2010

To all those who have checked and become disappointed, a big apology and a new years resolution to do better.. love to all my "fans"..

Golden Showers

In the flurry of excitement that is my life, I rest for a moment and ponder my youth. Its fun if you are me. Well its also kind of sad, but I find the humor at the heart of it so.. if you are sick you will join me. I have been trying to go in some kind of order with the memories that I relate but, alas, I can not seem to be thus inspired. I have to jump forward a bit and tell you that in my youth, we moved, a lot. I am not just talking about the occasional move to a bigger house. I am referring to an ever changing reality that sent our little pocket of crazy to a different town or location but especially school, at LEAST once a year. In all actuality, I have a hard time putting things into some kind of chronological sequence because of it.
I know I was about eight years old. I know this because I remember my mom getting a huge roll of white paper and letting us write and color all over it and then she used it as wrapping paper. I thought it was so cool. I also remember my parents being gone a lot. I dont know if that is because the interesting things that happened all happened while they were gone or if they really were gone quite a bit at the time. Its a child's perspective.
My father was employed, at the time, by a company which sold orthopedic devices. Old people crap. Scooters and chairs that lifted you out of them and other stuff that escapes me because of its lack of relevancy to this particular memory. Foolishly, my father used to park the demonstration models of the scooters he sold in our house. We being, a fore mentioned, alone a good deal of the time and mischievous, loved to race the scooters against each other down our hallway. There are a few things to know about this sport. First, the demonstration models, because of their frequency of use and misuse and transport, were souped up. Also the wheel base of two of them racing side by side was wider than our hallway, and lastly, they had a crappy turning radius.
It was evening, my two brothers and my sister and myself were racing as we would any other night and we scuffed the walls of our rented house many times that day. We had noticed that one of the scooters seemed to be the winning scooter regardless of who was the driver. Slamming the scooters into their parking spots on either side of our black and gold dining table, my sister and brother proceeded to get into a bit of an argument about the fairness of my brother's recent victory. He declaring himself the champion and my sister the looser sent my sister into a playful rage. She stated that she would be racing on the winning scooter the next time and that my brother needed to remove himself from said scooter. "NOPE!" was the retort.
"I'll sit on you"
"I don't care"
And she sat. My brother was extremely opposed to being held down. He really hated the feeling of being trapped. He pleaded with her to let him go. My sister was only amused. My younger brother and I sat tentatively watching from the safe distance of the green velvet couch. His cries for freedom were unheeded by my sister who was now beginning to laugh a diabolical laugh. His cries turned to pinches and pokes and demands for release. Threatening to beat her, he screamed. This only made her laugh harder. and harder.
She stated through her tears of laughter that, if he did not cease his squirming and causing her to laugh, she was going to really get him..
How, you may wonder, was he going to be gotten?? PEE.
She threatened to pee on the both of them if he did not stop. Well as you may well imagine, this only increased the desperation and intensity of the cries and attempts to eject her from his lap. Her face was red and she was laughing a laugh that was both terrifying and contagious. And then, in a voice that I dare not attempt to describe as any but sheer disgust, he screamed. "THERE IS SOMETHING WARM ON MY LEG...........ARE YOU??...........DID YOU???.........GET OFFFFFF!!!'
Only proving to egg her on. Sadly I saw liquid run over the leg of my brother and onto the scooter atop which they were perched. My sister.. I then realized that if she wanted you to suffer for her amusement, she was willing to take the bullet with you. She wanted to piss him off that badly... Pun intended.
This was an extremely scaring experience for my brother who was normally a really tough guy. He, to this day, and he is in his thirties now, can not speak of the event without getting angry.

There is a moral to my story... don't race with an unfair advantage unless you want to get peed on..

Mortification

I am going to take a break from my smattering of memories to be posted here. I am just wondering and putting it out to the universe, if anyone has reviewed the laws about declaring bankruptcy? I have, as of late, been inquiring about the subject and have come to some rather terrifying revelations.
If you are unfortunate enough to have to do something as fiscally annihilating as declaring bankruptcy, one could assume that times may have been hard on you and you may have made some decisions that you regret. All being said the trip to the attorney's office to work out the details of your ultimate shame is where you shall leave the last shred of dignity that you ever possessed. You will spend your humiliation regiment going over all of the creditors who have been left without due compensation and have been voicing their displeasure to you in any way they can conceive. You will also be asked to decide what all the things you possess are worth. For some this may not be a devastating blow to the ego, but for others you will find the sum of the parts of your life do not mount to a dollar amount that you wish to share with anyone, let alone some lawyer you hardly know. Much to your dismay you may find there is one thing in your life that IS worth something.

The only vehicle you own. Surely, you imagine, it will be left out of the process since you have a family to tote around inside of it. Just as you settle in to assure, said attorney, that you dont want to include the debt still owed on your vehicle he asks you.... How much equity do you have in it??? hmmm. Well, my father used to sell cars so, in my entire life I have never been upside down on a loan for a car. I guess we have about $5,000 of equity in the car but we would never sell it because it is our only vehicle, I use it for my employment and we, obviously, cant get loan for another car because if we were not in crisis mode we would not be sitting in an office with our dignity hanging by a thread.
The reply heard around the world, or it may have only seemed to be so loud, is that the car will become the property of the state and they will allow you to retain $2500. to purchase a new car.

This causes one to think. And the retort I have to fire back is thus,, Please blow it out your ear and sign me up for any kind of welfare you can think of because I am no longer going to be able to leave my house accept for on foot. I will also be unable to retain my job because I work with multiple children at a time and must provide them with transportation that is reliable and adequate. Upon declaring bankruptcy I will no longer be eligible for loans for about seven years so I guess there is only the option of taking the $2500. and purchasing some piece of crap that I will spend an unimaginable amount of money fixing every month. So hook me up with food stamps but hurry and put in a bus stop somewhere close to my house so I can get to the store. And hurry and pay for my house because I cant get to a job to pay for it myself and I cant declare it on my bankruptcy because I already did that. sheesh I cant even say I am going to live in my van down by the river because the state took it.

In my rage I have a moment of sanity. MEXICO! Hell, they skip our borders plenty to run from whatever so maybe it is about time I dealt out a little pay back. Then I could keep my van and just stick it to the creditors who will just have to scratch their heads. They wont be any worse off than if I had declared bankruptcy. Hey and we can take what little money we have and we will be rich down there. We like to work and could really bring some experience to the table down there. Maybe we will start a revolution and make things better. Perhaps we will just live in our van down by a river. I could just sell enchiladas on the side of the road. People seem to like the way I make them. Salsa anyone?? So if you don't see us for a while or if you wonder, whatever happened to that one chick with the gap teeth? Ask yourself this.... Do you love tacos?? Have an affinity for the fifth of May??? Day of the Dead perhaps?? You might just have to look for us south of the border, licking the salt from our wounds and recovering from the insult we were given after the injury we sustained the past few years, but hey, I like siesta's.
Hey kids can you say Chiclets???? How bout Viva la Mexico???

Ole`

this one's going out to my homies

I liken writing this blog to cleaning the dust out of the corners of the house. It has to happen but I am inconsistent. Sometimes I do it everyday and sometimes a long hiatus is the result of too much to do and too little time to do it in.
Its a long story, this life of mine, and the problem is that the longer it gets the harder it is for me to put my memories in sequential order. I have a slew of them that are knocking to get out of my head but they want to tumble out willy nilly and I am having a very hard time wrangling them into some kind of sensible order.
The most pressing one tonight may be coming to the forefront of my ever tiring brain because I just spent the weekend with my family and we were all in a bar listening to my younger brother rap.
I believe I was just going to kindergarten. I remember being terrified of walking the distance and having my mother assure me I could do it. I acutely recall the sensation being so small and feeling like I might fall through the cracks in the sidewalk. I also recall feeling quite alone as my older siblings could not have been bothered with walking beside me. They had friends to be cool for. I could see my Sister in the distance walking home. She seemed to be upset but why I could not tell. I walked home along the stretch without much thought but when I arrived home there was quite a commotion. Apparently, my parents were up the street at the local bully's house. My older brother, who did and still can have quite a mouth on him, had gotten himself in quite a situation with a much older and larger boy who was known for being a hot head himself. In true big brother style, he could not back down even when the bully got off his bike to teach my brother a lesson. My sister who was older but not so very large observed the exchange and came running. As I understand it, my sister told the big male intimidateor that if he wanted to hurt her brother he would have to get through her first. (Upon hearing this I remember being shocked. I thought she hated us all. I mean she beat us up pretty regularly.)
This big alpha, but ultimately pansy, male punched my sister right in the eye. A girl. Right in the eye. His own friends were shocked. He got back on his bike and rode away. When my sister got home and my brother related the story to my mom and dad they took her straight up to the kids house. That is where they were when I made it home from my arduous journey on my own. That is when it really hit me that my family was down to scrap for each other. In a really ghetto and white trash or just plain down for life kind of way, even though I thought we all kind of despised each other. No. From my younger brother to my dad every one of us will kick your ass if you mess with another. For me, being that I was small and timid at the time, it was a kind of revelation. I could rest assured that no matter what, someone was going to kick the bully's ass.
I guess my parents came to find out that my sister had kicked the bully in the nads and that is the reason he had really hit her. But she was defending her little brother. My parents said that they had gone to the boy's house and had to wait in a line of other parents who wanted to talk to the boys parents about his violence. My life was never the same after that and I dont think I was too afraid to walk home anymore. I also think my siblings started walking nearer to me than they had before. And I knew, though I had not the words for it then, that my family was always going to be livin "thug life"

Peace Out.

I know I know.

Its been a while, again. I have no excuse for my intermittent behavior. None. I will say that I have such lofty aspirations and have been thinking of writing... so if it is the thought that counts than I guess I have been quite prolific. Not buying it?? I guess it only works with gifts? Ok then I will just write for my own amusement as I am sure that I have whittled the readers down to basically family members with my lack of entries.
I was reminiscing the other day, buy myself you see, whilst busily cleaning or crafting or taking care of kids or running around putting out proverbial fires, or whatever the day might have entailed, and I came upon an idea about writing about my memories from childhood. It may be the worst idea I have ever had or it just might turn out to be the most therapeutic endeavor I have ever undertaken. I have not ever really been allowed, by myself or my mother, to feel that any kind of therapy or counseling is valid or warranted, so I am supposing that I will find little relief but a good deal of amusing fodder for the fuel of my creative fire.
I imagine that the earliest memories we can conjure up in our minds are almost always not memories in the true sense of the word but, rather stories that we have heard retold again and again until their image is cemented into our brains forcing us to relive something that our brains were clearly trying to block out. The reason for said blockage may not be something vile or distasteful but could just be the fruits of something that we were to busy growing to file away. Mine is definitely some conglomeration of the two.
I was just a wee little lass. Long and springy piggy tails sprouting from my small but imaginative and curious head. The family cat had only very recently given birth to a litter of kittens. I loved kittens. So cute and playful. Being that the mother cat was an "outside kitty" the kittens were unceremoniously thriving outside under the deck of our house. I have no other memories of the house accept that the kitchen was directly behind the glass sliding door that connected our second story deck to the house. It was here on a chilly morning that I found myself outside playing with my older brother. He, by the way, was always my hero. It seemed to me that there was nothing that he could not do. Finding the little kittens, so cute and helpless, we began loving them. Picking them up and playing with each one. Their little cries egging us on to play with them more. It is my understanding, that at some point in this serene and surreal environment that things took a turn for the worse. Behind a shed that housed our lawn mower and other garden utensils, there was a bag of lye. Or a box of lye. Or a bucket of lye. I am never quite sure how it was packaged. Apparently it seemed hilarious to very small children that kitties should be covered in the stuff and that if you threw them into it just hard enough they made a perfect little cloud of dust and then ran off. I guess at some point I tried to save the little kitties from being treated so discourteously. I slung one of the little guys into the crook of my arm whilst holding another about the neck with my hands. Strangely the sounds of their gentle mewing had stopped and I interpreted them as being asleep. When my mother came out and saw the happenings of the yard she gasped and demanded to know what we were doing. From all accounts, not wanting to be chastised for playing with the kittens we "spiked" them yet again and tried to understand what we had done.
Now I have a few questions about this memory, if you could really call it that. One, why did we have a parcel of lye in our back yard that was accessible to children? And two, where was the mother cat during all of this genocide? And three, well thirdly, where were my other siblings?
All but one of the kittens were, sadly, asphyxiated. The last one had to be rescued by my mother who sat up countless nights with the little thing feeding it goat's milk with a dropper. It was never a normal cat and surly held out some contempt for us.
I have always hated this story and only relate it now as it is so late and my defenses are down. I do, however, think it is the earliest memory that I have and I do remember the kitchen where the little kitten was brought back from the depths of despair. I have always wondered why this story was always related during an attempt to make people laugh as it is a bit horrifying. But here I am doing the same thing. So enjoy, if you can, at the expense of my poor kitties and their untimely doom. I know the family will hear the story again whether they like it or not.





due to my lame computer I am unable to post a suitable graphic for this post. sorry.

Dinner Time

When did we start asking kids what they want to eat?? I mean really. When I was a kid I did not pester my mother with incessant quandaries about what was for dinner and why were we having "that". I am quite sure that whatever the situation, I was given what was prepared and if I did not like it.... well..... I ate it anyway. If you refused food that had been prepared for you, you were going to get it. When did we give our kids the impression that they were allowed to have a voice in things like this. I dont really remember any of my parents fretting about whether or not I liked anything, least of all food. I just hear my sister's words rolling around in my head "it sucks to be little".
I am not sure when it became normal to try to please the children of a household and ask them what they feel is the best choice for family dinner. I myself find I wonder what they would like to eat. Luckily, I am self aware enough to realize that, deep down, I don't care what they "want" and I make whatever I please. I face much weeping and wailing and not a whole lot of gnashing of teeth when they dont like what I make for dinner but, I really want to know when their whims became the deciding factor to life.
Where does it end?? I can only conclude that if we follow this course that eventually children will be making all the important decisions in the world Then, we will all be trying to take up residency in Disneyland, eating candy two meals a day followed by a large helping of boogers, sleeping only when we have exhausted ourselves to the point of passing out, and peeing in the bushes.
I am going to return to my roots. My new mantra is going to be ...
" YOU WILL EAT WHAT I COOK FOR YOU AND YOU WILL LIKE IT"

and they will.

Its a crime.

So has anyone else seen the trailer for the movie "I Love You Somebody Something or other" ( I cant really remember the name)??? I am most disturbed by the proposed plot of this movie. I really think it is a crime against the world at large. If you are unfamiliar with the movie in question I will expound for a moment about what I have gleaned from the commercials I have seen. It is set in a town around some teen aged kids. Apparently during their commencement exercises the dorkiest guy in school decides to proclaim his love for the hottest most popular girl in school. I really believe this is a dangerous message to be sending out to the masses. NO. I say no. Why would anyone want to give them false hope. Imagine the hottest girl from your school and the king of the nerd herd. Can you see it? Nothing good can come from this idea being put into their giant brains. The trailers intimate that this poor nerd has a chance and that this girl is going to give him a shot to be her man. This can only produce a false sense of social normality that nerds are just not ready for. And girls who think their group of friends are going to finally come around and see them for who they are? No. I say again, no. It is just not how things are done. It may be a lovely dream but I think it is dangerous to fill nerdy heads with hope of bagging the lovely girl... in high school. I would plead with the nerds of the next generation... Wait. Just wait, fill your giant craniums with all the physics and computer science and technologically advanced jargon you can. Then wait. When the jock, who would have surely pummeled you for making a declaration of love to the hottest girl in school, is driving a garbage truck with his beer belly hanging out and the girl who you would bestow your best years on is 200 pounds and has a gaggle of children, show up at your class reunion. For sure you will have the hottest wife that you met while landing your corporate deal with Microsoft. What do you do?? they will inevitably ask. "oh I just invented the latest chip that is in every hand held gadget anyone owns. everywhere." Trust me.. it WILL be worth it.
And to those who have made this negligent choice in movie making.. I say SHAME. Its just not right.

15 Min.

So I suppose it was someone at my church who said it, and I suppose that they were implying that one would use the time to come closer to God, but I got the idea in my head that spending 15 minutes a day writing is going to be my goal for the next few months. I am committing and, for some, this will come as a welcome declaration as I have been woefully neglectful of my blog. I do regret not having written for some time but, you see, I have not had anything funny to say, nor have I been in a jovial mood.

I do wonder if stupidity, feigned or otherwise, should be punishable by firing squad. There are people in this world who are deliberate in their desire to be stupid and there are just those who were born without. My question to the world at large is simply... why do we protect the stupid. Keeping them safe with warning labels on hot coffee and Draino seems counter productive to the forwarding of the human race. I motion to have all such things removed and let the cards fall where they may. I say let natural selection be natural. If you cant tell that putting a plastic bag over your head is not a fun game and that it is not a toy, well? If you dont have sense enough to not put your hair dryer in the tub or sink with water, or not to smoke while filling up your vehicle with gas, or if you cant tell that toilet bowl cleaner is harmful if swallowed, or that things coming out of an oven are hot, or that sidewalks are slippery when wet or icy, or that a movie that is advertised as being about a bunch of guys trying to get laid is going to contain material that may not be suitable for children, or cigarettes cause cancer and are harmful to your health or that super glue is not for putting in your eyes well then, maybe that is just your luck. I know that we all know someone who is dumb and may fall prey to the lack of direct commands we ingest as consumers through labels and commercials, but is it not better to weed out the stupid so the common sense may rule the land. Think of all the politicians we would not have to endure. Think of all the lawsuits that could be avoided or ignored. I like this plan and give it to you, the public, all in favor say ........



if your smart you know what to say..

Nate's contribution

I have, as of late, been uninspired and unable to deem myself worthy of capturing any thoughts onto, what used to be paper but is now, this blog. In such a state I sat myself along side my husband and expressed such lament. To which he replied with such a look as to warrant further probing. He, sitting knowingly, turned away to face forward and suggested in a way that was more matter of fact than abstract that I should simply write about something with which I was quite well acquainted and something that was sure to create laughter from a wide range of perspective viewers. What could it be I wondered, internally as to not disturb the unusual way he had preserved the punch line. I patiently awaited his epiphany. He looked at me and with some glint in his eye exclaimed....

POO!!

It is funny the world around he explained. Everyone has some experience with it. I myself deal with Hazel's everyday, he reminded me. He was so pleased with himself. He just turned front and continued watching the television as if he had now imparted his wisdom upon me and I should somehow be falling to his feet and thanking him for abolishing my writers block.
Smirk faced and watching for my reaction out of the corner of his eye, he sat in quiet repose. I rose form the couch, silently, and headed off for my computer. Good thing I have him. How else would I arrive at such wonderful subject matter??

so anyone else think Nathan is funnier than Poo??




trust me you dont want a graphic on this one.

Butt Crack

Sorry to all of my readers for the long hiatus from my writings. Life, as luck would have it, has seen fit to throw me a couple of curve balls. I have been intently trying to swing for the fences but can not, it would seem, make a connection with the ball. The result of all of the life, that clearly I am viewing as some sort of sport, is I am not feeling altogether funny. However, this morning I was cleaning the children with my usual absentmindedness. My two youngest were in the shower, laughing and seemingly having a good time. I was sitting at my computer in the adjoining room. I hear the door of the shower slide open and then shut again. As I turn my gaze from the bluish light of the screen to the opening of my door I am greeted with the naked baby butt of my littlest one. She turns back to see if I have come out of my Facebook stupor to find she has broken free and is not afraid to pee right on the floor. Seeing that I was looking right at her and that she was found out she made a face at me, giggled diabolically, and ran out of the room thus snapping me out of my rather melancholy mood.
Thank goodness for little children for making us chase their little naked butts through the house while they are sopping wet with the eminent threat of "going".

Nocturnal

Sometimes it is just a good idea to go outside in your underwear, in the rain, and dance for the neighbors. Therapy has nothing on a good booty shake whilst others 'could be' watching. No matter that is is late and they are probably sleeping. The only stipulation is the underwear should be, at least slightly, exciting. I do, however, have some suggestions to make the event even nicer. Laugh. Be sure to have an escape route so that, upon an untimely or unwanted discovery, you can make a quick get away. Loose inhibitions. Recruit a fun partner. Laugh. Build courage by popping out from behind something in short dancing bursts. Get a scarf to twirl. (or cover yourself strategically with) Laugh. Smell the rain and let it wash over you. Laugh. Feel the earth beneath your feet. Laugh. Act like you did before life fell on you. Laugh. Laugh. Laugh. Laugh.

Moving

I saw a man who was riding a motorcycle with a very tall tree tied to the back seat. I imagine that there are a million reasons why someone would have to tie a very large tree to the back of a motorcycle and ride around. I suppose many of those reason would seem to be very logical but I imagined that he was some kind of landscape architect. Not a very efficient one mind you, but somehow he is working and the tree was just the finishing touch that could bring his dream to fruition. Or perhaps he is a prick and his girlfriend kicked him out but first she burned all of his things (because, you see, pricks often hook up with psychos) so the only shred of dignity he could scrape together was to grab the tree and storm out. Possibly he was fired from his job and the contents of his desk were nestled between his legs and I just could not see them. Maybe he was helping a friend move and never wanted to be asked to do so again. Perhaps he thinks of it as his pet. It may be that the two of them are dating? It could be that the tree was hitch-hiking and this guy was just a good Samaritan. Perchance the man was hot and needed shade. Possibly there was a bird or other creature in the tree acting as a look out. It is feasible that the two of them had a suicide pact and were on their way to carry it out. Maybe he wanted to make paper? I have considered the possibility that he stole the motorcycle while it was still chained to the tree. Imaginably, he thought it was a marijuana plant. Whatever the reason, it got me thinking. What would I do with a tree and a motorcycle??

Crack

I know it's been a while. I have not really had anything to say and I am not one of those bloggers who is prone to prattle on and on until the last drop of functioning thought had released itself from their brain and spilled into the cyberspace that is the blogging community. That being said, just try and stop me from telling another useless story that can only serve to prick my amusement.



Is anyone else sucked into the weird obsessive time wasting "networking" tool known as Facebook??

Why is it that we feel compelled to tell each other 25 random things or think that it is fortuitous to spend hours taking quizzes that will tell us, once and for all, what Disney villain we are or what flower we are most like or if our spouse is "The One" Is it a good idea to determine what psychotropic drug we are most akin to?? I have become a zombie to the invitation to finish a questionnaire discussing the three names I have been called or three things I purchased yesterday.

".....MUST...FILL...OUT..EVERYONE IS WONDERING...........HAVE TO TAKE QUIZ....MUST FINISH.......TELLING WHAT IS ON MY MIND.
My theory is that no one really cares what I am thinking or if I am most like a daisy or if I am a fan of rain. When will the madness end?? I guess when they come up with another networking site and I have to have a page if I want to reconnect with people whom I have not seen in years and dont really know anymore
'what??'
Twitter??
what is that?
Is is easy to set up??
How do I get started?

Wet Dream

I found the most beautiful bathroom I have ever seen. Modern but classic. Soft blue glass tiles beset the walls and floor. The sink was Ivory and set on top of the cabinet. Water cascaded from the wall and over a lovely metal spout making the most lovely sound as the water splashed jocundly down into the basin. A plush bath rug adorned the floor. One single window was placed behind the throne. Aaah. The toilet. Sleek and modernly elegant. I opened the lid and had a seat to better view the room. Someone in a nearby room was commenting that they also wanted to arise early and get to a class at the gym. I could hear some clattering and rustling from beyond the door. Birds chirped and sounded as if they too wanted to view this lovely expanse. From my vantage point I realized that this room was quite a bit larger than I had originally concluded. I finally relived myself. It was the most glorious feeling. So satisfying. To be in such a beautiful place and feel the contentment that comes with doing the most natural of things. Looking around I realized that there were others in the bathroom with me. When had they come in? Had I been so wrapped up that I had forgotten to lock the door? Why was I feeling so wrong? They had destroyed my moment? Why was I all wet? What the hell was happening?
oh crap!
I peed the bed.

Sorry Nathan!

Will you be my friend??

What is it about fat people. It seems to me that I always get one trying to befriend me as a kindred spirit. I can just hear them thinking to themselves as they try to strike up a conversation, "no one else understands my desire to eat ho ho's." Except that, despite my size, I do not eat like a fat person. I do not understand the urge to ingest things like ding dongs and Twinkies and little Debbie's snack cakes or Zingers, snowballs or Suzy Q's. It's space food. I, at no point am going to awaken from a dead sleep and crave chili cheese fries from Denny's. There will be no Zebra cakes or Cosmic Brownies, Strawberry Shortcake rolls or Honey Buns. I do not feel YooHoo is an acceptable alternative to water. I feel nothing akin to the kind of man who eats meatball subs. You know the kind, overweight Guido, hair slicked back with what we can hope (but can not realistically expect) to be pomade, sitting in a Lincoln Continental slopping red sauce on his already soiled wife beater. I do not make a habit of consuming Tasty Kakes or moon pies or strange oatmeal cookie sandwiches. And still they come. One in every crowd. Lumbering toward me and just certain that I will understand the need for Hostess cupcakes and Yodels.

Marter Sauce

I nearly burnt my meat pie today. I was unselfishly making it for my husband and son. (I dont eat meat pies.) Clearly I was interrupted by some inferior task that was hoggishly requiring of me while I toiled to be the saint that I am and prepare a lovely meal for those who need me to feed them. It is only by my magnanimous nature that I am able to put aside what God has entreated me to take on as my sole task, being of course, that I am the only one capable to do it in a way that is pleasing. How could someone be so selfish as to distract me from my meat pie?? Well she is always telling me that she is hungry or that she has some soiled garment that needs tending to or that she is tired and needs me to provide her with some means of resting her head. She is, parsimonious in her persuit of my time and thus, The meat pie goes untended and while I was looking so forward to presenting it in all of it's lovely glory. Should I be compelled to subjigate myself to her tyrannical rule? I alone know the worth of each activity and all that goes into committing myself to the pie. But sadly, it is now. ruined.
Lis how could you??

Boys

Boobs. They are so puzzling to me. I am constantly amazed at the power they have over men. I began to notice this when, at a very young age my poor sister became endowed. She had so many mixed feelings about them. When it was my turn I found that I also had mixed emotions about them. I have come to think that it is God's little prank on women. We are doomed to have a love/hate relationship with them forever. The stages are so prominent. You get boobs. (and if you are related to me you get them early and they come on with a vengeance) Then girls who do not have them yet make fun of you for having to wear a bra and boys.. well boys are so hypnotized they can only make grunting noises and slobber on themselves. So then when everyone has boobs the comparing begins. Some girls are mad because they dont have much and the girls who have too much are either flaunting them or ashamed and wearing a sports bra. Any way you slice it it is a hard adjustment and boys... well boys are so hypnotized they can only make grunting noises and slobber on themselves. Then when a woman is in her twenties she can finally own her own body without all the awkwardness. Boobs can become a source of power to get out of speeding tickets or get a guy to buy you a drink or take out your garbage. We women begin to think, " hey these things are kinda fun to have. lovely" and boys... well boys are so hypnotized they can only make grunting noises and slobber on themselves. Then as a woman approaches her thirties and possibly has a few kids. Something happens. GRAVITY?? What the hell? They used to be perky and now what? flat and weird and shriveled like a raisin. One definition for shriveled is "To lose or cause to lose vitality or intensity". In the face of such loss of vitality some reach for surgery. Some a push up bra. Others just wrap themselves and have a uniboob effect. Corset? Button your coat under them? Stilts?? a wheelbarrow? Just like that We are back to feeling awkward about them. Just picking out the apparatus to hoist them can be a chore.
Why?
It is a lamentation I hear over and over. Torpedo boobs, no longer pointing outward but swinging low like a pendulum, elongating and a woman is sure that she can no longer be attractive but boys ... well boys are so hypnotized they can only make grunting noises and slobber on themselves.
Dont worry girls for whatever reason, no matter how we feel about them for guys the effect is the same.

comments

I wonder why more people don't leave comments on this blog. Is it perhaps they don't want to find themselves on the stabability scale?? Or is it they are afraid it could become fodder for some future post?? Maybe they feel it has all been said already and not worth the effort. I suppose it could be a complacency about the latest entry. I have a theory that no one is reading this anymore. Some may not value their own voice. You may all be in some cult which forbids the act of leaving a comment. I have heard tales of people being kidnapped and not allowed to use the internet. Maybe your dog ate your comment. Perchance some church calling got in the way. Perhaps it is fear of being found out that you read the swill I tend to write. Maybe you are offended. Conceivably your fingers are broken and you deeply want to comment but lack the necessary skill. It may be that aliens have assumed your likeness and don't understand English. Imaginably, you are tied up and can not break free from your bonds. I say to you, all of these are possible but suck it up and post a comment anyway. Dont be a baby.

Am I old??

I am officially a Unicorn.

How is this possible you wonder?? Think about it. Is there anyone whiter than me? I too wander in this wilderness and when people catch sight of me are often scared or attempt to catch me. I am reclusive and try to avoid them I even avoid most phone calls. I love salad. (akin to grass) I have loved grass in my life as well. When I get mad or agitated, I stomp my feat. I have been misunderstood by most people. I love flowers and have, on occasion, eaten them. I consider them a treat. I possess magical powers and can get people to do things I want without them knowing exactly why they did it. (ok so it is mostly just Nathan) Sometimes I run for no reason at all. I have a long mane of hair. It often is referred to as a pony tail. And the final reason is because today I found a long, wiry, stiff and erect silver horn (hair) sticking straight out of the top of my head. How I have missed it while it has been growing to its current length, I will never know. Unicorns are supposed to be wise and highly favored so I guess that will be my reward for dealing with "the hair" as I am sure I will come to call it.

(upon its discovery I immediately had my husband pull it out)

A new post

I now have a teenager. (Now that is funny)

Moons over my hammy...

Yesterday was Dad's birthday, the big 59! My father is most unlike other fathers i know. He is musical and funny and angry and sarcastic all at the same time. It is a winning combination. I have been thinking a lot about him this past month and remembering all kinds of funny things about him. (thus the "got milk" post) I recruited the help of my siblings to purchase him some studio time so he could record some of the many songs he has written (in his head) over the years so that we would, have some kind of record of his prolific song writing ability. I searched and searched for a card just right to put the gift certificate into. I found one that reminded me of him so much I had to have it. The card had a picture of an old man with a wrinkly but mooning. It said that while I was sure he had been mooned before he may not have been pruned.

When we were little and living in Phoenix, AZ, we had our share of crazy neighbors. (It is a curse I clearly still carry to this day. ) This particular neighbor was in the habit of peering over our fence and into our windows. My father had asked him to stop but he disavowed all knowledge and simply stated he was checking a meter on the outside of his own home.

One day we were sitting in our family room which had a large picture window in one wall. My dad calmly asked us children to leave the room and so we did. We only returned when we heard my mother dying with laughter.

Apparently, my father, the head of our household and shining example, had decided that enough was enough in regard to our peeping tom and was going to take matters in to his own... um.. Hands??

You guessed it!! He gave the creepy neighbor the old brown eye!! My mom was both horrified and consumed in a fit of laughter. My father, calm as a cucumber, simply stated that he gave the man something to stare at and did not suppose he would need to peer through our windows any more.

And he never did..... as far as we know.
They quickly sold their house and moved.
Ha Ha
Love you Dad!!

(if only it had been this pretty!!)

There was an old lady..

So, it is my observation that most neighborhoods have that one old lady. The one who is always looking out the window and who knows how many times each car passes her house and has an uncanny way of interrupting any "afternoon delights". I have known my share of crazy ladies in my day but I like to think the one that currently lives across the street is special. Maybe it is because this particular one annoys my husband so badly. Or maybe it is because my thirteen-year old daughter refuses to interact with her at all. But I find a special enjoyment out of her peculiar behavior.

While lying in bed one night my husband and I were talking about the day and my husband, who is ordinarily mellow, became supremely animated. He began talking about our neighbor having a mysterious disappearance and then recounted some of the strange requests he had received from her.

Upon our arrival in the neighborhood our lovely old lady scurried over to introduce herself. (or so I thought) I thought that we were going to enjoy the interlude but were unnerved when she asked if the man who lived in our newly rented abode had perished inside the home. I assured her I did not know and hoped he had not. She then peppered me with questions about the recent occupant and was unsatisfied with my lack of knowledge. Then, just before heading back across the street, she informed us that it was our duty as "neighbors" to take care of the older gentleman down the way, and that we also had to look out for each other. If only we had known exactly what that meant .

Later our neighbor commented about how much she enjoyed our Christmas decorations. I assumed (stupidly) that she meant our outside decorations. She brought over some goodies. I assumed (stupidly) that they were fresh. She then went on to explain that she had received them as a gift a couple of weeks prior and did not want them anymore because she had eaten her fill. I thanked her as graciously as I could muster. As the holliday arrived she showed up again to give our family a gift. She brought in a basket filled with used toys and last years whitening milk chocolate. As we exchanged our gift with her, she stated that she had "really enjoyed watching our little family around our Christmas tree." Stunned I just thanked her and ushered her to the door. Aaah there is nothing like knowing you are not alone.

As the years have gone by, we have had strange exchange after strange exchange with this woman. She periodically brings us a half eaten cake or bag of candy that is clearly years old. She got angry with my daughter for asking to use her phone when ours had a problem. She often lurks about the "hood" talking to herself and picking up random objects and moving them around. She has a daughter whom she says lives with her but whom we never see and are not positive exists. One warm southern Utah day in early spring she ran outside with old towels to wrap up my children who were playing outside without coats. She showed up on our doorstep with petition and photographic evidence of everyone's lawns that were not "green enough" in hand. (nevermind that it was January) She was going to take the matter up with the HOA.

By far though, my favorite tales of this woman come from my husband who, by the time we had talked about all the things she had done that we found strange, had gotten more worked up and had some stories that I had not previously known.

He stated that it started with the dryer. She told him she had gotten a new dryer and just needed the hose hooked up. When she invited him into her house she made him stay in the kitchen while she looked for the hose, she must have misplaced it. She cautioned him that her "daughter" was sleeping and he needed to be quiet. She took so long he almost left. The hose she produced was too long and she wanted him to cut it with rusty sissors. She acted put out that he would need to have a tool to cut it. As he was installing it the door to the laundry closet was hitting him in the butt. He finally gets the hose on and while pushing the dryer back into position, the dryer made a noise and she shushed him. (strike one)

On another occasion she told him that she has a piece of furnature she needs moved. He goes over to help. The "daugher" is "sleeping". Again he was told to be quiet and not wake her. The old lady led him to a bedroom and does not say anything for a bit. Then she tells him she thinks the arrangement will be ok but asks him to set her digital clock. He emphasized to me that it is not a dificult clock to set and that it is clearly marked, but he does it anyway. Then he looks at her awaiting something and she says nothing and so he leaves. This one is a particular thorn in his side because she lured him there on false pretenses. (strike two)

The last straw is, he thinks his first strike with her. (She gave him the stink eye for a while after this one.) He recounts that she knows when he gets home. He is disgusted while he does her voice saying "why does he make me wait so?" So upon his arrival home, and before he reaches the door, she approaches him and without greeting (he is sure she does not know his name) just starts talking. She tells him she has a new landscaping project in her backyard. He is convinced that because he comes home covered with concrete dust, she sees him as the "construction guru". She asks him if he can get a bunch of rocks and bring them to her. He asks for clarification and she tells him she wants to dig out some dirt and have a rock patio. He informs her there are companies that do that very thing. To which she declares "well, you have a truck". I guess my hubby looks like a guy who can get rocks? She was deflated upon my husbands lack of rock getting ability and stormed off in a huff. My husband views this one as a victory because he got a strike.

Then about three weeks later after many distainfull looks, he comes home to see a pile of rocks in her driveway. She is going back and forth with a wheelbarrow. Nathan is sure she is going to ask for some help, this seems like the kind of thing and elderly lady should ask a young male neighbor, but apparently He only gets one strike. She gets two. Apparently you have to add them together to equal an out.

Have you any dreams you'd like to sell

I know, I know. I said I would write everyday but then, life happened. So I plan to be as prolific as possible to please the population. (and apparently I am going to use alliteration to do it).



Today, while I was rocking my baby to sleep, I was singing to her a song from Disney's Cinderella, "A dream is a wish your heart makes" and I got to thinking about it. (which is pretty much a given since while you are rocking a baby there is not much else to do but think)
A dream is a wish my heart is making??? I can totally buy that when I have been dreaming about being thin and gorgeous and wanted by everyone I see. And I can see my heart wishing for some crazy house with trap doors and secret passage ways that somehow magically morphs into another house and then into a park or some other place. But, I can only hope that not all my dreams are wishes my heart is making. I sometimes dream about killing the crazy old woman across the street who takes pictures of all the houses in the neighborhood to prove that they are not keeping their lawns green enough. What about when I dream I am peeing? Or what about the dream about falling off the curb and jerking awake? I am positive I do not want to go to school or church naked or with my skirt tucked into my underwear. I also have dreamed of jumping off of Angel's Landing in Zion and falling to my death. Last night I dreamed that I had to run away from some people who were trying to take my husband and then I had to shoot them with a 50 caliber riffle. And what about those dreams that are so random and take you from one place to the next and from situation to situation so that when you wake up you are tired from all the activity?? Is my heart wishing for those too?? I guess there is some truth to that song. I guess that secretly I do want my crazy neighbor to go away and I do wish I could fly off of Angel's Landing and I would shoot people trying to hurt my husband but it makes you think about your dreams Huh?? But be careful, because the song also states "have faith in your dreams and someday, Your rainbow will come smiling through." If rainbows start smiling at you, you may need to seek professional help, or lay off the acid. I wish you all good dreams tonight because, "the dream that you wish may come true."


Watch out crazy neighbor!! Ha Ha

Got Milk??

Milk as a beverage? Sounds normal to most of you I am sure but, if you knew my family whilst we were growing up you found that milk, despite it having all characteristics of a beverage, is not.
My parents are nuts. This is something that over the years I have come to embrace and enjoy. Every once in a while their brains will come up with something that goes down in history.

As teenagers we were, I think, normal in our milk consumption. We poured it over cereal and dunked our duplex cookies into it. I think we even dared to consume it out of a glass on occasion.

My father, who arrived home often to find the milk jug empty, just lost it one day and gathered all us kids together for a talking to. We dragged ourselves to the family room filled with dread. What had our parents found out we had done? Each of the four of us ran through what must have been a million scenarios in our minds. My father was angry. You could see it from the little vein on his neck that was pulsating. I was just sure we were busted. He stood before us and we prepared for the worst. He chastised us for being ungrateful and selfish and with empty milk jug in hand declared,

"Don't drink milk as a beverage!!!!"

What?? We each looked at each other puzzlingly. Did we dare laugh? Was he making a joke. And then one of my brothers said it. What we had all been thinking but had been too afraid to say.

"Well, what should we drink it as?"

That was all it took. My father stormed off in a fit of rage and refused to speak to us. We all had a hearty laugh and to this day all crack up whenever we pour ourselves a tall glass of milk.

St. Patrick's Day

Today is my Grandma's birthday. She is turning 89 which is crazy old and despite being a member of my insanely funny family is not, herself that amusing. (unless you count being cold and distant funny) But, I do credit her with the insanity of at least part of my family because it was her special brand of crazy that produced my mother and therefore my own personal brand.

Being that it is her birthday I have, for weeks, been toiling about what gift she might like to receive. Nothing comes to mind and I began to assess why I was having such trouble. I decided it is simple. She is old and there is no gift to give a woman who is basically awaiting death.
I thought for a moment that dressing up as death and paying her a visit might be appropriate and then the shock of it might get the job done and for that, she might thank me.

I also toyed with the idea of pitching in for a casket. Practical and beautiful, a wining combination. This too had to be abandoned due to financial shortcomings. The thought also occurred to me to send her a pillow and a weight, but again, no, it just did not fit. (and she might not be able to lift the weight).

I finally came to the conclusion that I should just send her some arsenic with a card that says "Bon Voyage", but Nathan reminded me that sending that kind of stuff through the mail was a federal offense so, nix on that one too. I guess a card that says"too bad you are old and this card is my gift" will have to do. I hope she likes it..


I'll let you know!

The Stabability Scale

Last weekend my hottie of a husband and I were at a local Denny's (which is not something we usually do but were feeling in the mood to transport ourselves back to high school)

There were, at the after hours hang out,the usual suspects lurking about, we saw the high school jocks who were with their dad who was clearly still "livin the dream", around the corner there were the tech kids from school who all believe that actors are an extra on the stage and they could really just put out a killer light show and wow the crowd.

There were some goths outside smoking, but I guess now they call them emo. I saw some popular girls, but they left with all the disdain that they entitle themselves to. We celebrated as a merry band of geeks trotted by and dared to sit at the bar where I always assumed only the dirty truckers sat. We also observed the sexually active teenage couple who could not eat their own food but had to have a disgusting exchange of food during a long and repellent kiss. There were also a whole crowd of island kids who genuinely looked hungry and like they might have a legitimate reason to be there.

There was, of course, the mom with all the screaming kids and no bra (classic) and the couple who surely loved Elvis and drove an old pickup truck and had lived in their house in Central for about forty years all while ignoring any kind of advances in fashion or technology. And we cant forget the couple who were clearly fighting and wished Denny's had a special domestic violence room that allowed them to fight and get something to eat at the same time.

Our waitress was nice and competent and I had no complaints about her. She seemed to be happy to be at work, which is not something one usually gets at a Denny's late at night.

As we ate our, well for lack of a better term, food, and noticed the aroma of the coffee that smelled as if it may have been scraped off of the bottom of the blacktop, I realized that I had no desire to hurt our very unusual waitress. Now if that seems normal to you and nothing special to report about I say to you that you have not been truthful to yourselves.

I announced to my husband that I felt that our waitress fell below the Stababilty Scale. You see, almost everyone else in the restaurant falls somewhere on the scale. Heck, if I am really honest with myself, almost everyone falls on the scale somewhere. If you are unfamiliar with the Stabability Scale let me enlighten you.

It is a 1-10 scale.
1- a desire to hurt but not wound so just a slight grazing of an appendage.

2- a desire to hurt and leave a mark. Band aid required.

3- A deep stab through leg flesh. Stitches required and they may limp for the remainder of their lives.

4- Stabbing an organ like the appendix that you can loose and not miss. This one could even be considered helpful to the recipient but is none the less satisfying.

5- Stab to the face. Not in the eye but enough to cause severe facial scaring.

6- A stab so hard you loose a finger or toe.

7- Stabbing a vital organ.

8- Multiple stab wounds but not fatal. Hospitalization is required.

9- A good old fashion stab to the Eye!!

10- OJ Simpson. You know.

Now you may not want to admit it but, everyone, at some point, wants to kill someone else they know. Even if it is just a little bit.
We left Denny's and I am sure that the couple sitting behind us was more than just a little glad to see us go. I wish I would have had the guts to turn around and tell the woman where her nasty gazes my direction had landed her on the scale. But I guess she will just have to wonder.
Just for clarification, I have never stabbed anyone. But that does not mean I have never thought about it!!