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.