Fetal Nicknames

Another fetal nickname has been born! I have decided, after reading her blog, that Queenie's baby is now dubbed Pillsbury. I'm not sure if I'm the first to say it or not, nor do I care. I will continue to call him(?) that until I'm threatened with bodily injury. Wendy & Batman have Sharkbait. Another friend, Spanky, nicknamed a different preggers friend's baby Little Sprout. Grasshopper and Twitch called theirs Bug. My oldest was Tater Tot. My middle one was Boochi. For those of you who remember Perfect Strangers, it came from the Boochi Tag game. Since I was preggers, I claimed to be carrying the Boochi. My cousin, Munchkin, told me that when the baby was born I'd better name it Dmitri. I did not, but she forgave me anyway. My youngest was always known as The Fairy Child. My middle child's teacher last year became preggo and they referred to the baby as Lumpy or Lump. Of course, there's always the stand-by of Spawn of Doom, right Batman? Sorry. Couldn't resist. No matter. Gotta love fetal nicknames. Hmm. I feel a book coming on.

Manic Spewing

The holidays are fast upon me, and every year, about this time, the Christmas spirit abandons me. Why? Too much wrapping and general shit. My goodness, there's so much commercial shit associated with the holidays, it makes me want to puke. Plus, packing to go to my mom's, doing the whole "Santa" thing, trying to figure out a way to avoid my swiftly approaching birthday, and so on and so on. The good news? Finals are over! Wendy is preggers. Queenie is preggers! My son's girlfriend is NOT preggers! I'm done shopping except for two damned giftcards. I am healthy. My family is healthy. I do not have to go to work again until next year. I get two weeks(almost) where the kids have school and I do not. I can read a book for pleasure again. I came up with a nickname for Wendy's baby -- Sharkbait! OOO Ha Ha! Well, just Sharkbait. Either way, it fits. You know, the whole tadpole thing? Plus, Batman used to want to swim with sharks or study sharks or some such. And people who swim with sharks tend to get eaten by sharks. Duh! Apparently, that has at least been delayed, so now the baby is "Sharkbait" (ooo haha). I'm also now required to grace the area with my presence over the summer since that's when the little bundle of joy will arrive. Fine by me. I can spoil the baby rotten, then get on a plane and leave. Yep. There are definite advantages to living so far away. Mmmhmmm. Yeah.

In other news, I decided in November to run my mouth via Letter to the Editor of the university's newspaper regarding some proposed changes to the Housing Assistance Program. It was printed as a Guest Opinion. The Housing Administrator (local) wrote to me about it. I now have a meeting with him right after Christmas. I sent a bunch of related items to Senators Grassley and Harkin and to Congressman Leach. Senator Grassley took an immense interest in it and wrote me back personally. I, if you cannot tell, am extremely pleased with myself. All things considered, not bad for a short, rotund, mouthy, (s0rt-of) redhead who won't even have a Bachelor's until May 2006. Yippee! Maybe it won't go anywhere, but maybe it will. For the record, no, I will not be entering the political arena any time soon. Or ever. Nope. Ever see what happened to Mussolini? JFK? Yeah. Exactly. Of course, Mussolini was insane and inhumane. I am not inhumane. The jury's still out on the insanity issue. Oh, and don't forget Clinton...Bill, not Hilary. We shot JFK and we impeached Clinton. For having an affair, basically. Hmm. And yet, no one seems to mind that Bush, Jr., has gotten so many killed with his lies. Of course, depending on the conspiracy theory one subscribes to, JFK was shot for much the same reason. Plus, it got poor Marilyn offed. Poor Marilyn.

Oh, and does anyone watch The Daily Show? It appears that South Africa allows gay marriages. Not civil unions, actual marriages. And the US considers ourselves a global leader? Hmph.

Anyway, I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday season. For anyone living in a warmer climate, make room, I'm heading South as soon as I rob the bank. I'm sick of Iowa frigidity and snow. Other than that, enjoy! Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! Happy All-the-other Holidays that aren't as commercialized!

Everyone's Pregnant but Me! Yes!

Do you have any idea how hard it is to type and dance at the same time? It isn't easy, but I'm managing it. You see, I am extremely thrilled with Wendy's news! I'm more excited than she seems to be. Not that I blame her. See, until my hysterectomy, I was one of those women who didn't ovulate...I pollinated! Let me even think about having a baby, and POOF! Pregnant. Lucky me. Very, very lucky me. And while I recognize this and have sympathy for those who have so many terrible issues having a child, I'm beyond thrilled that Wendy is finally pregnant. And I'm not! I'm not, I'm not, I'm NOT! Impossible for me to be and I like it that way. So, let's see, Wendy's preggers, Queenie's preggers, I'm sure millions of other women are preggers, and I'm not! Yee-haw! Of course, Grasshopper is not preggers. Nor is my other friend Spanky. Spanky would like to be, though she is prefering to take the conventional route and wait for a husband. Grasshopper about crawls through the phone to strangle me if I even mention a pregnancy test and her name in the same sentence. (I do this as often as humanely possible because it's fun to hear her rant) Several of the girls I went to DMACC with are pregnant. And none of them are me! Which is fine, because no one could pay me enough to do it again. I love my children. I actually enjoyed being pregnant for the most part. I could have done without all the vomiting, but I made up for it in waaay easy deliveries. Deliveries were easy. Pain filled, but easy. No C-sections, no epidurals. With my first two, no drugs at all. My youngest was the only one and I wish I hadn't had anything. Talk about a weird trip! Whew. And despite my eldest's recent issues, my kids are pretty much healthy and intelligent. Once again, I thank the powers that be for that every day. However, between being so excited for Wendy's Christmas miracle and being so happy that all the pregnant women I know are not me, I can barely contain myself. This took me half an hour to write because I kept screwing up and having to fix errors. I'm not sure if it's from dancing and typing at the same time or simply because I can't dance. Which is another post altogether. At any rate, Congratulations Wendy & Batman! Auntie Frigid can't wait for the wee one! Oh, and Wendy, the tadpole look vanished about 4 weeks ago.

Manic Moment Narrowly Avoided

Next week is Finals Week! Hoooraaay! Under normal circumstances, the stress of finals, the holidays, my upcoming birthday (ish!), and the lovely Iowa weather combine to give me one major manic moment. There are benefits to this: a clean house, gift-wrapping sprees, great periods of study time where it actually sinks in. Things like that. The downside? Extreme crabbiness, a tendency to wake up with 15 minutes until the final, kids missing the school bus, waking up the house because I'm fighting with the vaccuum, the wrapping paper, the scotch tape, whatever. Well, for a change (so far), I have managed to avoid the Moment. How, you ask? Okay, I'll tell you my secret. First, you must have school-aged children. Then, one of these children must catch a cold. The cold should mutate into a sinus infection that said child gives your significant other. You must kiss or otherwise be intimate with said significant other. Wa-la! Within 24 hours, you get the sinus infection. Okay, not the best way to avoid a manic moment, but it's working. The meds and the infection are crashing my sinuses (sinusi?) every four hours, my right eye has a headache, and I about die every time I bend over to pick something up off my floor, but I'm sleeping and oh so NOT manic. I could feel one coming on, too. I started my usual cycle of nightmares late last week and my sleep time was shortening. Now, thanks to NyQuil and other OTC products, I'm sleeping a decent amount of time. Thanks to bribery and threats of bodily injury, my family is pitching in to save the house. Wrapping can wait until after finals. I am studying between naps and seem to be retaining the information. I've even managed to cook a few meals instead of using take-out or the microwave. This is working so well, I think I'll make notes and try it next time I feel one of my Moments coming on. Wonder if I can buy a sinus virus on ebay?

Course Assignment Sheet

This looks horrible, but I can't seem to clear it up any. The survey will be available via email only. Sorry!

Beware Washington State!

I almost forgot!
**WARNING WARNING DANGER DANGER!!**
Seeings how I am being awarded a GUARANTEED extra undisclosed amount of money this spring, which is a miracle, I...the dauntless wanderer (if only in my mind)...will be heading to good ole WA this summer! Finally! I am buying tickets as soon as the financial blessings arrive. Mmmmwwwaaaaaaaahhh!

To top it off, since the recycled hubby has been invited to a wedding in July in TN that I am most certainly NOT invited to (and wouldn't go anyway), it gives me the perfect excuse to be gone too! If he gets a vacation, why shouldn't I?

At any rate, those friends and co-conspirators (and you know who you are) living in the Great American Northwest, consider this your only warning...well, aside from my arrival time at the airport since one a y'all has to come drag my panic-stricken ass off the damn plane and take me to a bar.

I was going to try to bring Grasshopper with me, but she's afraid Twitch would forget to feed the baby. At least that's the excuse she's using...what's she really afraid of is an airplane. Not that I blame her. I've tried bribery. I even offered to share my pre-flight paranoia drugs with her. She still says no. Maybe that's a good thing. I'm not sure you guys'll be able to handle just me, much less another one of my asylum-mates. Hmph. Too many of you out there as it is.

I"m Soooo Not Ready for This One

I have recently discovered that my eldest son is no longer pure. I believe this is a fairly recent event. However, Senorita Psychopath has been actively trying to become pregnant for the last year, even before she got with him. He says he has condoms and they've discussed the use of contraception. Uh huh. Yeah. That's how I conceived him. Actually, I just lied and told his father I was on the Pill. At any rate...I'm just waiting. I figure that I ought to be a grandma some time next year. I'll be 35 next month. At least I waited until my mom was 38. And, it's illegal to lock him in a closet. Or to cut his thing off. Or to have her disemboweled. No matter how pleasant a thought it might be.

Squashed Feline

There are two cats who live outside my home. These are not my cats. My landlord brought them here hoping they would eat mice and rats. Which they do. They also like bunnies and birds. However, they do not consume groundhog. Not even baby ones. I don't know, maybe the groundhogs are too quick for them. I do know they look extremely humorous when running. At any rate, these poor kittens showed up last year and where still sort of nursing. So, being the soft heart that I am, I began feeding them. They go in spurts: some weeks they eat daily, others not at all, and still others they will eat, but they insist on bringing me dead animals. I know they're just showing their affection, but it's still gross. At any rate, the screen is missing from my screen door. The storm window is up, but only shut about 2/3's of the way. This means the cats can hang there and look into my living room and yowl at me when they want food or attention. Also fine. It's rather cute, actually. One of these cats has figured out that he can squeeze himself through the window fairly quickly, thereby gaining entry to the house if he times it just right. This is also very humorous to watch, since he's big enough now that it looks something akin to one of those cheap horror movie monsters trying to crawl out of a drain in the kitchen sink. Last night, it was even more funny. Our inside door was shut. The cat had been let in and allowed to steal some of the dog's food and put back out already. Apparently, this wasn't good enough, he wanted to stay inside, and he crawled through the screen door and perched himself against it and the inside door (which is mainly small glass panes) and mewed till he got to come back in and get warm. I tried to put him back out before I did my final, before-bed check. Within minutes, his head appears at the window, to be followed quickly by his body climbing through. This time, instead of sticking there clinging to both doors, he fell completely through and became stuck between the doors. All I could see was his tail, his ears, and tufts of fur sticking up along his back. By the time I got over to the door, I could see how squashed he was in there, and I'm laughing so hard I can barely turn the knob to open the door. Poor guy. He took it well though. I took it as a sign to come up with a makeshift litter box for him and let him stay in for the night. He slept curled next to my daughter most of the night, allowed himself to be fed (twice) this morning, received some cuddling and petting, then proceeded to stare at the front door, willing it to open (use the force, Nails*) until I got off my just waking up, lazy, haven't had enough caffeine or tar yet ass and let him out...where he promptly jumped onto the ledge of our porch, glared at me before doing that wink thing only cats can do, and started to bathe himself thoroughly. If I'd had presence of mind enough, I'd have taken pictures of him with the digital when he was stuck between the doors. Unfortunately, I was too busy laughing. Usually when I see a squashed feline, it's because it's been in a tragic traffic accident.

* Nails is the cat's name. No, I did not give him this. The landlord's kids did. Nails and his brother Claws both spend time with me.

Say Hello to My Li'l Frien'

Calcium. Yes. Calcium. Calcium is my new little friend. Why? Because my tailbone is eroding. Yes, ladies and germs, my ass has environmental issues. Not only was it recently awarded it's own zip code, it now has erosion problems. Or, as my mother so eloquently put it, not only am I a pain in other people's asses, I now have a literal pain in my own ass. Duh! I thought that's what children and men were for. I was wrong.
I went to the doctor for this information. I've been having an issue with moderate pain in my tailbone area for the last several weeks. This makes sitting for any length of time almost impossible. However, I haven't fallen, been fallen on, lifted anything overly heavy, or been in any accidents. To me, that eliminates a broken tailbone. Ha ha! I was right! I also appear to have no other problems wiht my back, according to the doc, so from what he can tell, it's simply eroding. Why? Not enough calcium. Which floors me. I love cheese. I like yogurt. I eat veggies. The right kind. I even take a mulit-vitamin when I remember it. I do not drink milk. Nope. Makes me nauseous. Quickly. Especially in the mornings. I think that is a psychological hold-over from the acute morning sickness I had while being allergic to being pregnant with my two sons. (I had next-to-no morning sickness with the girl)
I'm supposed to carrya pillow with me to sit on at school since those desk chairs are not environmentally friendly to preventing ass erosion. Which makes me feel like an idiot. Personally, I figured there was enough padding in my ass to protect it. Wrong again. Of course, today being the middle of midterms, I rushed out the door and forgot to bring one. Figures.
I also had the strangest doctors I've ever met with. One was very much Asian descended and had the most unpronoucable name ever. He just told me to call him Dr. Gary. Fine. After looking over my ass, we moved on to my feet. I also have this weird dryness/athlete's foot type issue with my feet that's been going on for years. I'm sick of it. so he calls in his "boss doctor" as he called him. This guy takes one step into the room, glances at my feet, and says, "Yup, they're feet. All the toes are there. See ya!" And pretends to walk out. Okay, it was funny.
Now, I am extremely ticklish on my feet. While they were messing with my toes, I about kicked them both in the face twice. Does this deter them? No. In a few minutes, they whip out this green handled thing to scrape my feet with for samples so they can check to see what exactly is happening on my feet. Fine. Until I look at it. I ask them what the hell they plan on doing to me with an Exacto knife while I'm still awake. They laugh. I'm informed that "it's a scalpel, hello" and that they aren't going to carve on me, just scrape my nails and along my heels. Right! So the boss doc, makes me lay down then pins my ankles to the cot/bed thing so I can kick or jerk and cut myself. Cut myself? Um, I'm not the one with the scalpel, am I? I lived. No cuts. No kicking or jerking. A lot of squealing, lip-biting, and cot pounding went on. Wait. That doesn't sound right. I mean I was squealing and biting my lips from being tickled and pounding the cot with my fists to keep from jerking away. That's better.
At any rate, not only is my ass eroding. And not in a good way. But I also seem to have some sort of bizarre fungus or bacteria growing on and possibly in my feet. Great. Just great.

There's a fungus among us...and this time, it's me. And now, folks, I'm off to call the EPA to see if I can get some grant money or a study done or some kind of legislative act to prevent my ass from eroding any further. Hey, if those rich Texas oil-mongers can get money, I ought to be able to.

Oh My F***ing God!

Here is an actual email (with edits only made for safety) I received from my child's school today. Talk about scary!

October 13, 2005

Dear ***** Families,

We have recently become aware of an adult male who has been observing **** High students from the property to the west of **** High School's boundary. This individual is listed on the sexual offender registry. The Police have informed us he has been on the church property to the west on more than one occasion. While the police have notified us he has broken no laws, we are working with the appropriate legal authorities to enact additional restrictions regarding his presence near our campus grounds. This individual, who drives a red blazer, now has a legal order restricting him from being on the school district's campus grounds at any time. We would like everyone to be aware of this information.

At *****, we will continue to keep our building and children secure by following our normal safety procedures that were shared in our Friday, October 7th ***** ******, and heightening our awareness. Classroom teachers have discussed "stranger danger" in homerooms today and will continue to discuss general safety rules. Children who are in the temporary classrooms outside will now be coming in and out of the building as a class.

To help our children become knowledgeable and aware, it is important to have discussions at home.
Some rules that may be great to review/reinforce are:
· Don't answer a stranger's personal questions or requests for help.
· Tell your teacher if a stranger is watching children in school or on the playground.
· Don't use public bathrooms alone. Be sure to leave as soon as you can.
· Don’t give information over the telephone to strangers.
· Don't answer the door unless you know who's there, and your parents have said it is OK.
· Never accept presents from a stranger.
· Do not obey a stranger who wants to take you somewhere, even if they say they are teachers, police officers, or clergymen.
· NEVER, NEVER GO FOR A RIDE OR A WALK WITH A STRANGER.
(Taken from Who Is a Stranger and What Should I Do? by Linda Walvoord Girard)
Some additional questions you may want to discuss with your child:
· Is it ever OK to help a stranger?
· When should I be polite to a stranger?
· Whom can I trust in our neighborhood?
· Who can I accept a ride from?
· When I'm away from home, who can I trust?
· When is it NOT OK to obey grownups?
· Does our family have any special rules about strangers?

Together, we will continue to provide a safe environment for our children to ensure success. Thank you for your ongoing support.

Thank you,

**** ******
Principal

Not only does the risk of panic with this run extremely high, but to be honest, I'm not sure that's a bad thing. I'm sorry, but I'm all for chemical castration, actual castration, whatever it takes to keep perverts locked up or otherwise away from any child. Plus, I've read this book mentioned in the email, and it's an excellent resource for parents. The only problem is, not every perv is a stranger. I speak from first hand experience. This instance, it is a stranger menacing children, however, it isn't always. At any rate, I'm thoroughly pertrified and beyond pissed off at our justice system's apparent lack of public protection when it comes to these sickos. All I can say is, whoever this jerk is, one step towards one of my kids will result in a strong desire for the police to catch him before I do. Prison doesn't scare me. People like this? They scare me. They're all over and they look like the next door neighbor. And sometimes, they are.

To top it off, shortly after being told by my daughter that there was something I would be getting from school (the above email), my middle child fell from a hayloft in a barn about 10 feet to land directly on top of a wooden beam type thing. He hit his knees and his arm. One knee swelled up about six times its normal size within minutes. He couldn't walk on it or anything. That was a trip to the emergency room. After two hours of waiting and a couple x-rays, we're informed that he bruised the bone. Apparently, this is quite painful, but not dangerous. At least it wasn't broken. Of course, he's miserable, trying to keep it elevated, taking ibuprofen, and feeling bound up in an Ace wrap. Plus, he's pissed that he didn't get crutches since 1) the attention they draw; 2) he's proud he can use them and I can't; and 3) he swears it hurts too much to walk on still. Arggh! Get one kid partially straightened out adn this one tries to break himself! I'm just gonna buy stock in Prozac, Ace, and reserve my straight-jacket-padded-room-white-coated-attendant lifestyle now. Save myself the hassle. The next one to be a teenager is a girl!

Pack your bags, Matey, we're going on a guilt trip! (it's going to be a bumpy ride)

Parenthood is one life-long guilt trip if one allows it to be. Seriously. You spend a lot of time analyzing decisions you’ve made, choices, activities, and so on. Face it, no one is perfect, and whether the State of Iowa says so or not, children do not come with instruction manuals. Even when kids are 16 or 34 (according to my mother) you often wonder, after-the-fact, if you did right by doing or saying such and such. Well, you can either let it get you down, or you can realize, hopefully, what mistakes you made and move on.
That being said, do you know how hard it is to do it? Oh yeah. Kind of like forcing yourself to swallow very bitter medicine. You know it’s good for you and can only help, but that doesn’t always make the spoon get to your mouth any faster. I’ve been a mother for over 16 years. I have three children: each of them intelligent, beautiful, and decent. I also have three children with attitudes, personal issues, and medical issues who can turn into monsters at the drop of a hat. What parent doesn’t? But, just because I’ve been a parent for 16 years, doesn’t mean I have all the answers. I’ve never had a teenager before. Even with my younger children, while I have had a 14 year old and an 8 year old before, each child is different, and that makes parenting slightly different for each one. I recognize that, but then comes the question of: is that fair? Is it fair to the oldest one that he’s the one that gets the parenting mistakes? Is it fair to the younger two that sometimes what the older one has done comes back to haunt them? Arrrgh! I know I signed up for this when I got pregnant and decided to have a child and be a mom. I just don’t remember ever learning about this in any class or from any of my friends or family.
Okay, that trip’s over for now. On to the next one. Do I have the right to still be upset with my recycled hubby’s behavior from when we were married before? That may sound strange and pretty cut and dry, but it isn’t. At least I don’t think it is. I know he’s changed, matured, grown up. We both have. But, there are little things that haven’t changed, and frankly, some of them aren’t so little right now. Still, considering the situation with us, his son here, his sons in MN, and all, do I really have the right to bitch? My middle child is so messed up from my past choices, not having King Rat around for so long, and with the crap with his brother, I’m not sure now is the time to bring anything up to rock his boat any more. But if I don’t, nothing will change, nothing will resolve itself, and no one ends up happy. Including him. Grr!
Okay. I’m done. If I keep this up, it’ll turn into a week long thing. And no one wants that. Especially me.

Another Moment Gone Way, Way Manic

So due to a variety of circumstances, I'm manic...again. Duh. I expected it and it's fairly under control. So far, I have not called Wendy or Grasshopper singing stupid cartoon songs, run naked in my driveway to terrify my landlord, or gone on a check-bouncing spree. Trust me, folks, check-bouncing is an all-time favorite Manic Moment pasttime for me. It's also a great way to get arrested. I speak (er, type) from personal experience. Nothing like having your uncle and grandmother come bail you out of jail two counties away at midnight. I digress. Also that was over three years ago. At any rate, in case you can't tell by my post, I'm a titty-bit disorganized in my thought processes. This is not that unusual given that I do have children, my current home situation, and being a full-time glutton for punishment, I mean English major...yeah, English major. Yup, that's what I meant. Back to my story. My car has no radio in it. Well, it's there, but somehow managed to get stuck on scan. I cannot fix this. King Rat aka Recycled Hubby can't. It isn't worth it in this POS vehicle anyway. However, I had to drive about 2 and a half hours tonight with children in the car. Boring! So I began singing Christmas carols of all things, to myself. Then it was Thanksgiving ditties. Yes, I know two.(Thanks, Gramma!) Once home, I became obsessed with hunting down lyrics to songs I already know by heart. In fact, some of the ones I looked up were by Heart! Okay, terrible play on words. Or would that be emphasis? I no longer know. And, I just realized, I no longer care. Either way, it was awful. I have also made three ghosties to hang up for Halloween, got one child to climb onto a railing/edge of my porch thing to hang them, taped these weird looking window decorations up my mother gave us [they let light through and look very odd: 2 spooky ghost scenes, one witch (which is discriminatory on her part), and one wacked out skeleton], attempted to hand-stitch (ha) a robe/cloak for myself out of a blanket (lost cause & a destroyed blanket), eaten 3 KFC biscuits (mmmm) with gravy (also KFC) and two smidgens of pot roast. However, I did discover that my investment of $1.89 for a box of crockpot liners was more than worth it. I barely had to rinse the thing! Handy dandy kitchen cheats, gotta love 'em! My plans for the immediate future include vacuuming my lamp shades (when was the last time I did that? Uh, try never!), pulling out and organizing a crate (not box, crate) of pictures since I realized that there are still some in there of my most recent ex (not recyclable) that need to be either cleansed by fire or sent to his mother in TN, along with some pics of my two boys when they still wore diapers. Guess I'm a titty-bit behind on my scrapbooking, too, huh? Oh, and, I'm going to make a surprise visit to the King at his job about 2 a.m. since he works at Wally World (Wal-Mart for the uninitiated) and buy some material. I cannot be at Wendy's toga party, but I think I'll throw one of my own in her honor. Besides, I found some really cool penguin material, some awesome snail material (I think it was snails), and a too cute to pass up rubby-ducky-in-a-bathtub material complete with bubbles. I think it will match my shower curtain that I am using for an actual curtain in my bathroom since my shower is in the basement. See? I'm really having a manic moment. Aren't y'all glad I don't have your phone numbers? Wanna take bets on whether Wendy and Grasshopper are gonna just hate me within about two days? Have any idea how many funny looks I got when I wore my new Betty Boop flannel pj pants to school today along with my IOWA hoodie? Anyone know how much material it's gonna take to make a toga for a 5'4", unlisted weight, gourd-shaped redhead?

Sad & Oh So Wrong

Thanks, Wendy for looking into the whole crackers in bed issue! However, since you so nicely posted what you found on the last blog, I will never use that phrase again. Barbara Mandrell! Please! Ish. Nough said.

And Queenie, you're right, Cris Angel is not hot. He's twacked out of his mind and butt-ugly to boot.

Also, Wendy just made the realization the other day that she is a horrible friend. It seems that the only way she keeps up with what's going on in her friends' lives is by reading their blogs. For shame, Wendy! Just kidding. If it weren't for unlimited long distance, I'd never talk to any of my friends unless it was via email or blog sites.

Although, from what I hear, Wendy's birthday party is soon and the toga party should be very interesting. I'm sorry to have to miss it. Especially since Wendy is apparently going to wear shower curtains. I've dressed in a lot of strange outfits in my time, being a child of the 80's and all, but shower curtains? I'd better get pictures! Between her curtains and Batman's toga, and some one who will apparently look just like Shrek, the variety alone should make it worth attending. It's just very sad and wrong to wear shower curtains to a toga party, even if it your birthday!

Sad and wrong. Oh so sad and wrong. Kind of like getting questioned by the store manager for laughing too hard while perusing the greeting card section in the store. Except Grasshopper says the police report would have been much more fun to read. See? Sad and wrong. Just sad and wrong.

Eating Crackers In Bed

Today, in the car, my eldest son and I are discussing who's considered "hot" and such. Some friend of his (female) thinks that Criss Angel mindfreak is hot. I don't much think so, but I've also seen worse. Of course, I am of the opinion that Sean Connery is simply delicious, so I'm probably out of date for his age group. At any rate, he questioned the whole idea behind "so and so can eat crackers in my bed any time" statement. Not so much the obvious sexual tension behind it, but where and why this came to mean that someone is sexually attractive. Which, of course, set my semi-manic mind to working.

Why is that statement, which is not just one tossed around by me and my friends (been around for years), used for that particular purpose? As my son pointed out, the person making the remark does not really want "so and so" to eat crackers in said bed. What they really want is some sort of sexual contact and interaction. In the above reference to Sean Connery, it wouldn't happen. Not simply because it's a fantasy or I'll never have the opportunity, but because I'd never make it -- two words out of his mouth and I'd just be this moaning puddle on the floor. Sad really. But I digress (as usual). So, since this statement has been around for quite sometime (though maybe no longer in vogue), not only do I question why it's used, but when did it start? Seriously. I'm certain it's some sort of archaic (to my teens) slang terminology, but who started it, when, and why? There has to be some story behind it, and I want to know.

Great. Now I'm obsessed with it. My recycled in-laws are coming to visit tomorrow. Which normally wouldn't be a bad thing, but little do you all know! My recycled hubby's father, shortly after our first marriage, came to our first apartment to have dinner with us. At this time, I could barely boil water. So, I'm nervous. Skip ahead to the meal. As we're eating, he asks me when I'm having another one (meaning a baby, my eldest was 3 months old then). I said, in essence, 'not too fucking soon'. At which point, he turns to my hubby and says, "What's wrong with you? Don't you know you're supposed to keep them barefoot and pregnant?" And all King Rat had to say was, "I'm working, Dad, I can at least afford to buy her shoes." Oh man. Talk about a strained afternoon and evening! I still haven't forgiven him for that. So, that's part of my stress on the visit. That, plus not having seen the man in over a decade, plus the fact I'm not at all sure that Rat has informed his rather chauvinistic father that I am no longer capable of breeding. Oh yeah. This should be interesting.

I have about a thousand pages to read, two papers to write, a ton of laundry to do, three children to tranq into submission, in-laws coming for the day (to grill out no less), and now an obsession with finding out the origins of some very strangely sexually charged slang phrase that makes me dream of Sean Connery, Sawyer, Charlie, Heath Ledger, and Harrison Ford. Okay, so there's a few more, but they're the main ones. Arrrgh! Why me? Huh, why me?

All righty then! I'm off to do a brief internet search for the origins of allowing someone to eat crackers in my bed. Goddess knows, I won't be able to concentrate on my schoolwork or housework until I find out. Okay so that's just an excuse to procrastinate. I don't care. It sounds good enough to me.

Ack! Banned! For No Reason!

This was supposed to have posted on Sept. 24th, believe it or not. I just now got it recovered for posting. Sorry! Ignore it if you think it's too out of date. Just wanted to share.


I have been banned! Yes, Queenie banned me from commenting on her blogs for, like, three days! How unfair! For one, I have no idea at all how she & her hub-unit met. None. Nada. Zip. Zilcho. Nope. Not so much as an iota of a clue. And now, I'm banned!

Talk about an abuse of power! Actually, I can sort of see it. I have relatively easy access to Batman and Wendy, so I could probably find out.

Anyway, Queenie, I'm actually pleased! I've been banned from stores, restaurants, a bar or two, even a school. I have never been banned from commenting on a blog before. Yay! A first for me! So it's sick and twisted, but I have this whole rebellion thing going on right now. You know, like a second adolescence.

Yippee! Banned -- again!

Sawyer, Charlie, & Hurley

Okay, so I am the proud, drooling owner of the Lost first season on DVD. The bonus features are so-so, not quite as good as I had hoped. At any rate, one of the features is a tribute/salute thing for the show from the Museum of Television and Radio. Most of the cast was there. One lady in the audience thanked Josh (Sawyer) for the kiss with Kate. Oh yeah! I heartily agree! Mmmmm good. That man's dimple give me such a shiver. Yup. Crackers in my bed? Any time. Hell, bring the wife...I don't mind. However, there's also Charlie. Yeah yeah, so he's hooked up with the pregnant chick. Not in real life. At least, I don't think so. He's got that trashy, not-so-trustworthy kind of look, and the accent? Oh my god! Talk about melting butter! And his oh so blue eyes! Man oh man. C'mon over, Charlie...er, Dominic....bring Sawyer with you! Then there's Hurley. Hurley may not be tops in the looks department, but he is pretty cool. He's creative, he's hilarious, and has a number of the same weaknesses I do. Plus, he seems genuinely concerned for others. Aside from the fact he seems to be slowly losing his mind (I'm way ahead on that one), he's almost perfect. I won't talk about the others. Not that Sayid, Jack, Michael, Jin, and Locke don't have intriguing qualities. They do. I even find some of them mildly attractive (I won't say who), but on the whole, I'd have to say I gravitate much more towards Charlie, Sawyer, and Hurley. Oh and Boone! Too bad they killed him off. He's pretty cute too. A bit skittish in some ways and too controlling in others, but any man that gets the look on his face he did when his stepsister nibbled/sucked/whatever on his ear gets bonus points from me. Makes it easier to get in their pants.

Okay, I admit it, I'm slutty. Can't help it. Besides, aside from all these guys being fictional characters on a tv show, they're also actors...the day any of them knocks on my door will be the day the world ends. But a woman can dream can't she? And slutty, trashy, sex-crazed dreams happen to be my specialty.

Besides, if any of the above do ever show up on my doorstep, it'll make for one helluva blog!

Clowns, Buzzard Pus, and Relative Nicknames

Two cannibals are eating a clown. One stops, looks at the other, and asks, "Does this taste funny to you?"

Terrible joke, but my mother has made a running gag out of it this past week. First, she calls and tells the kids this joke. Next day, she calls and asks each of them if they've eaten any clowns and if they tasted funny. Finally, last night, I call her to check in and make sure she's made it through two days' worth of twelve hours shifts at work. She's waaaay tired, folks. I figured she would be. I was proved right when I asked her what she was munching into my ear and she told me "clown". So she was off and running again. Later in our conversation, she apparently farts (thank god this was over the phone! her gas could kill an elephant) and says, "Excuse me! Clown's giving me gas." My kids can hear me laughing and want to know who I'm talking to. So I explain it to them, along with the aside that when Gramma gets tired, she likes to share stupid jokes and in fact used to wake me up to tell me elephant jokes after working too many midnight shifts. Of course, she hears this and then wants me to relay elephant jokes to them. Fine. Flash to this morning. I'm on the phone with Grasshopper who is teaching her four month old baby to call me "Aunt Frigid" by the way, when my mom beeps in. I don't even get 'hello' or 'good morning'. I get "This clown's backing up on me." Which is a stolen and altered line from Tim Conway and Don Knotts' movie The Detectives where Conway says, "Buzzard pus's backing up on me." Good grief! I share the story with Grasshopper, who tells me to tell Mom to try acrobats next time as they have less fat and cholesterol. I swear to god, I am surrounded by insane people. Which is okay. It's nice to be among similar-thinking minds.

Counting My Blessings...One..ack!...Two...ack!

So, Tuesday, my eldest child decides to skip school for half the day. Not good, but not completely evil. (Been there, done that). He gets caught, he gets grounded, there is much discussion. Fine. Then on Wednesday, he decides to skip the whole day and to pack enough stuff to be gone for at least three days. Not so good. I knew just from how he'd acted the night before that he would...just no idea how to prove it in advance much less stop him. At any rate, on advice from my mother, I went to the local law enforcement and listed him missing as a runaway. Then began the long day of worry, driving, and being nasty to his friends who happened to not be in school. Also talking for hours on my cell phone to Grasshopper and my Mom.

He didn't get far. He did manage to stay out of sight until nearly 2:30 in the afternoon, however. He got popped because of his pants. That's right, his pants. I gave a fairly decent description of him to the nice officer, including these weird pants the boys are fascinated with. In this one's case, black with this glow-under-a-black-light green stitching in it with all these bizarrely located pockets and these straps that attach at various places along the sides or front and back...usually with the straps going between the legs...thank goddess they are long straps or he'd be a eunich. The other boy's came with handcuffs that hang from chains. Four pair to be exact. I don't understand, but my mom didn't understand my clothing choices either. But, yes, these pants happened to catch the officer's eye as he drove past him. So he hollered at him and my son actually answered him. That's all it took, he got a ride to the police station. Thank god! I have never been so scared, so worried, so angry, or so lost in my entire life. Not even when they told me that he may have leukemia when he was 5. He didn't, another blessing, but even that didn't scare me so much. At least with that, there was a chance he didn't and he was with me. I could do things to help him. When he just up and disappears? Oh god, I hope no one ever has to go through that. And I was lucky. He didn't get far and he came home. He's still here. He wouldn't let me hug him and I was too thankful to strangle him. Too many parents out there don't get that opportunity (to hug or to suppress the urge to strangle): too many kids don't come home...ever. I have been given a great gift...again. And I'm so grateful I did.

Fish

Dudley Moore's character, Arthur, once discussed fish with his butler. He made the comment that 'fish all bathe together. Of course, they also have the tendency to eat one another. Do you think fish ever get tired of eating seafood?'. Which, to me, is extremely funny. It has also led me to wonder about a few other fishy topics.

Fish swim in their own waste. At least in tanks and so on. Those filters can't take care of it all, right? Hence the need to clean the tank every so often. Here's my ponder: people who swim in their own waste tend to become ill. Violently so, in fact. So, are fish naturally immune to their own wastes? Does fish waste not contain bacteria? If it does, is it bad for fish only or would we humans be poisoned also? And, when humans become ill, we get things like hives, diarrhea, and vomiting. I have never seen a fish with hives. I've never seen a fish with the shits. Nor have I ever seen one puke. However, I've never seen an owl puke either, but my community college science professor had us dissecting owl pellets, which he assured us were actually a form of owl vomit, so I'm fairly sure they do it. That being the case, isn't it reasonable to assume that some, maybe not all, fish vomit. Maybe the reason I've never seen one do it is because I've only seen fish in tanks. With all that glass around, even with plants and little sunken ships to hide in, maybe they are too embarrassed to vomit in public.

Just pondering.

Phones, Modems, Hair, & Fairies

So, last Sunday, some moron cut through a phone cable and my phone was out for three damn days. We also had some storms roll through that day, which fried my modem. Which fucked up my internet access for another day. I was not a happy camper.

However, it was one of those slap-my-forehead-and-go-well-duh moments when I replaced my modem (all by my lonesome I might add). I spent 10 minutes trying to pry the cover off my computer and failing, when I finally noticed a smallsih button on the front with an even smallisher diagram above it showing that this button, when pushed, would cause the side part of the the cover to open up. Duh. So, 3 minutes later, the modem is installed and fifteen minutes after that, I can dial up to the net. Hooray for me! Thank god, too, because one of my teachers has us emailing weekly reading journals that if we do not do, we do not pass. And with gas prices, driving into town just to email two or three paragraphs to a short, but oh so hot, lit instructor is not an option if I want to continue to feed and clothe my family.

As for life, it goes on. Steadily and boringly on. So, I decided to shake things up and went and dyed my daughter's hair pink. Yep. She is 8 and has several hot pink streaks in her hair. She and I love it. My mother just bit her tongue. So has her school, which would have eliminated some of the boredom if they hadn't, but oh well. As if that wasn't enough, I decided to go out and get a workstudy job so I have even less time to complete assignments in. Oh and I cut off my hair. It's just about shoulder length now and I lacked about an inch and a half of being long enough to donate to Locks of Love. Knew I should have waited. Too late now.

We also went to the Iowa Renaissance Faire last Saturday. It was pretty good. My daughter with her pink hair and little tiara she insisted on wearing, got her lots of attention from the hordes of fairies that had invaded the place. And every few minutes, we had to clap until our hands hurt because the poor things kept falling down dead. We also got to see one 'turn' a beastly, black (read bad) knight into a...gasp...politician! LOL. I also spent a ton of money on a child sized belly dancer costume, three swords for the teenaged boys, homemade root beer, one walking staff, four hair stick type things, and a bunch of rocks. My middle child also had me arrested. He paid $2 to have me arrested. They put me in a cage after relieving me of my weapons, and prepared to have me publicly humilated. However, being the adult, I had the $5 bail which I paid promptly, along with $2 more to have him arrested. See, he had me arrested on false charges. He told them I stole the sword. I had him head dunked for his crimes. Next year, I have promised the children we will attend the Minnesota Ren. Festival and the Iowa one in garb. Meaning I now have to either learn to sew and get a sewing machine or spend all kinds of money to make said garb by then. Personally, I want to participate in the ice-popping event. I think shooting ice into a cup using my breasts (from several feet away) sounds like a blast...for about two shots. After that, I'm heading for the ale tent.

Queenie Award, Penguin Nursery update, and the English Language

I won! I won! I won! Yes, ladies and germs, even though it was an indirect incident, I have been such a disaster in the kitchen as to deserve a Queenie. And I'm proud of it! I hope everyone heads over to her site, listed on the side here someplace, and reads my disgrace and gets hooked on her. She's truly funny, certifiably insane at times, and one of god's chosen, I'm sure. Besides, there are stories on there better than mine to get a giggle out of.

I'm terribly disappointed about the penguin nursery. I've done a bit of checking into it, and as much as I really want to go help these adorable things, I think I'm going to run into issues with finance. It seems that since I have no penguin experts to back me on the need nor offering to assist in the actual operation of said nursery/assisted rookery that I am unlikely to obtain the billions of dollars needed to start this project. Dammit anyway. Who needs experts? You build the thing, get some fish and then begin coaxing the little darlings into using it. No harm no foul. Humph. No cooperation. No cooperation at all.

As for the English language, being an English major has given me plenty of reason to look into it. Now there are many dialects and other aspects of it I won't go into. However, I am becoming enamored of books like "Lost Words", "Forgotton Words", and "Completely Made Up Words". Why? Okay, I'll tell you! Sheesh. I often catch myself wondering (for days) where and who gets to name things, decide what's what, and where various phrases/words come from. One example, shit-faced. Now you know that back in the Dark Ages, some ale-sotted moron fell into pile of shit. Human or other doesn't matter. Hence the phrase shit-faced. But what about others? Twitterpated. Legs up to her armpits. Legs that won't quit. If you ask me, that woman has serious health problems. For one, with legs up to her armpits? What a funny looking chic. And legs that won't quit? That is a scream for medical intervention. If my legs wouldn't quit, I'd go insane. How could one sleep? Seriously, now folks, and this is a hard assignment, trust me, but next time you're out and about to kill time, take a pen and paper. Listen and jot down a few of the phrases or words you hear and their context. Then really think them over. And please include the accidental mix ups. You know, the ones where you're talking slower than your brain is moving and you get two words bunched together. Or as my grandpa would say, 'you got your tongue tangled around your eye teeth and couldn't see what you was trying to say". Those can be the funniest things ever. Like Spanky saying she was going to end up in the looney barn or calling some drive-thru worker a facer instead of whatever it was she was trying to say. Or when my mom elbowed me one day, realized I was bra-less and told me to go put a boob on. These are still funny topics of conversation today. Let me know what you find. And don't worry, my assignment's already been turned in and graded. I won't cheat like that. I just found it interesting and thought you would too.

Penguins, First Day of School, & Other BS

I finally went to see The March of the Penguins!! I have also decided that I need to move to Antarctica. There are baby penguins there in need of my assistance. Now, all I need to do is figure out how to build a penguin nursery, convince the penguins that it's safe, finance the whole operation...oh and, yeah, figure out how to survive myself. No problem! I like fish. I'm sure I can buy the clothing I need someplace. Not sure about shelter, but I'll figure that out later. Igloos seemed to work for the Eskimos. I'll just sign up for an architecture course. Yep, that about sums it up.

Okay, I lied. That far from sums it up. The penguins are absolutely adorable! I had no idea they made noise! And I really like the way the dads are responsible for the eggs for so long. Another fine example of how nature screwed womankind. I swear to god, people, I almost got kicked out...before the movie started! The previews quit and the screen was just showing all the ice and shit in Antarctica and I started clapping and squealing. To top it off, my landlord and one of his kids were there! Talk about weird. Not too mention mildly worrisome. I mean, it's bad enough he lives right across the road from me and has seen some of my pecularities, but to have him witness my fanaticism is a bit much, doncha think? Oh well, too late now.

Classes began today for me and my kids. Hooray! The monsters are back in school! (Dancing at computer desk ensues) After school, everyone reported a good day with only minor hitches such as my girl wearing sandals instead of tennies on a gym day and the boys' school bus making them a few minutes late to school. I had a great day, too. One of my teachers I've had before. Not only is he funny and brilliant, but he's pretty hot, too! In fact, last year, we spent some time flirting with each other after class was over. (Long story & nothing came of it..dammit) He remembers me and this class appears to be even more fun than the last. To top it off, after only one class period with me, another instructor whom I've never had before, is so impressed with me that she is giving me a writing internship position that she created along with a lady at the Crisis Center! (more desk dancing) It's unpaid, but practically guarantees my acceptance to the Writer's Workshop next fall, guarantees me to have published work afterward, and will look exceedingly good on a resume. Or biographical sketch when I become a famous author.

As for other BS, I ranted a few months ago about pedestrians in this town. Look it up, I won't repeat it. (I heard that sigh of relief, by the way) At any rate, I actually saw a professor drive his bicycle into the side of a bright yellow Cambus today after my last class. He was going against the crossing light, of course. From the looks of things, no one was hurt. I mean, the bus had barely started moving and he had been at a complete stop also. May have wracked himself, but it's his own fault! No sympathy whatsoever. None. And this man presumably has at least a Master's Degree, so it's not like he's uneducated or anything. Morons!

That's all folks! Hope your day was terrific and your tomorrow is even better!

Justice? Rant/Rave/WTFever!

So I'm watching this show last night called The Dark Side of Parole. On there, some lawyer or deputy or corrections administrator was saying about some murderer that got let go in California who murdered again that 'our system hasn't quite decided how to handle violent offenders; we don't really warehouse them, we don't really rehabilitate them'. He's right. Scarily right. I don't know about the rest of the country, but the prisons in Iowa are so full, there's a waiting list to get in. No matter what you did or were convicted of. I do know that research here has shown that the majority of offenders in the prison system here are drug related. Okay, fine, its illegal. However, where does that leave violent offenders? Out in public? I'm beginning to wonder. I've said here in the past that a first time drug offender can get more prison time than a child molester. It's true. How more violent and sick can you get? Speaking from experience, and it was a mild experience compared to some, being molested as a child can have drastic and long-lasting repurcussions. I'm talking for the rest of your life long-lasting. I've done therapy. I've done all kinds of things. I'm as over it as I'll ever get. I've even forgiven the monster that did it to the extent I'm able. It's a sickness, and I can believe it. I also believe that there are abusers who were abused. Yakkity yakkity yakkity. Doesn't make it right. I also don't buy into the whole 'these people can be rehabilitated' ideal. Nice theory. Doesn't work. And since tattoos can be removed and since some people think that removing these perverts genitalia or branding their foreheads, hands or other body parts with some symbol is cruel and unusual punishment, I have an idea: KEEP THEM LOCKED UP! The rate of recidivism (repeating the offense) among sexual predators is higher than that of a drug addict. They are notorious for not registering with their localities, state, or whatever like they are required to do. They also tend to move themselves into areas where they are around children, like close to schools or daycares, or to get jobs that place them in contact with children, even with all the fancy background checks available today. These people will do it again. I don't mean the 10 year old molested child who lives down the block who decides to share his pain with the neighborhood kids. Yes, that's bad, but he's still young and stands a real chance of being 'cured'. I'm talking about the ones who were doing that and then continued it into adulthood. If the bleeding hearts still want to give people a chance to prove themselves, fine. Give even first time offenders electronic bracelets like Martha Stewart got and monitor them for the rest of their lives. That would be tax money well spent. If they do re-offend, then lock them up for the rest of their lives. Or give them lethal injection. Again, tax money well spent. As a bonus, the latter option frees up space in the prisons for other offenders. One male offender over here used a putty knife to cut open a two or three year old little girl so he could fit inside her (sorry for the graphic detail) and only got 5 or 7 years for his little mishap. Huh? That little girl lived, but her life would never be the same. Why should his ever have a chance to return to any semblence of normalcy? I don't care if he hadn't done the cutting job, in my opinion, any act of sexual activity with a child should be considered a violent offense. Kids are pretty much defenseless. And since child abusers, whether sexual or other, do not walk around wearing signs that say "I'm a pervert" all the talking about stranger danger and good touch/bad touch won't make any difference. These people can be teachers, clergy, doctors, the bum in the park, or the old guy who brings the family tomatoes out of his garden each year. There are women offenders too and they should be treated the same way. I'm sorry but our justice system is failing us, the public. We either need to warehouse these menaces or kill them off. There is no rehabilitation to it. If they insist on that avenue, then these people need a brand on them in some very prominent place that we can teach kids to recognize or some kind of non-removable monitoring device. And don't give me any 'cruel and unusual punishment' bullshit. Children's lives are at stake. Cruel and unusual punishment? Tell that to the 2 or 3 year old girl who was cut open for some asshole to rape her. Or to that girl's parents. Or to my niece who was raped and drowned at the age of 4 by her own uncle, a man who supposedly had never been in 'that kind' of trouble before. Or to me. Tell me how cruel and unusual it would be for the monster who did what he did to me to have been forced to wear a device to track his movements or wear a brand or something after his first conviction. If that had happened, maybe there wouldn't have been a second instance...maybe I would have gone unmolested. And who knows about any other victims? These guys are experts at manipulation. How many didn't come forward for whatever reason...in any case, not just my example? How cruel and unusual is that for a child to live with? I'm sorry. It may be an illness, it may be created through abuse. All I know is that this is an illness that can be prevented...or eradicated...and our justice system? It isn't working.

Beginning of a Bar Joke

While waiting for Mom to get out of surgery, I was sitting with my aunt and her mom, whom I refer to as Gramma, cuz she's just that type, ya know? At any rate, a commercial for March of the Penguins comes on the tube and I'm like, my usual excited, jumping up and down in my chair clapping my hands and squealing like I'm two, self. My aunt knows of my penguin obsession, but Gramma doesn't apparently. So, in trying to explain it to her, I say, "If I was told I only had three weeks to live and was granted three wishes, one of them would be to go to Sea World or somewhere and play with the penguins. You know, give me some fish, a coat, and some penguins. The peguins and I will get along fine, I swear." By this time, she's looking at me very strangely. I ask what's wrong and she says, "What do you want with a goat?" I laughed so hard, I almost wet myself right there in the waiting room. Which had terrible coffee, by the way. I got her corrected and she started laughing too, and goes, "I thought you said you wanted a fish, a goat, and a penguin...and I couldn't figure out what you wanted a goat for. The fish and the penguin I could understand..." and was lost to the giggles. So was I. I mean seriously: a fish, a goat, and a penguin? Sounds like the beginning to a really bad bar joke....

'A fish, a goat, and a penguin walk into a bar..."

You finish it. I'd love to see what you come up with. God knows, I'm trying to come up with some. It's just too good an opportunity to pass up. You know me, I simply cannot walk past an open door. Ask Grasshopper or Wendy. The stories they could tell you...but won't.
]I have too much blackmail.

Instructions for Surgery

This is reality, folks. My mother, who has been extremely afraid of her surgery that took place on Wednesday, has spent the last few weeks joking with me about a variety of things related to it. Such as whether or not a sprained ankle is sufficient injury to allow the docs to pull her life support, organ donation/removal, and euthanasia. All joking aside, she truly feared that she would be cut open and found to be 'riddled with cancer'. Nothing I said made that better. Since surgery was scheduled at 8:30 in the morning, requiring her and I to be at the hospital at 7:30, I went over on Tuesday afternoon. When I arrived, we shared the usual pleasantries, had dinner, and then she handed me the following hand-written instructions for her surgery:

Do NOT Remove

liver
pancreas
heart
brain
stomach
voice box
ear drums
eyes

Can remove if absolutely necessary

1 lung
1 kidney
gall bladder
spleen

They can put me to sleep, but don't let them PUT me to sleep.

If they accidentally suction out some of my fat -- Do Not let them put it back in.

If they locate my bitch nerve, please ask them to remove at least half of it.

Now, these were written by her in her own hand. I have the paper in front of me as I am typing. After surgery, I joked with her a bit in front of the nurse about her fat being suctioned and her bitch nerve. The nurse shook her head sadly about the fat, saying that 'since it wasn't on the release, we couldn't do it', then laughed with me and mom. (Mom laughed very softly and carefully) When it came to the bitch nerve, the nurse told us that she refuses to allow that to be removed from any woman as each of us needs it.

The day before the surgery, Grasshopper and I were talking about it and she came up with the idea of telling my mother, who is at this time very insistent that I not allow the hospital to euthanize her, that as soon as Mom comes out of surgery and is coherent, that the doc wanted to euthanize her and she's lucky we didn't let him. Instead of waiting, Grasshopper called Mom and shared this with her. She still thinks it's funny, but right now it just hurts to laugh.

Also, on a more personal note, while I am truly relieved that the surgery went as planned and that my mother is well and on the road to full recovery, it is fun to watch her flop like a fish out of water when trying to sit up on the couch or bed. It is also fun dealing with my mother on high-intensity pain relievers. She gets her words mixed around, often her thoughts, and this morning when trying to sit up in bed, reached for my hand for support then told me repeatedly that she wasn't ready and didn't know why she wasn't. Neither did I, so I was therefore useless in that regard. I did manage not to laugh where she could see or hear me. For that, I think I should get good-daughter points. Which I'm sure will be taken away as soon as she realizes I've written all this on my blog. Damn. Broke even again. Just when I thought I could get ahead on the good-daughter score, too.

God is coming...and She is pissed!

My friend Wendy posted this as a comment to my last post. I'm repeating it here because it's simply too funny not to! Thanks, Wendy!


One day, in the Garden of Eden, Eve calls out to God: "I have a problem!""What's the problem, Eve?""I know you've created me and have provided this beautiful garden and all of these wonderful animals, and that hilarious comedic snake, but I'm just not happy.""Why is that, Eve," came the reply from above."I am lonely. And I'm sick to death of apples.""Well, Eve, in that case, I have a solution. I shall create a man for you.""What's a 'man'?""This man will be a flawed creature, with many bad traits. He'll lie, cheat, and be vainglorious; all in all, he'll give you a hard time. But, he'll be bigger, faster, and will like to hunt and kill things. He will look silly aroused, but since you've been complaining, I'll create him in such a way that he will satisfy your - ah - physical needs. He'll be witless and will revel in childish things like fighting and kicking a ball about. He won't be too smart, so he'll also need your help to think properly.""Sounds great," says Eve, with an ironically raised eyebrow. "What's the catch?""Yeah, well... you can have him on one condition.""What's that?""As I said, he'll be proud, arrogant, and self-admiring...so you'll have to let him believe that I made him first... So, just remember... it's our secret... Woman-to-woman!"

Consider this...

I am afraid. In fact, I am phobic. I am polyphobic, according to http://phobialist.com. I am/have: Achluophobia- Fear of darkness, Alektorophobia- Fear of chickens, Astraphobia or Astrapophobia- Fear of thunder and lightning.(Ceraunophobia, Keraunophobia), Aviophobia or Aviatophobia- Fear of flying, Coimetrophobia- Fear of cemeteries, Entomophobia- Fear of insects (mainly grasshoppers), and I'm developing Ephebiphobia- Fear of teenagers. A deep fear of teenagers...I'm told this is normal however, and probably healthy.

I am also an arctophile (teddy bear lover), chocoholic, shopaholic, and bibliophile, and obviously a penguin lover. I'm sure it has a more formal name, I just cannot locate it at the moment. At any rate, check out the phobia site, even if you have no phobias, it's amazing what the names are!

Hehehehehehe

Thank you, once again, Queenie! I've taken your suggestion to heart. My book bag (pic of design on right) not only has a picture of a winter witch (complete with penguin familiar) on it, but now both sides are in the process of being decorated with the stickers I mentioned in my last post and assorted painted on pentacles, dripping with blood (I bought some of the puffy paint), and other assorted witchy stuff. I'm also doing it to my notebooks, binders, and so on. This will probably not have the desired effects however, as there is such a strong pagan movement over here that last year a group petitioned (and won) to create a pagan students group. Dammit all. Oh well, I'm sure there are plenty of Christians on campus that I'll be able to offend.

Of course, Batman has me beat to hell in this category. Wendy told me that he actually hissed as some missionaries who came to try to share the gospel or some such with him. Bravo! I'll have to remember that one. I don't get many, but the Jehovah's Witnesses are particulary persistent. Sad part is, they're the only ones to get their religion half way straight. I almost (almost) hate to frighten them. Okay, not really, but I do have relatives that are Witnesses, so I'll try not to give anyone a heart attack. A brief palpitation maybe, but no thrombosis or myocardial infarcts. Not on purpose anyway.

So, Brava, Queenie, inspirator sans match, and Bravo, Batman! Keep up the good work!

Picture above is located on almost any item a person could want through this website: http://www.cafepress.com/shop/animals/browse/OVKEY-penguin_p-2_N-1788+20797309_in~dim~search-1_OVMTC-standard_OVRAW-penguins_nr-1_CMP-KNC%3doverture Sorry, I do not know how to do the link thingy that you only have to put in one word. The site has nearly every animal in creation on it and a few that don't exist any more. It's terrific!

Evilness Reigns Supreme

All right, so I am vile and wicked. I like it that way and so do my friends. Also, to apologize in advance to any readers who are devoutly Christian, you may want to stop here and recognize that this is not directed at you personally.

While signing up for classes, I was looking for classes in the Women's Studies area for filling out elective hours with something I might actually use and/or enjoy. So I began perusing classes that fall into that category. Many of them are closed. More are at night when it simply isn't feasible for me to attend classes. I did run into two classes that piqued my interest momentarily...until I read the online version of the syllabi. One, called Women in Religion was basically a repeat of the other, Women in the Bible, with about three weeks of class devoted to exploring women's roles and so on in Eastern and Native American religions. Based on what I read, instead of challenging or exploring the patriarchical view point of the Bible and how it relates to women or even doing a comparison between treatment of women by different religions, the courses seem to desire to reinforce the Christian view. Uh huh. Not this redhead. I'd end up inciting a riot. Not that this would surprise any one who knows me well. And, since the building my classes are in were built in the 1960's era of violent protests by liberal, philosophy/etc. majors, the place has no windows that open and seems to be made of a strange multi-layered brick compound and bulletproof glass. It wouldn't be any fun. It does, however, sound like something interesting to put on my resume. My mother would be so proud! (sniffle) I just think it would be fun to show up to that class around Halloween dressed like a nun painted all over with voodoo and witchcraft symbols, cackling wildly, shuffling tarot cards, and dragging my broom along behind me...maybe leave shouting, "I'll get you my pretties, and your nutty professor too!" Doesn't matter. I'm headed back to this little store tomorrow called Spellbound to get another 'Blessed Be' sticker, another 'My other car is a broomstick' sticker, and this bright purple one that reads "Sorry I missed church...I was out practicing witchcraft and becoming a lesbian." I think I'll get two of each: cover both sides of my bookbag and one for my car. I know it isn't right...I simply cannot help myself. Everyone has a hobby...mine is to scare people.

I'm good at it.

Now the other side

Since my last rant...er, post, I've thought it over and feel it's only fair to present the good things about my recycled hubby.

He voluntarily moved away from a job he loved and made great money at to come here. He also left two young children from his second marriage in another state in order to move here. If I need money, he simply hands me his entire wallet and tells me to take what I want. I know his ATM pin number. I know all of his passwords to all of his assorted online accounts and so on. He voluntarily went out and got a job making about half of what he made before and goes to work. I know that doesn't seem like much, but some women have bums living with them that won't even contribute financially. He adores me...every inch of me, body, mind, and soul. He willingly watches sports in another room so as not to interfere with my anti-sports mentality. He will pick up after himself so far as dishes are concerned and he at least aims for the toilet if not putting the seat back down. I can carry on an intelligent conversation with him for the most part, though he accuses me of mumbling constantly -- but only when he's engrossed in something else. He's very intelligent, and has reasonable hobbies. He likes model trains, fishing, and reading. He doesn't even force me to listen to his version of music, since he knows I can't stand it. He also likes video games. I could do without that part, but at least he's not neurotic about them. He's also affectionate and not afraid to push a shopping cart around a busy store with my purse sitting in it. He'll even hold my purse for me, though he refuses to dig into it for any reason aside to drag his cigs out of the side pocket -- even if I tell him it's okay to.

Okay, now I've covered everything I can think of that is the opposite of my rant yesterday. I'm still miffed (love that word) about all the stuff I ranted on then, but there are good points to him.

On a side and reallly far away point, I think the animals in my small portion of Iowa have gone crazy from the heat. I'm used to roadkill (see past posting) though I do have a few concerns about it, but the past two days have seen much increased daylight activity from the wildlife. I saw a mama raccoon with at least 6 babies the other day, followed a short distance later by a badger. I have a family of woodchucks (aka groundhogs) living on my property. An entire herd of deer traipsed across my road at 2 o'clock today, apparently headed towards a family reunion across town. I've seen about 10 roadkill skunks, but those may be night kills. There is a plethora of bunnies around, and suddenly I have squirrels. Okay, that sounded like a disease, but last year, I had no squirrels. Now, I have like 4 or 5. Since I live in the middle of nowehere, I'm trying to figure out where they came from. I don't think they lay eggs or grow from seeds, so you figure it out. Which reminds me of a shirt I saw in Hot Topic the other day (love that store). It says, "I have animal magnetism. Every time I go outside, squirrels stick to my clothes." I am going to buy that and wear it to the park. Better yet, to parent-teacher conferences. I like to shake things up. Oh...and back to the animals...there also appears to be a rather smallish muskrat or beaver or some manner of weasel type thing living down the road from me in a brackish creek. It squealed at my daughter when she tossed a rock next to a frog trying to get it to jump. Then it swam away. I only got a brief look at it, but I'm fairly positive that wasn't around last year either. I tell ya, it's like Wild Kingdom aroudn here. Turkeys, pheasants, and other assorted fowl are all over nearby too. I do not live in the woods! The only things missing so far are reptiles. I'm waiting for them to show up tomorrow.

Helpless Male

I love my recycled hubby very much! I love my recycled hubby very much! (I'm hoping that repeating this will help me calm down) I love my recycled hubby very much! (etc.)

Don't get me wrong, it's true: I do love him very much. However, this dependence of his is getting on my nerves. My 8 year old daughter can cook for the entire family on her own and on the stove. Granted, it's only scrambled eggs or cheese fajitas, but she can. He can barely pop corn in the microwave. Maybe I shouldn't bitch since I'm not working right now. He's the worker. But when school starts in three weeks (the kids & I start the same day), what's going to happen? Plus, next week my nother has to have surgery. She lives 2 and 1/2 hours away. I'll be gone, probably with the kids, for at least three days. Two of these are his days off and he is welcome to come with us, but if he chooses to stay home, I understand. However, if he does stay home, I'm not sure he can be trusted to feed the dogs and the bunny much less himself. No kidding, his idea of breakfast is 1/4 gallon of ice cream with 1/2 a container of Cool Whip on it. He's shown no ability to reheat leftovers on his own nor to be able to make his own frozen pizza, even. He cannot brown hamburger, and the one time I asked him to help me cook dinner by lining a baking pan with parchment paper (a gift from the gods) he used waxed paper instead. Silly me, I wasn't paying attention and didn't notice until the pork chops had already started to absorb the wax and the paper almost caught fire in my oven. (There's a Queenie-esque situation for you) At any rate, he is also apparently incapable of doing laundry, finding a hamper/basket, washing dishes, vacuuming, taking out garbage, or other household chores. He will help if I ask him to, which is a bonus, unless it involves leaving the house. Three days ago, I asked him to run into the town for me.

Me: Would you run into town for me?
Him: Which town?
Me: Duh. Iowa City! I need you to go to Fareway for me. I need about three things.
Him: Fareway?
Me: You know where it is, right?
Him: I think so.
Me: Know the movie place we always go to?
Him:Yeah.
Me:It's right next to it. Can't miss it.
Him:For what?
Me:I need a good-sized red onion, a small thing of baby potatoes, aluminum foil, and charcoal. Ok, four things.
Him:I'd fuck it up...You want a red onion, I'd bring back a red radish...
Me:You can't buy a single red radish.
Him:Ok, a turnip then. I'd just fuck it up.

Have you ever heard such drivel? Or such a piss-ppor excuse for not doing something? Grrr. Then he wonders why we aren't bumping uglies that often.

Okay, rant over. I feel better now. Send me the bill, as usual, and thank you for your time.

ATtending school as an adult

Kim posted a comment on my last posting that made me think, (Hooray for Kim!) something I have been avoiding most of the summer. She wondered about going to school as an adult and if she would like it more than when she was a teenager. My reply? Well, you could go to my previous post and look at the comments, but it boils down to ''no''. Here's why:

Picture yourself in a cramped room filled with desks meant for midgets (excuse me, little people or height challenged) and anorexics. Then fill 95% of these torture devices with 19-21 year olds. The majority of these will be typing into lap-tops, listening to MP3's on those little IPod things, or yawning in vain attempts to remain alert. These same students are also very cliquish, still holding on to the high school hierarchical mores that allowed them to survive those hellish years. These students talk only to those in their sororities/fraternities or people they knew in high school or met at the dorm. They do not become involved in class discussions unless forced and often appear to have brown-bottle flu every Monday, frequently all through the week. The females of this group tend to wear pants so low on their hips that their smiley-faced thong straps show (if they wear undies of any sort) or skirts so short you can smell whether they have a yeast infection or not and come to classes looking like they're heading to the bar any second. The males sport an array of clothing: from gangsta wannabe wear to the typical jock stuff, with a select few wearing band shirts and frat shirts or the ever-popular "Bar Crawl" shirt that has every bar in Iowa City listed on it with boxes for Sharpie marks next to them. These shirts are notoriously filled with checks and stained with various liquors and body fluids. Out of the remaining 5% of the class body, half of these are students that took the class solely for the purpose of having enough credit hours to receive their financial aid rebates and will not be seen after this has been disbursed. One fourth of the remainder will be students who are the brainiacs, geeks, and literati (depending on the subject) that take subject material waaay too seriously. These are the students that have meltdowns during midterms and finals and jump off bridges...or become political leaders. The remaing fourth will be students like me: adults, usually transfer students from a community college or some other university, sometimes single, sometimes with a family, interested in the work but overly obsessed, and looking for a friendly face. We are the ones who pester those around us for missed notes, because it is so rare that anyone befriends us and teachers do not like to hand notes to students who miss class. We are also the ones, though, that often bring a different perspective to the materials. We have varied and great life experiences to draw on and are usually very willing to become active in class discussions. Eventually, we become the students that the others turn to for help: missed notes, syllabus changes, and study partners. We are terribly under-appreciated by the university I attend, horribly abused by other students, and it's all worth it. No matter how much I bitch or whine or have tantrums, I wouldn't change a thing. Well, okay, a great many things. But, I have learned much more by attending college at this age than I believe I would have if I had gone fresh out of high school. I mean, come on...my whole goal as a junior in HS was to attend the college I'm at now, look at the Frat boys, and try to become a sex ed teacher...and not the kind of sex ed teacher most high schools have if you get my drift. Wendy will understand.

At any rate, is it hard? Oh god, words are not enough to describe it. Is it a hassle? Oh yeah. Do the cons outweigh the pros? Often. But I'm lucky. I have a terrific support system: my Mom, Grasshopper, Wendy, my kids, my recycled husband, and several of my instructors are so impressed with me that one of them nominated me to the Who's Who of American Women for my achievements. There are adult students (and the traditional ones too) who don't have the support I do. Those are the ones I feel sorry for. But for the moment, would everyone please feel pity for me? Please? I'd heard rumors that my senior status would be a major ass-ache, but I had no clue it would be like this.

It rained! Yay!

This is weird. It finally decides to rain, right? Fine. We got some much needed rain, even though it dropped our temp by like 40 degrees and lasted all damn day. However, here's the strange part: only half my lawn started turning green. Seriously. If you stand on my front porch and look out toward my road, there are two bushes that divide that part of my yard into near-perfect halves. To the left, greening grass. To the right, brownish yellow grass. Swear to god, I could see the line of division. Weird.

On a different topic, I hate registering for classes! Admittedly, this is partially my own fault, but waiting until so close to time for classes to start is not a good idea. This is my senior year (woot) and I have to have certain classes in order to graduate. I got into two of the three, which is a big deal, but I still have like 18 semester hours of electives to fill. Uh huh. With what? I refuse to take math classes or science or history. I like reading and writing. I like books. I have no artistic talent whatever. So, in order to qualify for my financial aid, I need two more 3 s.h. credit courses for this coming term. Fine. The ones I want, much less need, are full. Arggh!

Screaming Blades of Grass

I swear to god you can literally hear my lawn screaming from dehydration. Over the last two weeks, we've had two ten minute showers. Everything is turning brown and looking dead from the heat and lack of water. When I walk across the yard to the mailbox, I can hear little sighs of gratitude for putting some of the grass out of it's misery. Either that or sighs of happiness for the amount of shade I provide. I'm not sure which. Could be both.

I'm hoping that becoming a member of The Shrinking Yay-Yays (I don't know how to do the link thing) will change the amount of shade I create. God knows, I'm too lazy to make it myself. At any rate, I'm hoping for some much-needed rain tonight and tomorrow...and maybe, just maybe, a break in this tropical heat wave. I'd been hoping the heat would help me sweat off some of this lard, but according to the scale, I was mistaken. One good thing, I'm as brown as my lawn instead of white as my walls. Still as round as a cookie tho. Hmmm....cookies....

Ugh! Damned Heat!

Okay, it's so hot and humid here that as soon as I step outside for three seconds, I feel as damp as if I'd just taken a shower. And the State Fair doesn't start until next month. In summer, we have State Fair weather. In winter, it's Boys & Girls State Basketball Tourneys that fuck us. Heat waves in summer and blizzards in winter. So goes life in Iowa. Heat advisories out all over. Heat indeces (?) over 113, 125 by my mom's, and people insist on going out jogging and shit. At 2 in the afternoon. Uh huh. I'm all for being healthy and active. Really I am. But, I don't want to get that healthy. That is a great way to end up in the hospital. Or coffin. Besides, I am in shape. Round is a shape. I learned that in preschool. I am seriously considering getting into another shape though. I'm leaning towards a triangle, but my friend Grasshopper swears that I'm already shaped like a gourd. The bitch. Actually, I love her dearly, and that was a term of endearment. Of course, she's looking a bit like a gourd herself after this last child. Serves her right. Oh well, with this heat, we'll sweat it off in no time. Yep. We'll be supermodels in no time.

Fucking heat.

Mission Part 2 & Baby Handbooks

Ok. So, the other ex got here right on time, safe and sound. The reason she and her best friend are sleeping in my bed is that she came down to pick up my soon to be stepson. She drove four and half hours right after working most of the night to do so. I understand being tired. Plus, I'm trying to be nice. She was decent enough to offer to go get a room at a hotel for a few hours. My idea is why waste the money? Not worth it. We also do not hate each other. Yet. This is subject to change -- frequently.

On to other things. Now, I started babysitting when I was nine. I have three children of my own. I have been around kids of various ages most of my life. I know there are tons of parenting books out there. I also know, or thought I did, that babies are not born with an instruction manual. Apparently, I was wrong. The State of Iowa now issues these manuals with birth certificates. No lie. My best friend, Grasshopper, got one just recently. Apparently, they also send updates or whatever at certain intervals. It seems that they would rather send smaller installments than print large books all at once. My question and problem is: why didn't I get these things? I'm not exactly sure how useful they are, but I didn't get any and I'm bothered by this. And when did the state start this program? I'd never heard of it before with any one else's kids. Odd. At any rate, in Iowa at least, babies now get issued instruction manuals along with their birth certificates. They do come a bit late, however. Grasshopper and Twitch didn't get their first installment of the manual until the baby was nearly three months old, and the first section only covers until two months. Of course, she just yesterday got the next section. I wonder how long they send them? If she gets one that covers the teen years, I'm filing a lawsuit. I don't have one and I have teens. I think that would be a great miscarriage of justice and an act of malfeasance on behalf of the government. Bet I'd win too. If fat people can sue McDonald's and Burger King and win, I ought to be able to, dammit.

I Must Be on a Mission

My recycled husband's other ex-wife will be arriving at my house tomorrow morning. Early. Like goddamned 7 a.m.! Which means that I will be up at the asscrack of dawn to get ready. Plus, since she is working all night tonight, she will need a nap before she heads back to MN on a four and a half hour drive with her children in the car. Guess where she'll be sleeping? Ummm Hmmm. In MY bed! Yep. Simply because there is no other place to put her that won't involve being interrupted constantly by children. Aside from a shallow unmarked grave. (Did I say that?) Grrr. I'm trying to be nice. She's been decent to me. I just get this roiling wave of trepidation at the thought of her coming to my house. Ugh!

Send valium. Send chocolate. Send sympathy cards. Send...fuck it, send whatever you think will help. For the record, I like chocolate (duh), tea, coffee (especially flavored ones), and carnations. And valium. Well, not sure about valium. Never took it. But I am allergic to the 'ines'...morphine, codeine...so on. Whatever. Just make sure Wendy can raise bail money if I end up in jail for homicide. At least I'm not a flight risk.

More Penguin Stuff

So, March of the Penguins has an official website. I found out there's all kinds of neat stuff on it. Like a sweepstakes/contest for a trip to Antarctica. To see penguins! Guess what? I'm like entering as often as it lets me. Now, if I could just convince no one else to enter, I'd be sure to win. Three problems though: 1) it takes place right around midterms, 2) it involves both a plane and a boat -- not to mention subzero temperatures, and 3) too many other penguin fanatics out there for me to win. Of course, one never knows. I'll keep you posted. Whether you like it or not.

Also, there is a national penguin day. Yes there is. There's on in the Falkland Islands where kids actually get to miss school. (Right on!) Philadelphia uses the name to have a social change forum. Hooray for the birds of change! And, according to http://www.penguin-place.com/ which has everything penguin one could need, the movie gets "two flippers up". New Zealand actually has penguins on its money (I want some!). World Penguin Day is April 25th! Mark your calendars for 2006!

Oh, and if you paid attention to the little animation in the corner of my blog that Kat put there, you will see one Emperor penguin knocking over another one. Kat is the one still standing, if you want to look at it symbolically. I'm the nitwit that got knocked into the water. This is not only funny, but represents her talents compared to mine own.

Power to the penguin!

More Groveling & an Ad

This is so AWESOME! Oh, thank you, Kat, thank you! I love this! See, people...I told you Kat was the shit! I think I need to rethink the amount of the gift card. Either that, or I'll make it like installment payments. I'm sure this won't be the last time I'm groveling to Kat for her profound skillz! And see along the side where it lists Kat as a 'Contributor'? It should read "Managing Editor" or "Mistress of the Blog" or some thing equally suck-up-ish. Plus, it's like, true. I want everyone to know, aside from the posts and a few color suggestions and some clip art sent via email, I have nothing at all to do with the appearance of this blog. Kat is the one who made it look so lovely! God, can you imagine the things she could accomplish if she were a plastic surgeon? I'd want to look like Lucy. As in "I Love Lucy" not Lucy from Peanuts. Or maybe Betty Boop. I'd say Marilyn, but since a dear friend of mine told me that redheads are just blondes that failed the test, I'm afraid of what would happen if I was blonde. But I've digressed...again. Seriously, though, to me, Kat has worked a miracle. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, merci beaucoup, gracias, domo arygato, grazzi, and thank you! Take a bow, take a curtsy, take an encore, take a nap, whatever! I'll get the card in the mail Monday, I promise!

Now for the ad. Has anyone seen the previews for March of the Penguins? I cannot wait to see that movie! Several of my friends saw it before I did, the previews I mean, and were sure to call and tell me about it. Then I saw them. Okay, so I have a penguin fetish. You should see all the penguins I have. And I don't have nearly enough. They all have names, too. The only thing I am lacking is a live penguin...I'm working on it. Honestly, if I were given two weeks to live, and granted three wishes to do before I died, one of them would be to go play with penguins at like Sea World. Yep. Stick me in one of those suit things or parkas or whatever, give me some fish, and open the door. The penguins and I will get along famously, I assure you. Until I try to smuggle one out in my boot. I'm sure that's grand theft penguin and a federal offense. They're just so damned adorable! I wouldn't be able to control myself. It's an illness. So, at any rate, with this movie coming out, my nearest and dearest friends are planning on listening to me rant and rave about the March of the Penguins until we all go see. Yes, the poor things have agreed to go with me to see the movie. The hard part is going to be preventing me from becoming so enamored of the film that I become unruly and get physically removed from the theater. Which will be the only way I'll leave before the thing ends. Even then, they'd better plan on calling out a task force, because I won't go. Like I said, it's an illness. Be prepared. I am herewith giving you fair warning that as soon as I see it, my blog will be filled with talk of penguins. Illness. Just keep that in mind...it's an illness and I can't control it.

Stalker Vibes and children answering my phone

I am very pleased to announce that Kat does not pick up stalker vibes from me. This is a great relief. Makes it much easier to send her the W*M gift card. Which will be heading out via snail mail Monday. I will not disclose the amount. She'll have to wait and be surprised. I chose that kind of card because 1) she suggested it, and 2) W*M or Wally-World as I refer to it, is one of the most excellent places to shop like EVER. And it just got better. The recycled hubby is now gainfully employed there and gets an employee discount. As much money as we spend in that place, it's going to save us thousands. Of course, he thinks I put off stalker vibes. In reality, it's just him wishing I was stalking him...or rather, his body. But, he currently has at least one broken/cracked rib, and that has shut the playground down for the nonce. More on that later.

My daughter loves to talk on the phone. She is a girl after all. Plus, she's eight. She especially likes to be left in charge of the phone, no matter who else is home, if I leave the house. This has good points. Mainly, if she answers the phone, I generally know that someone called and the gist of the message. However, I know like three or four Wendys. Each of them have nicknames that my daughter knows. They seem to forget this, though, and lie in wait using their ESP for me to leave and then one of them will call and talk to my girl only telling them that 'Wendy' called. Since the little Caller ID box thing on my phone is broken, that doesn't help. So, once told that Wendy has called, I usually spend about an hour tracking down the right one. Of course, the alternative -- one of my sons answering the phone -- leaves much to be desired. I'll be home for hours and then the phone will ring and someone on the other end wants to know why I didn't call them back...two days ago. Or my other favorite:

Me: Did anyone call while I was gone?
Son #1: Not sure. I was on the Net.
Son #2: Yeah. Someone called a while ago. I didn't get to the phone on time.
(pause for me to check voicemail)
Me: Time to eat, play, whatever.

The next day
RRR-iiinnnng!
Me: Hello?
Mom: Hi. What's up?
Me: Not much. You?
Mom: Didn't Son #2 tell you I called last night?
Me: Nope. Hey! Son #2!
(distantly) Son #2: Yeah?
Me: Who called for me last night?
Son #2: Oh shit! You're supposed to call Other Grandma!
Me: Yeah, she's on the phone now.

** Kids! Gotta love 'em! One of these days, I'm gonna love their little heads right off their bodies...