Sunday, January 27, 2013

DON'T TOUCH

Howdy ho neighbors. Who the hell says that, anyhow? Nobody I know. Just...who....Mr. Rogers? I don't know.

Anyhow....I have jury duty tomorrow. That is really an interesting thing. I mean, we all love freedom, right? We all treasure our right to vote, right? However, when we go out to get the mail and we see a jury summons with our name on it, (well I'm assuming everyone is like me...maybe I'm wrong..) we suddenly have Tourette's syndrome and begin cussing like sailors. I was FURIOUS when I got mine. I have had jury duty so many times and never have I been chosen to judge. I would love to judge. Maybe that's why I've never been chosen. Plus, we live in a small town, so when I get local court summons, I get dismissed immediately because I know all the JPs. Bummer. Not.

My 20 year old son got jury duty and we all thought, "Come on, who would pick a 20 year old kid?" Well, those lawyers did, that's who. He had to be on the jury. He was pissed as hell and had nicknames for his fellow jurors. "Cranky old lady", "Bossy old lady', things like that. He wouldn't discuss the trial at all with us. He was very good and followed all the rules. When it was over, and he was allowed to talk though, he almost broke down telling me about it. He couldn't tell me all the details because it upset him so badly. It was a child abuse case, and he was completely unaware scum bags who abuse children exist. He didn't know there were YOUNG women out there with multiple children all with different "baby daddys". Now, he knows. He has more appreciation for what I do everyday, now. He will never be some ho's "baby daddy".

Let's see...what else is going on in my wondrous world? I discovered this AMAZING product. It's vodka, but see...it tastes like A CUPCAKE. Right? Your jaw just hit the floor, right? I know. It's fanTAStic.

Um, what else? Oh, next weekend we are doing this thing where you go paint and DRINK at the same time. Woo! Ought to be a hoot! It's going to be near my 29th birthday. (for the 13th time.)

I am still running like an effing gazelle, y'all. Every day. I keep thinking that if I go outside and run on the weekends, I will get better, but I just end up hacking like an old woman with emphysema. I have that weather related asthma. I never knew it existed. I have it, though, and I almost NEVER have it flare up. I had an inhaler but threw it out because I never needed it. I am a stupid, stupid woman.

I will stick with the treadmill. WAIT! I didn't tell you! This is so stupid. I was on the treadmill a couple of weeks ago, and I was running and my headphones were all jacked up, so I was effing around with them while I was running, which was colossally STUPID. So, I lost my footing, and sort of tumbled off to the side, but only half of my body was on the floor and the other half was still on the RUNNING TREADMILL.

No, I didn't have the safety thing clipped to me. That is for losers. How stupid is that? WHO DOES THAT? (People who don't fall and get hurt, that's who.)

Anyhow, the second my mind registered that I was falling, everything went into SLLLLOOOOOOOOWWWWWW MMMMOOOOTTTTIOOONNNNN.... I thought I could regain my..what...balance? dignity? Whatever...I thought I'd be able to just get up. Wrong. See, the treadmill had another idea, and we all know the treadmill trumps your strength of will every time.

So, there I am, flailing around with headphone cords flying, my legs twisting, my arms grappling to find purchase on anything possible to stop my rapid backward movement towards the large, hard wall. Well, I failed. Badly. The treadmill took me on a very short, very fast ride to Failtown. I slammed into the wall. BUT WAIT! That's not all! I was in a weird position, of course. I was sort of curled up and couldn't get uncurled because the damned treadmill was still chugging along up against my back. I could feel it getting ready to burn through my t-shirt and start devouring my skin, and I could feel my elbow disintegrating, so I began doing what everyone would do. I began screaming "HELP! HELP! HELP!"

It was very degrading, I have to say. However, it succeeded in bringing both of my sons and my husband and all three dogs charging into the room. My youngest burst through the door as if he knew this was going to happen, and in one motion, he yanked the safety clip out and the treadmill stopped. Every other living creature in the room was confused. I felt like a little kid who falls and scrapes their knee and it stings really badly and nobody understands how BADLY it stings! I wanted to cry, but I didn't, because I take far too much medicine to prevent that. I wanted to, though. I got up and started running again after we made sure I wasn't lacking skin on my back. That's right, bitches. I ran 6 miles after that. I had the "Rocky" theme in my head the whole damned time, too. That's a lie. I had a lot of Weezer and a bunch of Airborne running cadences piped into my ear via my Ipod.

I have narrowed down what songs I like to run to. Basically, I must be completely insane because I can run all freakin' day to any military cadence. Doesn't even matter what branch of the military it is. I do get a little insulted at the Marine ones when they smack talk the Army, though. I sang some Airborne ones to my husband and he knew them already which pissed me off. We had different words for the "C130 Rollin' Down the Strip" song, though. His was worse. I guess the real Airborne people are a lot more sure they are going to die than the people on the Ipod. There is no "Blood on the Risers", and I'm glad, he thought it would be good, but ummm..no.

At first, I hated those things, and I waited for a song to come on, but now it's the opposite. There are a couple of songs I can run forever to, but mainly, I prefer the cadences. Oh yeah! Oh yeah! That's me! That's me! I can run to Somalia, like this! I can run to Somalia like this! All the way to Somalia, like this! Seriously, that shit works.

Why I put Elton John on the damned Ipod for running, I will never know. "Tiny Dancer" just depresses the shit out of me. I like "Hot Mess", which isn't surprising. Most Rolling Stones work for me. I'm sick of the Sex Pistols because something happened one night with my phone which I plug into speakers so I can listen to my thunderstorm on repeat all night...and at about 4 am, "I AM THE ANTICHRIST AND I AM AN ANARCHIST!" came on. It SCARED.THE.SHIT.OUT.OF.ME. My husband never noticed. He just snored away. I was jumping up, yelling, "What???" and stumbling around in the dark trying to find my phone and shut damned Johnny Rotten up. So, after all these years, I am mad at the Sex Pistols. For some reason I have a couple of country songs on there. I must have been into the Cake Vodka when I downloaded those. I don't like country music and I sure as hell don't want it in my ears when I'm running.

I got rid of all the stupid "dub step" crap that was on a running mix. Who decided Rave music was good for a run? Some insane person, who has a brain ruined from designer drugs, that's who.

I have no immediate plans for competing in a race. Yet. I will eventually, because I want a shit ton of those racing bibs to hang up. Take that! I will say that every time someone comes over...'LOOK AT THOSE! TAKE THAT!" Sadly, nobody ever comes over. I can say it to my husband, though. Or the dogs.

OH! The title of this post, "DON'T TOUCH!" refers to something I will tell you about later. It doesn't refer to any trial or anything my son was at. No, it's worse. However, even though I teach writing, I didn't stick to my intended subject, and my usual stream of consciousness writing took over. Sorry. Can't help it. I would grade this an "F", but then I wouldn't care.

Toodles, bitches.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Hey. I am tired so this will be short. Hell, it will probably be long as hell, since that always happens, but that's me. I gotta be me.

What's been happening? Hmmm...I've been working. IN HADES. FOR SATAN.

I still depend on wine to get me through. I still run daily and use Visalus which rocks my world.

I'm still ALL OVER "24". What a feast for the eyes. I have no travel plans which depresses me immensely. I don't feel ready for a race, which would include travel, which would be awesome.

I did attend an interesting meeting where I was informed that I should not touch children, but I should TOUCH them. I have no effing idea what the hell that means. I don't think anyone does.

You know what sucks? Being lectured to by an immoral asshole about morals. That sucks ass royally. I mean, this person, lies, probably (allegedly) steals federal funds, is vindictive, stupid, vapid and just an all around idiot. Now, if you think I'm talking about you, I suggest you reevaluate your personality. Plus, I'm pretty sure it's not you I'm talking about, as I'm fairly certain this person cannot read with any comprehension.

In our state, there is some discussion about allowing teachers to carry guns on campus if they have conceal/carry licenses. I don't have the license although I shoot and always have shot guns. I'm a good, reliable shot. I will however, that the course if I can carry on campus. As a matter of fact, I haven't talked to any other teachers who are against this idea. They don't all want to CARRY, they would rather someone more experienced carry, and I am up for that. I tell you one thing, nobody will come in there to hurt those children if they know a bunch of us are carrying. I guarantee it. Count me in. I'm doublin' down on the Teachers being armed at work. I will waste any dirtbag who comes on my campus to hurt my kids or anyone else.

Excuse me, our neighbor, whose son lives in her house now is parked near my bedroom window blasting his base as loud as he possibly can I suppose to allow me to enjoy his bullshit rap shit. I would like to walk out there and say, "No thank you, sir.." however, my husband has arrested him in the past and I like to stay away from him. The other day, I pulled up to our driveway and he was either A. peeing on his trash can or B. unloading a gun or checking the chamber. It was one of those, though. Since he moved in, we have had an increase in traffic in our quiet cul de sac and I don't like it. There are always different cars in his driveway which backs way up to the back near my bedroom windows. I have decided after much soul searching that I hate him. I hate him and his friends. I want them to leave.

I am designing a house the hubby and I will live in when our kids are grown. It will be epically awesome. Not big, because it will be the two of us, but top of the line everything, in the country, away from rap music played by drive by shooting thugs.

I don't have much to add, with the exception of the fact that I am teaching my 16 year old to drive. I am doing the program where the parent teaches them. I'm not looking forward to it, but am holding it over his head. I am dreading every moment of it, but suspect I'll have some good stories from it.
Too da loo, bitches.

Sunday, January 6, 2013

Perpetually Late for the Party...

Yep, that's me. Everyone will be babbling about some TV show for YEARS, and I don't watch it and then I decide to watch it on Netflix or something and then I'm ALL OVER IT. This is what has just happened with the television series "24".

Let me break this down:
1. Jack Bauer is a badass mofo. I adore him.

2. Jack Bauer is SO polite! New drinking game: Every time Jack says, "Thank you", take a drink. You'll be schmammered in 10 minutes. Very polite fellow.

3. Jack Bauer takes NO SHIT from NOBODY. You piss him off? You don't give him what he wants? He CUTS YOUR HEAD OFF, EFFER! You don't mess with Jack Bauer. I think we have all learned that little lesson. Something the STUPID terrorists don't seem to GET, yet.

4. I am only partially through Season 2 and already we have had beheadings, two torture sessions, a daughter that is ALWAYS lost and a pain in the ass, a wife killed, an office blown up,a boss inhales a deadly amount of PLUTONIUM and starts dying in a most unattractive fashion, a NUCLEAR FREAKIN BOMB blow up in the Mojave Desert, and I haven't seen Jack pop ONE single Xanax! Plus, the Allstate guy is President and his wife is a class A BITCH.

5. I trust nobody on that show. Period. Well, I trust Jack Bauer. He gets shit done.

6. Another drinking game: Every time Jack screams, "WHERE'S THE BOMB?!?!?" drink. All your troubles will vanish.

7. Stupid stupid plot line: blond chick engaged to Muslim dude ends up being the Muslim extremist and kills everyone but Jack doesn't take her shit. No sir. He shoots her in the damned arm, and squeezes the wound while screaming "WHERE'S THE BOMB???" Knocked her cheap ass wig off in the process, too.

8. There is ALWAYS a mole at CTU. I'm pretty sure. ALWAYS. I'm only partially through the second season, but yeah.

9. I think I have approximately 2,000 more episodes to watch before I'm finished, and I can't imagine what else could possibly happen. I have bitten off all of my fingernails because this show gets me so nervous.

10. My sons are dying to ruin it for me and tell me everything that is going to happen. I will behead them first. Just.like.Jack.Bauer. Thank you.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

UPDATE: DOG GROOMING...DON'T DO IT

I am currently sitting here, devotedly typing to you all, my loving, faithful readers. All two of you. Hi, Mom.

Anyhow, I am COVERED in Dixie's(Yorkshire Terrier) fur. COVERED. I look like Sasquatch. I was just going to give her a butt trim like I did for MacGregor,(West Highland White Terrier) but well, I get carried away with the dog clippers. They needed grooming badly. They haven't been groomed since June. So, I get to cutting and trimming and all that, and the next thing I know, I'm covered, Wally is covered, my floor is covered...Dixie...STILL COVERED.

How does a miniature dog have that much FUR????? I don't get it!!! Plus, I lopsidedly cut both dog's facial fur. Both have more on the left side than the right. Rather dashing, I think. They couldn't care less. Their asses, however, are high and tight.

I cleaned out my brother's dog's ears last night. It was repulsive. Her name is Lilly. She is an English Bulldog. She had some YELLOW GRAINY GROWTHS in her ears. Wally said, "Yeast". We got out q-tips and vinegar and I went after it. Everyone was gagging. EVERYONE. My niece and nephew held her because she is built like a wombat, and I scrubbed out the yeast chunks. Lilly enjoyed it based on her leg slapping everywhere. It probably felt good. I am billing him $500.00 in veterinary fees. Because that shit right there? Was.Gross. Fascinating, but gross.

UPDATE: The liquor store did indeed have cupcake flavored vodka and it's DEEElicious. I also got some stupid tape and stuff for my stupid ankle. Not at the liquor store, but that would have been quite convenient.

I am now going to change because I look like a large Yorkie.

Jack just came in. He just got home from some mysterious mission. Conversation:

Jack: Hehe...hey..Mom...hehe...was the ummm...mailman guy...heheh..like ...honking at me?

Me: How would I know? Why?

Jack: Hehe, because I got out of my..hehe...car thingie...hehe and he was going beep beep..hehe...I just walked into the house...ehhheehee.

Me: Yeah, he probably wanted you to come get the mail or something so he wouldn't have to get out of his car. OR FURTHER VANDALIZE MY MOUNTAIN LAUREL BUSH WHICH HE TOOK IT UPON HIMSELF TO RIP TO SHREDS, THE BASTARD. I mean, a polite note saying, "Excuse me gorgeous lady, but could you trim your lovely Mountain Laurel for me, as I am having difficulty reaching the mailbox to put your multitudes of catalogs and various purchases that I would never tell your husband about?" But no. Oh, no. NOT OUR MAILMAN. He ripped huge branches off and left half of them halfway ripped off and halfway attached, he better watch his mail bearing ass, that's all I have to say.

So, yeah. Jack brought in the mail. I got my friend Mark Paulda's book. (I mean, I didn't steal his possession...he has a book of photography, and I purchased it.) I must now go look at it and marvel at the talent. Too da loo, bitches.

PS: Although the conversation would suggest otherwise, Jack is not mentally challenged in any way. He just speaks in a weird fashion. He isn't stoned, either. I've checked.

The Pillar of Despair

Yes, I said it. The Pillar of Despair. That is the new name for my whole life.

I am not having a pity party, but I sort of am. I have reasons, they are probably completely boring to you, though, so I'll spare you the details.

I wonder if the liquor store has that cupcake flavored vodka?

Anyhow...I was running and my left ligament started hurting. I had to ice it. I will probably have to keep icing it. It pisses me off. Have you ever placed an appendage into a vat of ice water? It's a bitch. I mean a "40 Year Old Virgin" getting his chest waxed bitch. Words come out of your mouth that you didn't know you knew. I have been working so hard and doing so well with my running again that having any setback enrages me. I am enraged at the Toyota Corolla I crashed in 1988, I am enraged at the cement divider on I-10 that put the entire front axle and wheel into the driver's compartment of the car I was driving, forever ruining my left foot. I mean 30 years? Isn't that enough time for it to heal and be perfect forever? I've had massage, cupping, all sorts of other stuff to break up the scar tissue and it's not working, and bones are all in the wrong place. It's a jacked up situation.

Riddle me this...why when I ask my husband, "Is this a pajama day or a clothes day?" does he not understand? I also said, "Okay, is it a makeup day or a no makeup day?" He stared blankly at me with drool running down his chin. I said, "Okay, is it a bra day or a no bra day?" Stupid question. His answer to THAT question is ALWAYS "No bra". Sicko. I mean, I meant, are we leaving this house today, or what? So, I am wearing clothing, a bra, but no makeup. Call it a contingency plan. If I leave, I will spend money. Why? Because I am passive-aggressive that way. He pisses me off, (he being my husband), I spend money, I guess. According to him, I spend recklessly. WhatEVer.

My kids came home from their father's home in Chicago two nights ago. Their flight was 45 minutes late coming in, despite the fact that the little board that tells you if a flight is on time said, "Arrived". It hadn't arrived! It was somewhere over freaking Arkansas or something! Anyhow, we people watched at the airport, which is a prime spot for that sport, by the way. I saw:

A small Asian man wearing green sweatpants that were far too large. He had on a badly knit beanie hat and Birth Control glasses. He had a Paddington Bear type coat. He was wearing flip flops. He was about 4 feet tall and acted totally lost. He was carrying a hand lettered sign for whoever he was picking up. It was glittery and pastel colored. That interested me. I was staring at him openly, because that is a problem I have, don't judge. As I'm staring, he begins doing squats. IN THE FREAKING AIRPORT BY THE BAGGAGE CAROUSEL. Amazing. Mesmerized, I elbowed my husband and said, "Secret Asian Man is doing squats." Since I hadn't made my husband aware of the guy's presence, my husband was entirely confused. I had to repeat it. LOUDLY because my husband needs one of those old fashioned ear trumpets. I think I'll look on EBAY for one. Anyhow, he looks at him and makes a face that I have come to know means, "Weird..." He stopped paying attention. How is that possible? I continued to watch. He had no clue I was openly violating him with my eyes. I mean, this guy was ODD looking to start with, but doing squats with his glittery sign? I couldn't wait to see what he would do next! I had to turn all the way around in my seat to watch him, too. I didn't give a shit. It was an extravaganza. Just when I'm getting bored with squats, he starts kicking his legs around in a what...Brazilian martial arts thing? Jujitsu? What?!?!?! It was A-MAZE-ING. I elbow my husband again. I said, "Asian man....martial arts, now." Husband has no reaction. So disappointing. He just kept kicking and spinning and jumping, it was like Cirque du Soleil without the creepy clown on the unicycle on a tightrope!!! Get this, though: NOBODY ELSE SEEMED TO NOTICE. AS USUAL. I began to think I loved him. Or at least, at the VERY least, I was obsessed with him and his life. What was his story? Where was he from? Why was he doing these things? Was he trying to make a spectacle of himself or what? Why the glitter? Does he like Paddington Bear a lot or something? So, his party he was waiting for showed up. IT GETS BETTER.

His friend he was waiting for was about ohhhhh 5 feet taller than him. He was wearing, and I shit you not, a Fidel Castro type hat. PERFECTION. He had a disgusting hipster beard and mustache and all that shit. They began caressing each other. I was done. I gone.

Then, I turn and see this very tall, very handsome, dark, bald man in a business suit. To be perfectly honest, he looked like a hot hit man. So, of course, I zeroed in on him with my eyes. I let the Castro/Jujitsu couple do their thang. I was now in love with the tall bald dude. He was walking ...no..no...STRIDING WITH CONFIDENCE toward the baggage area with his suitcase behind him...it just followed his ass because his hot ass COMMANDED it do so. (Actually it was a regular rolling suitcase...) and just when I think I might swoon, some short girl with a backpack runs up to him and he drops everything..Bam! He grabs her head like he is going to bash it in, but NO. NO! This man is nothing if not PASSIONATE. He grabs her and begins passionately making out with her in a way you only see behind Notre Dame in Paris. (different story) She just stood there with her hands at her sides. She was clearly swooning with passion and amazement. He just kept going after it, too! He got MORE AND MORE INTO IT. I mean, the way he grabbed her face and head and stuff...it was ....wow. WOW. I thought she looked FAR too young for him, what with her little kid backpack, but then she turned around and girlfriend looked like 10 miles of bad road. She was at LEAST my age, or at least looked like it. He could have been doing that with someone else. Someone hot. Someone who wouldn't stand there with their hands next to their sides as he acted out a scene from a movie with such passion and je n'ais se quois that I was wishing for a camera.

Then, I saw MULTITUDES of unsupervised children. People telling toddlers, "Stay right here, okay?" What?!?!?! Off the kid would trot. PEOPLE! DON'T LEAVE YOUR KID ALONE ANYWHERE,EVER!!!!! Not only is it dangerous to the child, but it is ANNOYING AS HELL. I have my own kids. They never left my side, my eyesight, my handhold, the stroller, whatever I had to restrain them and their wild selves. Guess what? I still have them and they are grown. Nobody ever took them. Nobody had a chance in hell of taking those boys. Maybe nobody wanted to, but still.

Also, people. Listen. You've heard of Karma, yes? Paying it forward? Being nice? Here is an observation: when you see a young family with young children who are clearly overwhelmed with the magnitude of their poor decision making, "Why the hell did we think we could take a trip with triplets and twins and a pregnant woman and 28 suicases?" HELP THEM OUT. Offer to help them move their luggage. Offer to lift something. They probably don't want you touching their kids, but you could get them a luggage cart or two. I saw so many people struggling with little kids and luggage.

THEN! THEN! OH MY GOD. I almost forgot. My husband was at the baggage carousel getting the boy's bags. Some man in a VC hat (No lie...total pyramid hat) PUSHED MY ASS out of his way and pushed everyone else, too. He was in a HUGE ASSED HURRY TO GET HIS ONE SUITCASE. Well, to be fair he had many suitcases and boxes, but he did it ONE AT A DAMNED TIME. His female companion had on a PURPLE SPARKLY FUR STOLE with bag lady clothes and she stood serenely by as he scurried and pushed people as he ran to her, back to the carousel, back to her, back to the carousel. He pushed me twice.

I finally said, "SIR! SERIOUSLY! SIR! DUDE! COME ON!" He never paused. People were staring at him in stupefaction.

I was still hollering, "COME ON! MAN! KNOCK IT OFF! YOU ARE PUSHING PEOPLE OVER! LITTLE MAN! SIR!" I have to assume he either A. didn't understand English or B. didn't give a shit. I am going with B.

Of course, the best part was standing at the bottom of the escalator and seeing my beautiful sons descend. You would have thought they were descending into hell by the looks on their gorgeous faces, but...you know...kids. One had on a Chicago Bears shirt, the other had on a "The Dude Abides" shirt. That pretty well sums up their differences, too. At least they were clean and didn't need haircuts. (They were only gone a week.) My reaction: "Oh! I missed you! kiss kiss kiss, hug hug hug...Their reaction: *suffered my affection with barely contained contempt* They inform me that it was NOT EVEN COLD IN CHICAGO AS I HAD TOLD THEM IT WOULD BE. I am a stupid idiot. I told them in Michigan in January and February it was mind blowingly cold. So cold they would say on the weather not to go outside for longer than like 45 seconds or your lungs could freeze. They had a dusting of snow. NO BLIZZARD! My fault. Here, it was in the 40s and drizzly, and they walked out shouting, "OH MY GOD! IT IS SO HOT!!" Who said girls are dramatic? I was freezing, personally. Not them. Although, they wore their balaclavas as frequently as possible.

There is my update on my trip to the airport which is about 50 million miles from my house, thank you very much, ex husband. (Although there is no airport closer, I guess...)