Helen A Handbasket

NOW I remember...

2012-01-08T21:01:00.000-06:00

why I don't drink very frequently. I become a blithering idiot. I slur, and I know I slur...so I try talking slowly, and that makes it worse. Then I am slurring very slowly. I really didn't intend to drink two bottles of wine. Somehow, I did, though. Hey, it was a party. A bunco party. I yell BUNCO periodically because I don't understand how to play. I do it just in case. I have never won and have never lost. As a matter of fact, this time I think I just went to whatever table took my fancy. I don't think I followed the rules. Hey, what can I say? I march to the beat of my own drunken drummer.
I did not puke. Score one for me! My friend's boyfriend realized I was hammered, so he brought me bottles of water and crackers and kept an eye on me. Very gentlemanly of him. I was appreciative. My husband, you ask? He was playing high stakes Bunco with fervor and determination. It was SERIOUS. Me? I was wandering around, talking to people who I thought I knew, or who I did know and didn't realize I knew. I think I rolled the dice several times. I know I had a partner that kept saying, "come on, partner!" to me. I'm afraid I let that person down.

We didn't get home until after midnight. Woo! Partaaay! I know, years ago, I wouldn't have left the house before midnight. Now, I'm older and midnight is practically time to get up for the day. However, I did have a headache the next day when I woke up. I got over it pretty quickly, but was sorta wiped out all day. I have figured: no puke, no problem with that particular liquor. So, rest assured, wineries of the world, I will still be a faithful consumer.

I have nothing new to add. Except for the fact that I'd really like to know who the people from all over the world are who read this. Seriously, I'd like to know who and why. Just let me know. What's the worst that could happen? nevermind that.

Update and Useless Nonsense

2011-12-27T13:29:00.000-06:00

Hello. I really have nothing Earth shattering to write about. I guess that's why I haven't written much lately. Part of the problem is that I've been re-reading a lot of Hemingway and that makes anyone feel like a hack. He was a perfect writer. Not one single word was wasted or not needed.

I'm currently on break from my job for two glorious weeks. It always takes me about two days of "decompression" to get back to the land of the living when I have a break. I am depressed, sleep a lot, unable to do anything, don't care about anything...the only thing I can figure is that my body and mind is quite literally starting to settle down. Then it all starts back up again. Awesome.

Another Christmas has come and gone and thank God for that. I really am not a lover of Christmas. It's so much gratuitous spending and buying things because you don't want to feel guilty. I really hate it. All the worrying and thinking and scheming to purchase the perfect gift for someone and then they rip the wrapping paper off, and .....nothing. It's finished. Big deal.

I think everyone appears a little disappointed when they open their presents, too. I don't know why. Same with birthdays. It's like we expect people to really put a ton of thought into US and what WE love and what WE would like, and then we get what...new mats for our car floorboard? Something stupid like that. It's a let down, I guess. I'm not saying I didn't receive lovely gifts, because I did. It's just the attitude of everyone, I suppose. Including my own attitude.

What do I expect people to give me? A personal jet? Unlimited funds to go anywhere and buy anything I want? More time? Less time? A time machine so I can go back and relive my children's infancy and toddler hood and smell their baby smell and hear their funny babble as they learn to talk? Actually, that would be a PERFECT gift. There would be a problem, though. I would spend all my time in my time machine watching my children when they were little, then I'd miss everything going on now. See? It's a no-win situation.

Not to mention that I'm not Christian and don't celebrate the religious meaning of Christmas. I'm one of those many people who do the secular thing where you put up a tree, decorate it, buy presents, open presents and eat turkey, while never once thinking of the "true" meaning of Christmas. I don't really feel like a hypocrite for it, mainly because we've been doing it my whole life. However, I think even for truly devout Christians there has to be some sort of disgust at how commercialized and secular the holiday has become. Not to mention that most Biblical scholars believe Jesus was born in the spring sometime. Anyhow, I suppose that isn't what matters to Christians. I could live a perfectly happy life with no more Christmas in my home or life. My kids would miss it, and my Mom would go ballistic, but me? I could gladly forgo it and never look back.

The year is almost over, and 2012 is hovering around the corner ready to pounce on us like a lion on a gazelle. Who knows how the year will be? I hope nobody else I love is taken from me this year. It seems someone I love dies every year lately. Perhaps that's because I'm getting older, or maybe it's just bad luck. At any rate, I'd like a good year with no sickness, no death, nothing bad.

One good thing, is that where I live, many families have been reunited because the Army has been bringing home troops from Iraq. A huge majority of our community now has the one thing they wanted. For that, I'm grateful. Unfortunately, a large part of our community still has loved ones in Afghanistan. Here's hoping they come home very soon, too.

Sorry there wasn't any humor in this. That's the way it goes. Mazel Tov and have a great 2012.

Flypaper for Freaks

2011-10-16T01:10:00.000-05:00

So, the other day I told you about the moaner in the parking lot. Well, yesterday, I had to take my husband, Sanford to the hospital for an operation. While I was nervously waiting in the waiting room, and watching the various bizarre incarnations of humanity, a man walked up to me. I was minding my OWN business. I was checking email. So, here is how it went...remember...I don't like people. I REALLY don't like people I don't know.

Me: *absorbed in email or angry birds or something*
Strange man: Hello lady.
(already this is not starting well...)
Me: Uhhh..
Man: I notice you use small computer...(he spoke in broken English and appeared to be middle eastern.)
Me: Um, yes.
Man: Is true is really computer? I can do business on it?
Me: Well, yes. I use mine more than my laptop, probably. I love it.
Man: I call Dell...Dell? Is that name? Dell? And they tell me things and want much money.
Me: Oh. Mine's an IPad.
Man: An I...what?
Me: IPad. Apple makes it.
Man: Oh. I see. How much does it cost? (RUDE!)
Me: Oh, I don't really remember, I've had it awhile...a few hundred, I think.
Man: I notice your star on your neck.
Me: Wha?
(he switched gears with no warning at all...)
Man: You wear Star of David on your neck. I am your cousin.
Me: *blink blink*
Man: We are cousins.
Me: I don't think we are. I know my cousins.
Man: No. I mean, I am one of your people.
Me: (mistakenly thinking he was Jewish..) Oh! Okay...
Man: I. Am. Palestinian.
Me: *blink* Uhhh..oh. Ok. Not really cousins, then.
Man: Yes. Cousins. People don't understand us. We are all same. Christian, Jewish, Muslim...
Me: Well, yeah, Israel is a busy place. I'm a Zionist.
Man: I am Jamal.
Me: Hello.
Man: Okay, goodbye.

SERIOUSLY? In a hospital waiting room? Claiming to be my "cousin"? Sorry, my cousins don't kill Jews in their homeland. Blech. I was watching over my shoulder the rest of the time, too. I kept expecting him to come running in with a bomb strapped to his check shouting "Allah Al Akbar" or however they say it. He disappeared, though. Cousin, my ass. Bless his little dark Palestinian heart.

So, back to my husband. Sanford is stone cold deaf in his right ear. He has always had ear issues. Drainage, annoying clearing of throat and snorting snot...you know...guy stuff. Plus, he is always hollering, "WHAT?" and it gets annoying. Plus, it's more annoying for him because he never knows what's going on.
So, after a rather invasive procedure a couple of years ago called a "Mastoidectomy" where they drilled out part of his lower skull, they now have decided to in essence rebuild his eardrum with cartilage from his other ear. His Eustachian tubes don't work for whatever reason, so a new way to drain had to be created. His ears were completely filled with fluid. So, it was a fairly routine procedure, it is outpatient, and no complications were expected.

After they let me sit with him and help him change into his gown and comfort him, they took him off, and sent me down to the waiting room. I had a "tracking number" that I could check on a flat screen, sort of like an airport. It told me if he was in pre op, surgery, recovery, etc. It has an estimated time, and it's pretty nice. Every little while, my name was called, and I'd go up to the desk and the lady would tell me the nurse had sent a message down saying that everything was going well, and he was doing great. I wasn't terribly worried. After about 2 hours, they had me meet with the surgeon in a private room and he told me it was fine, it all went according to plan and Sanford was doing great. He said as soon as he got out of recovery, I could go up. Great. I'm anticipating like what, 1/2 hour or so? An hour goes by. No word. Another hour goes by, no word. Finally, they call my name again. Only this time, a strange woman was waiting for me. She very matter of factly said, "Mrs. Freeman? Your husband isn't waking up from the anesthesia. We are monitoring him and trying to bring him out of it, but he is still in recovery. He had a mild seizure, and we're trying to wake him up. Okay? Bye."
I stood there in a crowded waiting room and never felt so alone. I couldn't get to him, I couldn't get more information, I didn't know why he wouldn't wake up and what the hell was going on.

I sat back down to wait thinking, well, it will be a minute or so, and they'll call me. An hour goes by. Nothing. I start getting very scared. My friends are texting me asking me how he is, and I don't know what to say. FINALLY, they page me again and tell me I can go up.

I go up, I find him and he is OUT OF IT. He was awake, but glassy eyed and acted like he just got out of surgery instead of having been out for about 3 hours. He was sort of talking nonsense from the drugs, and kept asking questions over and over. His voice is very raspy from them taking the breathing tube out. They said he tried to talk when they did it, so it may have scraped his vocal cords. He remembers none of it. I was so relieved, I started crying just a little bit. Then, finally a nurse came in to give me discharge instructions. I asked about the seizure and why he wouldn't wake up. Answer: We don't know. Great. Then they said, "Maybe it wasn't a real seizure, but his whole body was....seizing.." Well, hell...that sounds like a seizure! He has no history of that, either. I was able to bring him home a short time later, and he has been resting ever since. He had the exact same anesthesiologist he had during his first surgery, too.

Hopefully, our medical issues, both his and mine are over. Please God, don't let anyone else I love have to have anything done. What a helpless feeling it is.

Step Off Me!

2011-10-12T21:14:00.000-05:00

Okay, so today I made a little pit stop at a liquor store to see if they had this particular wine I adore. It was daylight. I was in a part of town not far from home, and in a place that is populated.

By the way, the jackholes didn't have my wine. Anyhow, I go inside. I begin looking. I can find wine. I can read. However, it is someone's job to jump up in front of me and holler, "HI ! CAN I HELP YOU FIND ANYTHING?" I wanted to say, "Yes, do you carry wine?" Because I was you know...in a huge wine store. There was nothing but bottles of wine as far as the eye could see.
I instead said, "No, thank you. I'm just looking."
Liquor guy: "Whatcha lookin' for?"
Me: "Um, a particular wine from a winery my husband and I like..."
Liquor dude: "What winery?"
Me: "Um, it's near Fredericksburg..."
Liquor Dude: "Oh! FREDERICKBURG! Yeah, yeah...a TEXAS wine! Yeah..."
Me: "Yes."
Dude: "What winery?"
Me: "Grape Creek".
Dude: "Don't recognize it. You sure?"
Me: "Um, yes. I was in their monthly shipment deal and received wine every month for a long time....I've been there a couple of times, so I'm pretty sure."
Dude: "Yeah..hmmm...doesn't sound familiar...but here are some other Texas wines.."
Me: "Yeah. I see. Oh well...I guess I'll just order it..."
Dude: "Wait! We can special order it for you!"
Me: "Oh, no...it's not a big deal...really...it's okay..."
Dude: "Have you tried THIS wine?"
He proudly holds up a bottle of wine I can buy at the grocery store.
I said "Yes, I've tried it...the wine I'm looking for is sort of unusual. It's a white cabernet..."
Dude: "Hunh...a WHITE Cabernet?"
Me: "Yes. It's sweet, but not too sweet, and it's not so dry that you feel like you've been eating chalk..."

I grabbed the cheapo wine he was pushing and said thanks and made my get away. I'm wandering around checking out all the stuff they had...Rum from Austin, for the love of Pete! I was interested, because they have all of this stuff I never knew existed...I turn a corner and BAM! Another liquor dude.
Dude: "Hello! I hear you're looking for a WHITE CABERNET?"
Me: "Um, yes. It's okay, though..see? I am getting these instead...I'll just order it..."
Dude: "I've never heard of a white cab..."
Me: "Yes, that's one reason it's so hard to find..I don't know if anyone else makes it. It's very good. "
Dude: "Well, have you looked at our other wi-"
Me: "YES. Yes, I have. I am getting a Gewurtztraminer and a Pinot Grigio.." (I don't give a crap if I spelled those correctly, by the way.) So, I finally extricate myself from the liquor gurus who were fascinated by this holy grail of wine I am seeking. I pay for my crappy wine that I didn't really even want. I start to walk to my car.

As I am walking out to my car, I see a man coming towards me from my right. He was barely in my peripheral vision at that point, and I didn't want to act insane and pepper spray him or anything. So, I kept walking towards my car. He begins to veer towards me. He was altering his course so that we would intersect. Now, I learned a long time ago to listen to that inner voice that tells you something is off. I'm not afraid to holler at a stranger who is acting weird or getting too close. I was much worse about it when my children were small. I'm not as much on guard now. Therefore, as he got closer to me, I tried to be calm and not react. It got to a point though, as I got to my car door, that this man was directly behind me and no more than 2 feet from me.

So, I did what I do: I whirled around and screamed, 'WHAT! WHAT! WHAT DO YOU WANT? BACK OFF!"

He held up a piece of paper with some scribbled writing on it that no doubt told me that he was deaf or blind or something and could I please give him money? Um, no. I can't.

Anyhow, I didn't read it. I just hollered, "BACK OFF!" again. He made a very pitiful moaning sound. He couldn't speak in words, or at least he didn't want me to think he could. Maybe he could, I don't know.

However, it was very clear by this point that I wanted him to leave me alone, and he still was standing there. I realized that he could easily pull a gun and demand my purse, my keys, force me into the car and leave...I wasn't really thinking along those lines at first, but it flashed into my mind in a split second. Who DOES that these days? Who walks up behind people in parking lots and doesn't expect to get shot?

So, he tilted his head much like a confused puppy does and made some moaning sound at me again. I didn't care. I was having none of it. I am serious, if I'd had my gun with me, it would have been bad. I won't go easily if someone tries to take me. I might have actually made a "shooing" motion with my arms, or maybe not. I was acutely aware that I was alone, female, standing next to an expensive vehicle, wearing diamonds, and carrying an expensive bag. Whether or not he KNEW these things, I didn't know, nor did I care. I realized all of a sudden that I was vulnerable. A cell phone isn't going to help a hell of a lot if someone attacks me. I can't freakin' THROW it and get away, for God's sake. They aren't going to wait for me to put my security code in and scroll through my contacts and call someone. So, I sorta stepped towards him in what I think was a VERY menacing fashion. I probably actually looked drunk or peg legged or something. He got the message finally and began backing away and moaning.

Why the constant moaning? Why?

So, I hop in my car, lock the doors and started the engine. I watch the guy in my mirror and he motions at someone. It was some hapless man also leaving the store minding his own business. This guy allowed the moaner to come all the way up to him and show him his card. He read the card, then smiled and shook his head "no". The moaner kept following him. I swear to God, I think he was probably looking for an easy target. I must have seemed like a pain in the ass, so he left me, but he was following this man! Finally, the man turned around and faced him and sorta made a motion indicating that he wanted the moaner to get to steppin'. I don't know where he went...and now I'm thinking I should have called the police. I didn't though. I just drove home.

Was he deaf? I don't know. Was he in need of help? He wasn't panicked. He didn't act like he needed help. He WANTED something, but I don't really much care what he wanted. I kept wondering, if I were deaf or otherwise disabled, would I spend my time in a parking lot in the heat with a ratty piece of paper with scribbling on it and try to approach total strangers? I don't think I would. I think I'd be at a shelter or other facility to help me. I wouldn't be wandering aimlessly in a parking lot. Plus, plenty of people with disabilities such as deafness hold jobs and live perfectly normal lives. They don't hobble around moaning at people in parking lots, for the love!

I give to charities. I don't give to moaners. Sorry, Mr. Moaning Man. Next time, I might have my gun, or at the very least my pepper spray instead of leaving it in the center console of my car.

Once Upon A Time

2011-09-18T20:22:00.000-05:00

No, I won't start like that. I teach writing, so I cannot use "Once Upon A Time". It's a no-no. Anyhow, I realized I haven't written anything in a very long time. Therefore, I decided to write something now. Anything. That's what I tell my students. "Write something...write ANYTHING! Just write!" I am full of shit, evidently.

Lately, I've been doing almost nothing but working and going to the doctor. Yeah, remember my post about the "Lady" doctor? I'm not talking about a female physician, either. I'm talking about the only man besides my husband who is up close and personal with my hoo-hoo. I recently had to have a...let's say a "procedure" and it was a fascinating cross between medieval blood letting and space age surgery. I can't decide which it was, but it was pretty brutal.

My husband was allowed in the room for "moral support", but really he was in there to marvel with the doctor at how very invasive modern medicine is with a woman's "no no don't touch" area. I got into my "zen zone" as my doctor called it. Which means I practiced Bradley natural childbirth during a non childbirth procedure. I guess basically I meditated or zoned out or something so that I wouldn't die from sheer terror and agony. Allow me to say at this point, that if someone is attempting to "zen out" or meditate, please do not continually say, "HOW'S IT GOING WITH YOUR ZEN THING UP THERE?" It throws off the whole meditation aspect of the meditation.

So, it is finally over, and I followed the doctor's directions and was back at work three days later. Staying in bed flat on my back for three days was pretty hellish, though. How boring is that, anyhow? Super boring. Epically boring, really. I got entirely caught up on the various Housewives of various cities, I got caught up on the Millionaire Matchmaker and saw some things I didn't even know were shows. I didn't do a lot of sleeping because the pain medication he gave me made me itch like I had Scabies or something. My entire body itched intensely. I had no rash, no hives, or anything, but I scratched myself until I had red marks on my skin. I took one Vicodin, and stopped. I'd rather be in pain and rely on Ibuprofen that attempt to scratch my eyeballs out. I had my post-op appointment and am pleased to report that all is as it should be and nothing has fallen out. Score!

Work is busy as usual. While I'm talking about work, allow me to say something: to anyone who thinks teaching is easy, I invite you to come and do it FOR JUST A COUPLE OF HOURS. Please. I implore you. Come see what a teacher does. Come keep 22 kids interested and behaving and learning and being challenged intellectually for even 10 minutes. Then, we'll talk. If I hear one more person say teaching is "easy", I'll lose it. Also, teachers are professionals. It's a profession just the same as medicine and law. Teachers deserve respect, and lately, we are getting very little respect. If a teacher tells you your child has been too talkative or disruptive, please allow yourself to at least entertain the idea that the teacher is telling the truth and does not have anything against your child. Face it, if a person doesn't like children and enjoy teaching them, they won't go into the teaching profession. If they do, they will leave it quickly. It's far too hard to do unless you love it. I am not going to tell you your child is misbehaving unless 1. the child is misbehaving and 2. the child is not being respectful and I am requesting your assistance as the parent of the child so that your child will be successful in their education. Rant over.

We bought our eldest son a car a couple of weeks ago. I detest purchasing cars. Truly. I hate it intensely. I hate the ritual. I hate having to call them on their bullshit. Don't tell me something is an "optional package" if I can't opt out of it. Me: "What is this optional package?" Salesman: "Oh, it's optional." Me: "Yes, I see that, but what is included?" Salesman: "Um, I have to go check." 2 hours later, he returns and tells me it includes NITROGEN in the tires. Ok. Me: What is the purpose of nitrogen in tires? Salesman: I have to go check on that. Holy crap. So he comes back and has no real answer. I say, "So, the first time we put air into the tires, the Nitrogen is gone, right?" Salesman: Yes. Me: So why would I pay 700 bucks for Nitrogen in the tires? That's some expensive assed Nitrogen. Salesman: *blank stare* I have to go check on that. He leaves AGAIN. He comes back and says that there is also a REAR APPLIQUE included in this optional package. Me: What's a rear applique? Salesman: I have to go check on that. Holy shit. Off he scuttles again to check on that. I begin to think Yoda is in a back room with all of the answers or something. I already know the "rear applique" is the stupid little dealership logo they put on the back. It's about 2" tall and it costs a buttload of money. He comes back and says "We're not sure what that is...but it's part of the optional package. The trunk tray is also part of it." Me: "I bought a 50,000 dollar car and I didn't pay shit for the rubber trunk tray. I want that free."

Do I need to say at this point that he scuttled off? Well, he did. He comes back. He has great news! He is going to give me .9 percent interest on a loan! Yay! Awesome! I stared at him. He got uncomfortable. What? Oh..where was my husband you ask? Sitting right there, but I do the car buying. He sits and glowers. It works for us.

So, I inform him I'm not paying for the OPTIONAL packages that aren't OPTIONAL. I want those taken off the price. He says, "Well, with the low interest rate, it's like you're getting it free..." I stared at him. It was silent. You could hear crickets. He then nervously pulls out the credit reports they ran on us. Mine is like 10 points from the perfect score, and I might add it's higher than my husband's. How is that even possible? However, none of that matters, because I haven't told the salesman the most important part. He reiterates that I can get 1.9 percent interest! Me: Wait. You said .9 percent, not 1.9....Salesman: Well, it's one of those...Me: That's a hell of a difference, you better make sure...
Yes, he scuttled off. Meanwhile, none of that matters because these jackholes aren't getting any interest or finance fees from me. Why? I'm paying cash. That's how we roll, mothereffers! Well, I didn't say that. But I waited until he came back and I said, "Before you do all this paperwork for a loan or whatever, I need to tell you I am paying cash and I am not paying for the OPTIONAL packages. I'm ready to give you the full amount right now and we want to drive it home now. We aren't coming back because we are from out of town(we were in a city a couple of hours away because we live in a small hick town).
That salesman looked like I just killed his puppy or something. Doesn't he get a commission for selling me the car? What does he care if I pay cash or finance? He was staring at me, and I said, "Look, I can't finance. It makes my stomach hurt. It makes me sad to make payments on things. We don't do that." He sadly took us back to the dude who went to OU (poor thing) and we wrote a check and drove the damned freakin' car home.

What about the lucky kid, you ask? He didn't even want to drive it. His excuse was that it was a long way home and it was in traffic in this large city (a city that has a show on Bravo about some weird "eligible" people), and he wasn't comfortable driving that far in an unfamiliar vehicle. So, my husband drove the new car, I drove my car, and we split the kids. One with me, one with him. Did they keep us company? No. They slept. Two days later, lucky new car owning kid takes his brand new car to school. On the way home, he takes a turn too fast and hits a curb and bends the RIM ON THE RIGHT FRONT WHEEL. I almost lost it. I seriously thought I'd vomit. I don't care how much fixing it costs, and it wasn't expensive, really. What scared the living shit out of me was the thought of my baby hitting a curb or anything else or getting panicked or flustered in traffic and losing control of the car. He could have seriously injured himself or pedestrians, he could have killed himself, he could have driven through a business on the corner, he could have done so much damage that it would have made Armageddon look like a carnival. At least that is how my mind works. We got it fixed, he has been driving and hopefully, please God, he will continue to drive with no incidents. I pray to God he is safe. I hate cars. I hate the fact that my first baby is driving a car and in college. Why didn't he want to go see "The Lion King in 3D" with me? Because he's 19 and he wants to pretend he didn't wear out his Lion King video after watching it repeatedly for several months when he was 2 years old.

In conclusion, (another thing I don't allow in writing), I'd like to say that having your child grow up is hard as hell. Although I'm ridiculously proud of him, it scares the hell out of me. Please, God...protect him. He is my heart. Next time, we'll discuss the younger son. Also my heart. However, I will NEVER ALLOW HIM TO DRIVE ANYTHING.

Catch Up

2011-08-08T21:54:00.001-05:00

Hello people who are nice enough to read this. Especially you people in Russia. Also, whoever is reading in Kent. Thanks! I would like to A. Go to Russia. I've always wanted to go there. and B. Go back to England and not have to rush. See more of the countryside. The Cotswolds were fabulous and Bath is a dream. Jane Austen loved Kent, so that's good enough for me.

However, on the writing front, I've had NOTHING to write about. My ideas are dead, I've been reading voraciously, which is always a good thing, however it takes away from writing time. Even if I did take advantage of writing time, I'd sit and stare at a blinking cursor and have an anxiety attack. I get these ideas, think they are great, then think some more and think they are horrifically boring.

Perhaps part of the reason I've had little to write about is because my children are all away for the summer. My two boys are in Chicago with their father, and my daughter has pretty well flown the nest. She is going to be a Junior in college and she comes and goes, stores things here occasionally, comes for special events, took care of our house and dogs on our recent trip to California, etc. But we are emtpy nesters this summer.

We did have a lovely trip to California, however, Northern California is fabulous. It never got above 70 degrees, and for a gal used to 115 degrees...that is all it takes at this time of year. Throw in the ocean, Napa Valley, good wine, great food, sightseeing, shopping...I'm in heaven.

In case anyone is looking for any good reading recommendations, I have a few.
1. The Help-as a Southerner, I found this very familiar and a beautifully written book on a very sensitive subject.
2. Room-I really admire the author of this book, Emma Donoghue. I wish I could have thought of such an idea. Unbelievably good.
3. The Life of Pi-My daughter told me about this one. I'd been resisting it for awhile because I stupidly thought it was about math. Yes, I'm a moron at times, but it wasn't about math. It's a very imaginative story. Quite good, and my daughter and I enjoyed discussing our ideas about the ending after I finished reading it.
4. Smokin' Seventeen-what can you say about Janet Evanovich's books? They are all funny as hell.
5. Mummy Knew- Very disturbing story about sexual abuse of a young girl in England. Very brave writing by a writer I think has a unique voice.
6. 22 Britannia Road-I'm reading this now. Intriguing story about a couple and how they deal with being reunited after WWII.
7. One Day-Story of two young people who meet each year on St. Swithin's day for 20 years. Very interesting way to develop characters. I enjoyed it.
8. Stieg Larsson's trilogy "The Girl Who". Took me awhile to get used to the IKEA sounding words, but I got hooked.
9 Three Cups of Tea A book I think all people should read. It gives a completely different perspective on the life of people living in Muslim countries.
10 The Girl Who Stopped Swimming Sad story, but a well written one. Twists, turns, all that jazz.

So, I guess that's all I have to offer people right now. I've been a slug just reading the summer away. Like a kid. Not a bad life, really.

Public Prayer

2011-06-30T11:36:00.000-05:00

I attended a local civic group's meeting yesterday. My husband and I were guests because our son won a scholarship from this group. They had a very nice lunch and a very short, sweet and to the point meeting. I'm slightly familiar with this group because the school where I teach works with them on a character education program for our students. Oh, whatever, I'll just tell you: it was the Rotary Club. Anyhow, I'm not much of a "joiner" and neither is my husband. Besides the kids getting scholarships, I may have been the youngest person there. They had many little traditions and things that if you hadn't been there, you were clueless as to what they were doing. However, I think that's true of most groups, including churches. We were just very grateful and proud of our son, so I was prepared to deal with anything.

I was pleasantly surprised. It's not like I expected anyone to be rude or anything. Quite the opposite. They were all very welcoming, polite and kind. We were personally greeted by almost every member who came up to us, introduced themselves, we spoke briefly, and all in all, it was a very nice experience with total strangers. I did know one member, as I taught her son. I find it very gratifying to run into people like that. Well, if they like me, I enjoy it. At any rate, they did what most clubs do. They said the Pledge of Allegiance to the US flag and also the Texas pledge, and there was a prayer at the beginning. Now, anytime anyone attempts to "pray" publicly, I usually get uncomfortable, perhaps annoyed, maybe slightly angry. Remember, I'm not Christian. I don't pray to Jesus, and most people around here do. I understand that. I am all in favor of everyone worshiping as they see fit, as long as they don't force it on me. For God's sake, I attended a Southern Baptist university! Chapel attendance was mandatory every week! Clearly, I can handle being the "odd man out" at a religious service. If I am attending a service like that, I am respectful of the people and the church or hall or whatever, and I stand and bow and pray in my own way. So, when they said they were going to pray, I prepared myself for anger. However, this is how the man began:
"Please join me in giving thanks in whatever unique way you choose.." I thought that was perfection. He never mentioned Jesus until the very end. I was expecting to hear, "In Jesus' name WE pray, Amen." He didn't do that, though. He said, "I Jesus' name I pray, Amen." He stressed the "I" in the sentence. In other words, he was praying to Jesus, but he understood not everyone was. It was a very nice, heartfelt, thoughtful prayer. He gave thanks for the food, the fact that everyone was healthy and alive in the room. He gave thanks for the availability of the facilities they were using, he gave thanks for the fact that he woke up that day, and said although everything was unknown, even whether or not he'd live to see nightfall, he was thankful for what he had been given. All in all, a very good prayer, in my opinion. I appreciated it greatly. I may even have appreciated that more than the money they were kind enough to give my child for college. Believe me, I am DAMNED thankful for that, too!

Too often, I am placed in a position where I am asked to bow my head and pray to Jesus. I cannot, in good conscience, so that. It goes against my entire belief system. I have no problem with anyone ELSE doing it, just don't expect me to do it. I have been in many situations where I am asked to "offer thanks to Jesus". No. I am sorry, I cannot do that. Other times, Jesus is mentioned so often throughout the prayer that I want to walk out. However, I try to be respectful and just do my own thing without interfering with their prayer. Many times, Jesus isn't even brought up until the very end when they say, "In Jesus' name we pray". Then, I feel almost like I was tricked into betraying my own faith.

If I were to be asked to lead a prayer, first of all, I probably would decline, because that to me is exceptionally personal and private. If someone asks for prayers for a sicked friend or loved one, I do pray for them. However, it is important to remember that there are many ways to pray, and not everyone prays in the same way. Many people who know me probably think I don't believe in prayer. However, I firmly believe in the power of sincere prayer. I pray all the time, I just don't make a show of it.

So, I just wanted to let the Rotary Club of Killeen know how appreciative I was in more than one way for yesterday's meeting.

The Love of a Mother....

2011-06-28T19:37:00.002-05:00

Allow me to preface this with a VERY STRONGLY WORDED DECLARATION: I love my Mother. She is the most awesome mother EVER. She LOVES ME WITH ALL HER HEART AND SOUL AND READS THIS BLOG.

Okay. Now down to business. Today I was speaking with my mother on the telephone. We were talking about a rodent problem she discovered under her kitchen sink, which by the way made me laugh hysterically...but..anyhow..enough of the elipsisees or whatever. So, I hate to talk on the phone. EVER. To anyone. I really don't enjoy it at all. I also don't answer the door. That is neither here nor there, but basically, I don't like to communicate in person or via my voice, I guess. This is ironic considering my occupation, actually.

So, I had reached the end of my rope with telephonic patience, and I said, "Okay, so, I love you, bye." I hear my Mom say, "Wait! Don't go!" Damn. So here is our conversation from that point onward:
Me: What?
Mom: Don't go! I want to talk to you!
Me: About what?
Mom: Well, nothing. I just like to talk to you!
Me: No you don't.
Mom: OF COURSE I DO! HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT?!?!?! (she is quite dramatic)
Me: You say I'm "not nice" all the time.
Mom: I DO NOT! (she was beginning to hyperventilate at this point..it doesn't take much..)
Me: Ha! Yes, you do! You also say I'm "foul" and other things.
Mom: Well, you ARE.
Me: See???
Mom: I think you are the most wonderful girl ever!!! How could you doubt that?
Me: Because you just said I am foul.
Mom: Well, I didn't teach you that!
Me: Hey, did you read the thing about Sanford's reunion and the song list for the DJ?
Mom: Oh Lord, Yes!!!! It was SO funny! You are so funny! You just kill me! I can just see you now...all prissy trying to be nice at that reunion!
Me: .....
Mom: Hahah! Ha. Ha?
Me: What do you mean "prissy"?
Mom: Oh, you know. You priss around all the time when you are trying to be elegant and nice.
Me: I do NOT PRISS! What the hell? PRISS???? I don't EFFIN'(only I said the "eff" word. To my mother. I know, I know...) PRISS!
Mom: See? You are being foul. How can you say that word?
Me: You don't even LIKE me! See??
Mom: I LOVE YOU! HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT???
Me: Okay, so I'm going now.
Mom: What? No! I want to talk to you!
Me: Do you have a topic you wish to discuss?
Mom: No, I just like talking to you.

....and repeat.

PS: If anyone spots any grammatical errors, mispellings, etc., please feel free to tell me. Edit away. Seriously.

Why I don't like to go to the "LADY" doctor

2011-06-23T20:24:00.001-05:00

Okay. I am a little wigged out. Today, I happened to have the television on during the day. This isn't the norm for me. I am usually at work, for one thing, but it's summer, and I was folding clothes or something and so the TV was on. It was on a program called "Dr. Oz" or some such nonsense.

Now, don't go and tell me how awesome this "Dr." is. I don't give a rat's ass at this point. Why? Because he scared the living SHIT out of me. Here is what he did: He comes out in his scrubs as if he just came out of a life saving heart operation or something. He looks concerned. Very concerned. I think to myself, "Wow, dramatic much, dude?" I keep one eye and ear on the TV to see what Marcus Welby MD is going to cure today, and keep folding clothes. Well, it turns out the good DOCTOR is QUITE concerned about a problem that a full 50% of women have. A FULL FIFTY PERCENT OF US WOMEN HAVE THIS UNSPECIFIED, BUT HORRIBLE PROBLEM!! Aren't you the least bit panicked, yet? Well, you BETTER be. You damned well BETTER BE!!! The doctor sure as shit is. He informed me (and I was riveted to the TV now. I'm a stupid sucker.) that a FULL FIFTY PERCENT OF WOMEN TODAY (in case you didn't catch that earlier) have a problem where things are tumbling out of their...you knowwhat. Their hoo hoo. Their whatsit. Their "virginnies" as an old hillbilly lady called it.

Nothing has ever fallen out of mine. Nothing has ever tumbled, slid, slithered or fallen out. Well, unless you count two babies. But I certainly wouldn't characterize those situations as "sliding" or "tumbling". No. Not at all.
Anyhow. Back to the show. The doctor is going on and on about how women are too afraid and ashamed to even tell their doctors about this. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but my DOCTOR should NOTICE if something was in my VAGINA that shouldn't be there, right?

So far, the weirdest thing I've ever had happen to me during an exam was having the doctor mutter from underneath the sheet he had over my spread knees, "You been out in the bushes lately?"
Um...what the hell sort of question is that from anyone, let alone a gynecologist whilst he is probing around down there?
I replied, "What? Bushes? What? Huh? No! Why? Why did you ask me that?"

He sighed from beneath the sheet, I looked over at the nurse who was repeatedly patting my hand telling me to breathe (seriously? I'm not giving birth, I'm getting an exam..relax, nurse!) and the doctor's head popped up and looked at me. Much as a baby, when you think about it. However he said, "You have mosquito bites on your legs...I thought maybe you'd been out camping or something...you don't want to get lyme disease from ticks or anything..." then he sighed, he PRACTICALLY rolled his eyes and dove back down there. I thought I had twigs or something down there. I was traumatized.

So, that was the worst, besides have a human come out, which wasn't bad, it was miraculous and wonderful and the most pain I've ever been in in my whole entire life, and yes I remember ever single second of it. It was worth it. Yada yada. I figured if OTHER weird things were down there, a doctor would have told me. But no. Nothing. Everything normal. Until today. I panicked. Dr. Freakin' Oz tells me that there is a fifty-fifty chance that I have my uterus, bladder and rectum coming out of my virginnie.

I have a wonderful husband, thank God. I ran to him hollering to come watch this show. He came in, sat down and immediately got a very concerned look on his face.

"What?!!? What?!?!? Is there something wrong with me down there??? Have you felt something weird???" He shushed me because he was INTO what the doctor was saying. I was running around freaking out trying not to let my teenaged son know what was going on, and if you are one of my three teenaged children, close this window now and read no further, it will scar you for life. Similarly, if you are my parent or other relative, read no further! Trust me!

So, finally, I got my husband's attention during the commercial break. The visual demonstration the doctor provided sorta freaked him out, too. The doctor had constructed a large rectangular prism on it's end. It was bright red and covered with something like what balloons are made of...what...latex? Oh Jesus...like condoms...so yeah. It was very stretchy material. One side was labeled: "Bladder", the opposite side was labeled "Rectum", and the very top was labeled "Uterus". The big red thing? OH, that....that was just the VAGINA. He had a volunteer from the audience come up. (Who the HELL WOULD VOLUNTEER TO WALK UP TO THAT HUGE FAKE VAGINA???) He had her press against the side labeled "Bladder". "Keep pushing...go ahead..push through..." She did. She busted through the wall INTO THE FAKE VAGINA. Score! Wait. No. Bad. Not good. However, the audience clapped and got excited. What the hell? It wasn't over though. Then, he moved the hapless volunteer over to the "Rectum" side. Again, he urged her to push on through..push on through to the other side. Which she did. With gusto. yay! No. Not yay. Not good. The rectum does not belong in there. Since the doctor couldn't get her to climb on top of the big red fake vagina, he threw...get this...he threw..no..he LOBBED a BOWLING BALL on to the top. A handy camera mounted up there showed how the bowling ball created a HUGE BULGE into the fake red latex vagina. It looked as though it would be quite uncomfortable.

I was hysterical by this time. I asked my husband if he would mind checking things out....you know...down there. Being the good sport he is, he said, "Sure..lemme get the flashlight.." I stood there as he scurried off wondering how I had come to this point in my life. He came running back in with a HUGE HALOGEN flashlight. I think it is supposed to be used for car mechanics or something. Honestly. I felt like I should explain...I said, "You know, I don't LOOK down there...how weird would that be?" and he said, "Don't worry, I'll check it out...". So he did. Right there. He calmed me down, told me everything was fine. I still made an appointment with my Virginnie doctor. It's been awhile, after all. I thanked my husband profusely. I asked him if he was sure it was all A-OK down there..and he assured me it was. He then went back to whatever it was he had been doing before my meltdown.

Lessons learned: Don't watch Dr. Oz. Don't compare a vagina to a big red balloon. Have a good husband who will get out a big flashlight to check your hoo hoo and not jump your bones because he knows this isn't some weird assed come on. He recognizes true freak out mode when he sees it. He pats your knee afterward and gives you reassurance. Next week? Who the hell knows what he'll do? Anyhow, make your yearly appointment with your Gynecologist. Don't skip it. The repercussions could be catastrophic. You don't want your rectum or bladder or God forbid your uterus IN your vagina.
PS, If you are male, you may disregard all of the above. Unless you love a woman with a vagina. Then, encourage her to NOT watch Dr. Oz, and go get herself checked out.
You're welcome vaginas of the world. If you want more info, here is the link
http://www.doctoroz.com/blog/lauren-streicher-md/uterine-prolapse-risks-symptoms-and-treatment"

Product Review: Clairisonic Opal

2011-06-22T21:42:00.000-05:00

I told you guys I'd be reviewing products again, so here I am.

Okay, let me preface this by saying that I love all products by the people who created the SonicCare toothbrush. I use it three times a day, MINIMUM. I use the Clairisonic Facial Brush twice a day. I've done a review on that.

For Christmas this year, I got the Clairisonic Opal. This handy little device also utilizes the "sonic" technology that the other products use.

With the Opal, you get a small hand held device with a removable cap. The cap has a small tube that dispenses the "serum" that you apply to your skin. The device itself has a small silicone cup where you place the serum. You then place the silicone cup on your face(usually areas of concern, such as crow's feet), turn on the button and begin moving the device in small circular motions around the area. The serum is theoretically forced further into your dermis, thus plumping up your skin. This is accomplished through the "sonic" vibrations of the device. Now, I don't know how possible this is, but it seems to work. I've been using it for several months, and have noticed a definite reduction in fine lines around my eyes, between my eyes above my nose and smile lines around my mouth. To be honest, I also get Botox, but using this in addition to that has made a tremendous difference in the appearance of wrinkles on my face.

Recently, the company's literature has said that the Opal can be used all over the face, and so I've been using it more on my forehead, and around my lips, as well. Another improvement the company has made is that the serum is now available in bottles, instead of $90.00 caps that are plastic and you end up throwing away frequently. This cuts down on the amount of wasted materials, which is a good thing. Also, with the bottle of serum, you can accurately gauge how much you have left, and when you need to buy some more. With the cap, you pushed a button and everything was fine until one day you would push the button and....nada. No serum left, and you had no way of knowing it until it was too late.

The price of the Opal is a little bit steep. It runs over $200.00. For a woman in her mid-forties, I consider it worth it. I take very good care of my skin, and so far, it's paying off. Yes, I get help from Botox and sometimes fillers such as Juvederm, but overall, I depend on my daily cleaning regimen. I couldn't achieve the same results without my Clairisonic products. I highly recommend them to everyone. As a matter of fact, I bought an extra facial brush for my son to help combal teenage acne. After two treatments, his face is smooth as when he was a baby. There is no escaping the results. This company's products work. I consider the price reasonable and well worth it.

I did take before and after pictures of my eye area for comparison for the Opal. I will post those soon. The pictures are taken between Botox treatments. Botox had no part in the results.

My day in HELL, otherwise known as the Killeen City Court Annex

2011-06-20T22:47:00.002-05:00

So, yeah...I got a ticket. Big whoop. The cop wasn't what I'd call a sweetheart, either. He actually asked me how much I WEIGHED. I told him, "Well, I'm going to lie to you.." and he shrugged, so I said, "100 pounds". He wrote it on the ticket.

Anyhow, I of course, opted to take Defensive Driving online as it was the most convenient. The course almost killed me with boredom, but "easy" is not an apt name for it. It was stupid easy.

Example Question and answer choices: You are scanning the roadway 12 seconds ahead of you to watch out for possible problems. You are no less than 2 seconds behind the vehicle in front of you. You have been checking your mirrors, and you have a good cushion of safety around you. What should you do?
A. Continue driving, while using your safe driving strategies.
B. Apply lipstick in the visor mirror
C. Speed up.
D. Get out a map and check your route while driving.
I'm sorta surprised one of the choices wasn't, "Shoot off your nine millimeter out the window, as you light up your crack pipe! Fuck the cops!"

See? So, then I had to take the paperwork BACK to the City court annex for the oh....I don't know 50th time. You walk in and feel like you are in a jail waiting room. It's ..well...full of unsavory people. Of course, I was there, so I suppose I am just as unsavory. At any rate, you take a number, sit your ass down and wait. There are four windows available. Two of which had their blinds drawn indicating they didn't give a shit about the 40 people sitting there waiting, and we could suck it. They only needed a sign that said, "Suck it" to go along with their "No Cell phone" sign and their, "Do not approach window until called" and various other signs telling you what they will NOT do for you.
I took a number. I was number 6. Awesome! Wrong. They were on number 89. They had to get to 100, then start over. So I was WAAY far from being called. People usually leave because they get tired of waiting, but I had all the time in the world, so I waited. I swear every time one of the clerks looked at me, they hated my ass because I was patiently waiting. Plus, I was not using my cellphone or approaching windows without being called, I might add.
Unlike my fellow miscreants, I did not used foul language, as it is rude and I didn't know them and there were children present. I didn't compare my tattoos with the various people there who were, ACTUALLY doing that. Total strangers. I didn't talk about body piercing, either. I sat. I waited. Patiently. Well, my leg was bouncing, but that is just me. I watched one guy walk up to the window when his number was called, and less than 2 minutes later, a cop appeared, handcuffed him and took him away. I'm still all excited about that and want to know what the hell was going on!
There was a "Most Wanted" poster up on the all. Fine. We need to know what the criminals look like. However, one thing bothered me. As I was sitting there...patiently, mind you...a man and what appeared to be a female of our species came in. She was wearing her pajamas, and her hair had NOT been combed in a VERY long time. His boxers were a merry blackwatch plaid. We all got treated to that sight. Thank you, Mr. Anonymous Boxer Short man. What these two did is what creeped me out, though. They didn't take a number. At which point I almost stood up and hollered, "Nuh uh! You take a number, Asshole! We ALL took our numbers, you aren't special!", but then I checked myself. I could have been killed.

Anyhow, these two people walked up to the "Most Wanted" pictures, seemed to be searching, and then the guy said, "There he is!" and stabbed his finger really hard on some asshole criminal's face. Then, he LAUGHED. The alleged female cackled and said, "Well, I'll be damned!" and they continued to stand and stare at the picture. Get this...they stared with PRIDE. Then, they left. That was all they were there for.

Meanwhile, I sat. Waited, sat and minded my own business. I broke no rules. I made as little eye contact with people as possible, as I seem to attract freaks, and end up in a weird conversation about religion or something. Believe me, it's never a good thing.

I waited for...get this..1 1/2 hours. Yep. I had ALL OF MY SHIT READY, too. I didn't have to dig around in my purse to get anything, I didn't have to run out to the car to get anything, I was freakin' READY, unlike the jackholes I was waiting with. They evidently didn't get the memo that you should not walk at a snail's pace when people are waiting on you, and you should have YOUR SHIT TOGETHER BEFORE YOU GET THERE, DUMBASS! The memo also stated that you should wear CLOTHING to the building, not RATTY, DIRTY, GREY PAJAMAS! Have some pride, America!

I'm still waiting. A regular enough looking guy walks in, looks at the numbed faces of all of us sitting there in purgatory, and he takes his number with a defeated sigh. At first, I just thought he was sorta not attractive. Nope. He was UGLY. I understand he can't help that. That's a crapshoot. He was terribly pigeon toed to the point that it affected his gait. He had very short very curly white blond hair, he was wearing an ill fitting long sleeved shirt and black slacks. He was a mouth breather which I cannot tolerate. He sat and breathed out of his mouth the whole time. I know this because he sat RIGHT NEXT TO ME. I was giving out my most powerful, "Stay the fuck away from me, motherfucker" vibes, too. That didn't stop Mr. Mouth Breather, though. He even leaned TOWARDS me. I leaned AWAY from him. Then, he did the one thing he could do to make himself less attractive and less eligible, because I guarandamntee you he is single...he went outside and smoked. In the over 100 degree heat. Number one: It looks trashy and tacky. I don't care if you agree with me or you are a smoker. It instantly makes you look like trash. Secondly, even if you go outside, you REEK of it when you come back inside. Thank you for adding to your grossness, sir. Thirdly, I saw him throw his cigarette on the sidewalk before he came back in. Therefore, he is a LITTER BUG. Asshat.

Finally, my number was called. I walked up quickly, sat, shoved my number, and all my paperwork through the little hole in the plexiglass, and there were not even words exchanged with the exception of, "That's it." (When did that replace, 'Thank you"?) I said, "Thank you", took my stuff, got up and got out. I waited 1 1/2 hours for a 2 minute transaction. Worse than Disneyworld.

By the way, just as a postscript here, I'm going to be doing some special writing where I review products on my blog. Usually, it's beauty products. That is how the blog started, actually, but I got sidetracked. If Mama wanna get paid, Mamma gotta write for the Man.

Procrastination

2011-06-17T13:07:00.000-05:00

Procrastination is a problem I've been struggling with, lately. When I sit down to write, I end up "researching" instead. By "researching", I mean going on Facebook, Youtube, shopping, etc. Anything other than writing. My thoughts are all over the place, which means there is nothing coherent coming out of my head. I believe coherent thoughts are necessary when writing a novel.

To be fair, I've been on vacation for just over a week, and most of that time has been spent catching up on household chores, personal upkeep (hair, botox, etc.) and various other very legitimate sounding things. Truthfully, I haven't wanted to face this computer and this lack of idea that I am suffering.

I have done quite a bit of reading of OTHER author's books, however. I find misspelled words, incorrect grammar and a plethora of other problems. I become distracted by it. What do I do? I go online to various sites that talk about how grammar has been almost killed by modern authors. I get irate. I respond to posts. I worry that my OWN grammar is suffering. Was that a correct sentence? Did I use a subjective invective in the correct past tense without any dangling participles? I don't know! I don't remember! I need an editor for my blog and my responses to other people's posts!
There are several excellent sites where grammar is still held in high esteem. Most are run by literay agents, (Hello, I am a very good writer, please sign me.) or, even more intimidating, EDITORS! (Hello, I am a very good writer, please sign me.)

All in all, the summer is progressing much as other summer's have progressed. (that was a bad sentence, wasn't it?) I have thought much about what I NEED to do around the house, in the yard, etc. I have DONE none of it. I have seen several movies. I have read multiple books. I have written almost nothing. Honestly, this blog post is the most I've written since school ended. I must admit, it's disheartening, disappointing and any other "dis" you can think of.

I need to sit my ass down and just do it, but my ass doesn't want to do that. My ass wants to do other things.

Anybody else having the same issues? Does anybody legitimate want to sign me? (Please no illegitimate publishers...no "self-publishers" that don't have editors and expect you to do all the publicity yourself...I've had enough offers from them.)

April 14, 2005

2011-06-10T20:27:00.000-05:00

ETA: The "Jail Cam" has since been removed from the internet due to some privacy issues or some crap...pffft.

2005-04-14

JailCam!

Okay, I have long wondered how to do things that are big and fancy like include links in this diary thing .

So, today I am going to attempt and do this. I fear it is a bit of voodoo..but I shall try...oh yes I shall!

The other day on a board I frequent, someone posted a link to a "Jailcam". I resisted looking at first. After all, my husband, my brother....cops. My life is lousy with cops. I don't need to watch them on the internet, right? Right. I resisted for awhile. Finally, I gave in. I looked. And I thought..."Well, this is boring." And I thought that for like...ohhhh....I don't know....an hour or so....clearly....I wasn't all that bored.

Anyhow..here is the link:
Anderson County, Tennessee Jail Cam

Let's see if this works....click on it and see if you see the booking area of the Anderson County Jail.

There is this one dude...we have been referring to him alternatively as "Man behind door #3" and "Mentally Disturbed Individual". Sanford gave me the last name. I showed the man to Sanford.
This man stands in this window and...well...just pretty much stands there. All day. All night. I asked Sanford..."Hey...what's the deal with this dude...he just stands there...staring..."

Let me just say right here that Sanford does not understand why I'm riveted by a "JailCam". He doesn't understand why I want to watch people get booked into county jail. DUH!

Anyhow...when I asked him...and showed him the guy...he said.."Oh. Obviously, that is a Mentally Disturbed Individual." OBVIOUSLY

The other night, they brought in this large woman who pretended to faint! It kicked total ass! She just keeled over! And all the deputies just stood there staring at her and then I look at Mentally Disturbed Individual and he was DANCING in the window!
He was all over the place! He stopped and pulled a dark colored shirt out of nowhere and pulled it on over his other shirt! Then he started waving his arms around and dancing again! He was all SORTS of excited...and just as he got wound up, the jailer walked over and pulled a shade down over his window so that he couldn't see anymore.
PISSED.ME.OFF.
So, EMS came, loaded faking fainter woman on the gurney, they handcuffed her and took her away.

The point is that you never know WHAT will happen! There are all these girls walking around all itchy and scratchy...they keep coming and going out of the door marked "Detox". Totally fascinating. You gotta watch for awhile.
Let me know what you think. P.S. Can you tell I learned how to make things bold and in italics? I rock!

WHEW!

2011-06-04T23:57:00.000-05:00

Okay, so....school is over for the year. Thank you God. Thank you whoever. Just thank you. I swear, this was the longest, hardest year I've ever taught.

I'm exhausted. Physically, mentally and emotionally. My oldest son is graduating from high school tomorrow, and I'm not ready for that. My baby. Grown up. When did THAT happen? I can still hear his voice when he was little. I can still smell his clean baby shampoo hair as he snuggled up under my chin while I read to him. I can still see his loaded diaper clad butt wiggling side to side down the hall as I chased him to change his diaper. Now, he shaves. He can vote. He can join the military. He chooses his own horrific clothing. He has political and religious opinions. When did this shit go down? He is going to college in the fall. How the hell is that going to work? He will have to get himself up in the morning, get dressed, perform the obligatory hygienic motions, eat breakfast, take medication and get himself to class. Then, he will have to write down assignments, listen to professors, get home, study, eat, sleep and do all of the things I still have to tell him to do. He hates driving, and he is going to have to drive. I really don't see how this is going to end up well. I probably am worrying for nothing, since that is what I do, but still. He is my first baby. My second baby is going to be a sophomore in high school next year. Seriously? Again..when did THAT happen? What happened to me rocking him to sleep and singing lullabies to him and him putting his little chubby baby hand over my mouth and saying, "No sing, Mommy..." Now, he is his own person. He operates technology, he refuses to do as he is told, he is going to summer school because he has to, he wants to be the baby but not be a baby...
Now, tomorrow, at my son's graduation, we will have my mother, my father, my niece and nephew, my husband, my youngest son, my step daughter, my ex husband and his mother and it will be a huge, epic clusterfuck. I plan on filming it. There is NO way this will end up well. My parents aren't speaking, I'm barely speaking with my mother, I'm not really speaking with my brother, (he cannot make it, as he is teaching a class on a SUNDAY NIGHT...) my mother hates my ex husband, and has never met his mother. My mother does NOT hide her dislike or disdain for people at all. Not for anyone's sake. It will be horrific. I have been hoarding my Xanax in anticipation of the cataclysm that is sure to occur. I just want to watch my baby graduate and be proud. But, then he is flying back to Chicago with his father for a month or so before he gets ready for college. So, he graduates and leaves the same night. I will be a basket case. Then, the next day, we register the youngest for summer school. Right before he finishes summer school, my husband and I are supposed to be in Northern California for his 40th high school reunion. We are leaving our daughter who is almost 20 in charge of getting him to and from school for the last couple of days, then taking him to his grandmother's house. It's going to be horrible.
AND, to make matter worse, I cannot walk in 4" heels, no matter what I do. What is up with that?
And this thing needs a spell check, because I'm entirely too tired to do it, tonight.

Updates

2011-05-11T21:53:00.000-05:00

Yo. A few major things have gone on since I last posted. Let's see....hmmm...there was some wedding or something in England. Actually, I woke up early to watch it as I got ready for work, then pulled it up on the computer at work as soon as I got there. Sue me. I don't care, I love that crap.
However, it got me wondering: why the hell does the Queen of England carry a purse? Does she have her garage door opener in there? Pepper spray? A wallet with nothing in it? House keys? Seriously. She always has a crappy purse the same shade of her dress, hat and shoes. Very monochromatic, the Queen. I'm just fascinated by her purse, though.
Next, even the ROYAL FAMILY doesn't have good dental care in England? What is up with that? File those teeth down for the love of God! Those are some enormous teeth.
Then, honestly, did anyone think that Kate and William hadn't already you know...."known" each other? I mean Biblically, here. They freakin' lived together!
Yes, I adored the dress. The hats? What.the.HELL. is wrong with those people??? NO, the hats weren't refreshing or a nice change of pace in fashion. No, they weren't "whimsical" and appropriate for a wedding. They were hideous, horrendous concoctions that some maniacal asshole whipped up and got rich off of for all of those idiots who paid for them to be seen by the whole world. Those "fascinators"? Should be illegal. That'a all I'll say about that.

On to the next bit of huge news: didja know Bin Laden is dead? Well, that's what they say. I have no choice but to believe them. I would like all of the Republican/Conservative people who criticized the President for going after him to shut the eff up. Bush had 8 years and not only did he not get him, but he levelled two countries and got lots of other people who weren't the guy we were after. In the process, he bankrupted our nation and killed millions of innocent people. Not to mention the fact that good, decent soldiers died because of lies he told the country prior to invading Iraq. Just a couple of problems I have with him. I won't even go into his inability to be articulate.
Yes, I voted for Obama. Yes, I'd do it again. Suck it. I also voted for Clinton both times, and wish he could be dictator for life. We'd be swimming in money, not at war, enjoy good relationships with other countries and be prosperous again. What a horrible thought! Someone other than his wife might be giving him BJs, but dammit, he LIED about it! Shut up. You'd lie, too. Don't even say you wouldn't. I don't care WHO performs fellatio on the man, as long as he does his job well. Not to mention the fact that it was nice to have a well spoken, highly educated, brilliant man in charge. How far we fell in such a short time.
And guess what else? Obviously, I'm not the only one who voted for him twice. He won pretty handily twice. Other people did the same, even if they are afraid to admit it because of the right wing blind hatred of the man.

On to my newest obsession: The Borgias on Showtime. LOVE it. Why? 1. They were Spaniards, like my family. 2. They were scheming, treacherous sickos and it's all true. 3. The pope had mistresses and several children. Openly. I bet he never diddled a little boy. 4. It has the costumes and language and scenery I love.
and last but certainly not least, 5. The dude who plays Chesare Borgia. MeeeeOW.

This brings us to the biggest thing going on in our lives right now: preparing for my husband's 40th high school reunion. Yep. 40 years. I was 6 when he graduated from high school. I will have less than nothing in common with other attendees. I'm getting a trip to Northern California out of it, but still. I'm just looking forward to my three days in Napa, the spa, the trip on the Wine Train with the 5 star chef...shopping, seeing Fisherman's Wharf and all the usual touristy things.
I'm sleepy. See ya when I see ya.

Heard Today in Elementary School

2011-04-12T21:41:00.000-05:00

A small child to me: "When is YOUR baby coming out?" I replied, "My babies came out over 15 years ago..." Child: Noooo!!! Silly!!!! *she pats my stomach* You have a baby in there!" Um, no. Thank you for plunging my self esteem into the absolute depths of hell, oh sweet child.

About 2 minutes before this conversation, another small child who was holding a stuffed dolphin, made the dolphin "bite" my left boob. He then laughed and said, "I call him Sharkey! He bit your boobie!" I didn't even know what to say to that. So, I said, "He's a dolphin." Wow. Way to educate the future. It wasn't a SHARK that bit me in the boob, it was a DOLPHIN. Teacher of the year.

Last week, another group of small children I was passing while walking my class to lunch said, "Hey, you have a clown face!" I at first thought they must be talking to another child, but no...they were addressing me. I stopped and said, "Excuse me?" and they repeated, "You have a clown face." I said, "Wow. THANK you! That is SO sweet of you!!!" I began to walk away, But no. It wasn't over. Another child grabbed my leg, and began hugging me. The child's arms began moving slowly up my leg and well....it was sort of an uncomfortable; almost a sexual assault. Before I could stop the child, their hands were in my "No no, don't touch" place. I quickly said, "Whoa....let's move the arms down a little, k?" After that, I hear from behind me, "Yeah, you do have a clown face. And a clown nose." By now, I was flustered, and yet curious as to what made these children think my face was clownish at that particular time. I said, "Really? What about my nose is like a clown? Is it big and red and does it have a red ball on it? Is it just big? Do I have clown feet? Do I have a frownie face drawn over my lips?" To which the answer was a couple of seconds of quiet contemplation on the part of the child, then a definite affirmative nod and these words, "Yes. Your nose is gigantic and red and like a clown."
So. I look like a pregnant clown with a larger than average clown nose. AND someone got to third base with me without even trying.

CRAZY ASSED NAME UPDATE:

2011-04-12T06:53:00.000-05:00

People. Okay. I'm trying to be calm, but last night on the news, some dude named "LYSANDER" was interviewed after a drive by shooting or something.
If you are going to name your child after a character in a play by Shakespeare, look it up, for the love! Lysander wasn't even a major character or even all that interesting in "A Midsummer Night's Dream". Seriously. Neither was Demetrius.

Oh, and I almost forgot: going with Biblical names is popular and I did it myself with one of my kids, however....be careful. Please. Check out who it was before you hang the moniker around your offspring's neck. Don't name your kid "Job". Coupla reasons. Number one: People will mispronounce it forever. They will think it's pronounced like the place you go to earn a living. "Hey, Job! How ya doin?" Only they will say "Job" like, "I have a job at Walmart". Not good. Plus, Job wasn't the happiest of dudes. Faithful, yes. Lucky? Not so much and very sad. Terrible luck, that Job dude.
David is a favorite. I approve of David even if he was a bit of a perv. Come on...who isn't?
Where I live there are a TON of guys named Jesus. Pronounced the Spanish way. Not the English way. I've never met anyone who pronounces it the English way as in "Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing???" Never. No Jehovahs, either. Thankfully.
Mary and Joseph are good. I guess. Actually, yes. They are great. They are easy, and just good old fashioned names. They seemed like pretty good people in the Bible, if you look past the whole "immaculate conception" deal with Mary, that is. I think Joseph was a pretty damned patient guy.
Noah is a name I considered for my second son, but was vetoed by my then husband. I don't know why. Maybe because he found out Noah was actually a bit of a perv himself and IN THE BIBLE it tells you that he went into his son's tent naked, and then it gets a bit vague but makes it quite clear that his other sons drug him outta there and gave him an ass whuppin'. Savior of humanity during the flood or perv? I don't know. Could be both, I guess.
Matthew, Mark, Luke, Peter, Paul and John are all fine. Not that I believe their writings or beliefs, but nice, normal, easy to spell, easy to pronounce names.

DON'T NAME YOUR CHILD AFTER SOMETHING YOU HEAR THE NURSE OR OB/GYN SAY IN THE DELIVERY ROOM, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE DON'T!!!
I have seen: "Placenta", "Placentia" and various other horrific things.

How about this one: this is an actual child that I know of here where I live. And before you ask, NO, I'm NOT shitting you.
Get ready. Here it is:

SHITHEAD. Yep. Shithead. Pronounced, "Shuh-theed" My ass. That kid's name is Shithead. Imagine that on an interview. The only way it could be worse would be if the poor child's last name was "Dumas". It probably is, too.

Seriously

2011-04-11T19:57:00.000-05:00

As that little bird on that kid's show says, "This is sewiouuuus". My children are no longer small, so I am not up on all the kid's shows, anymore. I used to be, but no more. However, who could have missed the YouTube clip of that chick or duckling or whatever it is wearing an aviator's cap? The cap alone makes it epic.

So, I thought I was managing my tremors, etc. pretty admirably. Today, a co-worker who knows nothing of my "condition" or whatever innocently asked why half of my face was "frozen". Now I'm scared shitless. Evidently, occasionally half of my face will not move when I talk. Normally, my face is pretty expressive, but someone NOTICED this. I didn't even know it was going on.

My parents are making me an absolute basket case, but I guess that is to be expected by now.

Stop the MADNESS!!!

2011-04-10T21:22:00.000-05:00

Here's the deal: there needs to be some sort of guidelines or book or LAWS even that prevent people from naming their children horrendously heinous things. Seriously.
A couple of names I've seen or experienced as actual legal names of children lately:

Sexana. Couple of problems with this name. Number one: WHAT.THE.HELL? Number two: What can this child expect to do for a living when they grow up? I can think of three things: 1. Stripper 2. Prostitute 3. Porn star. Seriously. SEXANA? God bless you, child. You'll need it. Shame on your idiot parents.

Any variation of "Queen" "Princess" "Prince" "Duke" "Duchess" "Count" "Sir"...just any royalty based or that sort of claptrap. Stop it. I'm not calling your child "Sir" anything. He's a child. (Hopefully the child is a boy if named "Sir", however, don't count on it.)

Any variation of gemstones. Please, for the love, no more "DIAMONDS" or "SAPPHIRES" or anything like that. Come on. "And now, Gentlemen, I present to you our star performer on the pole....Princess Sexana Diamond!!!!" Oh, this includes "Jade" and any variation to include "Jadyn" or any other made up crap.

Stupid spellings of fairly common names in an attempt to make them more "unique". Don't be a moron! If it's a fairly common name, it cannot be unique! "Madison" should not be "Madysin" or "Madisyn" or any other nonsense. "Mackenzie" is a last name, first of all, then, do not further complicate it by spelling it, ""Mackynzie" or crap like that. Seriously. Think of the child's difficulty learning to spell that in Kindergarten. For the love. Teachers work to teach phonics, and you throw a damned wrench in the plans with some effed up misspelled name that follows no phonetic rules. Please. Settle for Beth. Settle for Mary. Settle for Ann. Come on.

Stop being dumbass medieval fakers. Don't try to use Shakespearean names especially when you've probably never read any of his works. A big fat "NO" goes to "Cymbeline" because you don't know what she was, and you'll spell it all jacked up. (I do consider "Jack" to be a PERFECT name for a boy, however. Nathaniel and Tyler are also excellent male names. Just my humble opinion of my children's names.)
Forget "Ophelia". For the love of God, she killed herself after being used in a plot to bring down the potential Kingdom of the man she sorta had a crush on. She had a pervert father who did nothing but stand behind curtains and eavesdrop for the treacherous murderous fake King who had killed her "boyfriend's" father who was the actual King. THEN, married Hamlet's (Ophelia's crazy/not crazy crush) mother. Incidentally, the real king was the fake king's BROTHER. So he killed his own brother, then married his sister in law. No wonder Ophelia killed herself and Hamlet was a nutjob.
"Juliet" killed herself, too, by the way. "Julius Caesar" not only was real, but he was viciously assassinated by a bunch of dudes including his best friend, Brutus. So, Brutus is off the table, too. ROMEO? Please. No more Romeos. I cannot handle it. Anything including "Maxim", "Maximus", etc...forget it.
Don't expect me to call your child "Precious" or "Treasure" or "Priceless". Please. I don't even call my own kids that all the time. I'm sure not going to call your kid that.
Don't name your child after an animal. No "Ravens" or "Falcons" or other stupid black eyeliner inspired names, please. Go listen to Morrissey and smoke clove cigarettes instead. Please. Don't bring a human being into it and give them a horrific name.
Leave the random punctuation marks out of it, I beg of you. Don't string a bunch of letters together, stick a few accent marks and hyphens in it and call it a name. It isn't, and everyone will always misspell your child's name. No more "De" before a name. No more "Le" or "La" prior to a name. Quit sticking the letter "O" at the end of your son's name.
Quit naming all your kids with names that start with the same first letter. It gets so damned confusing. "This is Susan, Sterling, Simian, Spawn, Sperm, Spleen, and Spain. They are all the Smith children. " Are you that lazy? Are you THAT into alliteration????
Finally, to end my completely self-serving rant, I'd like to say, please don't choose some random combination of letters, not know how to pronounce it, then look it up and not be able to find it. THEN, say, "I'm not sure it's a real name...should I use it?" If you have to ask that, the answer is most definitively NO.

The Badass Honey Badger. You may now thank me.

2011-04-09T23:07:00.002-05:00

New Ideas

2011-04-09T22:43:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking about what I'm in the process of writing now, what I am thinking about writing next, the stuff I'm toying with on the side and things I will probably never finish. It's exhausting. I have an idea for another book again based on true stories. However, this one would be more dark. There would still be humor, because really, how can signing a petition in a mental ward because you're pissed off that the staff changed the peanut butter brand on you NOT be funny? See what I mean? Hysterical, but still sorta pathetic. No, scratch that. REALLY pathetic.

Also, my passion, fascination, determination, obsession with Paris continues unabated. It's inevitable. I must live there. Does anyone else look for real estate in foreign countries and really consider buying besides me? I figure I could get my teaching license for France, teach English and live there. Of course, Wally would have to agree, and the kids would have to be at least semi independent. That means a few more years, but still....I already found an apartment which is supposedly next to impossible to do in Paris. Leave it to me to find one, and have no real plan to acquire it. When I'm really ready, I'll not be able to find any place.

In health news, my tremors have begun to worsen, but I think I'm more aware of them and trying to keep them as unobtrusive as possible. I haven't had any horrible days where I can barely walk. I think my last one like that was when we were in London. The more stressed I am, the worse it is, and I have a theory that the hotter it is, the worse my tremors are. My shoulder/neck/back issues seem to be largely better, but I made the mistake of running and have jammed someting back up. Result: pain.
Secondary result: more migraines.

On to another timely topic for me:
MENOPAUSE???? Seriously???? Isn't it enough that we go through a horrific puberty as girls, what with boobs, menstruation, hair, etc....but then...THEN.....we have continued menstruation, breast exams, breast self exams, mammograms, yearly exams where a stranger with rubber gloves looks for his lost socks in your uterus, and probably anything else he lost in the previous year. Then, because we are the blessed gender, we are able to be impregnated, go through 10 months, (not 9, people...count...40 weeks is 10 months) of sharing our bodies with another being, and because of that, we cannot use sweetener, cough drops, ibuprofen, benadryl, alcohol, or basically anything I use daily almost. And FORGET XANAX!!! I was so careful, I got the flu and would not take anything for fever until the doctor told me the fever was more harmful than the Tylenol for my baby. I grudgingly took two Tylenol, and began praying that my child would not be harmed by it. Unbearable sickness for 12 weeks which magically disappears as quickly as it appeared, but not before you beg for death, extreme exhaustion and unbelievable expenses. THEN...we get to experience the blessed miracle of birth. No, really. I do feel it is a miracle. It just is a major pain, that's all. My first one was SUPER easy. I thought I could go into business. No drugs, no pain, just a couple of pushes and PLOP, the little sucker was out and ready to roll. I got up and was doing stuff within an hour. Of course, after that, I got no sleep for the next 4 years. Period. At all. Which could explain how I became an expectant mother again 3 years later. My second pregnancy was pretty much like my first. No biggie. Well, there was a biggie. Namely, ME. Other than that, we lived in the frigid polar region of MICHIGAN (seriously, how do you people handle it?), and I had a toddler to chase after. Nothing was much different until I went into labor. THEN the shit got serious. NOT easy. VERY not easy. VERY big problems. VERY big pain. Special pain. Indescribable, really. Waited too long for any drugs...because I'm a badass that way, and had to really go it drug free..they tried an epidural after it was too late. I don't recommend that. I should have had a C-section, but some dumbass doctor with hands like Dr. Menghele didn't seem to know his ass from his elbow from my birth canal. I gave birth NATURALLY to an 11 pound 2 foot long boy. No, you read that right. NATURALLY. Many stitches, cursing and much crying ensued. However, I got another perfect angelic boy. As you can imagine, I never gave birth again. No sir, no thank you, I'll take a pass on that one. Plus, when you are young and don't know any better people don't tell you the truth about childbirth. I did the Bradley Method which I HIGHLY recommend to everyone. It worked beautifully with my first child. The hospital where I had my second child insisted we take Lamaze (in my opinion a big fat dumbass joke), so we did. I ignored most of it and did my Bradley. However, during Lamaze class, the instructor was guiding us through a "pain meditation". I was the only woman in there who was not going through her first pregnancy. I KNEW what to expect. The others were all glowing, a little scared and thinking this Lamaze stuff was the SHIT. We were told that when we had a bad contraction, to close our eyes, (never do this), and imagine we were standing on a beach. We write the word "Pain" in the sand. The waves come in and gently wash the word "Pain" away. When she said that, I busted out laughing and accidentally snorted. I didn't see it coming. Seriously? Imagine a wave washing away the word "pain"? It is to laugh. I laugh at this. HAHAHA! Big laugh! I got major hostile stares from the instructor and all the other couples. Big whoop. I shrugged and said, "Whatever gets you through..."
THEN, D day came. I go into labor. I wasn't sure it was labor because with my first, my water broke. A pretty definitive sign that stuff is on, right? With the second, I had cramps, they very gradually got worse, then got pretty bad, I couldn't talk or walk through them, and we went to the hospital. The baby's head was in a bad position, so I couldn't push, although I had no urge to push yet. Both of my babies had their umbilical cords wrapped twice around their necks. That had to be adjusted. Then, the REAL pain began. I was in too much pain to cry, make sound, or ask for help. It was just blinding. Well, yeah. I was giving birth to a 2 year old. He came out asking for a ham sandwich, for God's sake. Well, that's an exaggeration, but he was 11 pounds, and my first was a little over 7 pounds. I didn't have gestational diabetes, I didn't gain more weight, I was active....he was just huge. I do not regret it at all. It was all worth it.
Bradley Childbirth. Perfection. Do it.

NOW, back to MENOPAUSE....you have kids, you continue to grapple with your monthly crime scene producing amounts of blood, then....IT GETS WORSE! Will it come on time? Probably not. Will it come today? Maybe. Tomorrow? Could be. In twenty days? It's a good bet. Yesterday? Pretty sure. How long will it last? Oh...anywhere from a day to 28 days, when it will be time for your next one. Will it be heavier, lighter...what? Um, yes, yes, yes, and yes. Will I act crazy and have hot flashes? Bet on it, baby. You'll get irrationally angry at shit like cans turned the wrong way at the grocery store. You'll wake up in the middle of the night soaked in sweat, have to wake up your husband, change your clothes, shower and change the sheets because the beauty of womanhood has bit you in the ass once again. Headaches will increase because your hormones will be doing the cha-cha everyday. Your weight will fluctuate. You'll have intestinal discomfort. Cramps, backaches...all that shit. It's all yours! Heartburn will bother you from stuff like...oh...I don't know...PLAIN WHITE BREAD. Crap like that. It's a hoot. Have a blast. I know I am. It makes PMS look like an episode of "Romper Room".

Well, this started out as some self questioning about my writing and turned into a rant about the mysteries of our monthly relationship with the moon. (My ass...don't give me that shit...I'm not saving the blood in a jar and burying it under the full moon to gain power...what a crock of SHIT.)
So, yeah. Sorry about that. But if you know me, then..well...you know me. That's how I am. And I'm menopausal now, so suck it if you don't like it.
Love,
Me.

Neurotic

2011-03-29T21:22:00.000-05:00

So, I've been referred to as "neurotic" more than once. You may substitute the word "eccentric" or perhaps "odd" or "strange" or "weird" if you wish. Either way, I'm different. Recently I posted things I love. Now, I'm going the opposite way. I'm going to post a list (no doubt a partial list, as it grows daily) of things I either strongly dislike or things that make me CRAZY.
So, let's kick it off with:
1. People who make noises. Yeah. Noises. Breathing loudly, chewing loudly, coughing a lot, sniffling, cracking knuckles, flipping pages in a quiet room, chairs scraping across floors, you name the sound, I get highly agitated by it.

2. Stinky food. In particular, people who eat stinky food around other people. Don't bring your damned chicken wings to our staff meeting and slurp and eat that stank. Please. Don't by a sub sandwich with banana peppers, onions and green peppers and sit down next to me. I will barf, more than likely. Cornnuts. Those stink to high heavens. I hate them. Funyuns smell like ass. Onion-y ass, but ass nonetheless. Too much garlic. Too much alcohol.

3. Smoking. Just ew. Please. It's foolish and disgusting. It stinks, it is damaging to those around you and it's just all around repulsive.

4. Loud talkers. You know the ones. They cannot whisper to save their lives. They holler everything. You have a headache after a conversation with one. Everything they have to say is of the UTMOST importance, too. My ass. Shut up, why don't you? I guarantee you the people around you are sick of your loud assed voice always blabbing away.

5. Close standers. Don't invade my personal space. I have a LOT of personal space, and I'll call in an air strike if you invade it. Keep your distance. Step away, keep your hands where I can see them. Don't get too close. You might have bad breath, or I might be able to see your skin pores. That will make me gag.

6. Close talkers. This is sort of a blend of loud talkers and close standers. Step away from me to talk. Tone it down, while you're at it. Unless you and I are VERY close, please keep a minimum of distance of a couple of feet while speaking with me. Come on. It's only polite. Have some manners, why don't you?

7. People who spit. Just don't. Spitting is nasty. My Daddy has always opened his car doors at stop lights, leaned out and spit onto the street. Why? He has never chewed tobacco or anything, he just seems to either A. enjoy spitting in public, or B. has a major mucus issue going on. Either way, nobody wants to see your slimy glob of spit.

8. Public poopers. Seriously? Can you not hold it until you get home? Or at least somewhere where nobody else will be attempting to use the facilities after you are finished foully polluting the air? I can only do it at home. With doors shut and locked and Mercury probably has to be in retrograde or in the seventh house or some shit. Conditions have to be optimal. I don't get these people who go take a dump while at a restaurant or at the mall or at work. Nobody wants to go in there when you are finished.

9. Hair in areas it isn't supposed to be. Case in point: hair on a bar of soap. I will gag and end up vomiting if I see that. Hair in the shower. Drains in general. Hell, bathrooms that need cleaning in general. But hairs will put me over the edge.

10. Incorrect grammar. People who "axe" me a question or people who say, "we be going to the WalMart." Ooh! Another bad one is: "I seen you last weekend at the Walmart." Don't do this. It's called English. Learn it. Get to know it. It's your mother tongue. (if you are not American you can feel free to give yourself a bit of leeway, but I've never heard a non native speaker use the effed up grammar that kids use now.)

11. Saying words incorrectly or using them incorrectly. The word is "supposedly". It's not "supposably". Seriously. How about, "Liberry" instead of "library". Do "Liberrians" come from Liberia? Do they bake "Liberry Pies"? Come on. The word is "specific", not "Pacific". That would be an ocean. Totally different deal, there.
The phrase is, "For all intents and purposes." It is NOT "For all intensive purposes". Unless, of course, your purpose is quite intensive, then I guess it would be correct.

12. People not knowing when to use "me and him" or "him and me" or "him and I". There are rules. Learn them. It's not hard, I swear.

13. Cops asking me my weight when they pull me over. WTF is up with THAT shit? Well, I lied my ass off. So there.

14. People who wear colored contacts. They don't look good. They look weird. You look like a reptile/cat alien breed. Stop it.

15. Touchy-Feely people. Don't touch me. Ever. I don't like to be touched. Don't hug me when you see me every freakin' day. Don't put your arm around me, don't "massage" my shoulders after sneaking up behind me, don't give me a high five, don't knuckle knock me...just keep your body parts to yourself, and I'll do the same.

16. People who don't know the difference between "affect" and "effect". People who don't know the difference between "capital" 'and "capitol". People who dictionary, people.

17. People who make excuses.

18. Liars
19. Saying the word, "like" every few words when you speak. You sound uneducated. Stop it.
20. Loud, sudden noises. They make me cry like a little girl.

I'm sure there's much more. That is it for now, though.

Stuff and Junk I love

2011-02-25T20:32:00.000-06:00

Hi. I love these things in no particular order:

My kids
My husband
My parents
My brother
My niece and nephew
My dogs
wine
Xanax
sleep
sleep
sleep
soft pajamas
no wrinkles
Botox
Fried pickles
Ghosthunters
travel
Exorbitantly expensive hotels
purses
really good purses
really good shoes
makeup
really good makeup
Hermes anything
Louboutin shoes
Blahnik shoes
Birkenstocks shoes
Tom's shoes
Nordstrom's
Nieman Marcus
My truck/car/whatever
Having a passport that is still valid, leaving me the option of going wherever I want to go.
My chiropractor
Butterscotch schnapps and Baileys mixed
wine
hot dudes
reading
diamonds
diamonds
did I say diamonds?
jewelry...but real stuff, not crap
shawls, and scarves
writing
music
art
Spanish Guitar
Gypsy music
Cirque du Soleil
Kathy Griffin

I was going to do what I dislike, but I figured that list would be too long.

Roller Girl

2011-02-22T20:59:00.000-06:00

Note to self: Next time you take a bunch of kids skating, do not put on skates and attempt to relive your teenage years. It is a stupid thing to do. You are not teen aged. You are middle aged. You have a disintegrating spine or something. Children are attempting to keep you from falling.

Actually, I kicked ass after I got used to it again. Yeah, I fell a few times. Less that most of the kids, though. TAKE THAT, YOUTH OF AMERICA! I do not do in-line skates. I do the old fashioned configuration of wheels. I am really more used to metal wheels. These new fangled rubber thingies are strange. However, I skated. Again. Tomorrow, I anticipate a visit to the chiropractor. Do not tell them I roller skated like a fool. Thank you, and goodnight.

What Would YOU do?

2011-02-21T14:52:00.000-06:00

So, let's say you are married to this man who is insane, right? This man thinks YOU should be able to do ANYTHING. This includes working, cooking, cleaning, child rearing, mind reading, space/time travel, telepathy, bringing dead pets back from the dead, fix any computer even if there is NOTHING wrong with it, make a cell phone work without a SIM card, send smoke signals to contact him, always magically know his whereabouts, fashion a timekeeping instrument like a Sundial that will fit on his wrist, never need winding, have Atomic clock capabilities...I can go on. I'll spare you, though.

I am married to this man. Everyone thinks he is the calmest, sweetest thing ever. Why, he would NEVER raise his voice! He would NEVER say anything mean! He is like a little puppy dog! Yeah, a puppy dog that is really a Hound from Hell that you just took a chew toy away from.

I even video taped him throwing a fit yesterday because he couldn't figure out how to upload pictures to his Facebook page. I scanned them in for him, emailed them to him and then he went berserk. I finally told him I wouldn't deal with him if he was going to cuss, scream and threaten me. So, he decides to call some company off the internet and pay them to tell him how to UPLOAD PICTURES TO HIS FACEBOOK PAGE. Dude. I figured it out alone. Children figure it out alone. Really old people figure it out alone. Some people have pets that have evidently figured it out alone. My husband? No. I told him if he called those jackholes and paid them to tell him how to upload pictures to effin' Facebook, that I would go shopping and I can spend WAY better than he can. Plus, can you imagine the person who would answer his call? They would have a great story to tell for a long time, but really? Calling a place NOT affiliated with Facebook and PAYING them to walk you through the steps that basically a wombat could figure out on their own? I swear. Honestly.

Plus, there are HUGE budget cuts going on in the place I work, and everybody is wigging out about their jobs. Including me. Should I wig out? Should I not? I don't know, but everyone else is, so I figured I better join in. Otherwise, I might get blindsided and never see a lay off coming.

PLUS, I am tired.
Plus, I am going through menopause.
PLUS, I am married to an insane person.
PLUS, I have two teenage sons who God help them probably don't know their address, even though we taught it to them when they were little.
PLUS, insanity runs in my family. OBVIOUSLY.
PLUS, my back hurts.
I am sure I could think of more, but I think I'm finished bitching for now. If you need Xanax, I am sorry. I need it, too. I think I will go get some. I advise the whole world to do the same.

Real Quick...

2011-02-06T21:42:00.002-06:00

Who on Earth is reading this thing from Russia? I am fascinated to know! If you are reading this from Russia, let me know. Or hell, anywhere else, either. Let me know. Comment or do whatever it is people do on these things. Seriously, though...RUSSIA? Awesome.

Aging Gracefully

2011-02-06T21:40:00.000-06:00

Is a stupid concept. Gracefully? Screw that. Give me Botox and Juvederm. Whatever. I'll do it. I don't want a bunch of sags and lines all over my face I've washed religiously for years to avoid zits, and then wrinkles. All those expensive creams, facials and makeup I've used...why let it just go to waste? I keep my hair up, after all. I keep the Grey covered because if I don't, I'll look like an aging blond Pepe La Pew. You are welcome, world. Once again, you are welcome. I just give and give...I swear.

So, yeah. Today we went to have lunch with my family for my birthday which was yesterday. I'm 45. I don't care who knows. Who gives a crap? I'm obviously not 25, I have a child about to graduate high school, one in college and one who is probably going to be a perpetual freshman in high school. It's very obvious I'm not in my 30s. (Unless I started very early, in which case I would probably be dead because my dad would have murdered me.) I just don't want to look OLDER than I am. There is my rant on anti aging crap. Deal.

So, while we were at lunch, I mentioned that my best friend who lives in another state and I had sort of knocked around the idea of going to Costa Rica during Spring Break. Not like a "Girls Gone Wild" spring break. More of a "tired middle aged women with kids who want to sleep uninterrupted and lay on the beach" spring break. (Lay? Lie? I never can keep it straight.) Anyhow, my brother, who is 41, mind you...he decides that he is the Patriarch of the family, right? He decided this ohhhh, I don't know about 35 years ago or something. He's the boss, right? Wrong. Nobody is the boss of me. He decides to chime in with his sage advice. Here is the conversation in script form to allow for easier understanding:
My One and ONLY (Thank God) sibling: Um, Costa Rica?
Me: Yeah.
Him: You DO realize that you are 45, right?
Me: Duh. Can't get anything past you.
Him: You have kids.
Me: I DO? OhmyGOD!!!
Him: Very funny. You are not a kid.
Me: Really? Do tell. When is your NEXT (as in 50th) trip to DisneyWorld?
Are you gonna dance with Minnie Mouse this time?
Him: *glares at me*
Me: *glares back smugly*
My MOTHER(who butted into the conversation): Who is going to take care of________(my friend's daughter)?
Me: Dunno. I'm not her mother. ___________(my friend) is. My kids will be here with their father. Or you. If they are bad, with you.
Mom: You are not a nice girl.
Me: We've established that.
My brother who really should shut up: Don't you think it's a little irresponsible for you to go running off to party in Costa Rica?
Me: Um, nobody said we were "partying". I did mention "sleeping", though. ALONE. BLISSFULLY, QUIETLY ALONE. See, I'm FORTY FIVE and that is freaking HEAVEN to me.

So, my whole family now thinks I'm selfish because the idea was MENTIONED. No plans have been made, no tickets purchased...nada. They are SO selfish! What will they do when I tell them about my Yoga retreat in Sri Lanka or my Surfing Safari in South America?
One funny thing: My brother compared an aspic dish at the restaurant to the product "Clamato". My son thought he said, "Chlamydia". He was appalled. (My son). I was laughing hysterically, and my brother kept asking me to repeat it because I was trying not to yell "CHLAMYDIA!!!" across the freakin' table. I was mouthing it silently to him and he kept saying crap like, "Clambake?" "What?" "Claptrap? Huh?" and I kept laughing and shaking my head. When I finally got it out, he was disgusted and wanted to know if my son really knew what it was. I asked for him not to get too specific. My son told him that he knew that it was something I'd kill him for. Wise child. I really don't know if my brother knows what it is or not.

I thought it was a plant for years, and told my Mom I had some chlamydia. She freaked out on the phone when I told her and I was mystified as to why she was upset that I had taken an interest in gardening. She was screeching, "WHAT?!?!?! YOU HAVE WHAT?!?!?!" I kept patiently repeating "I have some Chlamydia. I got it today." She kept wigging the hell out. After going back and forth for about 8 hours about it, she finally said, "Wait. Do you mean, CALADIUMS?" and I said, "Yeah, isn't that what I said?" and she said, "NO! You said you had CHLAMYDIA!!!!!" and I said, "Oops, no. I have the plant. Not the disease." Then I probably hung up. I don't remember. Such is my life. A series of misunderstandings and insults. C'est la vie!

Various and Sundry

2011-01-19T19:46:00.000-06:00

Howdy folks. I'm from Texas. We say "Howdy Folks". Nah, not really.

So, you know how people do dream analysis? I had a dream about a guitar last night. Figure that one out. I don't play the guitar. Ever.

Today was better than yesterday because I was able to actually TEACH CHILDREN IN THE CLASSROOM. Yahoo! Imagine that.

NOw, here is a deal: I knit. I'm not great, I'm still learning stitches to add to my repetoire, but I love it and I have made a bazillion headbands and hats. I am absolutely PETRIFIED to make something major like a sweater.

Now, I must pee. It's been great. But I have to go, now.

Not Fit For Public View

2011-01-18T19:28:00.001-06:00

Hello. How are ya? Good. Great. Good to hear. Me? Not so great. Yeah, see...I had to go to a "meeting" today for work and our "meetings" are really "rip the hell out of the employee" sessions for the people "in charge". It's tiring. Really, really tiring. I did not take one single Xanax all day. I kick serious ass. We actually got told that we couldn't go OUT to lunch because we didn't look good enough for the public to see us. Seriously. Coupla problems with that. Number one: Shut up. You are an asshole.(the person who made the comment about going out in public.) Number two: Look in a mirror lately, asshat? Seriously. Get your money back from your dentist. For real. Number three: I'm not positive, but I'm PRETTY sure you can't keep me in a building or anywhere really against my will simply because you are an egomaniacal dipshit. Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think so. If I am, please forward me the law or article or whatever that says I can be held against my will in my place of employment because a person who also works there is a sphincter. I'd appreciate it.

My neck hurts. My shoulder hurts. My head hurts. PLUS, on my WORST day, I look a million times better than that anal fissure has ever looked in their entire lifetime.

Yes, I'm complaining. I'm bitching. I'm allowed to do that. IT'S AMERICA, PEOPLE! I wanted to stand on the table and shout that today, but decided to not follow all of my urges immediately. It probably saved me from going to jail, but who's to say? Certainly not me. After all, I'm a lazy, not fit for public view, ass sitting individual who doesn't deserve to live. At least that is the message I got today.
If anyone wants to come work with me, let me know. I'll try and hook you up. I anticipate many openings after this Spring. Even though we were given Nostradamus-like predictions about gas prices and the economy,(it's bad...did you know that? I was ASTONISHED to learn this piece of news!), I think a lot of people are going to say "eff this crap" and look for greener pastures. Hell, browner pastures....ANY PASTURE would be better.

Sorry if I caused anyone to feel down. Life's a bitch. Suck it up. Come work with me and then try and not feel this way. I gotta go get some pharmaceuticals, now.
Love ya!

It's finally over.

2010-12-26T13:42:00.000-06:00

Christmas, that is. Don't get me wrong, I like it as much as any other non-Christian celebrant. I love the tree, the decorations, the smells, the food and the presents and family. We don't talk about the baby Jesus or anything, and we never have. I'm not sure I even knew the supposed significance of the holiday until I was an adult. But, I enjoy the tradition and my Mom always throws her feet out in the decorating and cooking areas. Seriously. Christmas toilet paper, even.

At any rate, I was very good this year, because I got two excellent gifts from my husband. The first was the Flip camera. I love that thing. It's perfect. It's small, easy, and you can take video and then capture stills from the video very easily. No memory cards, you just plug into your UBS port and it uploads. Of course, it runs on Double A batteries, and my big complaint about digital cameras is that they run through batteries very quickly, but it's okay.

Then, I got the Clarisonic Opal. If you know me, you know I'm vain. My husband knows me. It's a small gadget that has a small silicone applicator that you put their eye serum on and it sonically applies it to your undereye skin. According to studies (on their site, of course), it will get the serum further into the epidermis than without it. Looked convincing. I don't care what science has said before about cremes actually penetrating the dermis. I like it. My eye puffiness is decreasing and I am pretty sure the crow's feet are, too. Plus, I trust the company because I love my Clarisonic skin care system so much I wish I could use it all day long. Same with my toothbrush.
Two thumbs up for both products from me.

Our kids got what they wanted, my husband got what he wanted, and I think everyone was happy, all in all. I did not get inebriated at our family dinner, and I ate food. I did not crawl into anyone's bed, although I considered crawling into my brother's just to piss him off. I even brought the accursed ham and a peppermint cheesecake, both of which I made with my own two hands. Take that, world. Suck it.

Now, I'm looking for good sales so I can buy other crap. I really like Philosophy's "Falling In Love" perfume. It's rare for me to like any perfume, let alone be able to wear it and tolerate it. I can wear any of the Hermes' perfumes, and get no headache. I think the Prada Infusion d'Iris is okay, as well. And I have twice sniffed "Falling in Love", and got no signs of a headache. This leads me to believe God wishes for me to purchase it.

I also plan on getting some new boots, as I cannot go more than a couple of months without boots of some kind. I need something new to read, so I might drive to Barnes and Nobles, although that's a pain in my ass. I would like some Tom's shoes, but would rather not pay for them, to be honest. I got my hair done, so that's not an issue. Hmmmm...I'm waiting for Netflix to send me Disc Two of the last season of The Tudors. We've seen Disc One and have Disc Three, but aren't going to watch Disc three before we've seen Disc Two, for the love. How stupid. So we wait. Oh, I have another present coming from Jerusalem, my husband said. It's just taking a lot longer, (duh), and I can't wait to see what it is.

I could go grab my Mom and niece and daughter and drive to Austin to the Domain and see what damage we could do there. (Probably a lot.) My overwhelming laziness is battling my almost overpowering materialism...it's an epic struggle. I feel torn.
A mani/pedi would be nice, but again...I don't feel like screaming, "What?" and "Pardon me"? to a masked person speaking in a tonal language to someone across the room for 2 hours. Also, I am not in a mood for small talk, and they LOVE to small talk, although you can't understand them. It's so tiring. Just shut up, do my feet and let me relax.

Botox is needed, but if I do it, I fear Wally may maim me. We could go to a movie, but there are people there. They eat popcorn loudly, and slurp their sodas, plus usually there is some jackhole nearby wearing a bottle of Axe or some such shit and I end up with a headache. Thank you, ill mannered, Axe wearing Assclown.

Oh, and if you are reading this and you know how to knit socks with the 5 double pointed needles, please contact me. I cannot for the life of me handle those needles, and can't slide stitches from the cast on needle to the other needles and then don't know where to start knitting. It's making me insane. Seriously. There is a new Yarn Shop here, but it's Sunday, so I'm assuming they are closed. Otherwise, I'd go, buy whatever they wanted and beg for a lesson. I have yet to conquer that. I've made sweaters, hats, scarves, headbands, cowls, a cat bed, (yes I knit a cat bed for my niece) and other things, but no socks or gloves because I cannot use those damned double pointed needles.
I have small hands, and maybe that's the problem. They don't reach all over the place to hold those needles, I don't know, but it's driving me nuts.

If I don't come back to uselessly complain and bitch, have a great New Year!

Ne Derangez Pas

2010-12-23T22:57:00.001-06:00

Fin

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year?

2010-12-23T22:51:00.000-06:00

Hey. Hi. Whatever. It's that time of year again. Christmas. I really am growing to dislike it. People are rude, they are everywhere you go and they are impatient. Those qualities usually belong to me exclusively, and I don't appreciate sharing them with the public at large.

Anyhow, our kids are all home from school, as am I. My son has strep throat and mine hurts. Yippee. What a great present. We have an insanely huge amount of presents under our tree and this year I got it all done way ahead of time. Yay for me.

I really don't have too much to add, but after Christmas dinner, I'm sure I will. Perhaps even photos to go along with it. Some Xanax and wine and it will be a fun day for me. I might get another snooze in on my Mom's bed like I did on Thanksgiving. That was some good sleepin'.

PLUS, I still waiting on THREE separate gifts I ordered from a company called "The Daily Grommet". I am displeased with them in the extreme. These were Christmas gifts. I got one of the missing gifts, but three are still missing. I emailed them and they assured me they were looking into it. That was after two emails. Now, no further communication. Be warned if you use the Daily Grommet, the company "Violet Love" and "Sneakart" and it seems like there was another one. I got the belt from Jon Wye, so that is okay. But the others, I'm not pleased with at all. Be warned.

I have nothing left to say, so goodnight, ya perverts. (Points if you know what book that was from. )

Happy, Merry Whatever

2010-12-15T06:42:00.000-06:00

I know you've all been waiting anxiously for me to get around to blogging about my festive life. Sorry. Oh well.

Anyhow, I've been working on writing, working on teaching kids and just plain working on all the regular stuff everyone works on at this time of year.

I did get sorta drunk on Thanksgiving and evidently make many promises to my mother which I have no memory of. Her claims have been corroborated by both my husband and daughter. Strangely, I'm not ashamed of myself. It takes 5 Xanax and a bottle of Reisling to handle Thanksgiving with my family. Now, to pay penance, I have to bring a ham of all things to Christmas. I also took many strange pictures whilst inebriated, but perhaps I'll post those later. Most of them are very close up pictures of my Mom's walls. Why? I liked the new wall colors and wanted documentation of them so I could duplicate them at home. Problem is, when you get millimeters away from a wall, all of the colors pretty much look like a grey shadow. So there ya go.
After drunkenly careening around the house, digging my finger through the sweet potatoes and claiming the marshmallows as "MINE!", and then doing the same thing to the meringue on the chocolate pie, I evidently quietly snuck off to my Mom's room, crawled under her covers and went to sleep. Festive, no? By the word "meringue" I mean the whipped egg whites and sugar, not the dance. I'm not sure how to spell which one. Either way, I mean the egg white things.
So, there's a brief update. I've not traveled, which pisses me off royally. I've worked. I've worked and worked and worked and disgraced my family at Thanksgiving. My work here is done. For now.

Stay tuned for Christmas festivities!
Love,
The dinner guest you don't want

http://www.kdhnews.com/news/story.aspx?s=47382

2010-12-15T06:33:00.000-06:00

http://www.kdhnews.com/news/story.aspx?s=47382

Sayings I absolutely detest.

2010-11-25T21:13:00.000-06:00

1. It is what it is. ---no shit? Really? It is. That is so stupid. No crap it is what it is. What the hell else would it be?

2. At the end of the day.----must this be said when someone is attempting to say, "what really is important is...." Come on, people.

3. "24/7"----Again, I hate this. Just say "all the time."

I am sure I will think of some more. But for now, they are making shirts that actually say "It is what it is.". I will punch the first person I see wearing that right in the face.

The dilemma of the WWW

2010-11-22T23:00:00.000-06:00

So, a student told me today that she found my blog. Awesome. Great. I told her that it wasn't appropriate for kids. So, then, ALL the kids wanted to know what it was. I did not divulge it. However, I'm going to have to think how to block people under a certain age.

As for life. It's is the same. Only, now...there is the added guilt and pressure of Thanksgiving. I evidently don't give Thanks appropriately. I should slave in a kitchen all day from the crack of dawn to make a dinner that will be gobbled up in minutes, then clean it all up, store it and when I attempt to serve left overs, will be meant with groans of discontent. I'm not really thinking that sounds like fun. My Mom loves to do it, so there you are.

Anyhow, I hope everyone has a good holiday. I know I need it.

Blank

2010-11-14T19:24:00.002-06:00

I am not writin much right now, because I seem to have dried up. Everything I write is a pile of doodoo. Plus, I have to plan holiday crap. Blah. I hate it. Money, money, money.

I am looking SO forward to my winter break, though. I can't come fast enough.

Check it.

2010-11-13T11:58:00.000-06:00

Yeah, so scroll down to the bottom of my page and check out the marriage ticker thingie. 11 years, baby. Yes, there IS someone who is willing to put up with me. So there, Mom and Dad. Take that.

I have been married 11 years today to Wallsterham Lincoln. Aka: Wally. Aka: Sanford. Aka: Dude. Aka: Dammit, Wally! I don't usually use real names. I guess I got that from my Grandpa Gator. Hey, there is proof. I called him "Grandpa Gator" almost my whole life. His name wasn't "Gator", by the way.

Anyhow, hooray for us for being married for 11 years, raising three great kids, not killing each other; or the kids, having several obese, happy dogs, and living in a house we own and having no debt. Good for us.

I am busily planning our vow renewal in Rome for our 20th. Come if you wish, don't come if you don't wish. It will be the BEST thing EVER. I am trying to figure out how to get a Mariachi band over there, though. And the drunken dancing Mexican dudes. I gotta keep them sober and keep their livers healthy at least long enough for them to come dance at my vow renewal. I am also trying to figure out how to trick Sanford into a side trip to my favorite city in the world: Paris. I must get back there. Hell, with any luck, we'll be living there at that time and it won't be an issue.

But, for tonight, it's the Melting Pot, and we gave each other gifts already. I gave him a Southern bottle tree. It's fairly awesome. He gave me a box with a quote from Ernest Hemingway about writers on it and some DVDs for my class with Bill Nye, since they had no idea who he was and when I showed them a video about Buoyancy from Bill Nye they all acted as if they were converts to a new religion. He also reframed one of our wedding photos. It's in a beautiful frame, now...and DAMN, I had HUGE boobs! Thank you Dr. Lee for relieving me of that particular pain in the ass.

I returned from Ft. Worth yesterday after the Texas Gifted and Talented Conference. it was a great experience, and I plan on going again next year. I couldn't get my gun out of the room safe, though, and had to call security to come help me. The stupid BATTERIES in the safe were dead. BATTERIES??? How safe could it be? I didn't want them to see what was in the safe, as I was afraid they'd freak and kill me, but then I realized the poor people at the McDonald's in Waco saw it in my purse when I pulled out my wallet to pay and all they did was get really quiet and take my money and back away from the counter. Sorry Waco McDonald's people. I'm not a criminal, I'm just protecting myself from criminals.

Which brings me to: MY LATEST OBSESSION! Steven Seagal. I've probably been obsessed with him before. But now I'm really obsessed. Obsessively obsessed, even. Watch his A & E show if you haven't seen it. It's so kick ass it will leave you speechless and determined to be so Zen you won't even be able to stand yourself. I'm going to practice my Zen shooting over Thanksgiving weekend at the range with Wally, the boys and my Dad. Too bad for the guys that I'm going, too. I will be a big party pooper to them, I'm sure, but I have to try the shooting method Steven Seagal uses. I will out-shoot them all, as usual, I'm sure.

I got nothing else, people. Except, if you find my sapphire and diamond tennis bracelet which fell off somewhere between my classroom and my hotel room in Ft. Worth on Tuesday afternoon, please let me know. It's one of the first things the kids gave me, and it's their birthstones.

Just so I can say that I've written something lately...

2010-10-24T11:10:00.000-05:00

I'll post this: I have nothing to say about much of anything. Except I am being worn down by rejections from publications. And I told the people who wanted to represent me "No". I may have sealed my own fate like a moron.

And my son's hair is an abomination. Both of them look homeless. It pains me. Oh well. Nothing new there.

Best.Dancers.EVER.

2010-10-08T21:59:00.001-05:00

I admit I've become rather addicted to aimless wandering through YouTube. I can't help it. You can find ANYTHING on that thing. It's amazing. There is probably a video of your first kiss or the time you walked out of the restroom in high school with toilet paper stuck to the bottom of your shoe on that site. Or not. Maybe it's just me. Anyhow, a friend of mine found a video that she shared with me, and it's potentially the best video I've ever seen of anything. To include the videos of the births of my children. I LOVE those videos, but nobody else does. EVERYBODY loves this video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5aWTHBa9FJY

Seriously, do yourself a favor and watch it. Now. Go. Now. Then come back here. I'll wait.

Did you do it? Because isn't it the single most amazing display of ...what? I don't even know what to call it. It's just awe-inspiring. I would like to find those two men and hire them. Filthy pants and Peruvian hat and all. The whole deal. That stupid assed song is stuck in my head, too. I could do without that, but it does make it easier to imagine the fiercely superior dance moves of the two maestros of rhythm.

I have come to feel that I know them, those two anonymous hoofers. I not only feel that I know them, but I think I'm in love with them a tiny bit. How could you not be? To have that...joie de vivre...that...j'nais se whatever...it would change your world like no amount of mind altering drugs, no Yoga ashram, no meditation, no praying...nothing...nothing could possibly be that deeply moving. Just to be able to smoothly make those motorcycle revving motions with one's hands whilst simultaneously kicking oneself in one's own ass whilst wearing white trousers...it would be the end all and be all of the ultimate "bucket list".

How did you like my masterful usage of the word "whilst" not once, but twice in one sentence? I am pretty impressed with myself, to be quite honest. We don't use words such as "whilst" nearly often enough. Also, we don't pronounce the 't' in the word "often" nearly often enough. It makes it sound much more ummmm...what's the word? Much more....smart. No. NO! I thought of the word I was looking for: intellectual. There. It makes one seem much more intellectual. Yeah. Which brings me back to the Amazing Dancing Duo.

I doubt they are very often called "intellectual", or even "smart", but one cannot deny their animal magnetism. They are dancing a veritable tribute to life at that Quincenera. They are shuffling and stomping their way into the collective whatsitcalled. The unconsciousness? The subconsciousness? Just the consciousness? I'm not sure which word it is I'm looking for there. In other words, soon, EVERYONE will know them. You will be able to simply say, "Hey, you know those two drunk dudes dancing?" and everyone ..EVERYONE will know what you mean.

Maybe they can get me a decent book deal, then. With my luck, they'll be too busy or whatever to help, though. Bastards.

My days of protesting in Paris and being tear gassed....oh you disbelievers...

2010-10-04T19:12:00.004-05:00

well, get ready to believe. I found it on Youtube. In case you were unaware, you can find ANYTHINGon Youtube.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZK_i9N2Ckj4

We were there. I thought it was a "street festival". Don't ask. It was the cops beating their nightsticks against their riot shields. However, who can say they were tear gassed during a French Student riot in Paris during Spring Break?

And the dreadlocked guy? TOTALLY started the riot we were in. He had a megaphone, so it sort of sounded like latin music where they holler rapidly in a megaphone, and actually he was inciting people to throw stuff at cops who were guarding St. Sulpice Cathedral.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v-NuZtErl1AJY

And please excuse the horrid Euro Techno music. I have no explanation for that.

FYI: We were not the "troublemakers". We were killing time until our dinner reservation, which we never made because we were quite unpresentable because of tear gas and basic freaking out. And yes, it was Paris in the Springtime. Which is freezing cold, btw. Enjoy!!!

This jacked up economy

2010-10-03T13:03:00.000-05:00

"Jacked up" is not the phrase I wish to use, but I'll try and pull back on my cursing for a moment.

Here's the deal: I have all of my family on my health insurance which is "provided" by my employer. "Provided" is a real misnomer because I pay over $1,100 a MONTH on health insurance. Seriously. I work in order to have insurance. My husband is retired, we have one child in college, one a senior in high school and our youngest is a freshman in high school. I provide the insurance. I can't just up and quit because of the insurance. So, we've decided to get creative and find ways to cut back on it. I've looked into actually PROVIDING it ourselves, and the cost is barely less, if at all. Our children are legally supposed to be provided insurance by my ex husband, but based on his not having insurance in the past and telling me that he did, and us being told at the Dr.'s office that my children weren't insured, I've begun carrying them myself in order to make sure they are covered. He now promises me he does indeed have them covered, and he'll send me the card. I will believe it when I see it, and then I'll call the carrier daily to check that they are insured. Problem is, if I take them off of mine, I cannot add them back for any reason for a year. We have the little window called "open enrollment" in October, and if you take them off, they are off until the next "open enrollment" comes around. Same with our daughter, who does have a biological mother who is IN MY OPINION the sorriest excuse for a human being I've ever seen in my life. Ever since my husband and I married 11 years ago, and combined our families, she has been a pain in the ass. When they divorced, she didn't want custody of her only child who was only 6 years old at the time. So, my husband had sole custody. They made some deal so that she didn't pay child support. The ONLY obligation she had was to provide health insurance for her child. Which she did VERY grudgingly, and with constant bitching. Now that the child is 19, she is no longer covered under her mother's plan because on her 18th birthday, her "mother" cancelled her. Therefore, I do carry her, because I am not a piece of shit. My husband's retirement health plan was expensive, so we put him on mine. If you have one dependent, it's the same as 20 on my plan. So, I added him. Therefore, we pay a King's Ransom in health insurance premiums every single month. It's criminal.
We are going to try and fix it, but let's face it...the options are severely limited.
I am in a craptastic mood as a result. This is all I have for now. I hate insurance companies.

Whoops..

2010-09-29T22:07:00.000-05:00

Hello. How's it going? I know, I know...I've been absent for awhile. I have no decent reason, other than being terribly lazy. Actually, my "real" job has started back up and my time for writing for myself has dwindled dramatically.

Let's see, what's new? How about some stats?
Number of rejections from literary magazines: 2
Number of rejections from agents/publishers: 2
Number of acceptance letters and requests for additional chapters: 1
Number of hours spent writing since the end of August: Less than 1
Number of nervous breakdowns since the end of August: 1
Number of temper tantrums since the end of August: too many to count

So. That catches us up pretty well. OOh! Wait! One more:
Number of children sent away to college and subsequently unable to contact her because of shooter on campus: 1

We did end up being able to contact our daughter, but not before me fleeing from work, my husband driving like his hair was on fire to try and get to the school, me picking up other two children from school so they wouldn't hear it from schoolmates, and other dramatic situations too numerous to mention. Thankfully, everyone is safe and sound and life has returned to normal. Or what we consider normal, anyhow.

To be perfectly honest, I have nothing much to say, but felt like I needed to get back to writing because all I've written is letters to student's parents lately. It's getting old. Fast. So, yeah. That's it.
Something slightly less than love,
Me

Busy, Busy, Busy

2010-09-10T19:34:00.001-05:00

I haven't posted lately, because I've been working pretty much 24/7 (which is a saying I detest, by the way.) When I'm not working, I'm sleeping, working at home, or being with my family.

I need to get to the freakin' spa for Botox STAT. I can tell you that much. My forehead is beginning to show lines. Me no likee. I wouldn't mind a partial face lift, either, although a tummy tuck would be even better at this point. I wish I could buy botox and do it myself. I'd be injecting the hell out of everything.

Our daughter has been away at college for 3 weeks, now. So far, so good. She came home for Labor Day weekend, but on Sunday morning, she was ready to go back. This is a good thing, although it's tough letting them go.

I'm falling asleep as I type, so this is over. Nothing more to see, move along, people.
Man, I want peach pie.

Soooory

2010-08-27T23:42:00.002-05:00

I haven't written lately because I'm a teacher, and this was the first week. MESS OF EPIC PROPORTIONS.
I gotta rest.

What the hell?

2010-08-17T20:45:00.000-05:00

Hello potential book characters for my book which will be wildly and hugely popular and will go down in history as being a brilliant work of art.
How are you all? Awesome. Good to hear.
Now, here is the dilemma: if one is fortunate enough to get what they want, but they aren't really sure it's the right choice, should they wait and continue to plug away and try to get what they want with the ...oh eff it. What I'm saying is, if I get offers on my book, how do I know who to sign with? I'm confused, excited at the mere fact that someone thinks people will buy books written by me, and terrified to make the wrong choice. So. There it is.
Also, should I even entertain the idea of traveling to Beijing? I love to travel, although I will admit Asia has not really ever interested me with the exception of India. Europe? I'm down. Let's go. Asia? Ehhhhh....not so sure. My son said, "What if they won't let you leave?" I replied, "I really don't think the Chinese government will hold a bunch of American writers hostage..." then I had a horrible thought. Would they like...change what I wrote? Can they do that? Oh Jesus...now we need a lawyer..because...contracts, money...us...not good. Do they do that in China? Will they censor me? I don't want to be censored. To me, censor=bad.

Random thought, feel free to comment, respond, whatever.....do you think Jeff Lewis on "Flipping Out" plumps his top lip? I mean, it's pretty freakin' plump, right? I've done that and it turned out NOTHING like his. In my friend's words, my top lip was "jacked up". It did WONDERS for my self esteem, let me tell you.
Also, along the lines of random thoughts....does anyone really say, "SHUT.THE.FRONT.DOOR" instead of "Shut the eff up" or "Shut the hell up" or simply, "Shut up"? I will throw out a "Shut your pork trap" or "Shut your face", or whatever, but "Shut.The.Front.Door" is a lot of words to convey the fact that you want someone to shut their pie hole. Also, why isn't it, "Shut.The.Back.Door"? Or, how about, "Shut.The.Side.Door", or "Shut.The.Garage.Door"? I've never heard anyone other than Rachel Zoe say the door thing. Plus, I have a niece, and her first name is spelled the same way Rachel Zoe's last name is spelled, and we don't pronounce it like the name "Joe". We pronounce it, "Zoe-eee". That is the correct way to pronounce it. Take note. Rachel, pronounce it correctly, please. It makes me nuts and crazy.
Why does Jeff Lewis wear low top Chuck Taylor's all the time? Is it a fashion statement on his part? Is it the practicality? What? He is very fascinating to me, obviously. I mean, I've mentioned his lips and shoes here. He is also sarcastic as hell and mean as hell, and I adore that. Why? Because I am the same way. I would also tell my housekeeper named "Zoila" that she should "broooosh" my cat everyday after his nap. I would insist she say "brooosh" and tell her I was assisting her with her English. That's pretty mean. However, hearing her tell him to shut his front door cracks my ass up. Only she doesn't say it that way because she probably KNOWS HOW TO PRONOUNCE ZOE.

Paris vu du Ciel

2010-08-15T15:09:00.000-05:00

Paris vu du Ciel

Paris

2010-08-15T14:01:00.000-05:00

My favorite place in the entire world is Paris. We took our children with us there a few years ago, and although they didn't appreciate it, I was like a drooling moron looking at everything. Everything fascinated me. The streets, the street signs, the shops, the buildings, the art, the different areas of Paris, the big "N" on all the bridges signifying Napoleon, it all captivated me. I hope to retire there when all of my children are either out of college or in graduate school. I've already looked into teaching there, and I would do it right now if I could.

If you've heard that the French are rude, I can honestly say that every single French person we met was beyond polite and helpful. One waiter sat down with us at our table and gave us a quick lesson in how to deal with waiters in Paris. Believe it or not, this is a very valuable lesson. He should charge. The people who worked the desk in our hotel (we always use local instead of chain hotels or we rent apartments when we travel.) was so helpful that she headed off a total meltdown by copying our passport photos for our Metro passes. The stupid photo booths in the metro tunnels DON'T WORK. The staff was always ready to recommend restaurants, and any other thing we needed. Somehow, we still managed to walk into a street riot and get tear gassed, but that's another story. It was an experience I remember every single day, and I cannot wait to go back. And believe me, I shall go back. WALLY. I will. Even if I must go alone, I shall go. I felt (as stupid and cheesy as this sounds), at HOME there.

If you get the opportunity to go to France, take it. I do speak French, so that helped a lot, but none of the rest of my family speaks a word of it. The learned the word "Pardon" because yes, that is just how polite the people were. That was the most often uttered word we heard on the Metro and everywhere else. Plus, where else can you go and watch a very bizarre impromptu puppet show on a subway car? Seriously, the two dudes had clothesline to string across the car, a sheet to hand on the clothesline, puppets, and music. They put on a show. The only people who seemed to watch was my family. We were amazed, enthralled and cracked up .
If you wish to communicate with the locals, try and brush up on some rudimentary French phrases. Learn how to say, "How much is this?" and "Can you please tell me where the rest room is?" Learn how to order off a French menu...learn the names of French food. Learn how to take directions in French. It's not difficult, I promise. If you want to practice, go to the BBC language school website. It's a fabulous resource for usable phrases and words. If you took the usual French in high school in the US, go to that site and brush up. It's worth it.
Advice: Do NOT under any circumstances yell in German at people in Paris. They don't like it. Neither do I, but then I wasn't occupied by the Nazis. My husband speaks no French, but can bark out military orders in German having been stationed in Germany when he was in the US Army. (He is American, amazingly enough). When I got fed up with him telling me I was wrong, I refused to translate, and he would bust out his loud guttural German and it didn't work too well. No matter WHAT he claims, it was not met with cooperation.
Actually, anywhere you travel, make an effort to learn at least SOME of the local language. I have found that America is one of the only countries in the world where being multi-lingual isn't the norm. It should be. Many people in France speak some English, or are fluent. However, if you are in their home, you should at least attempt to speak their language. The same goes for any Spanish speaking country, Italy, Germany...anywhere. Not everyone in the world speaks English, and speaking it LOUDLY and SLOOOOWLY doesn't help. Anyhow, I will list some sites I love about France because I'm selfish, and because I beleive everyone loves what I love, which is a trait common on self-absorbed people.

Avoir un merveilleux week-end , tout le monde !

OH! I almost forgot!

2010-08-14T19:24:00.000-05:00

I'm reading "Eat, Pray, Love" right now, and am wondering how the movie is. I love the book so far and want to emulate that woman. Well, the going to Italy, India and Bali part. Not the freak out and divorce and loss of everything. I've done that already. Let me know how it is.

I can highly recommend "The Other Guys" I thought I'd die laughing. I needed a diaper. I can also recommend "Dinner for Schmucks". Again, a diaper experience.

2010-08-14T19:10:00.002-05:00

So, F Bomb Friday. I've had a few. I'm sure I'll have more. Mine yesterday was the fact that it was my first day back at work. I'm not sure about y'all, but I hate being confined in spaces for long lengths of time, and I hate sitting still for any length of time. I'm used to moving around. I'm not a marathon runner like several of my friends, but I don't sit around, usually. Anyhow, I had to do just that yesterday. I have spoken in the past of my red hot hatred of musical theater or movies. Well, yesterday, because I do have someone who is my "boss", I sometimes I have to do what I don't want to do. Such as be a captive audience and listen or watch whatever craptastic show this person likes. And this person LOVES freakin' musical crap. So, we had to watch some scenes from Disney's newest movie. The one about the Princess and the frog or something. We were supposed to take away a profound message. All I got from the clip was that it was sad that the child only wished to make a good pot of gumbo. Dare to dream, sweetcheeks.

I also had put a crapload of work into my classroom, and had my boss come at the end of the day and tell me that quotes from "Alice in Wonderland" were "highly inappropriate" for school. Wha? Huh? WTF? Really? For real? Seriously? Needless to say, I muttered the f-bomb repeatedly under my breath as I was forced to take down a quote. It wasn't profane for the love of God. It was just a quote from the stupid Cheshire Cat. Deal.

As a person with a horribly foul mouth, I work very hard daily to not allow bad words to come out of my mouth at work. I can't allow it to happen. I work with kids. However, yesterday? Yesterday there were no kids in the building. I let the bombs drop. A lot. I have been dropping them ever since.

Now, another f-bomb. No tanning salons in this area have the aromatherapy beds? Why? Everyone freakin' tans. No Aromatherapy and cooling mist? That is bullcrap. Secondly, my eyes are allergic to EVERYTHING. I can't get eyelash extensions because I'm horribly allergic to the glue. I have really long eyelashes naturally, but they are blonde. They aren't as thick as I want, either. I'm sure that Latisse stuff would permanently blind me. However, I am a Botox devotee. If everyone in the world quit Botox, I'd still keep them in business. I like Juvederm, as well. Well, I like them when it doesn't "jack up" my lips, anyhow. Now, here I sit, watching reruns of The Jersey Shore, with my butt cheeks falling asleep. As for The Jersey Shore? Shut up. It's one of those mysteriously awesome things. You need to embrace it if you haven't done so yet.

I saw my chiropractor yesterday, and he cracked me all over the place. My neck got 4 goes...twice facing down, and twice facing up. My back got all sorts of cracks. And even my shoulders got it. He was FABULOUS. I adore my chiropractor. Considering my discs were almost gone and my vertebrae were fusing together, they have really saved me. Pain is almost totally gone and that is enough for me. No more foot long needles in my spine to inject something to slap a bandaid on the pain. Now, we are targeting the actual problem.

My work? I cried for about an hour this morning. I don't cry very easily and very infrequently. I cried. We don't even have students yet. It's going to be a long year, I'm afraid.

I have no clue

2010-08-13T20:40:00.001-05:00

This thing is all effed up. I'll try to fix it this weekend. Now....ice on the shoulder.

Thank the Baby Jesus or whoever

2010-08-11T12:51:00.002-05:00

I have a hair appointment today. It's been literally MONTHS since I was able to match up schedules with the girl who does my hair. She is a keratin genius. She is unfathomably brilliant with hair. I adore her. Except, so do a lot of other people, which pisses me off.

So, I go back to work in a couple of days, and boy am I excited! (that was sarcasm you detected...you were correct.) I dread it. I need a pedicure, a manicure, it's almost time for a Botox booster and a Juvederm re-do. But last time, on the Juvederm, they screwed up my top lip. I wasn't really aware of this, until a good friend of mine who works for a major high end cosmetic company said to me, "What's up with your lips? They're all jacked up." Ohhh, my good dear friend, Wendy. I will not buy your product for...maybe two weeks because of that insult. Jacked up. My lips. Great.

My Mom adopted that saying because she is anti beauty. She hates that I get Botox and all that. I say Botox saves.

My brother even sneaked it in during Father's day brunch. He was blah blahing about some cop thing and he said, "Plus, you have jacked up lips." Wait. Whah? I don't listen to him with both ears, usually. I just nod and pretend to listen while flipping him off while our parents aren't looking. I also mouth the words "fuck you" to him on a regular basis across the table. I was so busy plotting my next torture that I almost let the "jacked up" comment slide. But if I get ready to say something about his appearance, my Mom asks to speak to me to tell me he is very vain and concerned about his appearance. Bullshit! I'm 44 and female! I have a child going off to college this year, and one next year, and God willing, another in 4 years! I can't even donate my eggs because they are too old! And you are telling me to go easy on my BROTHER WHO IS FOUR YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME? Eff that.

I said something along the lines of "you couldn't find your ass with a map, it's so flat..." and that pretty much shut down the family fun for the day. I don't care. I hate family fun with my family. I'd rather have it with someone else's family. Someone like, oh I don't know...nobody. I'd rather be alone.

I like reading, sleeping, writing...all solitary activities. No team sports for me. No scrapbooking with "the gals" for me. I don't join bookclubs and read particular books and discuss them with people, because I'm sure to disagree with them and think they are morons, and more than likely I'll tell them that, too. Friends? I've had a few. But then again, too few to mention. To be my friend, you have to have a thick skin, and not really care if you see me on a regular basis. You have to have the same sense of humor I do, and think the things I like are awesome and the things I hate are sucky.

And to think, I've been married three times. Wait. Heeeeyyyyyy...could that be the reason? Nahhhhh....

Hint:

2010-08-10T21:51:00.001-05:00

I don't know what is going on with the opening page of this thing. Maybe it's just me. It keeps opening to a post from 2008. To see more recent posts, go to the sidebar >
and click on 2010.

Hell Freezes Over

2010-08-06T15:57:00.006-05:00

It's not just the name of an Eagles album...it's what happened sometime between yesterday and about an hour ago. I can now, (THANK YOU DIETIES) get into my classroom to get it ready for the schoolyear. I am not going tonight, much to Sanford's dismay. I will wait until tomorrow or Sunday, although I have to take my niece and daughter both shopping...what the hell....I swear nothing ever happens in the right order.

So, we went and saw my favorite comedienne, Kathy Griffin last night in Austin. I drove. I drive a very large SUV, Sanford drives a much small vehicle. And yet, it must be me who drives and it must be my car. Why? Isn't it obvious? I lived there for almost 10 years almost 16 years ago. Come ON! Keep up! You KNOW nothing has changed in that city since I lived there. Despite the continual construction all over the place, it's all the same. Wait. Except the building where the show was. That wasn't there when I lived there. It was like a huge rodeo coliseum on the banks of the river and as I recall we had to register for classes there in the heat of the late summer and we all thought we'd die of heat stroke. Now it's a fancy pants "performing arts center". I should know this, but I didn't. Here is how it went: We get into car. We start driving. I get to the interstate which is like I don't know, about 30 miles from us...and it was like drugs..as soon as I hit the interstate, I got horribly sleepy. I was shaking my head like a horse does just to wake myself up. Next to me, over in the co-pilot seat, was Sanford...blissfully unaware of my predicament...whistling tunelessly to some nonsene Ice cream truck music in his head. So, I turn on the radio. Loud. We weren't talking anyhow...if you take your eyes off those maniacs on I-35, you're dead. So, I have the radio on trying to wake myself up, and he reaches over and turns it down. You know what that is right there? That is like throwing a gauntlet down. When you turn on the radio in a vehicle and then the other person without a word reaches over and somehow fiddles with it...that is a challenge. So. I reach over and crank it back up. I can see out of the corner of my eye that Sanford was getting annoyed. He kept blowing his nose and clearing his throat REALLY loudly. He was making some gross sounds with his mouth, so I turned it up LOUDER. He hollers, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING????" and I said, "WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU." hehe. He got all flustered and went to reach for the knob to the radio and I slapped his hand. GASP! Yes, I physically slapped his hand. Much like I did my children when they were little. No, no! Don't touch! So, he is looking at me with unadulterated indignance and I decide to take pity on his sad little insane heart. I reach over and turned it down enough so that I could say, "I AM FALLING ASLEEP HERE! WHY ARE YOU BEING A DICK?" and he actually laughed. He laughed. I call him a "dick" and he laughed. Assclown. So, I yell again, "Hey, Dickhead! I'm starving and I'm falling asleep..." and he calmly says, "Why don't you exit and we'll get something and you can wake up?" Whatever. So, we exit and I pulled into a McDonald's which is why my stomach is like Mount Vesuvius today. A few minutes later, we're back on the road and he is happily chomping on a cheeseburger or something. I said, "I want you to watch very carefully how I skillfully guide this large vehicle to the PERFORMING ARTS CENTER. He munched, "mmm..k....chomp chomp, smack smack." I reached into the bag and hand his ass a damned napkin. A few minutes later, we enter Austin proper, and I said, Okay, turn on the stupid assed GPS. So it's on, and it tells us what I already knew...exit at 8th street, turn right on 6th, turn left on Capitol, turn right on Riverside, turn into the stupid assed parking garage. Boom. We're there. Done and done. To get home, reverse the order of operations. I drove home, too. We live in a DIFFERENT CITY than Austin. It's several cities away. Our daughter will be living in Austin in two weeks for school, and he STILL acts like it is a foreign place like Mombasa or something. Do we need to exchange our currency? Do we have the right voltage converters? Do you speak the language, because I don't! Oh my god! What will we do!
We do what we did on our trips overseas. I speak the language to the natives, he follows and grumbles. I make sure we get where we need to go (I can get you anywhere in Paris or London on the Tube or Metro in record time and with the fewest possible changes of trains...try me...unless there are bomb threats like there always seemed to be in London, then all bets are off. Who knows what train you'll take? Somehow, you'll end up where you want to be...)
Hey, that reminds me..you know what we need more of around here? Buskers. Yeah. Buskers. You heard me. I like a good Busker. I will give one my spare change even. Even if they aren't in the designated Busker circles painted on the ground of the London Tube system. I will STILL give them some money. In Paris, it might take a little more, like say....an impromptu puppet show on the train..(which totally happened to us, and I'm not lying.) We have a huge deficit in the Busker department here. On the good side, I've never watched hydraulic doors slam shut in my face as two of my three children plaster themselves against said doors and you can see their panic stricken faces and their mouths are in a huge O as they scream because guess what? They got on the train and we got joslted and now we are separated from two of our children in a very large city in Europe where my children don't speak the language (this was in Paris.) We got them at the next stop. They waited. Smart kids.

Oh well, that is enough random crap for now.

Vanity

2010-08-05T15:51:00.003-05:00

Hello to the one person who might be reading this. So glad you could stop by! I'm glad I'm not just typing for no reason.

So, my arm and shoulder are still pretty sore and painful, and I bought this wondrous invention called the TheraCane at my chiropractor. It is awesome. I feel effervescent when I use it. Well, that's not true. At all. It just feels good.

Speaking of effervescent, I had Dom Perignon one time. Only one time. It was quite effervescent but to my (then) untrained palate, tasted like a 3 dollar bottle of Asti Spumanti. It may have even been more effervescent. You know what I DON'T like? Non-effervescent champagne.

I have to go becaue the IKEA catalog just got here, and I'm giddy with excitement over it. Oh, and I have to go to see Kathy Griffin. Can't wait!

The School Year Will Simply Have to be Postponed

2010-08-04T23:18:00.003-05:00

Here's the deal: the school district, in it's infinite wisdom has decided to rip apart our school and replace some crap. I don't even know what. However, we cannot get into our classrooms and school starts in a few weeks. I don't know about other teachers, but I take a bit of time to get my room the way I want it. Plus, I have a theme, and I have all this junk laying around here waiting to take up to school, AKA: the demolition zone.

People say: "Don't worry, we'll get it done...." Oh REEEEEALLY? How exactly? We aren't allowed in our classrooms! My telepathic or transporting or whatever you call it abilities are not up to snuff at the moment.

And this all reminds me that 1. I freakin' LOVE summer since I became a teacher, and 2. I freakin' LOVE summer. Hot? Bring it. We're in Texas, so it's hot all the time, anyhow. Humid? Fine with me. It's either here or visiting relatives in Florida. Teeny bit humid there.

Which reminds me: I need to travel again. Badly. And I NEED a Birkin! I really am beginning to think this is a necessity. Which proves I'm not in my right mind. Google Hermes Birkin and see whatcha get. Yeah. I know. Insane.

Sanford has been on my case continually about the stupid cell phones. He can't operate anything that was made after the year 1345, so he cannot operate his. He never has been able to. He needs a sundial to strap around his wrist. He thinks answering machines will steal his soul. He finds things like washing new sheets and clothes and towels before they are used to be "weird". He has sideburns like it's still 1973(which it is, in his head). He can't give directions worth a damn. "Proceed approximately 469 yards east to the 200 block of Crazy Street. Turn west at the T intersection of Crazy and Lunatic Avenue. The mall is in the 600 block on the Northsouth side of the roadway." Seriously. Give me a landmark: say something like "It's behind the Jason's Deli" or something like that. Dont' give me block numbers and cardinal directions for the love of Pete. I have a GPS for that, and that damned thing tried to make us turn on the bridge that goes over the Potomac River in D.C. "Turn right...ding ding!" Well, if we had it would have been an epic mistake. Believe me. He was getting on my case about being irresponsible with money so I just wrote the word "EXPENSIVE" on a piece of paper in red crayon and gave it to him and told him to just hold it up in front of his face so I could see the word everytime he saw me. It will save him a lot of talking. It will have as much effect, too. Nutjob.

But, I'm going to see Kathy Griffin tomorrow night! Yay! Open bar after party! Woot! Sanford is my Designated Driver! This means we'll never make it home alive. The show is in Austin and we live about an hour away. We are doomed to circle the Capital of Texas for weeks or until the car runs out of gas because he won't be able to find the freeway. If this happens, send out a search party.

We'll be in the 400 block of Homicide Highway. It T intersects Crazedexcop Road.

Beach Reads

2010-08-04T13:44:00.005-05:00

One of my favorite Twitter people has just put up their Beach Reads list. It's great...and summer is winding down! Find out what you should read while smelling the ocean and listening to the seagulls steal your Fritos!

http://www.flashlightworthybooks.com/category/Best-Beach-Reads/126?fromhome=1

So Here's the Thing:

2010-08-03T21:27:00.003-05:00

My shoulder is slowly killing me. However, I have to get 5 chapters ready to send to an agent. Blessing? YES! Scary as hell? YES!

A couple of things I love:

Kathy Griffin
Ghosthunters
Writing
80s New Wave music
Ice cream
Family
Florida Gators
Spas and all they entail unless it entails me getting slathered with something disgusting and laying on a table and getting showered on a morgue like table. Do my fingernails or toenails or hair or a massage or facial? I'm down. Otherwise, not so much.

A Couple of things I do not love:

Rachel Zoe and her like, project I die.
Lying
Not being able to have an Hermes Birkin right this very minute. I don't think I could talk Wally into $60,000.00 for a purse
Seeing a guy's manly bits while waiting for a massage in the "quiet" room at a spa. ATTENTION DUDES: If you are naked under a robe that opens in the front, please don't sit down and let your legs splay apart like you usually do. You don't have to sit all fancy pants, but PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T SHOW EVERYONE YOUR CASH AND PRIZES!

Okay. Finished for now.

I Take No Pride In This

2010-08-02T20:56:00.003-05:00

but it's the truth. I am addicted to the "Real Housewives of New Jersey". I do not want detox, either. I love it. My husband is now addicted, as well. I am so wrapped up in the lives of those women I talk about them all the time. I feel the same about Bethenny from the New York version.

I must say the DC version is looking interesting. There is some girl who claims to have grown up with the Kennedys, some vague European woman who is called a "bitch" on the commercial, but seriously, she was rude saying Americans have no manners. Of course, the kid who responded by calling her a bitch sorta proved her point for her.

Now, it's almost time for me to return to work. How will I do without my daylong marathons? I must now go, because it's time to watch Danielle and Kim G. get in a fight!

Beginning of Success?

2010-07-31T20:04:00.003-05:00

I forgot to tell in my last post:

I have had a response from two agencies for my writing. I am researching them to see which I like. Plus, I have several others I'm waiting on. Two in one week, a few days after submitting, not too bad.

Now, I'm also working on essays for some literary magazines.

Can't Think of a Catchy Title For This One

2010-07-31T19:31:00.002-05:00

Okay, so I have had horrible back and neck problems for a few years. I was told it was progressive and not really treatable because of the proximity of the problem to my spinal cord. Pretty much it's agony. I get a spinal block every couple of months, and that is just slapping a band aid on it, and it eventually becomes ineffective. Well, it became ineffective. Out of desperation, I made an appointment with a chiropractor. My Mom always told me they were "quacks" and couldn't do anything. Well, that's a load of crap. (Sorry, Mom.)

They xrayed the hell out of me and did nothing much else the first visit except have me do things the neurologist had me do a million times. (by the way, the x ray machine has something called a "gonad" cover. Tee hee...) I went in to my follow up appointment, and I had an "adjustment", it felt good. I got put on a machine that pulled on my skull, it felt FABULOUS, and I had electrical impulses on my back muscles and shouler muscles. Felt like nothing. I do have to tell you though, my pain is almost entirely GONE after ONE visit. I will be going 3 times a week, and I am looking forward to every single visit. There is my glowing testimonial. It works. That's all I know.

Okay, the weird thing about my first visit: the staff was very nice, very solicitous and professional. After I saw the chiropractor, one of the staff had to xray me. She also had to have me walk with my eyes shut(fell over almost..how embarrassing), I had to close my eyes and march in place with my arms stretched out in front of me. Terribly humiliating. Try doing that in flip flops sometime. I don't care who you are. But then, when it came time to xray me, the lady got all strange. She was telling me what to take off and what to leave on. I'm pretty modest about you know running around naked, but in a doctor's office or massage place, I sorta expect I'm going to have to get naked or partially naked, right? The girl was telling me to remove all clothing from the waist down. I said, "Okay." She said, "You can leave on your shirt and bra." I said, "Okay." She said, "You have to take off your bra, though. You can leave on your shirt." I said, "Wait, what? Leave on or take off the bra?" she said, "Yes." Uhhhh...Okay. I tried again. "So, I basically need to undress completely?" She said, "Well, it depends on what you are comfortable with." I said, "I'm good with whatever...just tell me what I need to do..." She said, "Here you have to put these on.." and she handed me a pair of like athletic stretchy shorts. I said, "so, put these on?" She said, "Yes. If you're comfortable with that." I said, "I'm comfortable with whatever is needed, just tell me." She said, "Okay, take off everything but put these shorts on." I said, "So, naked except for these shorts and my flip flops? I don't really care, but that will look stupid." I said, "Tell ya what, I'll just figure it out and be in there in a minute." She said, "Okay." and left. I took off the bra because of the hooks, I figured the metal was bad in an xray, I don't know. I took off everything from the waist down and put on those horrid shorts, and now that I'm thinking about it....who else's privates have been in those shorts without the benefit of underwear? Jesus! Oh God! Now I'm really scared. What if I get some disease or critter??? I need to talk to them on Monday. Dammit. Shit. Deep breath...okay.

So, my xrays were great. I evidently stripped to the precise degree and now probably have a zoo in my crotch. DAMMIT!

Summary: Horrible back pain that was on it's way to having my vertebrae fusing together...almost entirely gone. Drugs used: none. Needles used: none. Massage and trigger points massaged and triggered, many. Blissful. Skulls put in a machine and pulled up and away from the spine: one. chiropractors work. I couldn't be upright for more than a few minutes before that visit. I skipped my spinal block shot yesterday. I don't have to lay flat on my back with a heating pad now. I do have to take it easy until everything is finished healing, though. Today, the left side (the side I have almost all my problems on) of my face was sore. Like I'd been punched. Weird. Very strange. I speculated that the chiropractor moved bones or something. It's sore like it's healing or something. From right above my left eye, down my left temple, and under the left eye. I've heard that the skull bones can be manipulated because they are fused together not terribly tightly, to allow for movement...I don't know how true that it, but I find it interesting. If you know, let me know.

Currently Reading: Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert
Some Girls: My Life in a Harem by Jillian Lauren
Marie Antoinette: The Journey by Antonia Fraser
Secrets of the Zohar by Michael Berg

Ow

2010-07-27T12:24:00.002-05:00

PEOPLE! Seriously!!! How am supposed to get an ESSAY from 1370 words to at LEAST 2000 words without saying crap that shouldn't be there? Ugh! I'm not going to marvel at a sunset or the beach or some crap because it doesn't belong in the essay!!!! I have already messed with it so much I want to barf. And I am the ultimate "REWRITER", too. I will edit and cut and add and redo and change words, and make sure everything is PERFECT, but I will NOT add shit for the sake of adding words for a word count!

Well, not today. Maybe tomorrow. But crap, come on, people!

What I'm obsessed with now:

Real Housewives of New Jersey
Bethenny Frankel
Jen Lancaster's books
Sloane Crosley's books
Getting pain relief for my stupid neck and shoulder
Missing my boys
Texting with my boys
dreading the beginning of the new school year...I'll miss my down time
pain relief

Langston Hughes was the shit.

2010-07-22T21:59:00.001-05:00

Let America Be America Again
by Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!

IKEA

2010-07-12T20:44:00.002-05:00

Wow, how many hours can one person stay in IKEA? Seriously? Since when do I need so much CRAP? We did get some stuff for Kira's dorm, and we picked out Tyler's furniture, but will wait for him to get back to buy it, plus we need to paint his cave. But, Wally totally focused on buying MORE stuff for Kira's dorm. Okay, we have only so much space in a dorm room. He wants it all to match, and we have bought all nice things, and with the exception of the small fridge and flat screen tv she is getting, she is ready. He kept bringing throw pillows and shit. She kept "putting them down BY ACCIDENT" and losing them. I got a wine rack. The two of them didn't realize a "duvet" cover required a "duvet" to go inside of it. I could drop a huge fortune in there, but then we saw a new Spec's Wine and Spirits. Guess what? They carry my favorite wine! Grape Creek Vineyards!!! Cabernet Blanc!!! They were out. Bitches. I bought other stuff. I was out of Kahlua and I got some Bailey's and butterscotch schnapps and perused their selection of stuff I've never heard of. I never knew they made so many different flavored vodkas, and other stuff. And please? TEQUILA CREME???? GAG.

Shrink is as usual amused with my life, and I am on a crapload of medicine, as usual so that I don't do illegal or immoral things. Ugh. Later, taters.

Hey

2010-07-11T23:35:00.001-05:00

I am going to be adding tons more to this. I have literally hundreds of entries that I'm working on editing and moving over. One, Wally and I just laughed ourselves sick over. Stay tuned!

September 2, 2007

2010-07-10T14:37:00.002-05:00

September 02, 2007
ETA: After writing this, I purchased probably over 100 of the oil companies products. They are to die for. Not even kidding here.

So, like I've said, I'm a makeup whore. I love junk you buy for your skin and makeup and stuff. Anyhow, I come across a lot of bizarre stuff as a result of my perusal of sites that are makeup/skincare related. I found one today that I really am quite puzzled by. I am not sure if I'm amazed that anyone really swallows this line of bullshit, or if I'm bowled over by intense admiration that anyone would have the cojones to actually attempt and be successful at selling this load of crap. I'm in a quandry, if you will.

However, people ARE buying this crap, and they are paying a pretty penny for it. Not as much as they are paying for La Mer, but still....a...pretty...penny. It's a place that mixes up scents. And bottles them. And gives them spooky gothic names and then gives them the most RIDICULOUS descriptions you've ever seen in your life and sells them to.....to....who? I don't know. I guess kids who are into the Goth scene and who have a lot of extra cash and who want to smell like:

(From the website):

"SHADWELL
Shadwell had turned out to be about five feet high and wore clothes which, no matter what they actually were, always turned up in your short-term memory as an old mackintosh. The old man may have all his own teeth, but only because no-one else could possibly have wanted them; just one of them, placed under the pillow, would have made the Tooth Fairy hand in its wand.

He appeared to live entirely on sweet tea, condensed milk, hand-rolled cigarettes, and a sort of sullen internal energy. Shadwell had a Cause, while he followed with the full resources of his soul and his Pensioner's Concessionary Travel Pass. He believed in it. It powered him like a turbine.

Roll-ups, mildewed raincoat, sweet tea, and condensed milk. "

So....if you wear this particular scent, you smell like handrolled cigarettes, a mildewed raincoat, sweet tea and condensed milk. Isn't that appealing?

Now...I love perfume...GOOD perfume. Actually, the only perfume I've been able to wear and not get a migraine is Hermes Rouge and Hermes Terre (which is a men's scent, but I still wear it because I don't care and it's to die for and you just want to eat it.)
And PEOPLE...SPRAY AND WALK AWAY. Easy. Spritz a tiny bit into the air, walk through the spritz and you are DONE. Don't spray yourself. For the love of God, don't do that to the rest of the people you'll come into contact with for the rest of the day. I guarantee you, you'll cause several to get blinding migraines if you do.

I can also use 100% natural essential oil, neat. But really only Lavender. My sniffer is so sensitive I can smell people come in a movie theater and tell you what fragrance they are wearing and where they are sitting and I'll have to leave to vomit. No lie. And cleaning products are almost worse. If anyone comes within a 5 mile radius of me wearing any Christian Dior Poison incarnation I pass out, and I'm convinced Giorgio is a Satanic plot. Plus, if you like the Poison crap, buy that Glade Potpourri air freshener. It's the same freakin' thing and loads cheaper. Spray the crap out of yourself with it. Live it up.

The only men's fragrance I can stomach (besides the obvious Hermes Terre) is Grey Flannel. It's driven me to lick men's necks. It's irresistible. I also have my own bottle of that. I am convinced it's an aphrodisiac. I think it's the only thing I've ever encountered that is an ACTUAL aphrodisiac, except for Mexican beer in Mexico and then you just have WAY too much and end up either asleep or throwing up or with a migraine. So...yeah. I have no idea how this has turned into a window into my sexual proclivities. I had no idea I HAD any sexual proclivities. But ANYhow...back to that crazy-assed perfume site...

It is huge..it has tons of blends of oils. Some sound interesting, and they have obviously worked quite hard...but who the HELL would want this????

"ROADHOUSE
Truck stop sleaze. Weedy dandelion and hops with a whiff of tobacco and hemp and a swirl of booziness.
.purchase 5ml.
.view cart / check out."

Oh, yes...please! I want to smell like a "truck stop sleaze"! Like Dandelions and beer and tobacco and pot and booze. AWESOME! I am going to get some of that for my daughter. That is what I'm going to do.

Anyhow, here is the website if you wanna check it out for yourself. Some of the stuff...like "Rose Cross" sounds good...but most of it....I dunno.

http://www.blackphoenixalchemylab.com/welcome.html
Currently listening:
The Best Of The Doors
By The Doors
Release date: 08 August, 2006

August 26, 2007

2010-07-10T14:35:00.000-05:00

August 26, 2007

Otters

Okay, so awhile back I said "Remind me to tell you about Sanford and the Otters...". But of course since nobody reads this, and it's basically my private diary of obsessive/compulsive thoughts and stream of concisousness....nobody reminded me.

But here is the Sanford/Otter story. We were in a family group therapy session for one of our kids. (separation issues) and the therapist was asking us to all pick a mammal we would be other than a human if we could be any other mammal. Well, I picked an Otter. I love Otters. It just flew out of my mouth before I really had a chance to think, really. But sometimes I think that gives the most honest answer. She asked why....why an Otter? And I said because they are relaxed and playful and seem to just do nothing but swim around and float on their back and eat shellfish. Seems like a good life to me. No responsibilities....nobody expects much of them...nobody yelling at them...just water and food and sleep and play. And they are cute! So....later on...Sanford asked me about it...and I was telling him how much I liked Otters. (I sound totally mentally defiicient right now, I know...but suck it.) And then it occurred to me....Otters live in cold water, yes? Well...that fucks that all up. I do not like to be cold. I LOVE the ocean. The beach...the water. The sand, the sun...but I'm not a cold person. I'm a beach person, but not a cold wet person. Couldn't handle that. It made me uncomfortable and agitated just THINKING about living in cold river water and hanging out on cold wet rocks and getting frozen fish to eat and shit. So, I said, "Well...then an otter that lives in the ocean..."

And then it happened. Sanford did what he does...he began spouting forth FACTS about Otters. I mean..weird assed little known facts about them that most people would never know unless they were ...you know....OTTER KEEPERS at an Aquarium or Zoo or something.

Me: Wait...Otters live where it's cold...huh? Oh...no...I don't like that....

Sanford...Well, actually Otters have a protective layer of fur and blubber much like a whale and therefore...blah blah blah blah blah blah blah ...

Me: What?

Sanford: Well, otters are a mammal that blah blah blah blah blah .....

Me: stunned silence.

Sanford: Still blah blah blahing about otters.

Me: Where did you learn all this stuff about Otters for christ's sake?

Sanford: Huh? Oh, I suppose I saw it on a nature program or read it... and as I was saying, their diets are rich in ..blah blah blahblahblah predatoryblahblabblahblabhlbahblabhalbhablahlalllAAAARRGGHGHGHGHGHGHGH!!!!!!!!

WTF? You can name ANY subject....with the exception of popular culture and he will just sit and babble on and on about it.

Me: Do you think Jesus ever had an Otter?

Sanford: What? Jesus? Otters?
Me: Yeah. You know everything about Jesus. And evidently EVERYTHING about fucking Otters, too....did he like Otters?
Sanford: What are you talking about? Otters aren't in the Middle East....
Me: Prove it.
Sanford: What?
Me: Maybe Buddha liked Otters. What about that? Did he?
Sanford: Huh?
Me: Joseph Smith? He might have married one.
Sanford:.......
Me: Mohammed? What were his views on Otters?
Sanford: I don't..
Me: Shut up. You need a hobby or a job. I forbid you to be retired anymore.

I will have you know that RIGHT NOW he is on YouTube watching Mormon crap!

August 21, 2007

2010-07-10T14:34:00.000-05:00

August 21, 2007

Ooohhh La La!

So, I like fashion and makeup and skin care and SHOES and BAGS and SHOES and MAKEUP and BAGS and SHOES and stuff, right? But I don't consider myself to be someone capable of giving anyone a makeover or anything. I think I have good taste and that I'm capable of cleaning myself up to a degree that I can be taken out occasionally. I've been told that I have (AND I FREAKIN' QUOTE) "Exquisite" taste, and also that I am (and if you know me at ALL you'll pee yourself laughing at this one...) I am "elegant". *snort* So. Basically, I KNOW what I'm supposed to do, and what is what..but I also couldn't care less most of the time. Right? Ok.

For instance...today's high fashion ensemble consisted of...lemme think..OH YEAH...we had a day where we could be crappy dressed because we were working in our rooms...so I wore pink Chuck Taylors that are pretty flippin' old, denim capri jeans, a black top that was once a Japanese kimono so it has these awesome crazy sleeves you could hide a family of 12 in, and oh...my socks were "way too obvious and thick" according to my daughter. Basically...that's me. And my boss told me never to wear that shirt to work for real because it falls off my shoulder....you know...a la' "Flashdance". It doesn't fall off on purpose....but I wear one of those bandeau bras or no bra because..hey...I can. Evidently people thought it was a "look". No...it was available and clean and they were taking our pictures today but only from the shoulders up. Face and hair were presentable. Or as good as they get, anyhow.

What this is leading up to is this: I don't give a rip about fashion unless it's something in particular I fixate on......like BAGS or SHOES..or SHAWLS AND SCARVES. When it comes to men's clothing...hell....put it on Josh Bernstein or Clive Owen and that'll do.
HOWEVER....whilst(very English, no?) in England, my daughter and I noticed a fashion trend amongst European males. Please GOD...do not let it catch on in the US.

PLEASE. GOD. DO. NOT. LET. AMERICAN. MALES. START. WEARING. TIGHT.CAPRI. PANTS.

There. I said it. I don't care what anyone thinks. A dude wearing capri pants at ALL is creepy. Bermuda shorts....worn CORRECTLY...totally hot. CAPRI PANTS...VERY ICK. People, the dudes in Europe were wearing the HELL out of Capri pants. And it's not pretty. Or handsome. Or fetching. Or anything good or appealing. Here's why:

1. It shows your spindly, hairy legs. Not good.
2. It shows your spindly hairLESS legs. You are a dude. You should have hairy legs.
3. It shows your package. Please. Ugh. Just......please.
4. Refer to 3.
5. You.Are.A.Male. No Capri Pants for you. Wear shorts or real pants. Trousers...whatever you call them where you live. Capri pants are above your ankle, and form fitting...they aren't cargo shorts...you can't carry your ...well your anything in your Capri pants. Hell...WEAR JEANS, PLEASE. Jesus, Mary and Joseph Schwartz on a Pogo stick, people!

Yes, I know where Capri is. I don't care what the effin' pants are named after. On men, they are "Fugly" pants.

Goodnight.

And OHMYGOD, don't get me started on SPEEDOS!!!!!! WEAR SWIM TRUNKS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! Also, if you look like you have a black bathmat on your back.......wear a tshirt whilst enjoying the pleasures of the beach or pool. Be considerate of your fellow HUMAN BEINGS!

ok. i'm finished. for now.

August 12, 2007

2010-07-10T14:33:00.001-05:00

August 12, 2007

So. They are back. Evidently, the memo has expired. The Mormons have come back to my house. Now, no offense to Mormons, but I don't want ANYONE coming to my home to sell me anything, including religion. For a long time, the Mormons left us alone. See, wayyyyy back in the day, before I knew Sanford...he attended the Mormon...church...whatever because he was dating some Mormon chick. Anyhow, once they have your name....that's it. Once we married, they kept coming to the door. Well, they didn't know Sanford had married a bonafide Jewess. So, at first I was nice. (ish). I'd tell them we weren't interested. Go away. Please leave. See the "No soliciting" sign? That means you, pink cheeks. Finally, one day...when my youngest child was about 4....they showed up. I answered the door...two very young men were standing there in their short sleeved white shirts, holding their bike helmets. I'm sure I rolled my eyes. I opened the door and one said, "Good morning! Is________home?" and I said, "Nope. And I'm a Jew." As I got ready to shut the door, one of them said, "Well, is there anything we can do for you today?" and so I said, "Sure. You could mow the lawn or vacuum...how's that sound?"
I was met with blank stares. They actually said, "No, that's okay....bye." and left. Yay!

But they returned. Sanford was home. I was not. The thing about Sanford is...he'll invite ANYBODY in. Seriously. He doesn't care what time it is...what state of undress anyone is in....come one, come ALL!!!! And he wants to talk about JESUS! Not because he's a Christian, but because he is curious. He is one of those people who is searching...he would probably be happiest digging around in ancient tombs somewhere. He loves to debate...he loves to discuss and argue.....Faith is not something he is prepared to accept. He wants PROOF. And if you say you believe something, he wants you to really get into it and discuss it with him, and believe me...he has discussed it with some of the most respected minds from almost all religions in the world.....he THRIVES on it. However, most people don't go for that, you know? Don't go tell a sweet old Catholic man that Jesus and Mary Magdalene were married....he doesn't wanna think about that...he doesn't wanna hear any of your so-called proof....just leave him alone!
So...anyhow....Sanford LOVES that shit......and one time, the Mormons came when I wasn't here. And Sanford brought them into the house and put them through their paces. He knows EVERYTHING about Joseph Smith and all that jazz. When I got home, he was in our backyard with them. I walked into the kitchen, and I was on my cell phone talking to my Mom, and I gasped..."Huuuuhhhhhh! There are Mormons in my backyard, Mom! What do I do?" and she said, "Call the POLICE!" and then I saw Sanford talking to them. So, I knew they were invited. He was showing them the Maypole and the standing stones he erected for when he practices Earth religions. Our whole backyard is EXTREMELY symbolic. It's just shitting symbolism. Which is cool. I've worked hard on the the gardens, and Sanford puts up signs and plaques and we put in fountains and ponds and fire pits and it's pretty awesome. We were married there. Anyhow, after he got hold of the Mormons and wouldn't let them leave...they never came back! SCORE! Until a few days ago. Someone knocked on our door...and Sanford went to answer it, because I don't answer doors or phones. But he never came back. So, I went and looked, and my daughter and the youngest boy were with me, and I actually accidently shrieked out : "MORMONS!" and my son said, "There's morons out there?" and my daughter said, "Well, yeah, but that's not what she said....why is Dad talking to Mormons?"
And I had to go sit down and calm down because I was pissed. So, I told the kids about their Dad's previous foray into Mormonism. My son said, "Where's my kippah? I 'll wear it outside and they'll go away!" I told him his kippah is not a costume to be worn to scare people. Little fart. So then, we decided the best course of action was for me to go offer the boys a beer. Hell, a coke or coffee would be as bad, probably. Anyhow, I used going to get the mail as my excuse, but when I flung the front door open, the two fresh-faced Mormon boys jumped ten feet in the air and Sanford did, too. I walked out, stood in the middle of them and said,

"Do these dudes know I'm a Jew and our kids are Jews?" and then I looked at the Mormon kids and their mouths were open and one of them ACTUALLY SAID: and I shit you not...."EWWWWW she's a JEW?" and I said, "Yup. Shalom" and Sanford started shifting from foot to foot and he said, "um, no....I was telling them about....." and I stalked off to the mailbox. As I stalked back up the walk, I said, "If you don't come back into the house VERY SOON, I'll come out wailing the Shema."

And I went back in. Well, he was out there another 5 or so minutes. You'd think when people see a mezuzah on a door frame...they'd at least WONDER what it was....and not freakin' TRY TO CONVERT THE JEWS INSIDE. So, while we were in the house waiting so I could rip Sanford a new one, my son said, "So, Mom....what is it called when they try to drown you?" And it took me a minute but I said, "You mean getting baptised?" and he said, "Is that when you get in water?" and I said, "Yeah..I think you can just get it sprinkled on your head, though...I'm not sure. I don't know....you're not Baptised, neither is your sister or brother..." and then he said...

"Puh! I KNOW! I EAT MEAT!" My daughter and I just stared at him a minute. Then we said, "What?" He said, "I know I'm not baptised...I eat meat! I'm a carnivore! Jeez!!!!!"

So, we had to figure out what the HELL he was talking about. He somehow had baptism and vegetarianism mixed up in his mind. Then you throw Kosher in there, and he was WAY mixed up.

Which reminds me of something else he said. We were talking about the merits of his sibling's middle school vs. the middle school he'll be attending. Their middle school required uniforms. His does not. As parents we liked the uniforms. The kids hated the uniforms. We were talking about this...and my youngest son's opinion of uniforms was this..."They are stupid! Everyone looks alike!"

He is my happy child. Thank God. He also decided a few years ago that Sanford was African American. (He isn't. Although his skin is quite "swarthy" as my mother says...) My son went around telling everyone his Dad is African American. Why? Because it was February. My son was in Kindergarten and it was African American history month. He wanted to be part of the celebration. He.is.one.of.a.kind. Sanford is causasian and part of his mother's family was from Portugal wayyyyyyyy back a long time ago. His skin is just sort of always tanned looking.....some people think he is Hawaiian or Samoan...but he isn't. He is 100% crazy, though.

And me and my kids have not been baptised. We eat meat. Oh! And I went to a Baptist University! I'm a freakin' UN.

August 9, 2007

2010-07-10T14:31:00.001-05:00

August 09, 2007

Smart guys

So, I'm sorta back at work, now. Ayhow, me going back to work entails a lot of prep work. I have to do a lot of frou frou decorating and thinking and reflecting and planning, right? So... I was at this place my place of employment has that has supplies for us...it is chock full of nifty stuff people like me get really excited over...paper, laminating machines....die cuts....all sorts of stuff.

Anyhow, I was in there doing some stuff, and one of the people who works at that place comes up to me. She is really nice...but very chit chatty. Small talky. And as we all know...I don't like small-talk. So...I am pretty much just making polite noises, right? She is staring off into the distance yapping away. I am getting my work done, making noises like..."Yeahhhhhh....really? Woooowwwww....that's so true.....for sure.....uh huhhhhhh......mmmmmmmhmmmmmmm...no kidding......right?"
And then she goes..."Hey! What's that on your shirt?" and I almost freak out because I assumed something foreign and bad was on my shirt...so I jump and start tugging on my shirt and hopping around..."Whu? Where!?!?" and she grabs me...(no shit) by the boobs and goes..."hang on..." and so I get still, because when someone you barely knows grabs your boobs...you tend to sorta slow down because well...they are grabbing your tatas....

So, I was wearing a black tshirt with this glow in the dark image of Einstein on it..and it has some quote of his on it about dissolving into nature...right? I am a big fan of Einstein. I have an itty bitty bit of the hots for him. Even those pictures of him with his non-hairy old legs and strangely lady-like ankle strap high heel sandals with shorts on. Even then. Anyhow, I've read a lot about him and come to the conclusion that he was a bit of a misogynist...(my own opinion), but that's neither here nor there.

So, boob grabbing woman goes..."Oh...it's Einstein." only she is German and she says it with a "ssschhhh" sound in the middle...which makes me slightly uncomfortable for some reason. I say "Oh, yeah....it glows in the dark!" (Like an idiot would do....I holler "It glows in the dark!") And then she keeps staring at my shirt...... in silence. And I sorta start shuffling my feet. Because it's kind of unpleasant to have a person you don't know staring at your shirt. Intently. It's like she checked out while she was staring at my shirt and left her body standing there. And it's totally quiet.

But then....it happens. My moment of nirvana.....one of the delicious moments I live for. One of the moments that gives me a "catch phrase" that I use repeatedly for days, weeks...months....NAY...years to come.

She says.."Wow...he was a smart guy."

YES!!!!!!!!!! Oh, I almost dance a jig of joy. "He was a smart guy!"

What does one say to that? How does one respond?

I say: "Yeah. He was. Pretty smart."

And she sighs and turns away. All dejected.

She is sad. Einstein died. He was a smart guy. He died like...before she was BORN..but still.

Ahhhh...life.....'tis good.

August 3, 2007

2010-07-10T14:28:00.000-05:00

August 03, 2007

Here Comes Bob!

So, today Sanford and I went to Ikea to get some stuff for my work. Anyhow, once you are in THAT place, it's like a maze. Like Harrod's was only with a Scandinavian feel. So, I find the PERFECT area rug I want, and damned if the Ikea near us doesn't have it. Dipshits. It looks like the labyrinth at Chartres in France. And one of the posters I put up every year is a picture of the Chartres labyrinth and it says "Start Where You Are"...and so...yeah. So...I got a big assed plain red area rug...it will be fine, but I really liked that other one. And I got some other crap I probably won't need, but seemed nifty.

Then...when I got home I went online to their site, and there is that labyrinth rug! Only guess what..you can't buy it online. You can only go buy it at their stores...so it says to check a location to see if they have it in stock. I check the location near me...no....they don't have it. No shit. So, I check .....ohhhhhh the next nearest one...which is Houston. Which is not close to me, but is in the same state. They don't have it. I check every Texas location. No Texas location has it. So we can just suck it.
So, Sanford goes: "Hey...check San Diego." I said, "Why?" He said, "I bet NOBODY HAS THAT FREAKIN' RUG." I thought: "He's probably RIGHT!" So, I started checking locations.....I finally found one...in Schaumburg, Illinois. Which pissed me RIGHT off.
So, then Sanford said, "Hey...so they should SEND the one in Illinois to OUR Ikea so we can go buy it. Right?"

Right. That makes sense. Yes? Yes. So, I start looking around for a way to request this service. I go to their online help lady. She is freaky as hell. Her name is "Anna". She was no goddamned help, I'll tell you that right now. She made inappropriate faces at me as I typed questions and ended up sending me to pages about how freakin' easy it is to assemble Ikea furniture. Great...thanks, Anna. Go back to suckin' on the Vodka, now. Sorry to have disturbed you. I click on "Customer Service", I get their effin' "FAQs" again. I click on "FAQs" I get the damned "FAQs". I actually DID read the "FAQs" and NO..none of them were my question. So, Sanford is sitting there telling me: "Click there..no there...ugh...not THERE...there!" and I finally told him, "You are exceptionally annoying right now..plus it smells like something is dead in your mouth...please go away before I get testy."
So, by the time I found the mother effin' phone number to the actual physical STORE...I decided that rug sucks ass and I do NOT want it anymore. Thank you, but no thank you Ikea and I don't care if I never see sleek, modular shelving that appears to be floating in the air or umlauts ever again.

BUT! There is a PLUS to all of this!!! Even thought I woke up and got dressed and left my bed for naught today.....and I was polite and did not harm anyone.....and it got me absolutely NOWHERE.....AND...AND...I did the effin' goddamned DRIVING!!!!!!!! Even though all of that .......

As we rounded one of the corners in our subdivision...I see this big panel van parked on the street....it was black. On the front on top in bright yellow letters...it said,

"HERE COMES BOB!" Since I was driving, I could sit at the stop sign and stare at that as long as I wanted to. There was nobody behind me or anything, so don't say.."But what about the people behind you?" Plus, they could have just sucked it, anyhow. But I was sitting there, and I see this van, and Sanford is sitting in the passenger seat and he is babbling on about some random crap...(remind me to tell you about the Otter stuff...) and so I interrupt and holler, "HERE COMES BOB!" and Sanford stops and looks and goes.."Oh yeah...THAT guy.....he lived near me YEARS ago...over on...blah blah blah blah blah....wah wah wah...."

and then I notice on the front bumper in bright yellow....Oh this is DELIGHTFUL, people.....simply SCRUMPTIOUS....
in bright yellow letters...on the front bumper under the grill...it says....."GLASS ON WHEELS". allow me to just sit here a moment and relive the joy.......

Sanford is still monotonously talking like the grownups in Charlie Brown cartoons...and I holler..."GLASS ON WHEELS! Are you kidding ME?!?!?! I am going to get some black paint! You said you know where Bob lives? Kick Ass! I am going to paint out the "G" and the "L" in the word "Glass"....oh yes! Sometimes God smiles on me! Times like this....can't you feel Him just enfolding us in His arms? He just gave us a little kiss on the head!" So...since I'm still sitting at the stop sign and planning on an evening of light vandalism...Sanford says..."You are NOT going to paint Bob's van!"
Me: What, he sells glass..huh? Glass on wheels! Not for long! He's gonna be ASS on wheels....hehehehheheh...

So, as we drive past Bob's van...Sanford is severely berating me...and telling me how he won't allow me to do that, and do I realize it's illegal and it would be not only vandalism but trespassing, blah blah and legal sounding crap....once a cop always a cop...whatEVer....he gave me the Texas Criminal code violations like he did when I showed our daughter how to make prank phone calls. SO no fun. So, he won't tell me where Bob LIVES. Evidently, Bob keeps his van at HOME. Because he caught me looking up glass companies in the phone book. I didn't get the name of Bob's company, but I can tell you that it isn't "Glass on Wheels". I checked.

July 31, 2007

2010-07-10T14:22:00.000-05:00

July 31, 2007

America....Eff Yeah!
So, I've been thinking about contributions America has made to civilization in general. Here are a few...and feel free to add to the list:

1. Peace-keeping(well...pre Bush administration..)- we have..until recently...generally only fought wars of self-defense and the defense of liberty.

2. Religious tolerance-this is self-explanatory.

3. The development of manhood suffrage-again...it took awhile...but our country did it.

4. The welcoming of newcomers-there is a reason people are beating down our doors to get in..be it legally or illegally.

5. The diffusion of wellbeing-No other country has such a large, well-to-do MIDDLE class. Most other countries middle class is struggling quite a bit more than ours is.

6. The Polio vaccine.

7. The development of the penicillin vaccine.

8. The bailing out of the entire world in WWII. The blood of our soldiers. It if weren't for us, let's face it: England, France and the rest of Europe would be speaking German now.

9. The entertainment industry. The entire world depends on the United States for their entertainment trends, etc. This may seem frivolous, but it's true.

10. Computers

11. Television

12. Rock and Roll

13. And just in case that isn't enough..there is a song that sums it all up beautifully:

"America: Fuck YEAH!" by Trey Parker (FYI: ANY OFFENSIVE PARTS ARE NOT ENDORSED BY ME, EVEN IF I LAUGHED, I FELT GUILTY AND VOMITED AFTERWARDS..but seriously, Google this song and laugh your ass off.)

America...
America...
America, FUCK YEAH!
Coming again, to save the mother fucking day yeah,
America, FUCK YEAH!
Freedom is the only way yeah,
Terrorist your game is through cause now you have to answer too,
America, FUCK YEAH!
So lick my butt, and suck on my balls,
America, FUCK YEAH!
What you going to do when we come for you now,
it's the dream that we all share; it's the hope for tomorrow

FUCK YEAH!

McDonalds, FUCK YEAH!
Wal-Mart, FUCK YEAH!
The Gap, FUCK YEAH!
Baseball, FUCK YEAH!
NFL, FUCK, YEAH!
Rock and roll, FUCK YEAH!
The Internet, FUCK YEAH!
Slavery, FUCK YEAH!(see above where I said I didn't endorse)

FUCK YEAH!

Starbucks, FUCK YEAH!
Disney world, FUCK YEAH!
Porno, FUCK YEAH!
Valium, FUCK YEAH!
Reeboks, FUCK YEAH!
Fake Tits, FUCK YEAH!
Sushi, FUCK YEAH!
Taco Bell, FUCK YEAH!
Rodeos, FUCK YEAH!
Bed bath and beyond (Fuck yeah, Fuck yeah)

Liberty, FUCK YEAH!
White Slips, FUCK YEAH!
The Alamo, FUCK YEAH!
Band-aids, FUCK YEAH!
Las Vegas, FUCK YEAH!
Christmas, FUCK YEAH!
Immigrants, FUCK YEAH!
Popeye, FUCK YEAH!
Democrats, FUCK YEAH!
Republicans (republicans)
(fuck yeah, fuck yeah)this is almost a whisper..hehehh
Sportsmanship
Books
---------------------------------------------------------------------

You are welcome, World.

Love, America.

July 31, 2007

2010-07-10T14:21:00.000-05:00

July 31, 2007

I love me some protestin'!

So. Harrod's. Not so great. Right outside of Harrod's, though....big assed protest going on. Now in Paris, we got involved in a protest, and it was totally inadvertent. We thought it was a street festival. (shut up....you hear drumming, you see dirty students smiling and dancing....) Anyhow, in THAT protest, we got tear-gassed, yes, with our children. I didn't want a repeat of that, but let's face it...the cops in London don't really have much ability to do much. They can drive their itty bitty cars insanely fast through crowded intersections and maybe throw their billyclub at you...but other than that....if one told me to freeze....I'd run like hell. Because, it's gonna be a toss-up to see who is the fastest runner...no guns will be blazing.
Anyhow...so when we went into Harrod's there were a few people outside holding signs saying stuff about "Say NO to Fur!" and things like that. I pushed past them and we went inside. Whatever. Don't get in my way....when we were vomited back out onto the pavement a few hours later...the protest had grown quite a bit, and now it had people dressed up in animal costumes. There was a HUGE ASSED FOX who kept shoving pamphlets at me. I don't want a pamphlet. Ever. If I want your pamphlet, I'll come up to you and say, "Excuse me, may I have a pamphlet, please?" If you are dressed up in a costume, I will not speak to you or otherwise acknowledge you at all. Not even in Disneyworld. People in animal suits give me the heebie jeebies.
So, Mr. Fox-man kept shoving his pamphlets at me and I was saying "No thank you! No THANK YOU..NO THANK YOU!" and he was like THRUSTING them at me with his face just that never changing leering Fox face....and his arm kept jumping out at me with his Fox paw full of damned pamphlets.....I finally hollered: "I have a mink coat, OKAY?!??!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!"
My Mom and daughter were behind me, and our destination was the tube stop near Harrod's. We were having difficulty getting there because of the Man/Fox. So, when I finally hollered at him...(and it was so loud out there that my yelling wasn't noticed...) he stepped aside and I started walking past him. There were people sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, all sorts of people dressed up like baby seals and ferrets and of course the fox and whatever else with fur they could think of...it was bizarre. So, I start to walk, and I SHIT YOU NOT...that freakin' assed dipshit fox tripped me. I don't know how, and I cannot prove it. But down I went. Fucking Fox. What an asshole.
So, I say "go on a Fox hunt". Buy fox fur coats. Find the jackass who was forcing his pamphlets on people outside Harrod's. Beat his ass. Or her ass. Whichever it may be. I was down on that filthy sidewalk outside that nightmare disco palace/department store surrounded by humans dressed as furry critters chanting about no fur.

The tear gas was WAY better.
Currently listening:
Weird Revolution

July 30, 2007

2010-07-10T14:20:00.000-05:00

July 30, 2007

A vague smell of poop.

So. Still jet-lagged. Punchy...giddy. Call it what you will, but I am effed up.

Let's see....what else can I tell about the trip from hell? "Why from hell?" you ask...
Well...1. We took my Mom, and I actually thought it could go smoothly, but what an idiot I am.
and
2. We took my Mom.

Other than that....everything is ten times more expensive than you think it will be, and there is a vague smell of poop everywhere. In Paris there was a vague smell of liverwurst everywhere...in London, there is a vague smell of poop underlying everything. Even under the smell of Indian cooking....poop. Not dog poop, not cat poop (now that I am thinking about it, I did not see ONE SINGLE CAT IN ENGLAND...spooky)..but HUMAN poop.

The Indian food is awesome. Truly. It's EVERYwhere..but it's really good. Since I inherited the "gift" of mimicry from my father, I ended up talking like whoever was around. Only louder, and I made everything sound dirty.
For example....we were on the Underground and one of the stops is "Clapham" something or another. I began talking to my Mom in a very loud Cockney or "Norf" London accent. Hell, I don't know where it was from...but half those people don't pronounce their "th"s. Anyhow, I was saying stuff like: "Fred came 'ome late the uv'er night, 'e did....'is pecker is right full of the Clapham....'e won't be tuchin' me anytime soon, 'aye can tell ye that..." Anyhow, it was something to amuse me and pass the time and it mortified my Mother but made her laugh, too. So...."Clapham". Don't catch the "Clapham". "Ohhhh it'll mortify ye, it will."

OH MY GOD. HARROD'S. What A NIGHTMARE! And people, I shop. But Harrod's is too, too horrid for words. It is ...well....if you've never been there....let me see if I can describe it to you....Harrod's is like a very large, multi-level disco in Mexico in the 80's. Only all the lights are ON. It is set up so that you get lost. And from what I could TELL, and I might be WRONG...I probably AM..but all I found was ONE entrance/exit. There were guards allowing people in and out. It was mass chaos. For such a big assed place, they were sorely lacking in restrooms...OH EXCUSE ME....LUXURY LADIES' WASHROOMS.. (whattheFUCKever)....The food halls were like very crowded, gaudily decorated grocery stores. In fact, all of it was gaudy. The Egyptian Room was enough to make you puke. Then there were "The Rooms of Luxury". I think they were actually the maze entrance so that you got good and goddamned lost. There were plasma screens lining the escalators and they were all tuned to "Al Jazheera" or however it's spelled. I thought my Mother would come unHINGED. It is so crowded that you are barely shuffling at times...much like a very crowded nightclub in the 80s. The music is so loud you cannot think. Very much like a nightclub. The overpowering odors from the perfume departments is everywhere. We did have tea in one of the bazillion restaurants inside Harrod's, though. We had to sit the hell down and breathe. Tea with scones/jam and cream was over 100 bucks.
If fire ever breaks out in that place, it's going to be carnage the likes of which we've not seen in a very long while. And Agent Provocateur and La Perla will lose millions of pounds worth of bras and thongs that nobody is buying. Everyone is TOUCHING them to see what an 800 GBP bra feels like..but nobody is buying it.

Oh, I spotted some celebrities. Remember Denise Austin? The exercise guru chick? She totally cut in front of me in line at the Tower of London. I was about to throw down with her then I realized who she was and I said "Are you Denise Austin?" and she sort of furtively looked around and said "Well...yes..." and I said, "Oh. Well I don't want to bother you...I did your pregnancy exercise video all through my 2nd pregnancy..." and her daughter (who looks just like her but with dark hair) smiled and said, "Oh it's ok...." then they totally got in front of us. Cutters. She is super short like me. I assumed she was taller.

Then I could almost swear...ALMOST SWEAR TO GOD that I saw Ben Affleck who I don't even like at a tube station. If it wasn't him, it was a twin....

Then in Covent Garden we saw some older dude, who I can't even remember now. But I said, "Hey, isn't that_________?" and my Mom and daughter both said "Yeah!" but now I can't even remember who it was. Oh well. But Denise Austin WAY cut in line.
I don't look for celebrities...I usually end up in altercations with them. Then someone will tell me who they are..but I am too pissed to care...because they cut in front of me in line or something. I'm sorry, but you wait your Pilates toned ass in line like everyone else, Ms. Austin!

But you know those guards who wear the tall fuzzy hats? The ones people are always trying to get to laugh or whatever? My Mom told one who was JUST going on duty at Windsor Castle..."Oh...you are SOOOO handsome!" (what the HELL?!?!?!?) and he freaking blushed and said "Thank you." So they can be bought, people. What had gotten into my mother, I do not know. He looked exactly like every other dude in the red uniform with the fuzzy hat. And my Mom was evidently trying to score... I don't know.

Sanford asked the docents or volunteers or whatever they are at Windsor inane questions like: "Do the airplanes from Heathrow bother the Queen when she is here?"

Oh.My.God. Like she is going to call down to 89 year old Mildred the volunteer who stands in the doorway to the King's Closet and say "Oh, I say Mildred....the airplanes are so bothersome....do call Heathrow and have them ground all flights for the duration of my stay at Windsor...pip pip! " Good Lord.

Sanford fell out of bed 2 times whilst we were there. He fell out of the bed, and knocked over the bedside table, the lamp and two vases. He wears a breathing mask because he has sleep apnea...so he was laying on the floor buck naked with a breathing mask on. I had to wake him up to make him get back in bed. Freak. Middle of the night I hear *Crash* "Grunt"...so I look over and he is gone. I look over the edge of his side of the bed...and there he is asleep on the floor amidst the wreckage of the nightstand. I prod him and say "Hey!"
Sanford: "Uh"
Me: "What the hell? Are you okay?"
Sanford: "Uh?"
Me: "You fell out of the bed...get back in bed."
Sanford: "Uh."

In all fairness, he is used to a king sized bed, and were in a teeny tiny double bed...but crap! Two times?!?!?!?!?!

My Mom fell out of bed once.

I fell down the stairs of the flat we rented. Just the last 3 or 4 steps and it was the middle of the night and yes it hurt and I felt like a moron.

My Mom was convinced the flat was haunted. I think we are just all idiots.

OH MY GOSH! Remind me to tell you about the protest going on outside of Harrod's!!!! It gets worse and worse!

July 29, 2007

2010-07-10T14:19:00.000-05:00

July 29, 2007

They want something more sophisticated than a HOT DOG
So. I'm home. We were in the UK for two weeks. I'm sure I'll have to write about it with several blogs. I keep remembering things and saying "Oh my GOD...do you remember so and so?"...anyhow...

1st: If there is a place in the world experiencing a drought...send me a ticket and give me GOOD accomodations and I'll come out. I seem to bring torrential flooding rains wherever I go.

2nd: England is GORGEOUS. Truly. I'm one of those people who get as much as possible out of a place. I'll look at the cobblestones and just holler "What are you kidding me??? These streets are hundreds of years old!!! This rocks!" And I just could sit and people watch and LOVE it, right? I have fun almost anywhere I go. Sanford is the same way. We are perfect travelling companions. We tolerate our kids' company..we figure they are seeing things that they may never see again, after all...and someday, they'll thank us.

3rd: Pubs everywhere. Awesome. Want a pint of good dark beer at 10:30 am? No problem. Pimm's is awesome, too. Love that stuff. Add pomegranate juice to it, and I'm in heaven.

Now....for some other stuff. The flat we rented: the guy who owns it and rents out flats in London is actually French. I thought he was a she until I met him face to face. He is an ex model. How do I know? He had a huge assed catalog full of his photographs...however...they were him 20 years ago. He's aged. (Haven't we all...) Anyhow...since we did a "self-catering" option...we had to do our laundry and there was no maid service. He said the nearest tube station was "about 5 minutes" LIE. FILTHY DAMNED STUPID LIE. We were between London Bridge Station and Borough Station. Both were at the VERY least 20 minutes by foot. No problem for us, but my Mom was with us. My continually complaining Mom. Also, the weather in England is oddly changeable. It is literally sunny and beautiful one second and raining heavily two seconds later. Go ANYWHERE without an umbrella and/or a light jacket or hoodie...and do so at your own peril. The whole flat was decorated from IKEA. Everything. It was in a neighborhood that is going through a sort of urban renewal..so every few blocks it is very nice and hip and trendy..and then you get a section that is like projects. Let's say we were in the projects. I'm sure our flat was like Buckingham Palace compared to the flats in our complex. Also, the stairs outside....people pee on the landings. Why? I do.not.know. If it smells like pee, and it's yellow....it's pee.

We were about 1/2 mile from Tower Bridge and the Tower of London. That was great.

Now...as far as the title of this blog. What the hell does THAT mean?!??! Well, we used the tube everyday. They use the tube for lots of little mini-billboards. One billboard(I do not even know what was being advertised)...said something like: "What we want is somethiing with intelligence, sophisticated..blah blah blah...you know..something more than a HOT DOG.."
Clearly a dig at America. We encountered anti-Americanism WAY more in Britain than in France. Anyhow, my daughter and I were ticked off at it, and I said, "More than a HOT DOG? How about ohhhh....I don't know....Eisenhower?"

Daughter: "Dentistry"
Me: "The Atomic Bomb"
Daughter: "Here's some food for thought...oh wait..they have no teeth..they can't chew..."
My Mom: "The Polio Vaccine"
Me: Eisenhower
Me: Plus, the Germans gave us hot dogs...these people would be speaking German right now if it weren't for America...

This blog has gone on long enough. I've got tons more..both good and bad. We did have wonderful times I have to tell about....
Allow me to say that the country is DIRTY and the people seem to be impoverished and willing to settle for very little and I'm sorry but I'm NOT STANDING IN LINE AT A BAR FOR A FREAKING BEER. I want a waiter....FAST. And they come to ME.
Currently listening:
God Bless America
By Various Artists

July 11, 2007

2010-07-10T14:18:00.000-05:00

July 11, 2007

Ringie Dingie

Yeah, so guess who called me today? That's right! That craptastic airline, ATA! They fucking CALLED ME ON THE PHONE while I was attempting to get some stuff packed before our whirlwind clusterfuck tour of the UK. I HATE the telephone. Let's just get that out of the way right now. HATE.IT. So, I'm annoyed that it's ringing in the first place. I have 3 kids, two of whom are teenagers. That shit should barely get a whole ring out of if before one of the kids answers it. Anyhow, obviously, nobody was gonna answer it, and I look on the Caller ID, and I see (hang on, I gotta look and see what the hell ATA stands for on the Caller ID...) Okay...I see "Amer. Trans. Air 317-241-2221" heheh. Anyhow...I jerked the phone up because I realize that is ATA the butt-munchers. (And that is their phone number if you would like to telephone them for any reason at all....)

Me: *long silence...* "Yessss?"

Poor Perky Northern girl who had NO idea what she was walking into: "Is this ________?"

Me: Yes it is.

(We'll just call her dumbass): Ohhhh...good morning! How are you today?!? (very perky and that Illinois/Wisconsin kind of accent)

Me: I'm Jim Dandy.

Dumbass: Oh. Well, I'm calling from A.T.A. airlines?

Me:..........

Dumbass: Umm...and...uhhh...I'm calling in response to your recent email?

Me: Yes.

Dumbass: Um, well...we at ATA think it is very unfortunate that you had a bad experience..

Me: *Interrupting* Excuse me....my children were lost in one of the world's largest airports because your employees didn't care and nobody would help them. I think that is a bit more serious than "unfortunate".

Dumbass: Uhhhh...could you please hold for just a second?

Me: Sure.

So she is gone for a few minutes and I'm stomping around the house picking up stuff and starting laundry and hollering at kids and doing whatever it is that I do.

She comes back on....

Dumbass: Well...I've checked and it says here that your children were 11.

Me: *Interrupting* and 14..yes, I know how old my children are....is there a reason you are calling me?

Dumbass: Well, when you made the reservations..

Me: *Interrupting* I didn't make the reservations. My ex-husband did. I got to the airport in Dallas, stood in line at your ticket counter, explained to your ticket agent that I was picking up my MINOR children, offered her my copy of the eticket I had printed, along with my identification, and she told me that I could not go to the gate because an extra FEE had not been paid to designate my children as UNaccompanied MINORS. Now, in the eyes of the LAW, my children are indeed minors, and when my husband called 911 to report two missing children, they were reported as minors...my ex-husband was allowed to accompany them to the gate in Chicago, however since a FEE had not been paid so that they didn't have a sign hung around their necks or something that said WE ARE UNACCOMPANIED MINORS...I couldn't go through security, and believe me....security is ready for ME because I bought medicine from freakin' Canada! I would have stripped naked, submitted to a full body cavity search or whatever the HELL they wanted, because I just wanted to PICK UP MY CHILDREN, but hell NO....I DIDN'T PAY A FREAKIN' FEE...and

Dumbass: *Interrupting*: Could you please hold on?

Me: YEAH

I was mad as hell because these dickheads had called me and stirred it all up again.

So, she comes back on the line and says,

Dumbass: "I've checked with two supervisors and they confirm that since the fee wasn-

Me: So help me God, do not tell me that there is not one person in your whole damned company that isn't enough of a decent human being to help two children when they ask for help! My kids asked one of your flight attendants....she said she couldn't help them. They asked your gate agent....he couldn't help them...they asked a security guard...he didn't speak English well enough for my kids to understand HIM...and the person who FINALLY got them was someone I had your baggage agent send out to FIND them. Not ONE person was decent enough to help KIDS????? As a human being if someone asks me for help I'll try and help them! Now if you are just going to keep giving me shit, leave me the hell alone!

And I hung up on her. Bitch. That whole company represents what's wrong with corporate America. That is why domestic airlines SUCK. In general. I've had good luck with Southwest...but you couldn't FORCE me onto a Delta flight ever again. And if you fly A.T.A. ....you're asking for an ass raping.

and I think I like Barack Obama. There. Now I have to get some sleep and get ready for a freakin' 9 hour FLIGHT ON AN AIRPLANE and a two week trip WITH MY MOTHER IN TOW. Man I am pissed off again, now.

Oh..OH! WAIT! THIS IS GOOD! Sanford has so many virus' and spyware on his computer that it is effed up pretty damned good. So, he decided to try and renew his virus shit without asking me for help, right? Hehehehe....and I'm the one that told him he has this shit on his computer...and it's from porn sites...like I don't know...or like I care. He's the ONE man on the Earth that doesn't visit porn sites...oh my GOD!
So, I was telling him..."ok...the deal is...this stuff gets put on your computer and you don't know...it's not like they ask you...but when you go to sites like...gaming sites...gambling sites...porn sites.....it gets put on there, and you don't even know..."
And he got all nervous...and I said, "Oh God..relax...like you're the only man who doesn't go to Porn sites...christ...." So he is now on the phone with some dude in Pakistan or somewhere with Norton Anti-virus because he has his computer so EFFED up. and I won't fix it this time. hehe.
Sweet dreams!

July 8, 2007

2010-07-10T14:16:00.000-05:00

July 08, 2007

Water

So, I buy a TON of bottled water. But I buy the raspberry water. I LIVE on it. I cannot exist without it. I don't like strawberry. I don't like lemon, I don't like Crystal Light shit. I like a particular type. And this town is CONTINUALLY running out of it. And this annoys and irks me. So, today I got tricked into going into a store that sells foodstuffs. A grocery store, if you will. I felt like an Amish person in an electronics store. So, they don't have my water. So I bought one of those water filter pitchers and guess what!?!?!? They let you put in these little flavor cartridges! Raspberry! I'm hooked up! Now I'm happy! And I won't drink regular water because it has nastiness in it. There is so much CHLORINE in water it's unreal...not to mention all the other shit. And we SHOWER in it! Ugh! My eyes water everytime the bathroom door opens after someone has showered and all the steam comes out.

And I think Saaphyri from "Charm School Girls" is rockin'. 100%. And yes, I just admitted to watching that atrocious television show.

Shut up and suck it.

Chuck Norris is widely predicted to be first black president. If you're thinking to yourself, "But Chuck Norris isn't black", then you are dead wrong. And stop being a racist.
8:02 PM

July 4, 2007

2010-07-10T14:15:00.000-05:00

July 04, 2007

Books
So, I've been reading a lot. I just finished "The Year of Magical Thinking" by Joan Didion. I highly recommend it. #1: Joan Didion...I mean come on. #2: It's about the year right after her husband died suddenly from a massive heart attack and her daughter was in a coma. She writes so precisely and beautifully about grieving and the psychological processes one goes through....I'd pay any amount of money to be able to write like Joan Didion. It's breathtaking.

I recently read "Life on Planet Rock" by Lonn Friend. It was so-so. Lonn Friend seems like a dickhead to me. I thought it would be full of juicy gossip about bands, but naaah.

"Shantaram" by Gregory David Roberts is BEAUTIFUL. Absolutely GORGEOUS. India is a place I've never really wanted to visit, but now I do.

"The Memory Keeper's Daughter" was very good, too. It's one of those books I've seen several times, but never purchased. I finally bought it and read it. It was pretty good.

You know, "To Catch a Predator" on MSNBC is on, and those dudes who try to meet 13 year olds to have sex they've talked to on the internet make me wanna hurl. The EXCUSES they make are UNREAL! The a PARADE of men going to these houses to try and have sex with a child. Wigs me out.

If you haven't seen the "Dramatic Chipmunk" or "Dramatic Prairie Dog", Google that shit and laugh your ass off. Just Google "Dramatic Chipmunk" or "Prairie Dog" and watch. It's worth the several seconds it takes. I promise.

Yes, these are the things that I waste my time on.

OOH! My effin' lawyer is on TV on a commercial and you guys..he is such an asshole. I swear. I don't even wanna think about it.
Currently reading:
The Painted Veil
By W. Somerset Maugham
Release date: 14 November, 2006

July 3, 2007

2010-07-10T14:14:00.000-05:00

July 03, 2007

Facts
So. Chuck Norris. I'm not a big fan. But some people are. And there are facts aplenty..I live in a military town and he is BIG with the soldiers. So here for your pleasure are some "Chuck Norris FACTS"

* Fear is not the only emotion Chuck Norris can smell. He can also detect hope, as in "I hope I don't get a roundhouse kick from Chuck Norris."

*There is endless debate about the existence of the human soul. Well it does exist, and Chuck Norris finds it delicious.

*Chuck Norris wears a live rattlesnake as a condom.

*The Bible was originally titled "Chuck Norris and Friends"

*On the set of Walker Texas Ranger Chuck Norris brought a dying lamb back to life by nuzzling it with his beard. As the onlookers gathered, the lamb sprang to life. Chuck Norris then roundhouse kicked it, killing it instantly. This was just to prove that the good Chuck giveth, and the good Chuck, he taketh away.

*Nagasaki never had a bomb dropped on it. Chuck Norris jumped out of a plane and punched the ground.

*Chuck Norris can judge a book by its cover.

*Chuck Norris is the only person to ever win a staring contest against Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder at the same time.

*Chuck Norris is the reason why Waldo is hiding.

*When God said, "let there be light", Chuck Norris said, "say 'please'."

*Chuck Norris puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like the rest of us. The only difference is, then he kills people.

*Everybody loves Raymond. Except Chuck Norris.

*Never look a gift Chuck Norris in the mouth, because he will bite your damn eyes off.

*Guantuanamo Bay, Cuba, is the military code-word for "Chuck Norris' basement".

*When Chuck Norris works out on the Total Gym, the Total Gym feels like it's been raped.

*The square root of Chuck Norris is pain. Do not try to square Chuck Norris, the result is death.

That's all for today. I have to go watch the "Reno-911 movie" with Sanford now. My mind needs enrichment.

July 2, 2007

2010-07-10T14:13:00.000-05:00

July 02, 2007

WTF?
So, my Mom is nuts. She comes out with these random assed demands and comments that are just not normal. The other day she told me:

"I had a dream that my mother was alive again."

Me: Uh-huh...
Mom: She was young and beautiful again..
Me: Well....she was young once, but beautiful?
Mom: WELL! I THOUGHT SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL WHEN I WAS A CHILD!
Me: Uh-huh..
Mom: In my dream, she was beckoning to me....she was saying, 'come to me...come...come....come be with me...."
Me: Uhhhh....creepy...
Mom: She wanted me to be with her.
Me: Mom...she's dead. She wanted you to be dead with her?
Mom: Yeah!
Me: Well,that's disturbing..
Mom: No...it's not. She just wants me....
Me: Dude...she's DEAD. Are you saying your mother is trying to kill you? Like her ghost? Her spirit?
Mom: Well, not KILL me...but she wants me to come be with her.
Me: Uhhhhh...so.....she doesn't want to KILL you, but she wants you DEAD....
Mom: yeah! But i can't go yet.
Me: you can't?
Mom: Oh, no!
Me: Uhhhh...dare I ask why?
Mom: I have work to do , still!
Me: Do you think Grandma's ghost CARES? Or is she going to take that under advisement?
Mom: Oh. i don't know.

And that was our whole freakin' conversation.

Then, we were walking through a department store the other day, and we were walking through the lingerie department. She sees a beautiful peignoir set. It had a totally worthless bed jacket. It was gorgeous, but that was all it was good for...the beauty of it. It was sheer white, white very pale roses embroidered on it and it cost almost $200 for just the little bolero-like bed jacket. She stopped in front of it and tells me, Sanford and my father who she is separated from, but still married to:

"When I'm dying, and in the hospital...I want to wear this set. Okay? OKAY? DO YOU YEAR ME? PROMISE?'
I said, "Sure...then we'll ship you off to a cheap ass hourly hotel downtown and have KFC delivered to you everday..."
Now, she isn't ill...she is in her early 60s..no reason for this shit.

Now, on to the real business. I have my boys back. We had to go pick them up in Dallas. At DFW. Big airport, right? My ex...(AKA: Sphincter) paid to fly the boys home on some dipshit airline called "ATA". Sanford calls it "Mohammed ATA" airline. (Mohammed Atta was one of the 9/11 hijackers). Anyhow, we get to the airport in PLENTY..and I do mean PUUUUUULEEEEEEEHHHHNNNTY of time. I go up to FUCKING MOTHERFUCKING DIPSHIT ASS SUCKING ATA airlines ticket counter. I tell them I'm picking up two minor children. They check their little ticky tack computer...sure enough, my two children are on the plane. Great. Excellent. Good to know. Plane is a little late. Fine. We pretty much expect that now-a-days, don't we? Then the stupid assed fucking bitch woman working the desk who evidently relishes this part of her job says..."Says here one of the kids is 14..."

Me: Yes. one of them is. The other is 11. Can i please get a pass to meet them at the gate?

Fucking whore bitch: No. The extra fee wasn't paid to classify them as "unaccompanied minors" The 14 year old is considered an adult accompanying the 11 year old. They will have to find their way to the baggage claim.

Me: Excuse me? They can't possibly find their way to the baggage claim from the gate by themselves. They are expecting me to be at the gate to meet them. They are children. The last time I was able to meet them. I'll give you my driver's license, my wallet, my purse..whatever you wish....but I need to be able to meet them at the gate, please.

Fucking whore assed bitch who thought she was in charge: No. You can't go. Wait at baggage claim. NEXT.

Me: What? This is ridiculous. Is there someone I can speak with?

Now, this is when you realize airports will have your ass escorted right the hell out of airports these days. My fucking name is on the homeland security list because I attempted to buy medicine from our arch nemesis CANADA....no way they'll let ME do anything. Damned assholes. However, a delivery truck was parked outside the terminal for 2 hours. Comforting.

So, we meanwhile tried to contact that effin' goddamned airline everyway we could...meanwhile...their incompetent ticket counter fucking CLOSED..it wasn't even 7pm yet. THEY CLOSED. Their plane lands. The way DFW is set up, you can't see the gates...people are coming through the revolving doors...pretty soon, nobody else is coming through...I am getting a sick feeling in my stomach. Sanford goes to tell the security people...their response was "You'll have to call the airlines 800 number..." He said "Fuck that" and called 911 and reported two missing children in the airport.
Meanwhile, I found the hapless baggage agent and and went up to him and said
"You get on your phone, you call the gate and you find my two children, and do NOT tell me to go to your worthless counter, it's closed...my two children are missing and I'll tear this airport apart if they are not in my arms in two minutes..." He never said a word, but picked up his phone and then said, "Are they 11 and 14?" and I said, "Yes." and he said, "They are being brought up...they were lost.."
FUCKING LOST. the 11 year old was in tears. They came through the revolving doors and into my arms and I find out they had asked flight attendants, the gate agent and several other people where they were to go. NOBODY helped them. They finally found a security guard who showed them where to go. People kept telling them "Baggage claim E31" Swell. WHERE THE HELL IS THAT?!?!?!?!? I am so mad STILL.

THEN...we get home and I start unpacking their suitcases and there is a notice from the NTSA stating that the suitcase had been hand searched. Inside was two hunks of modeling clay. Hmmmm...in an X-ray it happens to look like C4. No wonder they had to hand search. Not ONLY did they open it, but they ripped open the packaging and took samples of the clay. THEN, I found a fake human SKULL in the suitcase. Evidently the boys got a fucking CSI kit. And the SPHINCTER thought putting that shit in a suitcase to send it home was okay. THAT IS WHY THEIR PLANE WAS 1 1/2 HOURS LATE LEAVING. They had to test the damned clay and make sure it wasn't an actual skull in their suitcase.
MY EX HUSBAND IS POSSIBLY THE DUMBEST HUMAN EVER.
And ATA airlines are ASS MUNCHERS.

OH! And I overheard a man say this as he walked past the baggage carousel: "Well, the FINALLY found my FISH!"

June 24, 2007

2010-07-10T14:12:00.000-05:00

June 24, 2007

More television musings....

So, it's summer, i have more time..TV is on more often.

I'm ADDICTED to "Dirty Jobs". And Mike Rowe has just proven my assertion that monkeys are EVIL, DIRTY, MEAN AND NASTY WRETCHED CREATURES. People are being attacked and mutilated by monkeys on that show. I could have told them that. I have monkey stories, people. Real, personal, actual monkey stories. Painful, but true. They are now on a satellite phone begging to be taken out of the place where they are...like begging for air strikes and backup and shit. Monkeys ARE SATANIC. They are "pinned down" by a monkey named "Patty". The lady who owns the monkeys is holding the psychotic monkey looking into the window at the men in their beds. It's HORRIFIC.

Anyhow, another show I've become totally addicted to is "the Deadliest Catch". Why? I LOVE IT. I've watched it over and over and watched the "making of" episode and everything. I WANNA BE A CRAB FISHERMAN! I have become addicted to the online game on Discovery.com. i don't play computer games. Tonight a new show about driving 18 wheelers on ice starts. I'M ATREMBLE with excitement!

This is sad. We leave in a couple of weeks for England. What will I do if the Ice Truckers season is still going on? I don't know how to record on that DVR crap!

I have a headache, but I don't want to miss this "Dirty Jobs" or the "Ice Truckers" later. How pathetic. OH! And "Cash Cab"! I SO wanna get in that cab! I can ace it!

My no longer married, but really actually married, but separated, no longer living together parents came over together. I don't even know. Don't ask. We go to lunch,
Mom: You treat me to lunch, okay? (she said to my Dad..."
Him: Yeah...
Mom: I'll buy dessert...

Jesus Murphy, they are married. I'm confused. I'm going to watch the horrid monkeys.

Oh don't message me or comment on how wondrous monkeys are. Don't wanna hear it. You don't know what heinous inhumanities I've suffered at the hands of monkeys. So suck it.

June 22, 2007

2010-07-10T14:11:00.000-05:00

June 22, 2007

I want my babies

So, we got our puppy back. But my sons are still up north with the Sphincter. ( I just realized tonight that I start a substantial amount of my Blogs with: "So...") I think I start a lot of conversations that way, too. Anyhow, my boys have been gone for two weeks, now. It's not natural, I tell you! I gave birth to them, they've been with me for their entire lives, and it's not right for them to be gone from me for so long! There was a time it was the three of us (me and the two boys) alone against the world! When they were babies and toddlers, they were permanently attached to me physically, for God's sake! I wore them in slings on my body!

*sigh* I don't normally *sigh* like that. But hell....*sigh* I talk to them everyday on the phone....we discuss every little thing...they've been worried about Dixie and are very relieved that we found her....they are very disgusted that their step-sister is taking Driver's Ed....they are terrified that I've gone through their bedrooms and thrown everything away....they haven't been taken to do even 1/4 of what the Sphincter promised to take them to do...(of course). I doubt they are bathing regularly or brushing their teeth, but I know they are eating and getting as many video games as they can play. (Oh what a relief.)

The eldest tries to sound very nonchalant, and who knows? Perhaps he is quite nonchalant and carefree and would happily live with inanimate objects and strangers forever and never need me or have the need to hug me or hear me say "I love you" again. Who knows? Perhaps that is how freeing it is to be almost 15 and male. I know he'd happily never bathe again...but it has always been my job to thwart him...at least that is what he thinks.
My phone conversations with him go like this:

Me: Hi, Sweetie! (then I'll realize I sound too perky and try to tone it down...) I mean...Hey..there...Hi...Um, Hey.

Him: Uh, hey Mom...mumble mumble grumble.smack smack chomp mumble

Me: How are you? Are you doing okay?

Him: Huh? Whu? Uh...mumble mumble *distorted noises and muffled sounds*

Me: What? I couldn't hear you...I miss you! Are you having fun?

Him: What? oh, yeah. yeah.

Me: What?

Him: Huh?

Me: i said: I miss you. Are you okay?

Him: Yeah..you need to relax, mom....I mean..mumble mumble mumble smack smack

Me: Are you eating something?

Him: Huh? Smack....smack....

Me: Nevermind...what have you been doing?

Him: Nuthin'. mumble mumble....yeah...hit the right arrow..now hit the mumble mumble...no..not like that....here give it to me...what?

Me: Are you playing a video game while you're on the phone?

Him: Huh? No! I told you not to go down that hall! The thousand headed troglodyte of doom is down there! You need the flame thrower with twelve lives to defeat him!
What? No. I'm not playing a video game, why?

Me: Well, I love you...is your brother ready to talk to me now?

Him: Who? NOOOO!!!!!!! Not THAT button! I TOLD you!!!!!

Me: Dude. Put your brother on the phone.

Him: Yeah. Ok. Love ya, Mom.

Me: I love you, too.

Then the youngest gets on the phone;

Him: Hi Mommy!

Me: Hey, Baby!

Him: I think it's going to thunderstorm here, and there is a tornado warning for the two counties over from us...do you think I should go in the storm cellar?

Me: No...not if your Dad thinks it's okay. If the storm is far away, don't worry. Are you having fun?

Him: Yeah! We went to the lake, and we rode some horses and we rode go-karts and we have done lots of stuff! Granny is going to take us to the movies, too!

Me: Good. Make your brother leave the video games and go with you, though, okay?

Him: Right.

Me: So, what are you going to do tomorrow? Anything fun?

Him: hang on. i'll go ask.

Me: No! Don't go ask...wait!

to late. he puts the phone down and leaves to go ask.

he comes back a few minutes later to tell me:

Him: We're not sure what we'll do yet. When am i coming home? I miss you.

One more week. I just gotta hold out one more week. I tell ya, this ain't natural.

June 21, 2007

2010-07-10T14:10:00.000-05:00

June 21, 2007

Found

I guess the theme of this is: NEVER GIVE UP.

We found our Dixie. Today. 11 days after she went missing. She looked like absolute CRAP, but we have her back. According to the vet, she has conjunctivitis; swollen lymph nodes, and lots of cockle burrs, but she hasn't lost weight, she isn't dehydrated and somehow, she managed to stay alive amongst coyotes and other wild animals.
She is on antibiotics and eye antibiotics now, she's been bathed, had a drastic haircut and has been sleeping like a baby.

She was in an area about 30 miles away from our house stuck underneath a rock and some bird netting. We got two calls this morning from people who had seen our signs and ads and they said they had seen a Yorkie but she ran from them and they told us the approximate area.

We hauled ass over there, and my Mom did the same since she is closer to that area, and we all met up in the area and began a foot search screaming her name.

My nephew (who is 6) was with me and my daughter, and it was beginning to thunder and rain and we reached a corner and he stopped and I looked down at him and he had his hands pressed together in prayer and his lips were moving and his eyes were closed. I said, "What are you doing, Sweetie?" and he silently continued his prayer. Then he finished, opened his eyes and looked at me and said, "I was prayin' to get Dixie back, Auntie..."

We had already walked past this particular area, and right then, my daughter said, "Why....look at that little face..." and there was Dixie peeking at us from under a rock. It was a miracle that she saw her. It really was. Dixie never made a sound. Not a peep. We were calling her, whistling...she never made a sound.

We all began slowly walking up toward the flower bed, and a man walked out on the porch of the house next door. He said, "Hello there...we've been afraid she'd run off...." It was like they were expecting us. We got up to the flower bed and I picked up the rock and realized it was tangled up in the bird netting, too. I picked up Dixie, and we couldn't get the netting untangled from her tags on her harness. She was so covered in cockle burrs and she had mucus in her eyes...but it was Dixie...I asked the man next door if he could please get some scissors so we could cut through the netting. He quickly got a box cutter. He said he had been keeping his eyes open for her because he knew that there was a Yorkie missing.

All behind the houses was wild country with no fences and just mesquite bushes and cactus. I don't know how the 5 pound baby did it, but she travelled probably more than 10 miles. We've had horrible weather during the time she's been out, and the rain is probably why she wasn't dehydrated. I hate to think what she's eaten, but she is a brave, tough little dog. I can't believe she didn't get swarmed by fire ants or any other horrible thing.

We've spent the day taking care of her, and thanking people who helped find her and spread the word about her. We've called all the animal shelters, animal rescues and kind people who have helped us, and I can't even begin to describe how many kind people out there who have helped us locate Dixie. Her Microchip number is now registered*duh*.
It's amazing how our collective mood changed in a split second. Thanks to all of you who spared thoughts and prayers for Dixie's safe return.
Currently listening:
Home
By Dixie Chicks

June 17, 2007

2010-07-10T14:09:00.001-05:00

June 17, 2007

Current mood: sad
Category: Pets and Animals
So, we had to go out of town. We left two of our dogs home and had someone come in and check on them. We have a dog door, so they were able to get in and out, etc. However, our smallest dog...the Yorkshire Terrier...we took over to my Mom's house. We felt that she would be better off with people all the time. She is less than 5 pounds and very spoiled and we just felt that she needed extra care, right?

Well...on the 5th day we were gone, my Mom calls me and says,
Mom: "What are you doing?"
Me: "We just got back from a museum...."
Mom: *sigh* "Oh, I just don't know how to tell you this......"
Me: Ohmygod. Tell me. Just tell me. What? What? OHMYGOD! WHAT?
Mom: Dixie got out. We can't find her. I just don't know what to do....
Me: Oh, shit. How long ago? Have you called her?
Mom: Ohhhhh...
Me: Just go outside and call her, she'll come. She's never run off before!
Mom: Ohhhhh......
Me: What? What? How long ago?
Mom: Yesterday morning.
Me: What?!?!? You mean MONDAY morning? And this is what? What? Tuesday evening????? Oh.my god!!!!!!! Well, we have to do something...we have to....ummmm..I have to well...she is microchipped and we have to call the vet and tell them she is missing and you have to put up signs and you have to...
Mom: We've put up signs and I'll call the vet right now..

So...I gave her our vet's name and number which the dog has on her harness, of course. Then, I had to tell Sanford. Meanwhile, I'm thinking of all the things that could have happened to a 4 pound Yorkie in the Texas hill country. How did she get out? Nobody knows. Nobody had seen her. We have combed every square acre, inch and millimeter of scrub brush from our house to my Mother's house for her. We have gotten people's permission to go on their property that is just wild empty country, we have looked for buzzards circling, we have gone at night with spotlights, we have literally done EVERYTHING we can do. And we now don't know what else to do. We have put up signs, we have offered rewards, we have put advertisements in area newspapers, we've put ads in internet publications....we've done EVERYTHING. Being microchipped is no good if nobody brings her in.
One couple claim they saw her 4 days ago on their ranch, so we spent yesterday combing 9 acres with absolutely no sign of her. And to have been there, she would have had to cross 2 busy state highways and then hoofed it over several acres of rough country.

She is so tiny, but very bossy. She is recently spayed, she is wearing a bright pink harness, and she doesn't have a typical Yorkie haircut. She answers to "Dixie". She is part of my heart. She was last seen in Georgetown, Texas...specifically the "Village" subdivision, which is near Sun City. There is a substantial reward for her safe return..no questions asked. Her tags say "Town and Country Vet" and have the phone number for the vet on them.

I won't even go into how Sanford is acting. That's for another Blog altogether.

June 5, 2007

2010-07-10T14:08:00.001-05:00

June 05, 2007

Packing

So, I just had to pack. When I pack, I don't just pack for myself. I have to pack for the kids, and then to make sure Sanford hasn't forgotten something essential like....clothing...I have to check his packing. I hate to pack. It's almost enough to make me not travel.

I was getting stuff ready this morning to pack for my two boys and I told them, "Go get all of your shorts and shirts and underwear so I can pack them.." about ...ohhhhhhh I don't know an hour later, after I had to go hunt them down, they present themselves to me with a grand total of 2 pair of shorts and 3 shirts and 1 pair of underwear BETWEEN THEM.

Me: What the hell?

Boys: *shrug*

Me: Where are y'alls clothes?

Boy 1: I don't have any.

Boy 2: I don't know where mine are.

Me: *silence because I was attempting to not wig out*

Now, I do laundry. All the effin' time. I fold clothes and give them to their owners to put away. Daily. I may not cook, I may not clean..yes I'm spoiled. I have maids...but I do laundry. I also shop. I know that these people have clothing. Lots of it.

I took a few deep, cleansing, Yogic breaths and said:

Me: Bullcrap...go get your stuff or I'll go get it and you won't like it if I go in your rooms and start looking for stuff.

Both boys: NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! MOM! Please!

Me: *through clenched teeth* THEN.GO.GET.YOUR.THINGS.

They scurry off to do my bidding. Meanwhile, I go get a load of laundry out to fold, switch clothes from washer to dryer, put a new load in the washer and come back to fold. The boys reappear. Sans clothing, I might add.

Me: *furiously folding towels* Where.Are.Your.Clothes?

Boy 1: I'll handle this...

Me: I'm gonna handle both of y'all in about two seconds...

Boy 2: Mom, mom....listen....

Me: I'm gonna go in there and I'm gonna throw everything you own out...INCLUDING ALL VIDEO GAME SYSTEMS AND COMPUTERS....and...

Both: NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!! *scurry scurry*

I get towels put away and they both come back looking terrified and helpless.

Me: THAT'S IT! I go stomping through the house into the youngest boy's room. Don't feel sorry for him, he's 11 years old. I start picking up random pieces of clothing on his floor and yelling and hollering. At my order, her got a trash bag to begin a bag of clothing that no longer fits for Goodwill, and then we started a new pile of stuff so dusty and icky that it needed laundering AGAIN. I was hollering and berating the whole time. He was happy as hell saying stuff like.."OH! That's where that was!" My husband is standing in the door glowering at him. (but not helping..) The oldest boy seeing that I was fed up has disappeared into his cave to find his clothes and clean his room...FINALLY.

Here is what I found in my youngest's room:

1. Size 2T underpants. (Remember he is 11 and huge. He wears a men's size 32 waist pants)

2. His 1st two years of Tball shirts. He wants to keep using them as nightshirts. He weights well over 100 pounds. These are shirts for 5 year olds.

3. PROBABLY 20 PAIR OF SOCKS. Every morning during school, he'd come in and say, "I don't have any clean socks!" I bought new socks every damned week, I swear. ALL OF THE SOCKS I FOUND WERE CLEAN AND BRAND NEW.

Little turd. I didn't find a little turd, although that wouldn't have surprised me.

4.Wrappings, boxes, plastic from various toys...in other words...TRASH.

5. His mattress pad. Stuffed in a toy box. I sniffed it. No weird smell. I have a blacklight to check for dog pee. I turned off his lights and swept it over the mattress pad. No stains. So, no reason for him to just rip that sucker off and hide it. Plus, I am very candid with my kids and both boys know if they ever wake up with wet sheets, just yank them off and put them in the laundry and there will be no questions asked. SO NO EXCUSE FOR A MATTRESS PAD IN THE TOY BOX. He is just a slob.

I have raised a slob. God help me.

So, then after all this is done, we see that Son #2 has more than enough clothes, but oldest son doesn't because his school wears uniforms. So, off we fly to by a bunch of shorts and shirts. But he doesn't want to go, because he really and truly does not give a rat's ass what he wears. So, now I'm back, and they are packed and I have to turn them over to the sperm donor asshat sphincter in a few days. I hate him.

And he won't even make sure they CHANGE THEIR CLOTHES. Much less brush their teeth. And my oldest son just got his braces off and let me tell you...that is one gorgeous kid. Well, they are both gorgeous, but that smile on the oldest one...WOWZA.

I hate packing.
Currently listening:
The Beatles' Greatest Hits
By John & Paul McCartney Lennon
Release date: 15 February, 1995

June 3, 2007

2010-07-10T14:06:00.001-05:00

June 03, 2007

Just wanna say...
The lady who wanted "accomodating" at WalMart yesterday was AWESOME, people. She was about 4'11'' with two little toddlers and she was takin' NO SHIT. Her husband is probably deployed to Iraq (as most men in my town are...thank you G.W., you asshole.) and she demanded accomodation. I heart her.

That is all.

June 2, 2007

2010-07-10T14:04:00.000-05:00

June 02, 2007

Evil tidings from Conglomo Mart

Hey. Guess what? I watched "Smokin' Aces". I've seen that damned movie. But only parts. I must have fallen asleep and then woken up and watched parts and then gone back to sleep because the stupid assed movie SUCKED ASS.

Today, we needed to go get some junk for my kid's impending trip to see the man who actually contributed the sperm that resulted in these outlandishly wondrous human beings who are my sons. Thank GOD they bear absolutely NO resemblance to the Sphincter. Believe me, I get down on my knees daily and give thanks.
Anyhow, it's time for their yearly trip to go do whatever it is that Jackhole does with him up North where the Asshat lives. So, I proposed that we wait until tomorrow to go, but Sanford said, "let's go now..Walmart is open 24 hours a day!" *Remember that this is not always a plus..weird assed jackoffs shop at strange hours*

So, we go to get a few things the boys need for their trip. While we're there, I say, "Hey, Miller just came out with a new beer that's supposed to be like a Chelada! Ima go see if they have it!" and I limp/scurried back to the beer section to see if they did. Sanford followed me saying "huh?" As I was attempting to explain the wonders of an icy cold concoction of Mexican beer with lime juice and salt....I come upon the Miller dude..he is stocking the case and I say..."Hey! They have it!" and I grab a 6 pack and put it in our cart...we start to walk off and the Miller dude says, "You want more?" and I say "Excuse me?" and he says, "I have more! It's brand new and I can't keep the stores stocked! But you're lucky! I have a lot right now!" And he smiles this really happy smile. I said, "Um, no...just the one will be fine..but thanks!" and I turned to walk away AGAIN...*remember I'm not a small talker....*
So, he says..."Just a hint....." and so I turn BACK to him and I stop and smile....and he says.."You gotta get the beer COLD....really, really..ummmm...cold."
I was just standing there. I said, "Cold. Right. Got it. Thanks!" And I turned around to leave yet again...Sanford had booked it already to go get coffee creamer. So, I'm left alone to make small talk with the beer dude. And beer dude evidently is one lonely man. Because he stops me yet again to make sure I realize that cold is the opposite of hot. Cold means icy. Put it in the refrigerator..make it NOT HOT. I seriously think he may have been sampling the product.

So, I finally get back to Sanford who had wandered way the fuck far away. I could get kidnapped and he would never notice...I swear. We go to checkout. He chooses a lane that is so fucking crowded, that there is NO way he is going to get the cart down that little gauntlet of people and carts and magazine displays and crap without A: hitting someone or B: knocking some shit down.
So, he plows his ass right on ahead. Sure enough, he hits this woman....and he is muttering, "Scuse me, scuse me, scuse me..." just sort of randomly...and the woman he hit was with another woman and her friend is grabbing her saying, "For God's sake, git out the way, girl!" and I'm coming behind him saying, "Oh, my God, I am SO SORRY!" and I'm poking him and saying, "Stop it!" so after he hits this woman, he hits the display of the stupid assed Farmer's Almanac and knocks it OFF THE BASE OF IT'S DISPLAY scattering fucking Farmer's Almanacs from here to fucking Georgia and I live nowhere near Georgia, people.
So, he struts his ass up to the checkout , and as he does, I walk up behind him and I am looking at the cashier because I know that if the cashier looks dead, chances are I'm going to be there awhile. Well, I also was chastising him for causing bodily harm and property destruction on his way to the fucking checkout....the lady he rammed came (and I'm not making this shit up...)LIMPING past us, and I whispered to him, "Look! Look at that! She is either disabled or you MADE HER LIMP, YOU ASSHAT!"
He.did.not.even.care. He fucking SHRUGGED HIS SHOULDERS! Can you even believe that?

I was absolutely flabbergasted. So, back to the cashier he was so EAGER TO REACH. She is punching the buttons on her computer...and the customer is punching the buttons on the credit card scanner thing. They are both actually HITTING the buttons exceptionally hard and they are both talking to each other through gritted teeth. This is what they are saying:

Cashier: stop pushing those buttons..*punch*
Customer: YOU stop pushing buttons!*punch*
Cashier: i'm telling you, if you don't stop, you'll freeze up the machine!*punch*
Customer: stop pushing the buttons!*punch*
Cashier: YOU stop pushing the buttons!*punch*

Me: *snort* THIS is the best line in the store.....great choice, man.

Sanford: WHAT? HUH? *he's deaf*

Cashier: *flipping the light switch on her light pole* Well, now it's frozen! It's FROZEN....*looking at me* IT'S FROZEN! YOU'LL HAVE TO MOVE!

Me: I'm not moving. We already unloaded all our stuff...unfreeze the thing!
Customer: Can't you just turn it off and then turn it back on?
Me: Yeah...like is it broken FOREVER? Nobody can ever use it ever again?
Lady who had just rolled up behind us: ARE YOU GOING TO ACCOMODATE US? THAT IS WHAT I WANT TO KNOW! WHO IS GOING TO ACCOMODATE US!

Sanford: HUH? ACCLIMATE?
Me: Nevermind...Listen, can't you just reboot the stupid computer or whatever?
Lady behind me: I know I'm not carrying all these groceries anywhere else!
Customer: This is RIDICULOUS!
Customer's surly teenaged daughter: This FRICKIN' LADY IS A BITCH! (referring to cashier) although I agreed with her I was appalled her mother didn't drop kick her right there.

So, they finally moved all of us to REGISTER 18! REGISTER 18, PEOPLE! And I told them they would have to put all of my stuff back in my cart and MOVE MY CART and UNLOAD MY CART . So they did because I had the most unstable man on the planet with me. The little lady who was behind me was accomodated, as well. I told them, "YOU BETTER ACCOMODATE HER, TOO!" and she said, "I KNOW THAT'S RIGHT!"
And I'd be willing to bet that before we had even walked out the door...the original cash register was back up and running, and that all they did was turn it off and on. Dumbasses. I hate that place. HATE IT.

And oh, hey...while I'm thinking about it...does your Ipod ever just go wild and refuse to play certain songs? Like you put it on Shuffle and it will shuffle for like 30 seconds and then play only some songs, but won't play others? And you have to hook it back up to your computer for it to like reset or something?
Yeah. Why does it do that? And how can I get it to stop. I've had it for what...2 years or something and I hate that.

And how much extra would it cost me to hop over to Amsterdam while I'm in England? Just for a day or two? If you are nice, do the research for me. Or if you live in Amsterdam...and want to like pick me up at the airport and take me to a "coffee shop" and then take me back to the airport...lemme know. I need an Amsterdam break in a really bad way.

June 1, 2007

2010-07-10T14:03:00.000-05:00

June 01, 2007

So. Give me free time and I do crap. So, I went and got a pedicure, right? A friend told me about a new place where nobody yells at me in a language I cannot understand. Cool. I drug one son with me. He had a videogame thing with him, so he didn't protest too much. He sat and stared at the little contraption and pushed buttons on it. So, I go...it's clean, it's new. It's okay. Nobody tries to make small talk with me. Mostly. I can pretty much handle the tiny bit of small talk the dude does try to make with me, and even though his English is HEAVILY accented and I pretty much understood NOTHING he said, it was okay. I now have lovely toes once again.

BUT....

My big toes have these fucking forest green star-burst pattern .....THINGS on them with navy blue polka dots going down the centers. Evidently, at some point....I agreed to that little treat. What.the.HELL? And it was EXTRA...of course. WhatEVer.

Anyhow, he didn't break out a razor and shave old dead skin off my feet which is a good thing because you know you can get all sorts of nasty assed diseases from that. Then, when I shuffled over to my son to tell him we could go, he promptly touched my right big toe with his oaf-ish foot and scraped some of my LOVELY star-burst polka dot pattern off. DAMN! Anyhow, I did get this mind numbingly delicious leg and foot massage and he put hot towels around my calves...Jesus Murphy it was HEAVEN!

So, since VC didn't shave off my skin, I decided to do that myself last night. I have one of those razor callous shaver thingies. Only I have no business using sharp things. I cut the living SHIT out of my left heel. I limped into the kitchen to get a bandage and when I turned around, I noticed a trail of blood that looked like someone had been axe murdered stretching out behind me. Since I had undertaken this bit of primping after midnight; everyone else in the house was asleep, so I had nobody to whine and complain to. I had to take care of myself and cuss myself.
So, I did. Thoroughly. And I was bleeding too much for a mere bandage. I had to get gauze and then THREE bandages to hold the gauze. I'm practically MAIMED. Plus, I had to use an antiseptic pad and antibiotic gel! All alone!

And then....I got my damned effin' period. God DAMN it. DAMN DAMN DAMN DAMN. HELL FUCK AND SHIT.

Let's see...what else? We went to a "family" appointment for one of my children, and we had to do a "sculpting" exercise. You place the various members of your family in the positions you see them occupying in everyday life. It can be symbolic or whatever. I had to go first. It's not very easy. It's quite thought provoking. UNLESS you are my husband. The kid's sculptures of the family were really interesting and one was very predictable, but the older one's sculpture was quite unexpected and relieving. But my HUSBAND'S??????

Oh.my.GOD. I can't even go into it. I just can't. I may have to become a nun or hell, I can't do that, I'm Jewish. I could what.....become a hermit? Can I do that? Can I join an ashram in India? Or a Kibbutz in Israel? I don't know, but hell...people are lucky I'm not murderous. Really, really lucky. People are lucky I'm one calm motherfucker. That's all I'm saying.

Then, I effin' groomed two of the three stupid assed dogs who I love to death. Not to DEATH...but I am really crazy about the dogs. One had an old turd stuck to his ass hairs, though. I mean....come ON. Now that I am on vacation, I guess it was time for it to get taken care of. I was too embarrassed to take him to the groomer's like that. And the smallest dog has never been to the groomer's and she is quite possibly not a dog, but some mutant species of something...so I'm not risking taking HER $3,000 ass to the groomer's. No, I patiently sat on the floor with a towel underneath their nasty asses and got bit and scratched whilst cutting away too long fur and patiently making my way to the largest petrified turd on record. If such records are kept. Which, since my faith in humanity is at an all time low, I'm quite sure such records ARE kept.
The third dog....the brainless one who barks at any and all stimulus just ran in circles around us barking. That was a GREAT help. I had purchased a pretty pink harness for the tiny mutant creature...but because I am tired and have lost faith in all things, I couldn't figure out how to put it on the wriggling hound of Hell.
Husband who is lucky I am not homicidal was no help. Actually, that's been the theme, lately.

I've got cramps and Husband is no help.

May 30, 2007

2010-07-10T14:02:00.000-05:00

May 30, 2007

So we rented some movies at the evil movie renting place.

The one I chose was very good, naturally. I chose "The Painted Veil" with Naomi Watts and the sexually oozing Edward Norton. (Gasp! My Mother informed me yesterday that she is of the impression that Mr. Norton is homosexual! Which I happen to KNOW he is not! Not that there is ANYTHING wrong with that...but he isn't...homosexual, that is....)

Anyhow, it was a BEAUTIFUL movie. Even though W. Somerset Maugham wrote it, and we ALL know he wasn't the most cheerful dude ever. Ask Holden Caufield. It was a very good movie. Even Sanford liked it.

Then, I was forced to sit through his choice. "Soldier of God", about some dipshit Templar Knight. It.was.mind.numbingly.boring. Truly. Even Sanford cussed the screen at the end. It was confusing, stupid and had no subtitles for deaf Sanford. If it is about the Templars, he watches it. It could be about the Templars taking a crap, and he'd watch it. Damn, they were filthy...anyhow, don't bother renting it unless you are in the mood for a confusing boring as hell waste of time.

I've wanted to see "Smokin' Aces" for awhile. Sanford claims I saw it. He says we rented it. My sons claims I saw it. I did not see it. I know I didn't. I've seen previews of it, I looked at the box, and I can say without reservation that I have not seen that fucker. I WANT to, but I have not seen it as yet. So I rented it. (Again, according to Sanford.) He says I fell asleep the minute we turned it on last time. Which, if that is true, that proves how HARD I WORK!!!!!!! Damn right.

And then, I insisted we purchase our own copy of "Borat" so that I can laugh my ass off anytime I feel the need. Which is quite frequently. My personal library is diverse. I have movies for different moods. Sometimes, because of tremors, I can't hold still to read, so I have to resort to movies...so I have all of Jane Austen's works on DVD, I have tons of BBC productions on DVD, I have stuff like Super Troopers, Office Space, Raising Arizona, Monty Python and the Holy Grail and a SUPERIOR film from France that I could watch over and over called "Etre et Avoir". It is one of the best documentaries EVER. "Amelie"; "The Tango Lesson"; "It's a Beautiful Life"....many other movies that at the time, I said "That is the BEST movie I've ever seen, we have to buy it."

Anyhow, the long and short of this is: Don't watch "Soldier of God", but "The Painted Veil" was good. Oh and "Marie Antoinette" by Sofia Coppola...I bought that. I adore that effin' movie. Evidently, I'm the only American who does..

Is Life? No..Demorez.
Monday, May 28, 2007

New books
Current mood: amused
So, I went to the bookstore today. I just finished reading "I Love You, Beth Cooper" by Larry Doyle. Obviously a fast read.

Let's see...how was it? FANTASTIC. That's how it was. Read it. Hysterical. Fantabulous. It's about a boy who is his class Valedictorian. In his speech, he says a bunch of things he has never said, but has wanted to say. Including, "I love you, Beth Cooper." She is the head cheerleader. He is the debate team captain. The rest of the story takes place the night of their high school graduation. It's a sweet, funny and sometimes sad story that I THINK almost everyone who is over the age of 18 can identify with. I did laugh. Several times. Hard. That's a rave review from me.

I also purchased "Shantaram" by Gregory David Roberts; "The Last Jew" by Noah Gordon and "The Pirate Queen :The Story of Grace O'Malley, Irish Pirate" by Alan Gold. We'll see how those are...

The sun actually came out for like 2 seconds today. Long enough to trigger allergies.
Currently reading:
Shantaram: A Novel
By Gregory David Roberts
Release date: 29 September, 2005

May 27, 2007

2010-07-10T14:01:00.002-05:00

May 27, 2007

Life of leisure

So, I'm officially on vacation now. My stress level has become so high however, that my body has not caught up with the notion of relaxation yet. I'm hoping sometime in the next two weeks I'll actually begin to relax.

So far, we have two trips planned this summer. One I want to take, and one I don't want to take, but I'm going to because I need to. That stresses me out. Actually the idea of preparing to travel is stressful in itself. Traveling is stressful. Especially traveling outside of the U.S. Very stressful. What is intended to be a relaxing event becomes a very stress-filled event. The idea of packing gives me panic attacks. Not because it's difficult to pack for myself, but because I have to make sure all of my family is properly packed. If I don't oversee everyone's packing, they will take a pair of flip-flops and maybe a clean pair of underwear and ....well...a video game maybe. MAYBE. Forget toothbrushes, clothing, toiletries, etc. When we went to Paris last year, (in March), my daughter insisted she would be fine with flip flops, and sulked and pouted for a week when I told her she had to bring actual enclosed shoes. Once we got there and the temperature never got above freezing, she was thankful, but before that, she thought I was the biggest bitch on the planet.

Once we arrived, my children refused to eat when we stopped to eat and kept saying, "We'll wait...we're not hungry yet..." even when my husband and I told them that this is mealtime, and we won't be stopping at McDonald's even if we see one on a corner later. Therefore, my children tell everyone that when we travel, they starve. We don't travel to different continents to go to McDonald's, and my kids keep believing we'll give in, although we don't. My youngest found the only bottle of ketchup in Paris, though. Evidently big blue eyes, freckles and a charming smile translate to any language. Even thought I had just told my son that they didn't have ketchup (after the waiter and I had conversed in French,) the waiter told me he would go and see what he could find in the kitchen. Sure enough, he came back with a tiny bottle of ketchup. My son ate it on what that restaurant called a 'hot dog' which was really a sausage on a baguette.

Anyhow, a summer filled with ungrateful children, and uncomfortable flights and beautiful art and fascinating history awaits us. Right now, our area is experiencing frightening weather. So far 6 people have died in our city from flooding. A house in our neighborhood was struck by lightning last week in the middle of the night and literally burned to the ground. Two days ago there was a tornado downtown. There is no end in sight to the bad weather according to the National Weather Service, so the kids are stuck inside as summer begins. My dogs are perpetually wet and muddy-pawed and bark at the thunder all day and night. I'm out of things to read and have taken to re-reading classics like "North and South" by Elizabeth Gaskell about a minister in the South of England who gives up his church to move to the North of England to a milltown with this young daughter and wife in the 1800s. Meh. I've read it, but am reading it again.

We saw the 3rd "Pirates of the Carribean" today. It was good. Better than the 2nd, but I still liked the 1st best.

This is even boring to me.
Currently reading:
North and South (Penguin Classics)
By Elizabeth Gaskell
Release date: 01 June, 1996

May 6, 2007

2010-07-10T14:01:00.001-05:00

May 06, 2007

A big fat lie

Okay, so when people ask me if I watch TV, I usually say "No". To be perfectly honest, that isn't true. My eyes do view the screen of the television when it's on, if it interests me. Problem is.....it's very hard to keep me interested.

So, I end up watching crap like "Modern Marvels" and shit. It's short, it's flashy, it's loud and it has frequent commercial breaks. As a matter of fact, I like commercials. Or that one about the filthiest jobs in the world! That one is cool. The dude is amusing at times, too.

I watched "Project Runway" when I remembered it was on. One of my kids would remind me. I developed very strong emotional feelings towards the "designers", though. It ended up being far too taxing and stressful for me to watch. That was how "Top Chef" was, too. I don't even cook, and I was really mad or sad or insulted or whatever during that show. I had to stop watching.

I watched "The Surreal Life" a couple of times, but got too wrapped up in it. I know this is shallow and crappy of me. This is why I would only watch on marathon Sundays....I'd watch a whole season in one day.

OhmyGAWD, I just remembered another one I'm terribly ashamed of....I watched "Laguna Beach"....not the first one...the second one. Why???? I don't know. While I was watching these doses of morphine for the brain, I would do other stuff....like work-related stuff. I could even LEAVE THE HOUSE...run errands, come home and watch some more and it didn't even matter if I'd missed 2 or 3 episodes.

We have cable, but it's wasted on me, for the most part. (Except, of course, for Josh Bernstein...I watch him. I'd watch him read a phone book, though. Silently.)
The kids watch it, my husband watches all the military crap and airplane crap and if there is a submarine involved, he is RIVETED. So, I'll hear people talk about shows and then I'll wait and order them all from Netflix and watch them all in a row....like The Sopranos...that is how I watched that show every season. Yeah, I am always like a year late, but I don't care much. Then I watch them all and get on an Italian kick, and people end up saying, "Why do you sound like you are from New Jersey?" when I generally have a Southern accent. And since I don't cook, we have to go to Italian restaurants and I order red wine, although I don't care for it.

That is how I became enamored of "Curb Your Enthusiasm". AWESOME show, as I'm sure you are all aware. I almost cried when we reached the last episode. Seriously. I love Larry David. My husband says I am like the wife in that show, but we have kids, and I am the Jew. So, not like her at all, I guess. I rather see myself like Carmela when I'm watching a season of "The Sopranos", except I'm not Italian, my husband isn't an overweight Mafia boss who is strangely irresistibly sexy and dangerous and crude and horrible, yet loveable and sweet all at the same time, and my kids are good. Oh and I'm not Catholic.

Well, my newest COMPLETE AND TOTAL OBSESSION is "The Office". (You should know I actually just typed "The Orifice"...look that up in some Freudian book...)

ANYhow..."The Office". Yeah. The U.S. version with Steve Carrell. I haven't seen the British version. Yes, I know it came first. Meh. Like I care. Steve Carrell is HIfuckinglarious. I would like it MORE if Clive Owen were in it. That is purely because he is hot as freakin' magma, though. Don't know what he'd bring to the whole comic element...THING. Don't much care. Just wanna drool over him. Oh, yeah...plus he's British....English....UK-ian....whatEVer. That was the tie-in there. The segue, if you will. Or even if you won't.

I also realize I'm like 2 or 3 years behind the trend here. I do not care. I'm confident enough to not give a shit. (Or I just don't give a shit, that's possible, too.) That show is a fucking laugh riot.

I worked at Dunder Mifflin, but it wasn't a paper company. It was an insurance company and I worked as a receptionist like Pam. And it wasn't named "Dunder Mifflin". Then I got "promoted" to accounts payable. Wow. That's all I can say about that. I worked for people like Steve Carrell's character, but they WEREN'T AS KICK ASS. It sucked the life out of me slowly. Thank GOD I'm not doing that anymore. Because it's funny as hell to watch and slap my thigh and say "OhmyGAWD, he's such an ASSHOLE!!!!!", but it was sheer grinding hell to have to live it every damned day.

It would have been a damned sight BETTER if Clive Owen had been there, but alas.....
Hell, it would have been a damned sight better if Steve Carrell had been there.

But no. No exceptionally good-looking people work where I have ever worked. (Yes, I realize I am putting myself in that group. I don't care about that. What's.in.it.for.ME?) Same goes for funny people. Or if there ARE funny people there; if you laugh, you get penalized.

But back to TV. If the kids aren't home, or my husband isn't home, the TV is turned off. We got this big assed fancy plasma thing in the living room, right? I don't know how to turn it on. I have finally admitted it. Here. On my blog. I can't turn on my new television. I haven't really TRIED, because it isn't worth the effort. The one in the bedroom is easy and I'm used to it and it has the DVD and all that hooked up and I don't have to say, "Which button do I push?"
My nephew could do the DVR and record all of "Blue's Clues" when he was 3. My brother realized the freakin' TV was recording "Blue's Clues" everytime it came on ANYWHERE like...in the whole fucking solar system. I can't turn the freakin' thing ON.

I wonder if Netflix has a "How to turn on your big-assed Plasma TV" video guide hosted by Clive Owen?

May 5, 2007

2010-07-10T14:00:00.001-05:00

May 05, 2007

Forgiveness and Bruschetta

Today I had to mend a pretty big horrible painful hole in my heart. I don't actually know if it's mended, but I allowed a bandaid to be put on it.

I'm a person who trusts only....wait...I have to think.....I trust my....no...not him....I trust my...uhhhh.nope. Ok...I got one....wait....no. Yeah..Okay....I trust my dog Macgregor...wait...scratch that..he runs off if the gate is left open..he is a traitor-ass. Lemme think here....hang on a sec.....

Okay. So I trust NOBODY. I've accepted that. I've known it for a long, long time. My husband? Not really. He knows I feel this way. Has he DONE anything to deserve that? Not.that.I.KNOW.of.

My parents? Don't even get me started.

My kids? They speaketh with forked tongues when it will benefit them. They are basically good awesome wondrous beings, though. But, one would sell me for Naruto toys and the other would sell me for....hell I don't know...some computer crap probably. They will deny this, but I know better.

Clearly, I have trust issues. So, I allowed one of the reasons for my trust issues to come and try and repair some damage today. For the good of my children, anyhow. I'm exHAUSted, now. Let me tell you, there isn't enough Xanax in the WORLD for my family issues. But, my kids are happy, this one other person is happy, my Mom claims she is "Oh so very happy because otherwise one day you (meaning me..) would regret it and be so sad when he died" (meaning the person I allowed to come and visit.) She also told me this person looked like they were about to die so I better hurry up and forgive...and that WAS A TOTAL LIE. He looks fine.

anyhow....we all went to lunch at fucking Applebee's. I hate that goddamned place. Some dude named Lamar waited on us. He was wearing sunglasses. One of my kids is a teenager and almost 6 feet tall and the other is a preteen and built like a Croatian plow horse. They clearly don't want or need children's menus. So, good ole Lamar (I shit you not, his name was Lamar..I had a stuffed monkey named Lamar when I was a kid.) gets our drink order and asks "Can they have real glasses?"
And since LAMAR was wearing sunglasses I couldn't tell who he was speaking to..because I couldn't see his freakin' EYES. I said, "Who?"
Lamar: "Them" *nods at my sons*
Me: "Real glasses as opposed to......?"
Lamar: "Huh?"
Me: "I'm not sure what you're asking...."
Lamar: "Can they have grown up cups?"
Me: "Sure! We are CELEBRATIN'!!!!"
Lamar shuffles off. My youngest kid says:

Kid: "We're celebrating, Mom? Can I have a milkshake?"
Me: "No, we're not celebrating...catch up."

Anyhow, I ordered the nasty assed bruschetta burger with pesto on it. IT IS CRAPTASTIC NASTY ASSED SHIT on BRUSCHETTA. That is my official review of that dish. I took an antacid when I got home and I am STILL burping some vile wretched non-specific spice that is not pesto.

Oh, and Lamar regaled us with a RIVETING detailed account of how he knocks his "kool-aid" over everytime he gets up off his couch because he sets his kool-aid on the floor next to the couch. And guess what? Lamar doesn't have a STEAM CLEANER...so he has to go to Wal-Mart like.....once a WEEK, y'all! *to rent a steam cleaner...* (This was his explanation for why he wanted to know if two perfectly able-bodied boys could have "real glasses"...evidently Lamar cannot have a real glass) I suggested taking off his sunglasses so he could see his kool-aid glass. Lamar laughed, said "yeahhhhhhh...." pointed at me and shuffled off. I do believe Lamar was stoned, and I was sorely tempted to ask him for some weed.

That was my day today.

Yesterday was worse. Much, much, much worse.
Currently listening:
Ultimate Waylon Jennings
By Waylon Jennings
Release date: 23 March, 2004

April 29, 2007

2010-07-10T13:59:00.001-05:00

April 29, 2007

Reportable doings are sparse

There isn't much noteworthy going on. Well, the noteworthy shit is insane shit so I won't even admit it because it's too crazy.

The schoolyear is almost over and I'm not going to pretend that I'm not glad. It's been a long one. Summer will be a welcome respite.

I did go gamble in Louisiana with some friends the other day. It was surreal. I rode on a bus. That was uncomfortable, I don't mind telling you.

Then after we had entered and exited the casino multiple times, the security dude stopped one of my friends and made her give up her backpack and then made her turn it in at the hotel front desk. All the rest of us had backpacks, but he only picked on her. We were pissed, but her Mom was highly insulted and decided to launch her own investigation. She went past this guy repeatedly with each of our backpacks to see if he would stop her. He did not. So she stopped finally and yelled "AH HAAAAA!" in his face and demanded an explanation as to why he had singled out her daughter. He gave her some lame assed explanation about "since 9/11 we do that randomly.
Yeah because terrorists are often women in a group wandering around a freakin' second rate casino in Shreveport, Louisiana playing slots. Getting rid of THAT place would send a message LOUD AND FUCKING CLEAR to whoever.
We ate a craptastic nasty assed buffet, then we gamled for a little while longer (I did win about 200 bucks.) and then we got back on this damned bus that played "Blood Diamond" at top volume on the little individual movie screens. Problem
1: I've already seen it.
2. Leonardo DiCaprio should never attempt accents. He sucks at it.
3. IT WAS FUCKING LOUD AS HELL.
4. We all wanted to sleep.
5. No individual volume controls.
6. TURN THE STUPID THING OFF, ASSHAT!
7. We were GOSSIPING!!!!!

We didn't get home until almost midnight. It was me, some of my coworkers who are all approximately my age, we are of a couple of different races, but besides us, it was a bus of African American old people. It was awesome.

April 19, 2007

2010-07-10T13:57:00.002-05:00

April 19, 2007

Wow, that's effed up...

So...I've been waiting to see my shrink for my medicine right? Only I've been OUT of my medicine for like....2 freaking months. Which has made life around here a veritable whirlwind of crazy. Our HMO has made things virtually impossible, so it took forEVer to get in to see the Dr. to get refills...but...ANYhow...today I got in...finally.

In order to do this, I had to take a whole day off work. And I have a job that is not easy to take a day off from. My job doesn't just wait for me. I have to make all these arrangements that are a pain in my ASS if I want to not be there. So, I went to the Dr. I got my medicine refilled. Like a LOT of medicine.

So, I go in there, and my shrink is this ULTRA put together very serene and chic woman, right? NOT good for the ole self esteem if you are a crazy assed bitch like me. I mean, I'm fairly put together...I am all into high maintenance stuff and shit like that. I gotta have good makeup and pedicures and shit....I wear expensive clothes and I have a major expensive shoe fetish...but still...I've never been called serene. Ever. I'm a freakin' carnival in human form.
So, I go in..and I am sitting there and I have been saving up my bitch and moan session about my shrink's staff because they were rude as all hell to me on the phone. So, I let loose about that..which I realize as I'm bitching vociferously makes me sound crazier than a shit-house rat. I do not care, though...because I've been saving it up, as I mentioned. Those people are ASSHOLES. You do NOT tell a freakin' looney woman that she has to get a fucking REFERRAL to see her own damned DOCTOR when she needs her damned PROZAC AND XANAX and whatever other delights I take.....especially when I'm having a major anxiety attack on the phone...and then if I say to you..."Well, what if I get my husband's machine gun and haul it and the tripod with me to your office, will THAT serve as a referral?" you sure as shit don't tell me, "I'm sorry ma'am, you HAVE TO HAVE A REFERRAL FROM YOUR PRIMARY CARE DOCTOR..." because I will go straight around the effin' bend...and I might be caught trying to pick the lock on the gunsafe by my husband and then have to spill the proverbial beans about what I'm doing....
.
.
.
WHEW....anyhow...

So. Today I finally get there. Sans machine gun, I might add. I was a good girl. I really was. I didn't even cuss out the fucking office staff. I was cordially cold. I did NOT throw my credit card like a Chinese Throwing Star at them when I paid my co-pay, either. I THOUGHT about it, but I did NOT act on that thought.
So, I am ushered into the very quiet, plush and presumably soothing office of Ultra Chic Serene Shrink Woman. I begin rapidly telling her what has happened. She nods, and rapidly attempts to scribble down what I'm telling her. She apologizes profusely. She says.."ooooooKAY...let's get you some medicine! You don't look like you've slept lately, either...let's get you something for that, too..."

I think to myself..."DAMNED STRAIGHT!"
Then, she asks me the all encompassing: "How is everything else?"
Oh, that poor, poor unsuspecting woman. I tell her how everything else is. See, she isn't a therapist. She is a psychiatrist. They usually just give you drugs. They usher you in, ask you "Do you wanna die? Do you wanna kill anyone? Do you hear voices...I mean voices other than mine? Do you see things? I mean other than me... Okay..here's your prescription...." Well, I MADE USE OF THIS APPOINTMENT. I unloaded on her. I told her everything. You know what she did?

She laughed. She fucking LAUGHED. I mean, what.the.HELL? She laughed???? Then she told me, "When I feel like my life is crazy, I'll think of yours...heh heh..."

WHAT.THE.FUCK?!?!?!?!?!?So now I'm therapeutic for other people? Shouldn't I get paid or free meds or SOMETHING? At the very least, shouldn't I not have to get an effin' referral every 6 months? I mean, come on! I've suffered!

I have a fucked up family! My parents are insane. My grandparents were all crazy.

All of my great aunts and uncles were insane. One got "accidentally" locked in a state mental hospital whilst visiting a friend. Then, when she started screaming, "let me out! I'm not crazy! I'm just visiting..." all of the people working there said, "Sure....right....."
Her sister used to take my Mom and all of her 8 siblings to stand outside the fence of the state mental facility in the 1940s and 50s to watch the crazy people. Like it was a zoo! I'm telling you, there are no normal people in my family.

My great grandmother couldn't be let out of the house because she would slap random people in public. Total strangers. (Which I actually find quite inspiring and awesome.....)

One of my Mom's cousins was the world Duncan yo-yo champion years ago. RIGHT BEFORE HE WAS INVOLUNTARILY COMMITTED TO A MENTAL HOSPITAL. He also made his wife drive their 6 kids around in a VW Bug while he drove the station wagon all by himself because he claimed the VW made his hair fall out. And the woman did it. I would have beat the living crap out of the nut. Or, I'd have shaved his head while he was sleeping so losing hair wasn't a damned issue anymore.

I'm telling you....it's in the genes. And that's just my MOM'S side. And only ONE side of my Mom's side. The other side is just as bad. If not worse. And my mental health care professional FINDS IT AMUSING.

I hate people sometimes.
Currently listening:
Crazy
By Patsy Cline

April 16, 2007

2010-07-10T13:57:00.001-05:00

April 16, 2007

Let's go surfin' now...

So, I'm thinking about going on a real-life freakin' surf safari. For real. There is this place in Mexico that specializes in surf vacations for women. Anyhow, they incorporate yoga and really essential crap like....SLEEP and shit with the surfing. It's a win/win.

I'm thinking I'll do it. You can arrange to have several women go at once..like a multi-generational thing, right? I'd rather be staked naked to a fire ant hill and slathered with honey, mind you....but you can have that option if you wish. I'll opt for the "Lone Wolf" plan. Or maybe I'll convince a friend to go with me. However, I'll not have a relative accompany me. Anyhow, you have to book reservations like a year ahead. So this nirvana won't occur for over a year,yet. But I'm gonna do it. I want to go to an Yoga ashram, too. The beauty of all of this is that nobody in my immediate family likes to do this.

This weekend, I'm going on a weird assed bus trip to another state. Why? It is a friend's birthday, and her mother arranged some chartered bus trip to go gamble on a river boat in another state. Who knew? My friend doesn't know we are all going to be on the bus...but we all have to be on the bus before 5am on a Saturday..then like a 6 hour bus trip...then gamble...presumably drink...eat...then get back on the bus and drive back. I'm sure the bus driver will need therapy the next day.

Ugh. Head hurts. Meh.
Currently reading:
Avalon: A Novel
By Anya Seton
Release date: 01 May, 2006

March 31, 2007

2010-07-10T13:56:00.001-05:00

March 31, 2007

So I found these people..

I found some AWESOME friends, y'all! Problem is...they are dead. I had no clue I could find Thomas Hardy, Jane Austen and people like that here. But I did. And I added them just to see what would happen. So far, nothing has happened, which is vaguely disappointing. I keep hoping they will reach out from the grave and communicate via MySpace. Why MySpace, I have no freakin' clue..but there ya go. I keep hoping.

Thomas Hardy would be a VERY sad dude to be friends with, but DAMN I love his writing. He had to be the most pessimistic guy ever. Seriously. However, I'd still like to talk to him occasionally. Just a "Hey Tommy, how's it goin' today?" type deal, ya know? He'd probably actually tell me how horrible and fruitless all endeavors are in life, but still...

So...what else? Ummmmm.....I'm not speaking to Sanford right now. I will not go into it. Suffice it to say he is being an asshat. Just take my word for it. I speak only the truth. Ever. Marriage is a damned hard assed thing, people. HARD, I TELL YOU. Worth it, but HARD AS HELL.

So, it's about time for Passover. It's important in the grand Jewish scheme of things. My kids groan about it. My husband, who is not any religion, doesn't care. I am upset because I can't find my plate. The pesach plate thingie. The one with all the separated compartments, people! Ugh! Where would it be? It's not like I would use it any other time of the year! If I can't find it, is that a sign I shouldn't have a Seder? No! Oh my Gosh! I never said that!

Okay, here's something else I am doing now. I bought this stuff called "pure food". Insert capital letters yourself. I'm too lazy. Anyhow, I've gotten interested in supplements and stuff, so I bought this stuff that is basically all the green vegetables you're supposed to eat and all that crap. You mix it with water and choke it down and pretend it's DELISH! It's not. It's horrid. But I'm driking that everyday. It's like drinking powdered asparagus with some fennel thrown in. Mmmmm!
I guess I'm just the glowing picture of health now. Next I'm supposed to do a "cleanse" or a "detox". And everybody says you're supposed to get colon hydrotherapy first. Okay. Few problems with that.

1. That is an exit. Not an entrance. Period.
2. Who decides who is qualified to shove a hose up my ass and turn on water? Who? Is there a governing body who tests these people?
3. What freak decided it was a good idea to shove water up someone's ass and intestines in the first place? Aren't you shoving everything further UP there?
4. Couldn't you technically do the same thing with your garden hose?
5. With K-Y Jelly?
6. Gross, right? Same thing. This is what I'm saying, people. Same damned thing.

So. No colon hydrotherapy for me. No thanks. How did humanity get along before the 20th century when some pervert who got off on having stuff shoved up his ass decided it would be more accepted if he said it was for health purposes told everyone to shove pressure washers up their asses for their good colon health? How? I'll tell you how...they let nature take it's course. They took a crap everyday or whenever they needed to. If they hadn't done it in awhile, they ate some freakin' OATMEAL, people!

Drink water. That helps, too. Geez. It isn't rocket science. I don't know how I got off on this tangent, but this is how I live. Welcome to it.
Currently reading:
The Gilded Chamber: A Novel of Queen Esther
By Rebecca Kohn

March 17, 2007

2010-07-10T13:55:00.001-05:00

March 17, 2007

Pissed off

So, my Spring Break is pretty much over. I didn't do anything productive. Except, yesterday I did clean my closet out and donated a bunch of clothes to Goodwill. Big whoop. I'm pissed because I didn't do something wild and spontaneous like fly to Vegas or something. I was too tired. I would have had to put clothes on to do that. Not happening.

Okay, so we're going to England in July. So, my Mom keeps asking me dumbass questions like: "Who am I sitting next to on the plane?"

Shit, I do not care. I will sit amidst total strangers. Hell, I'd PREFER that. All 3 of the kids have begged to NOT sit next to Grandma on the plane. She will nag them and bother them the entire trip. She is seriously buying these crazy assed seat covers that cover the ENTIRE plane seat to protect everyone from freakin' LICE. She has a louse phobia. They sell them through TravelSmith, and I am sure we will be the most popular assholes on the plane as we hold up everyone as Mom wrestles with the dipshit seat covers that have to be fitted over the seats. She carries paper towel rolls in her purse to the movies so she can make anti-macassars for the movie theater seats so as to prevent getting lice from movie theater seats.

She has the quads of a power lifter because she NEVER sits on a public toilet seat. She squats and hovers over it. Not me. I sit my ass on it. I've never caught anything yet. And I've used some nasty ass public restrooms in my day, too. And guess what? I didn't always wash my damned hands, either. And I didn't always have antibacterial gel! (I take medicine now that allows me to be so very cavalier about such things...I used to carry a spray bottle of Lysol with me everywhere in addition to germ gel and disposal toilet seat covers. Thanks to Prozac, I'm free!)

Anyhow, clearly she is going to be a pain in the ass to travel with. So, I'm pissed anticipating that.

We have two more rounds of state mandated testing to go through. I'm way pissed about that.

Menstruation is a bitch. Don't let anyone tell you any different. If some Wiccan chick tells you it's empowering and she saves her monthly flow in a jar because of it's powerful properties, she is fucking with you. It's not empowering. It's a pain in the ass. I could do without it. Gladly. I'm pissed off about it right now.

EViDENTly, once you hit 40, your gynecologist sends you little birthday cards that say: "Happy Birthday! Come get your boobs squished!" which is always festive.
Now, I have mammograms to worry about. FABULOUS. And our state is trying to force my daughter to get HPV shots. LOVELY. Should I get one? I don't KNOW! I don't KNOW ENOUGH ABOUT THE STUPID THING! I'm DREADING THE MAMMOGRAM!
As if a yearly pelvic exam isn't debasing and dehumanizing ENOUGH..let's add a good boob flattening to it just for the hell of it. Let's add small talk with a virtual stranger while you're almost naked to ANOTHER impossible situation.

Meh. I'd have a drink, but it would make me bloat. Shit!
Currently reading:
Smashed: Story of a Drunken Girlhood
By Koren Zailckas
Release date: 31 January, 2006

March 15, 2007

2010-07-10T13:54:00.001-05:00

March 15, 2007

My new way of communicating

So, I've been home on Spring Break for a few days, right? This has necessitated me coming up with a new way of communicating with my family whilst travelling in the car. Because I'm done AND DONE talking to those people.

1st: Sanford is deaf as a friggin' post. He hears NOTHING. I'm tired of it. It's wearin' on me. For real. What I SAY and what he THINKS I say are always so damned far away from each other it's preposterous.

2nd: My kids are arguing and fighting and being jerks the entire time and not listening ANYhow.

So, I came up with something. I've always thought "Hey, this song would make a great soundtrack right now"...so I've decided to set my damned life to music. Screw talking. Screw hollering. I just use my ipod thingie. It's plugged into the car.

Today for example, my youngest child was whining because he did not choose to go where we were going, and he was making his feelings known in a most unpleasant loud grating way. So, I clicked around on my ipod, turned up the volume and "You Can't Always Get What You Want" by the Rolling Stones came on. Loud. So loud he couldn't be heard above the music. This angered the child. That was a bonus for me. After the song ended, all was quiet. I put the ipod on "shuffle" and it was playing along, and then the three children began arguing about something and attempting to draw me into their asshat fight. No problem. Cue up: "Crazy" by Aerosmith. Volume up. When that song was over, the youngest child was crying.
Oh! I have just the thing! "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" by Willie Nelson! No problem! Since Sanford was driving, I was able to really pay close attention to my song choices. What fun!
Later, when they asked why we were going to their Grandmother's house, I played "She Sells Sanctuary" by The Cult. You see, we were dropping them off for a little while with her. They totally didn't get it. By the time we pulled into our driveway this afternoon, I was playing "Institutionalized" by Suicidal Tendencies.
Now, they are all off playing in their rooms, outside, etc. If they see me with my ipod, the back away, though.
Currently reading:
Summer of Glorious Madness
By Christy Yorke
Release date: 06 July, 2004

March 12, 2007

2010-07-10T13:53:00.000-05:00

March 12, 2007

The M is for McDonalds

Current mood: blah
So. Today I wasn't running a freakin' high assed fever. (I totally took like 5 minutes to remember how to spell "fever" just now. I seriously did. I'm a teacher, people. Holy crap. I wasn't going to tell that. Ever. Anyhow...do you ever forget how to spell random simple words? Me, too.) Anyhow, I am still occasionally coughing up sputum and mucus...like a gross old woman who chain-smokes...although I've never smoked. I might as well because I sound like I do. People hear me hacking and glare at me in a condemning fashion because I have children with me. I feel guilty.
ANYhow...so...we decide to go into the city near us because they have opened a new upscale shopping area that my Mother and I have been planning on pistol-whippin'. Of course, we have the added delight of my niece, nephew, my daughter, my two sons and my husband. What shopping delight!

So, we drive to my Mother's house which is like forEVer away from us. But I take my Ipod or iPOD or howEVer you spell it, and I plug it into my car and I get to listen to MY music and stand up comedy I've downloaded. Take THAT Sanford! No more of your wailing Wiccan/Celtic women. I am SO sick of that shit. Can I just share that, please? I am SO sick of wailing women wailing in Gaelic I could puke. I mean, yeah...I like it occasionally...I like almost all music. But he has a 12 CD changer in the damned vehicle and HE HASN'T CHANGED THE CD'S IN 8 FUCKING YEARS. So...I'm a little sick of it. At least he took out the CD he burned with the Socialist anthems. He thought I'd hate that and be offended, but I loved it. Too bad, so sad for you assmunch.

Anyhow, we let our boys stay at Grandma's house and play video games, which hacked off my 6 year old nephew. He wanted to stay, too. But 3 boys alone at the house...no way. We made him come with us. He wasn't pleased. Plus, he has to take motion sickness medicine wherever he goes. Then, my Mother loudly laments..."Where is MY CAT?!?!?!?!?"
Here's some background: Their house is sorta in the middle of NOWHERE. There are coyotes and crap out there. I told them when they had that house built that the cat was gonna end up as coyote chow. Did they listen? No. They did not. A year later, the cat is gone. The cat has been gone for over a month, and she is wringing her hands. "Where is Whiskers? Where can she be?"
Privately, I told Mom what we all know: Whiskers is now fertilizer.
However, since the kids were with us, I said, "Mother, remember? Whiskers is living at that farm and being a Barn cat? Remember?"
Mother: What? What are you talking about? I'm SO worried!!!!!
Me: MOTHER. REmember? Whiskers got a job at a farm, and is happy and chasing mice.
Mother: What on EARTH????Oh....OH! Yes! She took her purse and went and interviewed for that job! That's right!

So. Whatever chance the kids had of believing ole Whiskers was alive and well and killing mice on some farm....gone. Mother had to add crazy to it by giving Whiskers human characteristics. One kid is in 2nd grade, the other is in 1st grade and they never saw that damned cat carry a freakin' purse or drive anywhere or talk or anything. They DID see it lick it's ass and do cat-like stuff.

So, we go to the freakin' mall. I give my niece Nieman Marcus lessons. Before we walked it, I said, "Look at that sign. It says "Neiman Marcus. Remember that. Now, when we walk in, WORK IT, GIRL. You walk in like you OWN IT. Those people WORK FOR YOU." She was looking up at me squinting, then she pulled her underwear out of her butt. I said, "Got it?" she nodded in the affirmative and pushed her glasses up her nose. Then I said, "Let's do it, mama." So, we sashayed into Neimans. We let the rest of our party do whatever. I had to show my niece the ropes. I took her around. Showed her Chanel (always appropriate), we discussed Marc Jacobs; Gucci; Balenciaga and others. Then, I said, "Shoes." She said, "They're over dere." So I drug her over dere. She got her first look and touch of Blahnik. But she preferred a rather ick Stuart Weitzman that reminded me of The Cat in the Hat because it was red and white striped. My nephew threw himself on the large THING in the middle of the shoe dept. that had a large glass bowl with water in it with what looked like a cabbage in it. I said, "Dude, that has water in it..." he was laying there staring at the ceiling. He said, "I wont' move. I just don't want to walk around anymore."
So, then we decided to go eat. So we had to drive to the Cheesecake Factory. My nephew saw the picture of cheesecake and said, "Can we just have a snack here? I'll have this..." and pointed to the Godiva Cheesecake. Those kids are awesome. We had the most annoying waiter EVER.
And Cheesecake Factory needs to offer REGULAR ICED TEA FOR THE LOVE OF JESUS MURPHY.

Anyhow, my Mother has decided that the new Toll road is "nice", which means she'd do just fine in Chicago. She thinks it's "fun" to go through the toll booth. Which means she has officially lost her damned mind.

OH! While we were waiting for our food, she was telling us her palms were itching, so I told her it was from masturbating. I DID put my hand over my mouth so the kids couldn't see what I was saying. It got a DELICIOUS reaction from my Mother, of course. Worth a bazillion dollars! Then I said, "Oh Mother, you are such fun!"

It made the rest of the painful day worth it.

When we got back to her house, we were sitting there, and her front door opened and some strange little kid walked in. He came in the kitchen, walked up to me and he was drinking out of a McDonald's cup. He stopped slurping out of the straw, and said "THIS, " and he pointed to the "M" on the cup.."is for MCDONALDS". I said, "Ah." and then he turned and walked out of the kitchen and up my Mom's stairs. Total stranger. Does not live there. I've never seen him.
I said, "Whose that, Mom?"
She said, "Oh, that's _____"
and I said, "Um, where's he going?"
she said, 'Upstairs to play video games..."
I said, "None of the kids are up there...they are all outside.."
she said, "Yeah, he does that...and then when he has to go home, he cries."

Sure enough, his Mom sent his sister over to get him, and I went upstairs and said, "Hey, your Mom wants you to go home." He threw down the game controller and just busted out crying. I said, "Suck it up, man...you can come back sometime..."he just pushed past me and ran down the stairs howling.
Weird assed neighborhood.
Currently listening:
Disintegration
By The Cure
Release date: 01 May, 1989

Saturday, Mary 10, 2007

2010-07-10T13:51:00.004-05:00

ETA: There used to be a picture next to my posts and at this time there were two penguines beating each other up. Real ones. Awesome.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

In case anyone wondered..which they didn't,

The photo at the left of the two penguins (although the dapper penguin on the right who knocks the crap out of the clumsy-ass penguin on the left is particularly fetching and I fancy people that THAT penguin is indeed, ME) does NOT include me. I am a human.

There. I said it. I'm not in that picture. I chose that because it amused me. I'm not even a particular fan of penguins. Oh, don't get me WRONG...they are perfectly nice birds, I'm sure. I go to the Penguin house at Sea World and marvel at their waddling and zooming around underwater like everyone else. However, I'm not the type of woman who has gone ga-ga nuts over a critter and collects small statues and stuffed animal representations of that particular critter. I never saw the appeal of Beanie Babies, Build-A-Bear's siren song escapes me; and I view all such thing as "lice transfer devices". Nevertheless, that is not what I'm really talking about here. I just wanted it known that I am not a woman who buys sweatshirts or tshirts with Disney characters on them or what-have-you. For myself, that is. I might buy one for my toddler niece or nephew if they want one, but never for myself. Good God. What am I rambling on about? Oh yeah. Shit. That's not me in the picture, and I didn't choose penguins because I'm some nut who raves over penguins. I just liked the fact that one was kicking the shit out of the other.

Now. On to other things. I was looking at people who requested to be my "friends" for whatever reasons, and there are lots who evidently want me to get a cell phone from them or who are all independently wealthy and DON'T live in their parent's basements but they want to be MY friend or some shit...and I click on people who are THEIR friends to read their crap, right? Like you don't do that. Shut up. You do.
Anyhow, I found this one kid's page and he is a teenager, I'd say. I don't know. All I know, is he is one of thousands who can figure out how to put a fucking music player on their page, but I can't. Anyhow, this kid...I read his blogs...and I saw his photos and shit..and I decided I liked him. So I actually asked to be his friend. Which is a weird feeling. It's like when you're in Kindergarten and you go ask some little girls if you can play jumprope with them. Anyhow, I liked this kid because he is all into basketball and he's obviously a huge assed fan of Kobe Bryant and all and he was all into his workout and shit and then he hurt himself. Then he quit posting. He is like who I would be if I was a young guy. Or at least he talks like I would or close to how I do. Except he is far too excited about the Spiderman 3 movie. I'm not EVEN that excited. I'll have to go see it because my kids will wanna go see it. But come ON...he's gonna marry Mary Jane, he will have that black suit or whatever...it's gonna be inner turmoil...meh.
I just hope this guy is okay and I hope he playing the hell out of that basketball.
And hell YES, Peyton Manning deserved to win a Super Bowl. His ass is sweeter than sweet.
Currently listening:
Appetite for Destruction
By Guns N' Roses
Release date: 25 October, 1990