Becca, my Oompa songbird, auditioned and was selected for the Adams State College High School Honor Choir along with a few other students from Mesa Ridge High School. It is a huge honor and only a select few from the school district were chosen. Becca was so excited that even a sinus infection and a slight case of laryngitis couldn't hold her back when the buses were ready to roll for the 3 day festival in Alamosa. We sent her off with our prayers and lots of advice. Gargle with salt and warm water (easy enough), suck on Ricola (not a problem) and don't talk in between practice (major problem!). Even with a hoarse voice she made the re-audition and final cut. So on Saturday the family loaded up the Impala and drove 250 miles south to hear her.

It was amazing! I cried. I cried at a high school choir concert! But it wasn't just any old high school choir. It was the best of the best in the state of Colorado, being directed by the best of the best in the state of Colorado. They sang, accompanied by just a piano and flute. They sang like Angels, their voices reverberating through the tall domed chapel ceilings of the Sacred Hearts Church.

Who would have thought that a noisy Oompa could sound so beautiful?

Dickidoo turned 40-something last week. Being as he has spoiled me like crazy this past year I really wanted to do something nice for him. A nice dinner out was out of the question being as I still have that massive phone bill to pay off, so I decided to make him his favorite meal... which unfortunately happens to be my least favorite meal. Liver and onions. P-yuck!

How exactly does one go about preparing a dish that one dislikes so much that one cannot discern whether it is prepared correctly or not? Liver, no matter how you prepare it, is nasty!

Dickidoo loved it! And strangely enough even I found it to be not bad at all when drizzled with a little blue cheese dressing.

Still, it won't be showing up on the menu again until Dickidoo's next 40-something'th birthday (assuming that he spoils me like crazy between now and then!)

Upcoming Events~

In July of 2010 there will be a celebration in Loopaland. The Davis side of the family (my folks) will be migrating to Colorado for a Family Reunion.

Dickidoo forgot.

How the heck do you forget a family reunion planned at YOUR house with one of the wackiest families in America?

Ask Dickidoo, cos I just don't know.

At any rate in just over a year the state of Colorado will be influxed by a crazy mix of Okinawan and Caucasians of all ethnic backgrounds (we're still not ruling out Martian and Plutonians). There is a potential of approximately 56.

Wow!

No, they won't all be staying here in the House of Oompa although we have hosted many parties of 75+ guests. We will probably have a camper or two, and definitely a tent for the kids. The less adventurous will probably stay at a hotel in town.

I'll be in the tent with the kids, except on taco and burrito night.

Dickidoo will probably wish he was sleeping in his brother's house in Norwalk, California, except for the fact that my Mama will be at the stove controls the whole time and he wouldn't miss that for anything. I can't believe my dad isn't obese, cos my Mama can cook!

But, before then... Becca, Rocky and I are planning a road trip to New York to visit my sister Val and her yak farm. In case you don't recall, Val was the inspiration behind the name of this blog 'Dust Bunny Club of North America' when she visited my house shortly after I moved to Colorado and commented on my 'dust bunnies'. Anyhow, Val is flying out here during Spring Break to help me drive to her place where we hope to totally spoil her yaks silly, and then she'll drive back here with us and fly back home after we totally spoil her here. At least that is the plan.

Art is jealous. He wants to go with us. We want a 'girls roadtrip'. We want Art's pink haired girlfriend to go with us. He says no. I think he's selfish. His pink haired girlfriend would love it. He just doesn't want to get left home with his dad, computer addict brother and silly cousin.

Oh waaaaaaahhhhh! Get over it dude! The girls are going to New York and we're taking your pink haired girlfriend!

OOMPARELLA

Although Rebecca disliked Rocky's ex-boyfriend with a capital D-I-S-L-I-K-E-D, she still felt bad for her baby sister when they broke up and was the doting big sister for a record 7 days. During that time she offered to design a dress for Rocky to wear to the Winter Ball, and even offered to introduce her to an old crush.

Endearing, yes. Commendable, absolutely.

Except for one little detail. Rebecca doesn't know how to sew. So when Rebecca says she's going to sew something, what she is really saying is that Mom is going to sew something, with the help of her best friend and Art's Pink Haired Girlfriend.

I spent Valentine's Day sewing Becca's vision into reality. It was a diamond in the rough and I found myself trying to salvage $80 worth of material that was cut too soon and sewn in the wrong order with no pattern at all, and yet, 4 hours before the dance, Rachel put on her custom designed dress and became Cinderella for a day.

Awesome design Becca, good work Art's Pink Haired Girlfriend. Rocky, I hope you felt as beautiful as you looked this evening.

But Becca, no more promising to design and make custom outfits until you learn how to sew them yourself!

About that Poopy Little Puppy...

My puppy seems to have a leak. Can I exchange her for one that doesn't?

My nephew saw me putting some frozen corn kernels into the microwave. The next time he walked by I was pulling some corn on the cob out that I had just heated up.

'Oh Wow, you make your own corn?' he remarked in utter amazement. I wasn't sure what he was getting at so I slowly replied 'If you mean did I cook it, yes, I did.'

'I mean, did you stick the corn on those things yourself?' he clarified in all earnestness.

I promised my nephew that when he gets a girl friend I would share this story with her. Hopefully she will see the humor in it. My nephew didn't. He's such an Oompa! Hehehehe!

SISTERS

Rocky and her boyfriend broke up recently. Becca never liked the guy and made no secret of it at the time, however she refrained from giving the 'I told you so!' lecture and has been very supportive towards her baby sister. She has even designed a custom gown for their Valentine Dance.

I am touched by the sisterly love the two have been demonstrating lately. But I am a sister myself and I know...

It won't last!

Texting in my sleep

I stayed up late the night before last... or I stayed up early to be more precise. Before I went to bed I made a sausage strata and tossed it in the oven, setting the timer to start the oven at 8:30 am. It was after 3 am at the time and I had been screwing around on facebook.com but I made breakfast and that made it all okay.

4 hours later something woke me up. I looked at the clock through blood shot eyes. 7:58. AM. I could hear Dickidoo pounding on bedroom doors, waking the Oompas in a 'begging to be killed' cheerful voice. I was suddenly in a very obliging mood.

Then I remember the strata waiting for the oven's automatic timer to kick on... in half an hour. But everyone was already up. (including myself, grrrrrrrrr!)

So I did what any modern, techno savvy mother would do.

I picked up my cell phone and texted all the kids, in the hopes that one of them would respond and save me a trip out to the kitchen to change the timer on the oven.

Since I was already somewhat coherent I shot Rocky a message to let the Poopy Little Puppy out to deposit her afternoon snack on the lawn. While I was doing that, Becca texted me to see what I needed. More instructions for Art, advice for Rocky, errands for Dickidoo and my morning 'To Do' list was done. With a sense of major accomplishment I stuffed my cell phone under my pillow, turned my face towards the warm morning sun's rays and resumed my mini hibernation.

Technology left me behind a long time ago, but I amaze even myself at how fast I can 'one thumb text' through cyber swollen eyes if it means a couple more hours of sleep in the morning.

Technical hoo-haa

I have a Nuvi 205w navigational system in my car. It came with the extended warranty we invested in when we purchased the Impala. I was very impressed when Dickidoo demonstrated how it worked. My icon is an eagle. I even have an eagle shadow that shows up on the little animated road below me. At the touch of the screen I know exactly where I am and how to get back home. Emergency locations like police stations, fire departments and hospitals are also pre-programed. I was so excited to try it out on my own.

'Turn right on Wayfarer Drive in 50 yards' said the Nuvi 205w with an annoying female voice that sounded suspiciously like the voice of the self check-out registers at my store. Just great! I hear her all day at work, and now she was in my car bossing me around and telling me where to go,

Except there was no right turn in 50 yards...

'Turn right.'

There is no right turn, it's a fricken field!

'Recalculating route.' my Nuvi 205w said almost impatiently.

'Turn left on Coral Ridge Drive.'

There is no fricken Coral Ridge Drive on the left either! The sign says Candelabra! I even stopped the car to give the gadget time to recalculate.

'Turn left!' By that time I think my Nuvi 205w was actually yelling at me! I deal with enough irritating people in my line of work and I certainly did't need my machines copping an attitude with me as well so I switched off the navigator and drove around until I found Coral Ridge Drive.

I know there will come a time when I need my Nuvi 205w and will probably greatly appreciate her directions but for now, just around my town, she's a pain in the caboose.

I still think those things should come with gender options. Perhaps some guys actually like Nuvi's voice, but personally I would rather have a voice like Sam Elliot's telling me where to go. I wouldn't even care if there was no left turn, I'd get lost a million times just to hear him say 'Turn here,' or 'Turn there'.

It would be more like a date than getting lost!

25 YEARS...

Over the past 25 years we have had:

• 5 children


• 2 grandchildren


• 4 apartments


• 3 houses


• 10 cars


• 4 trucks


• 1 motorcycle


• 2 dirt bikes


• 1 ATV


• 1 go-cart


• 3 lawn mowers


• 1 snow blower


• 3 dogs


• 3 cats


• 6 hamsters


• 1 hedgehog


• 1 ferret


• 7 dove


• 4 hermit crabs


• 4 crawdads


• 1 gold fish (Henry is 5 years old!)


• 24+ tropical fish (Henry's supper)


• 4 garter snakes (all MIA in the house)


• 8 TV sets


• 5 desktop computers (only this one still works)


• 1 laptop computer


• 14 cell phones (only 5 work)


• 8 automatic drip coffee makers


• 2 Bunn-Omatic Brew-Omatic 2 pot coffee makers (because you can never have too many Bunn-Omatic Brew-Omatic 2 pot coffee makers!)

Lets see what we can add to the list for the next 25 years. Happy Anniversary Steve!

This 'n that...

Having a puppy in the house is much like having a baby in the house. Except, of course that the baby wears diapers, and doesn't eat poop. Yeah, two major differences! Jubiliee is a sweetheart though and I am adapting. Yesterday when she saw me after I had been gone for a couple of hours she ran to greet me and stepped on her ears, falling to her face and sliding for a few feet before getting back up without loosing her momentum. I was so tickled by her enthusiasm that I forgot to ask if she had snacked on recycled Friskies before she licked my face.

I saw a lady at the store with finger nails that were about 6 inches long. 6 inches! They were so long that they curled. The tops were polished a deep crimson, but the under sides were brown and flaky looking. Looking at them I couldn't help wondering what would inspire a person to grow their nails that long. Did they think it was fashionable? They looked filthy and germy. How did she manage to do things like zipping up clothing or fastening buttons? How can she pick up a grand baby or play with a child?

How does she use the bathroom?

Soooooooooooo, how 'bout them Steelers, huh?

Yeah, I know they're not the Broncos, but they're second best so yeah!

6X! Woo hoo!

Of course there will be no living with Dickidoo from now until the next Super Bowl... and if he whacks me with that dang 'terrible towel' one more time I'll make sure of it!

It's an Oompy!

There is a new Oompa in town, or should I say... an Oompy. Meet Jubilee, a 9 week old pedigree basset hound who came into our lives when Dickidoo was suffering from a moment of weakness and gave in to the begging and pleading of his youngest daughter. I had already told Rocky 'no', but when her father asked me what I thought about the whole idea, I realized that for him to even want to know what I thought was a sign of weakness.

Of course I thought it was a good idea!

So now we have a short legged, floppy eared, droopy eyed, cat shit eating pooch who has the entire household wrapped around her big fat paws. We rush around the house doing our thing but one sight of her little cuteness and we drop to our knees, baby talking like blubbering idiots.

My only complaint so far is that she is in fact a cat shit eating pooch. Being as up until Sunday we were one of the few houses in the neighborhood that did not have a dog residing in the back yard, all the neighborhood felines saw our yard as the community litter box and made regular deposits throughout the premises. For Little Jubilee the back yard has become a huge smorgasbord and she uses her natural tracking abilities to sniff out the little treasures like a gourmet might search out a morel. And then she eats the crunchy tidbit.

And I for one am NOT going to fish the turd out of her mouth with my bare fingers!

Needless to say the puppy is NOT allowed to lick me... especially NOT on my face!

That's just 'ewwwwwww'!

RESKIPPIES

Oreo Truffles (these are positively scrumptious and so easy to make!)


Ingredients:
1 pkg. (1 lb. 2 oz.) OREO Cookies, finely crushed, divided
1 pkg. (8 oz.) PHILADELPHIA Cream Cheese, softened
2 pkg. (8 squares each) BAKER'S Semi-Sweet Chocolate, melted

MIX 3 cups of the cookie crumbs and the cream cheese until well blended. Shape into 42 (1-inch) balls.
DIP balls in melted chocolate; place on waxed paper-covered baking sheet. (Any leftover melted chocolate can be stored in tightly covered container at room temperature and saved for another use.) Sprinkle with remaining cookie crumbs.
REFRIGERATE 1 hour or until firm. Store any leftover truffles in tightly covered container in refrigerator. (left overs? Ha! There are never any left overs!)



-----------------------------------------------------------------



Ragu De Dirty Sock (my favorite spaghetti sauce)


Unlike my mom who used to spend hours in the kitchen making spaghetti sauce from scratch, I start with a pre-made base and enhance it... then take all the credit. The measurements are approximates since I just kind of toss things in the pot.

1 lb. Italian Sausage (I use Jimmy Dean)

1 medium onion, diced

4 garlic cloves, minced

1 jar Ragu Robusto Pasta Sauce (any flavor but I use Sauteed Onion and Garlic)
1 can petite diced tomatoes (use a large can if you really like tomatoes!)
1 can sliced mushrooms (or 1 lb. fresh)
1 tablespoon Balsamic vinegar - it's stinky, but don't skip this part. (emergency substitution: broth from dirty socks boiled for 24 hours)
2 tablespoons Basil Pesto (I use Classico Traditional Basil Pesto, found in the pasta aisle)

1 teaspoon oregano

salt and pepper to taste. (I use a little sea salt and a lot of fresh ground black pepper)

Optional: chopped black olives and diced fresh zucchini (we like sauce we can sink our teeth into!)

Brown the sausage. Add onion and garlic. Simmer until tender. Add remaining ingredients and simmer on low for 1 hour. Serve over hot pasta. Add a sprinkle of Parmesean or Romana cheese.


Warning: My family can never wait to dig into it and snitch the sauce straight out of the pot before the pasta is ready.

Payday, come and gone...

I did my grocery shopping last night after work. I dragged Art along. I hate shopping alone. When I shop alone I have to carry the grocery bags into the house alone. Yep, company is nice and Art doesn't mind. He's an aspiring chef and I've been teaching him everything I know.

Things like how to shop for vinegar.

Have you ever noticed that when people smell vinegar they say 'ewwwwwww!' and draw back in distaste. And yet we buy vinegar and even worse still, we put it in our food.

I have no idea how to shop for vinegar. There's white vinegar and red vinegar. There's apple cider vinegar, rice vinegar, malt and balsamic vinegar. I have a simple method, I pick the prettiest bottle. Balsamic vinegar smells like dirty socks. Balsamic vinegar is one of my secret ingredients in my spaghetti sauce. People love it too, dirty socks and all.

I always shop at my store. Last night I spent almost $200, and still have more shopping to do. I see it as 'recycling my paycheck'. It's a vicious cycle, kind of like a Picasso rendition of 'The Circle Of Life', skewed and bizarre and yet the meaning is clear. I work so I can buy food to feed my family so they can fill up the toilet, making more room in their bellies which I must work to feed again, and again, and again. I literally work for crap!

Talk about bursting the American Dream bubble, how's that for a reality check!

Yet I love my job, I love my family and I love my 'Ragu de Dirty Socks' sauce . Actually a couple tablespoons of basil pesto improves the over all aroma and flavor... it really is quite delicious. Anyhow, perhaps in reality, my reality, the American Dream is working for crap!

(errrrkkkkk! STOP! HALT! HOLD THE PRESSES!)

Miss Rogers, my high school Positive Thinking teacher, would positively beat the snot out of me for suggesting that. This one's for you Miss Rogers, American Dreamin', revised:

I have a job that I love. I have a wonderful family with a healthy appetite and an appreciation for my culinary efforts. I am living my American Dream!

Oh please, I can't do it, that's just way too foofy for me! Truth be told, no matter how you look at it, I'm still working for crap, literally and figuratively speaking. The main thing is, I am working, I love my job, and my family eats well! What more could I dream about?

Hehehehe~ Never mind!

I'm A Pepper!

I popped open a can of Dr. Pepper the other night and was instantly transported to another time, another place.

It was 1980, I was standing on the hot sands of Haleiwa Beach, the hot breeze blowing against my salted skin, my hair streaked by the sun in ways many have tried to imitate in fancy salons but few have succeeded. In my hand; a 16 oz. paper cup sporting the Coca Cola logo but within its wax coated sides was pure, icy, liquid Heaven. Dr. Pepper.

Nothing could quench a thirst like DP and no trip to the beach was complete without a guzzled down cup of it's fizzy goodness. I didn't even bother with a straw, I just tore the plastic cover off and drank straight from the cup.

What exactly was Dr. Pepper, and what made it so special? To this day I don't know. It was the spam of soda pops, a mystery of miscellaneous ingredients that were blended together just perfectly. Nobody knew what it was, nobody really cared. All we cared about was that it was good and readily available at the local Beach Burger Wagon.

I shook the can above my outstretched tongue as I tried to hold on to the vision, but it was empty. Just as suddenly as it appeared, the scene blurred and flickered out. The scent of salt in the air became elusive and I took one last deep breath before opening my eyes.

I was in the dark interior of the Impala, the stark lights from the parking lot glaring down at me through the cold night air. Cheap 'new car' air freshener filled my nostrils. In my hands, where once was a cool, glistening paper cup now lay a smooth burgundy aluminum can, empty and slightly crumpled. I shook off the lingering threads of nostalgia and got out of my car, walking back to the store to finish my shift. I tossed the can into the aluminum recycling container as I walked through the door. I tried to jump up and click my heels but the truth held me down. I may still be a Pepper at heart, but 25 years of evolution had taken the spring out of my step. I settled for clicking my heels together on the floor.

There's no place like home. There's no place like home.... There's no place like home on the beach with an icy cup of Dr. Pepper!

Change...

Today marks the first day of 'change' in America, or so they say. Change. I don't recall anyone clearly defining whether it was good change or bad change. I do know that many gun owners are stocking up on ammunition in anticipation of stricter control laws. And I have had 'wait until Obama is in the White House' thrown in my face more than once. Huh? What is that supposed to mean? Actually I know what it means. There are those who are ecstatic that an African American is president, and then there are those who are angry for the same reason. (yes, I went there) I have no idea what Bush's ethnic back ground is. It didn't matter. What about Reagan, Carter, Nixon... Lincoln, Taft? George Washington? Who cares? We elect people, not races. Obama is 'African American'. So what? That doesn't bother me at all. The fact that he is a democrat, however, is a little troubling (hehehehe).

I am actually hopeful about what the new Presidency can bring. He's young, he's idealistic. He's not really experienced but he has shown a willingness to listen and learn. So long as he keeps what's best for America as a whole in focus I think we will actually do quite well under his leadership. He's not a Republican, but he's not a bad guy.

My only request would be that now, as president, he show his patriotism at all times, not just when he feels like it. Right hand over the heart Mr. President, every time. What are we as Americans to think if our president doesn't raise his hand with the rest of us in respect for our flag? And what are our Armed Forces to think if their Commander in Chief can't show his patriotism in public while they are fighting our battles in distant lands?

Just a small gesture, but it means a lot to any true blooded American. From this day forward Mr. President, right hand over the heart, Okay?

All Hail the Chief.

Welcome to the White House President Obama.

YES!

So the big news in the news is 'Orgasmic Childbirth'. Huh? Is that some new fad, like Lamaze? Where was I when they invented that because I've had 5 natural deliveries and believe me when I say there was nothing orgasmic about them. I was too busy convincing the sadistic mid-wife that an enema really wasn't necessary and trying to strangle Dickidoo between contractions to even consider the possibility that my current 'open your legs and smile' position could possibly come with some kind of sexual gratification.

Nope, instead of blissful waves of pleasure I was rewarded with hemorrhoids and a slimy, howling creature of questionable inter-galactic descent... each and every time. No orgasms, just babies... 5 of them. I have to admit though, if I had experienced such a thing during delivery there just might have been a few more Oompas around here... which, now that I think about it might not be a good thing...

Still, it would have been nice if I had been given the option along with all of the other questions they had me answer before they would let me give that final push.

Delivery Options: (check one)

• Natural
• Epidural
• Cesarean
• Orgasmic

What will they come up with next?

Talk about 'un-be-FRICKEN-lievable...

I actually held a jelly filled doughnut in my hand... and didn't eat it. I gave it to one of the Oompas. Can you believe that? I still can't believe it myself. It was as if after waiting all that time to satisfy my jelly filled craving, once it was within my grasp I suddenly didn't want it any more. I chose, instead, my habitual favorite glazed doughnut.

So what did my sudden loss of interest save me? Well, the jelly filled doughnut which until recently haunted my dreams and waking thoughts, serves up a whopping 250 calories while my empty holed doughnut weighs in at a leaner 180 calories. But who's counting?

Certainly not me. With the nation's budget in a major deficit you'd think that my average daily surplus in calories would be celebrated but Jenny Craig is less than impressed. I've tried diets but with no success. Have you ever noticed that the word 'diet' begins with the word 'die'. There's a reason for that. I even have a lifetime membership for the gym. I got it 26 years ago. I haven't used it in 25 years. Is it really 'exercise' or 'exorcise'? I'm thinking the latter.

What I am counting is the number of old jeans I can now squeeze my shrinking tush into. All those size 11's that once mocked me from the 'Mountain of Shame' with all the other clothes that have shrunk in the wash over the years (that's my story and I'm sticking to it!) have now been recommissioned to my current wardrobe. 11's! I have a size 11 butt! I haven't had a size 11 butt since I got pregnant with Rocky 15 years ago! (yes, some of those jeans are 15 years old!)

So what am I doing differently now? I'm walking. I walk 8 hours a day or 40 hours a week. While my delightfully dishonest scale still reads between 140 and 145 pounds, I can feel the inches melting away.

Okay, not really. But I am losing inches. And while I haven't lost any weight, I haven't gained any either. All this without even trying. It makes me wonder how much I could lose if I really put some effort into it.

Nah! I wouldn't want to be too sexy! Poor Dickidoo wouldn't know what to do with me. Yeah, a size 11 butt is fine alright for me.

Paying the price for the Gift Of Gab.

I got served a subpoena at work yesterday. I was being asked to testify on behalf of the city, but just the thought of 'being served' made me feel so... criminal, and naughty.

I almost like it!

I pulled up my phone bill online. It was like the opening scene from The Matrix with all of the numbers streaming down the screen. 15,000 text messages (thank goodness I signed up for unlimited messaging), 3000 peak talk minutes (only 1600 are included in my family plan) plus close to the same amount in night and weekend minutes. With super human Mad Mom Math Skilz I was able to add all the cascading rows and columns of digits and decimals in a split second.

$716.57

Un-be-FRICKEN-lievable!

I need to get these Oompas all married up and out of the house. Between toilet paper and phone bills I just can't afford them any more.

ABOUT MY NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION...

I didn’t exactly come up with a New Year’s Resolution this year. I’m not particularly committed to anything so I’ve decided to settle for setting boundaries instead - or 'guidelines' as my favorite zombie pirate Captain Barbossa would say. For instance, rather than trying to lose weight, which is a losing battle (pun intended), I’ve decided to fore go on second helpings. Instead of filling in the blanks with 4 letter words I shall instead use 3 letter words. My potty mouth was costing me a small fortune in quarters! And while I am not prepared to pass on the alcohol yet, I will no longer directly invest in my local liquor store’s stock of Bacardi Gold and Corona, diverting my funds to items higher up on my list of priorities such as toilet paper and Hazelnut creamer. That’s not to say that I would not appreciate a gift of said refreshment from other parties who don't suffer from a perpetual shortage of Charmin.

Everything I know worth knowing, I learned either as a child or from a child.

Lessons in Life, Part 1: Don't give up on your dreams. Set them aside and try again later. If you can't skip a rock on a pond in the summer, try in the winter when the pond is frozen over.

Rocky has always been 'out skipped' by her siblings, but the other day we actually lost count of the number of times her rock skipped (bounced) on the icy pond. It had to have been some kind of record!

Psssst........

Only 352 days until Christmas!

Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho!

Hahahahahahahahahahaha!

And so it begins again...

One week into the new year and The House of Oompa on Loompa Lane is already in a toilet paper shortage. I bought a 12 pack on the 28th. We still had two rolls in the previous pack. Last night the Oompas were demanding my stash from my bathroom. Are they fricken kidding? 14 double rolls of toilet paper in 9 days?

I blame the TP companies. No where on the outer wrapper are there directions for use. There is no recommended serving size, no preset length, no diagram for techniques or suggestions for conservation.

I have issued an ultimatum. Go easy on the TP or I will install a hillbilly bidet... a water hose!

Grrrrrrrr! Nobody's getting my stash of Charmin!