

I remember flying in Dad’s plane when I was about 15, on our way to breakfast in Wisconsin. Mom and I were in the back seat, enjoying the ride, when suddenly she perked up, looked out my window, and waved. I jerked my head around to see who she was waving at, and just a moment too late I realized that we were in an airplane, thousands of feet above the ground, and of course there’s no one out there. Mom giggled to herself for weeks over that one.

In my twenties, I went through a period of time where I moved, a lot. Like four times a year for half a decade. Mom and her truck were always there to haul stuff around Minneapolis, and my living situation became kind of a running joke amongst her friends.

From my mother, I learned my best life lessons: be frugal, be funny, and try not to worry so much—everything will work out just fine. She’s been the best girlfriend I could ask for, and I’m looking forward to many more years together.

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