One by One the Penguins Steal My Sanity

Fatties Have Feelings Too

2011-03-21T13:16:00.000-07:00

     I'm sick and tired of all this crap about obesity. Yeah, I'm fat. But I'm the only one who can do anything about it. I don't blame fast food restaurants, my mother, or anything/anyone else. What I am tired of is all these stupid, false weight loss ads all over the place offering the quick and easy fix: lose the weight without changing anything. Right. If that worked, I'd be a size 10 without taking any stupid, possibly dangerous pills, drinks, bars, or injections.
    Another thing I'm sick of is hearing all these idiots saying things like "just quit eating". No. I like food. I enjoy eating. Eating is awesome. The same fools will also often say things like "monitor your carbs/calories/proteins/whatever". That's fine up to a point. However, your body operates on carbs, sugars, proteins, etc. We need to re-learn the definition of "moderation", as in "all things in moderation". One candy bar a week or even a day is not likely to kill me or even add an ounce to my frame. The problem lies in having 3 or 4 each day and not doing anything to burn them off.
   What I'm truly tired of are all the hurtful comments that get bandied about. Sometimes unintentionally by family and friends as well as strangers. Whenever one of my thinner friends makes a comment about not wanting to gain weight, having gained weight, or wanting to lose weight - I just cringe inside, even if I don't do it visibly. Why would you say something like that to an overweight person?
   Here's some insights for everyone:
1. Those of us who have spent 90% or more of our lives struggling with being overweight do not care if you need to lose 10 pounds, just gained 10 pounds, or are hoping to not gain two pounds from vacation/holiday food. Chances are, we've been trying to get rid of far more than 10 pounds for the majority of our lives. We are more than adequately aware that we are the people you fear becoming. How do you think you would feel spending most of your life with that awareness? That the image you see in the mirror is the image people have in mind when they say they don't want to get fat? It isn't pleasant, let me tell you, and the asinine comments made by you 'normies' do nothing to help us feel any better about ourselves or about even considering making a change for the better.
2. If you know someone who is even thinking about making a change in their weight, please wait for them to ask you for assistance before having verbal diarrhea all over us with all of your suggestions, pointers, tips, and directions for how to do it. For all you know, we may have consulted with a personal trainer, a registered dietitian, a gym, our doctor, and Billy Banks as well as the entire staff of "The Biggest Loser" before saying a word to you. If we want your help, we'll ask for it. Until then, try to say something really meaningful to us, such as "That's great! I know you're going to do your best and get through this!" Even offer of help is fine, so long as you're prepared when we decline.
3. If someone you know is making a change like this, make sure their sense of humor about the situation is fitting with yours. While I admit that watching myself try to do Dance Dance Revolution, aerobics, ride a bike, or any other form of exercise can be funny; I may not be ready for you to be laughing at me yet. There are going to be days when my ability to laugh at myself is going to be nonexistent. On those days, the last thing I need is to have you laughing at me. And don't say you're laughing with me, because if you're the only one laughing there's no "with" involved - you can't laugh with someone who isn't laughing. More to the point, that laughter hurts. It isn't easy to work up the nerve to workout (at anything) in front of someone else when you've struggled with a weight problem. Especially when, rightly or wrongly, we have been perceiving judgements from all the 'normies' around us for our entire lives. Your comments and laughter, even from friends/family, are why so many of us fail at our efforts as well as prevent us from going to a gym in a public place. If we're going to get that reaction from the people who should be the most supportive of us, how can we trust strangers to not judge us or laugh at us? We're likely embarrassed enough and disgusted enough with ourselves, I promise. We don't need your intentional or unintentional comments to add to the matter.
4. Think back, now, to your childhood if you're an adult. Have you always been a "normie"? Ok, then think about your comments to or about the kids that weren't. Can you even remember? Maybe not. But I bet those who were those kids can. The old saying "sticks & stones" should go like "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words hurt worse than anything". Because, I can tell you from personal experience, a bruise goes away in a week or so. The names a fat kid gets called on the playground in fourth grade? Those hang around for a really, really long time. And when they come from an adult who should know better? They really stick then.

We fatties have feelings too. Why would it be okay to treat us badly simply because of our weight? Is it okay to treat you badly simply because you don't know any better or because you have a fault, disability, or problem? I didn't think so.

Thoughts about New Year's Eve

2011-01-10T08:03:00.000-08:00

     Shortly before the year 2011 began, I turned 40. I say this simply because that may be affecting my reflections on New Year's Eve. I'm actually kind of mad about it. Not the holiday itself. Frankly, it's just a day on the calendar any more and a reminder of the fleeting passage of time. But I digress. What I'm mad about is that New York seems to have somehow managed to corner the market on it here in America. Times Square, the ball drop, Dick Clark, the whole nine yards. And it's not right. This party gets televised via NBC & all its affliate stations throughout the nation. Which would be fine except only a small portion of the country is ringing in the New Year at EDT/EST (whichever it is). 3/4 of the country still has an hour, two hours, or three hours yet to go before the new year starts. Yet, we're force-fed this program like New York City and the east coast own the holiday celebration rights.
     There are major cities in the other 3 time zones, as big as NYC or very close to it. There are also other television networks that even people without cable can access (so no relying on CNN or other cable channel) that could take on the challenge of televising a celebration in these 3 zones. Hollywood celebrities, bands, stars and starlets, etc etc could all join in the ones that they wanted to (or paid them most, whichever) and those of us in the remaining portion of the country not located in Eastern time zone could ring in the new year, watch a ball drop if that's what was decided (more in a bit on that), and do it all at the time that's accurate for us.
     Don't get me wrong. I grew up watching the Times Square ball drop with Dick Clark. I always looked forward to it. It was wonderful. But it was always an hour early for me. Still is. But as I've gotten older, the ball drop has lost some of its luster. Some of it comes from just being older. But I think the majority of my apathy towards it stems from what I've already said: NYC and the rest of the country act like it's the only place to celebrate, like they've somehow come to OWN the holiday. That, and like most of the other holidays, it's become a major marketing campaign.
     Why don't any of the other TV stations and cities rally together and help take back New Year's Eve in the other time zones? For Central time, get Chicago or the Twin Cities to set something up. For Mountain time, Phoenix AZ would work, and it might be fun to see a party in a 'desert' locale for New Year's. For Pacific: there's many choices. Pick one. Then, decide which station besides NBC or CNN is going to televise the festivities. Sign up celebrities, bands, etc. Maybe a parade. As for the countdown, does it have to be a ball drop? How about a mass balloon release, with single balloons being released during the countdown until the mass one at midnight? Messages could even be attached to the balloons. Make it a school project for the state or something. Or, if balloons won't do, instead of a big, lit up ball dropping down the side of a building, how about a hologram or something similar of Father Time? He could be an old man at the top who slowly gets younger as he lowers to the ground until he becomes the baby New Year? With all the CGI stuff available today, that shouldn't be too hard to get on some sort of long screen on the side of a building somewhere. ABC, CBS, and PTV (Public Television) or some other station could divvy up the other 3 time zones. The commercial aspects of it could be phenomenal money makers for the stations. Tourism to the host cities would increase, if only temporarily. And it would destroy the monopoly NBC and NYC seem to have managed to create on the whole celebration.
     Why should the majority of the country be subject to Eastern time for a televised broadcast of New Year's celebration and countdown? If it's because the capitol of our country happens to be there, that's no excuse. Big deal. It's just plain dumb luck that our country is large enough to have 4 time zones and our capitol is located where it is. It could just as easily have ended up in Mississippi, Idaho, or Oregon. Pure chance. So again I ask why? Tradition? Again, big deal. It'd still be televised for those who really wanted to stick to the tradition of watching the NYC thing. If it changed though, at least we'd have a choice and we wouldn't be stuck with a New Year's Eve party that starts the new year off for us long before it's actually the new year for us. Just sayin'.

RIP My Friend

2010-12-17T20:40:00.000-08:00

I will miss you my friend.

For your faith: Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women,and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. For mine: I will remember you at Samhain & bless you then. I hope to see you in the Summerlands, my friend. Blessed Be.

One by One the Penguins Steal My Sanity: I Will Remember You

2010-12-17T07:26:00.000-08:00

One by One the Penguins Steal My Sanity: I Will Remember You

I Will Remember You

2010-12-17T07:25:00.000-08:00

For My Dear Friend:
I want to say that I know how lucky and blessed I was to have had you in my life. Even for just a couple years, though I think it was far too short. I learned so much from you, my friend. I learned more about patience. For, as those of us who knew you well are aware, you could be the most obstinate man around when you wanted to be. A lesson I learned very early on in our relationship, when I feared we would never get along. I’m so glad that changed, or I would have missed out on so much.

I learned more about laughter and the power of being happy. It was a rare occasion that you couldn't make me laugh. I loved spending time with you; you were always so happy to see me for the shortest times and for the simplest things. From this I learned that it really is the simple things in life that matter and a smile really can make someone's day. I hope I did the same for you.

I think the most important thing I learned from you is that the love of friendship knows no age limits, notices no differences in abilities, and finds you in the places you might least expect it. I will never be able to hear polka music without thinking of you. I've never met anyone with such a passion and knowledge for something in my life.

I will miss you trying to convince me that you're the boss or the president of the whole US of A because your computer told you so or that Lawrence Welk had told you so. Or that any favor, no matter how small, would cost me a million dollars. I'll miss hearing: "that's it...you're fired" even though I didn't work there anymore; "oh, write her a ticket...Wendy's a squirt"; or "call the Marshal...911, US Marshals...Wendy's picking on Emil". I will miss your laughter. I will miss our coffee and lunch dates. Our talks about Czech Days, old television shows, movies, your love of running when you were a boy. We talked about everything. Sometimes about nothing. But being together: on the bus, walking downtown, or just sitting around the house, was always the best part.

Earlier I said you could be obstinate. This is true. But you were also smart, funny, and sensitive. I've never seen someone so happy to be singing along to a song as you when you listened to your polka music. When you laughed, it encompassed your whole being, as laughter should. Your friendship was one of the greatest gifts I could ever receive. I love you, my friend, and though I will miss you dearly, I will remember you with more fondness than tears. I think you would have wanted it that way, and after all, you’re the boss.

Tis the Season...for Changes

2010-12-15T17:00:00.000-08:00

So one of my best friends is graduating from our college program in just a few days and moving back home to Iowa. I know I'm going to miss her dearly. And I got to thinking after our coffee, snack, salad time tonight about exactly how much. See, we've only known each other a couple years. And it's not like we do a lot of stuff together on a regular basis. But, we've shared some really strange classes, bolstered each other up, and learned to laugh with each other. She's one of the very few people I've met here in SD that I've truly connected with and made friends with. I don't really fit in with most of the other grad students for some reason. Maybe it's my personality or insanity. Maybe I'm arrogant because I did my undergrad at UI. I really don't know. Or maybe the other students are just so much younger than me that they don't really know how to adjust to me or approach me. My friend on the other hand, just takes me as I am. Plus, she's funny, talented, and totally random. All qualities I really appreciate in my friends. We recently started including another girl in our little group and I'm looking forward to getting to know her better, but it won't really be the same. Then, thinking about my friend leaving, I got to thinking about my other friends I've left behind. And the guilt set in. I don't talk to them as much as I'd like to. When I do, it seems like all I do is bitch and whine. I don't get to see them as often as I'd like. And I worry that my friend who's moving will end up like my other friends: we'll stay in touch via Facebook, email, and such but not really stay in touch. And I'm not sure I like that idea. Oh, it's okay for the in-betweens. The time in between when we can chat on the phone or get together, but not what I want any of my friendships to rely on. So, now I'm working on trying to figure out how to change that. Not even Christmas yet, and I'm working on New Year's Resolutions already. Tis the season...for changes.

I'm Just Not Sure

2010-12-01T10:33:00.000-08:00

     I'm not quite sure what my problem is today. Aside from being exhausted already from seeing all these allegedly adult college students walking around looking like morons, though stylish morons, wearing things not suited to winter weather in South Dakota. Where are these people's parents? I swear I just want to call them up and tell them not to be surprised when their student is hospitalized due to poor dressing habits. Twits. The lot of them.
   I'm also sick of the city and college officials who do not seem to remember from one year to the next how to maintain streets, sidewalks, parking lots, etc. in winter. Using a road grader instead of a plow makes no sense to me. Neither does only plowing 3/4 of a street or leaving one long pile in the middle of the parking lot between the rows of cars. And don't get me started on scooping sidewalks or using ice melt. Or lack thereof. Sea monkeys, I'm surrounded by sea monkeys.
    Really, I'm not sure if all that crap's the problem or if I'm just losing my mind because it's so close to the end of the semester. Or both. Maybe it's not any of that and is just my winning personality. See, this is why I am not active in politics. I have no patience, no tolerance for stupidity, and I'm running out of room in the small black box of souls I keep in my underwear drawer.

Blindness or Unobservant

2010-11-17T15:50:00.000-08:00

It took a friend of mine, Jolls, to point out a strange gap in the middle of a building on campus today. It's weird. I would think the buildings had been separate at one time, but the gap only goes halfway down between them. There's what appears to be a walkway near the top connecting the two, and at the halfway point, the buildings are seamlessly one building as though it was one building all along. Jolls said she didn't notice the gap until today herself. Both of us walk past that building, and the gap, on a regular basis. Neither of us has noticed it before. From either side of the building. And it's not like the gap only shows on one side or is concealed by anything. Yes, on the one side, there is a tree, but it's not that tall of a tree. Plus, as you look into the gap, you can see daylight at the top and other end of the tunnel/gap/thing as well as recognize treetops on the other side of the building that you could see on that part of campus.

So, the reality is, I have been walking past this strange building gap for over a year. I don't think I'd have noticed it without Jolls, who has been walking past it for 5 years. Which begs the question, are we both blind or just that unobservant? Personally, I'm of the opinion that the gap is similar to Platform 9 3/4 from the Harry Potter series - it only shows up at certain times and to certain people. Apparently Jolls and I are among the special few to whom the building has chosen to display it's oddity. That has to be it. I mean, I can't truly speak for Jolls, but I certainly cannot be that unobservant and I'm fairly convinced I'm not blind. Now, where'd I put my glasses?

Back In the Saddle Again

2010-11-16T17:46:00.000-08:00

So I see it's been, oh, a few years since I was on here. I have no excuse or reason. Just ran out of steam or something. Anyhow, I'm back. Yup. As Jim Carrey said in Liar Liar, "Here she comes to wreck the day!" Nah. I'll try not to. Even if it may seem to my Ph.D. classmates that I am.

Honestly, I'm not trying to drive people away, but I don't understand what happened. There are a few basic things I think some of my classmates have forgotten, seeing as how they are Ph.D. students and the rest of us are merely lowly M.A. students. Such as literary writing doesn't necessarily mean inaccessible writing. I'm sorry to inform you, but there's a reason people who write like Hemingway and Faulkner aren't being published much any more. Or at least being widely read any more except by academics. If you want to publish something for your enjoyment, that's one thing. If you're wanting to publish for reader enjoyment, that's a whole new arena. Maybe I'm wrong, but the academic writing just doesn't seem to pay as much or get as widely read and appreciated. My other hobby horse on this topic is separating speaker from author. It's not that hard of a concept, even for creative nonfiction. You don't have to write about yourself for it to be nonfiction. People do it all the time.

Okay. I'm done now. Gosh it feels great to be back.

Apparently I was Wrong

2007-01-14T04:56:00.000-08:00

After months spent struggling and looking for a job, I finally get one, and now I'm getting calls and emails from places I applied at months ago. Whafuck? I go to the interviews simply because the jobs would pay more than the one I just got. Silly me, I had thought that if these places had wanted to interview me, they'd have asked me to when I applied. Guess I was wrong.

Back in November, I had the opportunity to be the Keynote Speaker at a conference for self-sufficiency coordinators. I did it, and it went over great. I was very proud of myself. However, I figured that was the end of my public speaking career. Until two days ago, when I receive a call from the lady who set me up to speak in November. I am now scheduled to speak again this coming March to an entirely different group. I'm excited, yes. Still, I had not planned on this coming up again. I figured that my next public speaking would be at the amateur night comedy thing. Nope, never made it to that yet. I thought I was going to become a famous comedienne, turns out I'm going to be a politician. Guess I was wrong again.

Due to a variety of circumstances, my eldest son and his soon to be wife (due in March with little Twinkerbell) will be moving out effective the first of February. I not only thought I was ready for this to happen, but thought that my mother would just blithely accept it when I told her about the impending nuptuals and relocation. I was wrong on both counts. The decision for them to move was made like 5 days ago. My mother was just informed last night. For the past three days, I've been alternating between panic attacks about my son and Twinkerbell and Cheeks surviving on their own and fits of depression over them leaving the nest. My mother had a mild (for her) fit and accused me of ...well basically being the 17 year old version of myself only projecting it onto my own son. Hmph.

I hate being wrong.

Things Found in Washing Machines &/Or Pants

2006-11-16T21:35:00.000-08:00

The following items have been found in either washing machines (W) or pants (P) by either myself (m) or Grasshopper (g) or other friends (f):

1. a bullet (w, g) -- Since there are no guns in the house, Grasshopper assumes it was just found and pocketed because it's shiny...and dangerous. I agree with her that she probably doesn't really want to know.

2. a bagel (p, m) -- My middle child adores bagels. And cream cheese. And he often eats on the run to whatever and wherever, so I was not at all surprised to find most of a bagel left in one of his pants pockets the other day. I'm just glad it didn't make it through the wash first. Ish!

3. porn (m, w, p) -- with two teenage boys, this was also not a shock. For some reason, I can't get it through their thick skulls that while I do not care that they look at nekkid women in compromising positions or doing odd things with odd things, I definitely DO care about it being left about the house where I might have to look at it...or that their little sister might find it. The strange thing, the one I found in the washer was still in one piece and not at all damaged. Hmm. Weird.

4. cell phone (m, dryer) -- of course I didn't find it until AFTER it had been washed and dried. Yeah. Another thing my middle child blames on the ADD monster. It almost ended up on his tombstone. Damn those things are expensive.

5. Two full beer cans (f, w) -- She had no idea either. Must have been some party.

6. A cat (f, w) -- At least it hadn't been run yet. It was found when she went to put in a load of wash. 8 lives to go.

7. Assorted condiment packages (m, w & dryer) -- sugar becomes rock hard, creamer leaks, and if you can catch the ketchup and mustard in just the washer, you may be lucky enough to not have to rewash everything and hope the SHOUT works.

8. Crickets (m, w) -- ah, country living!

9. A fork (m, w) -- I have no idea. I blame the kids.

10. One toad, two caterpillars (wooly worm type), about four dozen pebbles, two fist sized rocks, one baseball, a pocketknife, a handful of bark, three pinecones, and a wide assortment of feathers (m, p) -- both my sons are collectors of miscellania. This grouping came out of one pair of my middle child's pants. The toad and caterpillars were still alive. Probably living off crickets and bark. The record for my eldest son? Enough pebbles to completely cover the bottom of my washing machine and at least three kleenex went through the wash. Gotta love my boys!

These are just the unusual things. My favorites include money and notes. The rule around here is: if it's left in your pants or pockets, it becomes public property. In other words, MINE. Which means I read the notes, keep the money, and otherwise violate their privacy. It's amazing how quickly they learn to empty their pockets every night.

ADD Monster

2006-11-13T09:54:00.000-08:00

My son and I heard a funny on the radio the other day. We were listening to The Bob & Tom Show and a comedienne was talking aobut how she has ADD. Apparently, Bob is also ADD. Rather, as it was described on the show, he is a victim of ADD. My son and I thought this was hilarious, since my son also has ADD.
"That's it, Link...you're a victim of ADD!"
He laughed, but said, "Makes it sound like someone murdered me."

Of course, this led to further theories on being a victim of ADD. My son and I agree that putting it that way makes it sound like a contagious disease. You know, maybe some weird form of lycanthropy. Yup. My son was attacked by some ADD monster and the effects can only be seen during daylight hours. He thinks it sounds more like AIDS or rabies. Something he'll have to share with any girlfriends: "Sorry, dear, but no love-bites. I have ADD and I don't want you to catch it." Apologies to AIDS victims and rabid peoples everywhere, but it does sound terribly funny.

Hey, my twisted sense of humor is genetic. My children are cursed with it. Thank god and goddess. Without it, our lives would be far too dreary to handle.

Broken

2006-10-31T05:18:00.000-08:00

I am broken. I reached this conclusion on Sunday. Now, I'm a realist, for the most part. I do have hopes that certain things can change, but recognize the unlikelihood of it. One thing though, that has to change is how my family operates.

I tried doing the whole "Donna Reed-Betty Crocker-Martha Stewart-June Cleaver" thing. Obviously, I am missing that gene. I do not know when I lost it. I'm not sure where I lost it. To be honest, I believe I was born without it. I can cook. Albeit, not like Julia Child. Not even like Emeril. (Bam!) I can clean. I will never be as much of a neatnik as my mother. I have to have my clutter. I do not do my cooking, cleaning, or motherly duties wearing dresses of any sort. I certainly do not wait on my husband to come home from work before making any disciplinary decisions. I am not the let's-bake-cookies-and-hold-block-parties kind of girl. I have very little talent for crafts. I can sew, but one shirt could take me four months to finish correctly. Those little tie-together fleece blankies? My absolute FAVE! But I do the other stuff.

I go to every school play, recital, program, meal, field trip, whatever. I'll forgo things for myself so my kids don't have to do without. I try to make meals or at least buy foods that everyone will eat. On their way out the door, my kids are all told I love them and to have a good day. The older ones nod or go "yeah" at me. My daughter will still hug and kiss me. I listen to long explanations about video games I'll never play, web-games I will never understand, and all the drama that goes on in high school and fourth grade. Which, in case anyone has forgotten, puts Hollywood goings-on to shame. I help with homework, feed the revolving masses of teenaged boys (a few girls drop in) with an hour's notice or less, and do the whole 'fat mom' consoling thing. (Never trust a skinny mom. They have no clue.)

I am relied on by everyone in this house for every little thing. Being a mom is the most thankless job in the world. I know this. However, I don't ask for much. I'm not asking for a perfect world. I don't expect my family to express gratitude on a daily basis. I'd settle for once a month. Hell, once a year would work. But as of Sunday, I realized that's not going to happen. And it hurts and it pisses me off. I'm tired of the daily struggle to get anyone to pitch in around the house even so far as to toss their own dirty clothes down to the basement so they can get washed, much less to take their own dirty dishes to the kitchen. I know I am significant to those who live here, simply because I do it all.

Sunday, all I wanted was to hang my outside Christmas lights since it was nice out and I didn't want to be out there doing it in 20 below zero weather. Nope. Didn't happen. Everyone ahd been warned about this job since Thursday. They all decided that video games, discussing their love lives, football, and eating were more important than helping me. Fine. It was the straw the broke the camel's back, as they say. So now I'm broken. And still no one seems to give a crap. I love my family. I'd be in horrible shape if I lost any one of them. But, I deserve at least a little bit of help and acknowledgement. Maybe every mom goes through this. I don't know. I just know that I'm finished with it. As shitty as that sounds, I simply cannot take any more. I don't need daily affirmations that I'm a good wife and mother. I don't expect the bickering and constant reminders to stop. But when my husband touches me in that 'special way' and all I can think is "oh great one more thing someone wants me to do", there's something wrong and there's too much being asked of me.

Noisy Apparel

2006-10-21T12:59:00.000-07:00

I have never had clothes that made noise. At least not unless they were meant to. I've had shoes that squeaked on certain flooring. I even had a pair that squawked whenever I wore nylon socks. They squawked on the inside. I've had shirts that had some little sqeeker built into them for some joke or other, usually Halloween or maternity/motherhood shirts, but nothing else.

Apparently, I'm missing out. Grasshopper has a bra that squeaks. It's one of those miraculous underwires that don't poke you in the armpit all day long and actually feels comfortable. But it sometimes squeaks. Accdording to her, it will squeak whether she's wearing it or not. Not always, but occasionally. I asked her if she had a mouse in it. Since she is deathly afraid of all rodentia, I figured this was unlikely, but worth asking. She swears there is no mouse or other rodent in it. Huh. Weird. Of course, another friend of mine, swears she has a squeeky bra also, though I have not heard it.

Let's see. Another friend swears up and down that aside from the swooshing noise corduroys make, he has a pair of them (pants) that will kind of hiss at him whenever he sits on leather in them. I thought it was more likely the leather but he says it isn't. Plus, it will hiss if he sits on anything leather like. Including vinyl.

And my oldest son has one pair of pants with an exceptionally loud zipper. I'm not sure why it is louder than others, but it is. This I have heard myself. I mean, when I can hear this zipper in my living room downstairs when he's behind the closed bathroom door, it's loud. And it's not like it's some bizarrely huge zipper or made of some strange, noisy metal. It's an average looking zipper in a slightly odd pair of pants, called "tripps".

I don't get it. None of this. I just don't think it's normal for clothing to make unusual noises when it's obvious the items are not made to make noise. And I think I'm a bit jealous that all these people have unusually behaved clothing and I have the average, normally behaved clothing. I probably need help for this.

Nerves? What Nerves?

2006-09-14T09:27:00.000-07:00

My nerves are shot. Truly gone. First of all, this find-a-decent-job-and-support-the-family thing isn't going so well. Frankly, it sucketh. I've only sent out about 120 copies of my resume and filled out nearly that in general applications. I've had one interview. I'm telling ya, this place has too many highly educated people. But, relocating is out of the question right now. Why? No money! Duh.

Secondly, my daughter, Goddess love her, wants to rescue and save all the little creatures of the world (except the creepy ones). To this end, she "rescued" an abandoned baby bunny the other day. Poor little thing. It just loved her, too. But, we didn't do something right or something because it died on us last night. Right in her hands. We both cried for hours. Even King Rat was emotional. Poor little guy.

Also, I got an email the other day from a classmate I haven't spoken to in almost a year. She and I had three classes together my third semester here and barely ran into each other since. However, I must have made an impression on her, because she has invited me to appear on stage doing my little comedy routine in not one, but two different venues. One is an open-mic night thing sponsored by one of the bars around here and the other is called No Shame Theater or some such. I'm still debating on whether to do it or not. As she explained it to me, I need to be prepared to give as short a routine as 5 minutes or as long as half an hour. Uh huh. Right! I consider myself funny, but I also tend to piss people off and swear...a lot. I know sailors who have cleaner vocabularies. The real problem? A long time ago, Wendy was over with some friends to my place. We were all inebriated...well, plowed to the ground...and I did this amazing routine standing my my entertainment center. We all ached the next day from laughing, but for some reason, none of us could remember much of the monologue. The bits we have recalled do not add up to half an hour, and most of it is so disjointed, I'm not sure I could have a functional 5 minute set, much less one that would get laughs. I don't know. I"m not sure if I'm brave enough to do this shit. Being funny with my friends is one thing, being funny in front of a crowded bar full of strangers? Ish. Tho, I still berate myself for even considering not going because how will I ever know if I don't try? Grr. Snarl, hiss, and growl. What a mess. My friend keeps telling me that I've shown more nerve than most people she knows already just by what I've done so far with my life, and that all this takes is nerves. Yeah. Easy for her to say.

Doom on Me

2006-09-06T08:29:00.000-07:00

For writing two posts in one day, to begin with. The rest of this...well, you'll see.

A lot of my friends like to compliment me on my inner strength. I appreciate it. I can see why they believe that. Sometimes, I even believe it. However, even Superman has weak spots. In an attempt at cyber honesty (ha ha), I'm going to share some of my unreasonable fears.

1) Flying. Wendy and others are privy to this information already, but I am deathly afraid of flying. If I had been meant to fly, I'd have wings. Guess what? So far as I know, none have sprouted recently, so on the ground I stay.

2) Sharks. Bear in mind I have never seen the ocean. The closest I've ever been to a shark were ones at the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha, NE in this aquarium thing. And they were awesome to behold. But there was also this sign that read, "Be quiet, please. The sharks can hear you." Uh huh. I don't think even the dead were as quiet as I was walking through that tunnel watching the sharks appear out of the depths right next to me with only glass between me and them. Yes, I managed not to shriek, but it was a close thing. As for the ocean, I would love to visit. Swim with dolphins? Anytime. Manatees? Sure. Even sting rays. Yes, even after poor Steve Irwin's tragedy. I've even eaten shark once. It was quite tasty. Very tender. It was years ago. I can even watch Discovery channel shit on sharks and be fascinated. Nature and all it's creatures are sights to be held in awe. Besides, I love trivia stuff I learn. All seemingly normal right? Wrong. See, I was "forced" to watch Jaws shortly after it first came out in the 70's. I think I was 5 or 6. I wouldn't take a bath for weeks afterward. I still don't like adding that blue colored shit to my baths. And I hate swimming in rivers and lakes. Yes, because I'm afraid of sharks. Swimming pools are okay. Natural bodies of water, no. And all these victims of shark attacks? I feel for them and their families, I do. But I also agree with Carlos Mencia: if you're swimming in the ocean and get eaten by a shark, you have no right to be surprised, after all you are swimming in their kitchen. Look at the ocean? Love to. Swim in it? Probably never. I don't want to end up on the menu.

3) Chickens. I hate chickens. The only good chicken is one that is dead, plucked, and cooked or in my deep freeze waiting to be cooked. They're ugly, they're noisy, and they're vicious. And, they don't die quickly enough. Any animal that can still run around the yard for five minutes after losing its head is not right. It's borderline demonic and it frightens me. Chickens frighten me. I would rather pick up a snake, and I'm not fond of reptiles. Lizards are okay though. Turtles. No chickens. I like to eat chicken. KFC is a favorite of mine, especially since I couldn't fry a chicken to save my life, but live chickens? Nope. They're evil and should be treated as such.

4) Grasshoppers. Again, they're ugly. They can jump really long distances and they can fly. They also spit. They have these little claw like things on their feet. They live all around my house which makes mowing the lawn very entertaining for my family members when it's my turn to mow. We are also infested with praying mantises (manti?) but they don't bother me much. I'm sure the two critters are related somehow, but the mantis has an interesting habit of eating her mate. Therefore, at least the female mantis has redeeming qualities. Grasshoppers, so far as I can discern have none. They exist merely to terrify me. I have no idea why they scare me so much, but they do. At least chicken has nutritional value. And, no, I do not want to hear how full of protein grasshoppers are. Chicken is protein, too.

5) The dark. Yes, I am afraid of the dark. I have horrid dreams if I sleep completely in the dark. I sleep with my tv on and the light above the sink in the bathroom on. This is especially helpful since the bath is right across from my bedroom. It drives my husband crazy. He needs dark and quiet. Aside from the fan running, of course. Not me. Going through a dark room gives me heart palpitations. Being outside at night is okay so long as the moon is out or I have a dozen flashlights. Even in my own yard, when I go out at night for anything, I turn on the porch light and take a flashlight.

6) Basements. Basements are creepy. I've been in a few that were nicely finished and did not creep me out. Mostly though, a basement is a basement. I don't like them. Our only shower is in our basement. So are the washer and dryer hook-ups. Ish. I don't like going into the basement in general. But our tap water is so awful, I refuse to take tub baths here. And, sometimes I need clean clothes. Yeah. I can handle doing the laundry during the day. Mainly cause I'll talk to a friend on the phone the whole time. At night, I hate going down there. It's well lit. Just extremely creepy. So, I either shower during the day as quickly as possible and with someone home or I take someone into the shower with me. Right now, it's either my husband or my daughter. She's almost 10, yes, but this shower is next to impossible to operate without either freezing your tata's off or boiling yourself. Plus, she simply hasn't gotten the knack of washing all the soap out of her hair yet. So, it's a win win situation. She gets help washing her hair, we have lots of girl talk (mostly about when she'll get boobs), and I have company in the creepy basement shower. And before anyone goes having a fit: we're both girls, I'm not molesting her, she's not molesting me, and I believe nudity between members of the same sex in the family is no big deal. It's not like she's showering with King Rat or her teenage brothers. So, no morality commentary.

Okay. That's about it. Those are my major weaknesses. Well, besides chocolate and Sean Connery.

I Don't Remember This Being Part of the Wedding Vows

2006-09-06T08:09:00.000-07:00

Man, oh, man. Has King Rat done it this time. I love him, I do. But he's out on a medical leave with a fuckered up knee...and has been since August 5th. Keep this factoid in the back of your head for the rest of this post. Trust me, it's great perspective.

I can hear his knee crunch and grind when he's just moving his leg around next to me on the couch. This tells me, along with the profuse swelling whenever he walks or stands for longer than fifteen minutes, that something is definitely not right. I wish I could fix it, but that's what the orthopedic's dude is for later this month.

At any rate, knowing his knee is not in great shape, what does my wonderful husband decide to do this past Saturday? Jump off of our porch roof and onto the trampoline. He says "It looked like fun." Uh huh. He also says, "Well, the boy lived through it." Again...uh huh. "The boy" happens to be our 15 year old son. Who, at least got a small bounce out of the trampoline when he did it. King Rat, did not bounce. Not even a smidgen. Nope. He hit it, collapsed, and began rolling back and forth on the mat groaning, "That was stupid...that was stupid." I agree.

On top of it, he refused to go to the doctor until Monday. Yup. I had to take him to the ER, where he planned on lying and telling them he fell off the roof. I did not let him lie. The doc there was quite impressed with him, actually. Apparently, broken ribs do not generally show up well on X-rays. My husband's did...nice clean break. The rib he broke also lies over the area of his spleen, so they had to do a CT scan to make sure he hadn't lacerated, biffed, or otherwise injured it. He hadn't, thank goodness. But, the ER called shortly after we left to tell us they did notice a small spot on his liver. Whafuck? They also said to just have his regular doctor follow up on it, along with the rib injury, within the next few days. Fine. We go tomorrow to get this followed up on.

Am I worried? Some. But I'm not panicking. What I am trying to do, however, is figure out how much sympathy he really garners from this. I mean, he's in an awful lot of pain. He spends most of his time in bed because sitting up makes his ribs hurt terribly. And there's only so much one can do while lying in bed with a bad knee and a broken rib. But, aside from his knee, the pain he's in is his own fault. I tried to convince him that jumping off the roof was not a good idea. Of course, silly me, I was thinking more along the lines of him completely trashing his knee, not of him breaking a rib and injuring internal organs. All I know is, I don't remember anything in the marriage vows (either time) requiring me to provide sympathy for stupidity.

Here's My Little Twinkerbell! (just Twinker, if it turns up a boy)

2006-08-19T07:54:00.000-07:00

Okay, so the pics aren't that great, but aside from my own kids' ultrasound pics, these have to be the most adorable baby pics ever!

And who's supposed to be having pregnancy mood swings?

2006-08-19T06:34:00.000-07:00

Okay. Cheeks is the pregnant one. She's the one who should be having mood swings. Which she does. Believe me, she does. They aren't the hell on earth ones, yet. Those come later if I remember right. The point though is, I'M GOING TO BE A GRANDMA!!!

Yes, that was excitement. See, now there are pictures of the baby. Only ultrasound pics, true, but the little bugger is too cute! Zombiedude has given his child the unfortunate nickname of Nougat McFroggy. This is apparently soley based on the fact that in one of the ultrasound pics, the baby's butt and legs are all you can see...and the legs do look a bit like splayed out frog's legs. It's till an unfortunate nickname. I hope my son comes up with a better one before the child is born. I'm still trying to come up with one. Grandmas get to pick cutsie little nicknames that stick around.

Cheeks and I also think the baby is a girl. Zombiedude and Cheeks' mom think it's a boy. My mother says she already knows...that it's a baby. Smart ass. I hope it's a girl for two reasons: 1) it's my first grandchild, and 2) Cheeks has decided on a girl's name and it's one I gave to her. I am revealing no names until we know for fact what sex the baby is though. I'm afraid to jinx it.

At any rate, yes, I've swung from not knowing whether to be happy or not to full on granny bragging. The little honey waving her arms at me from the ultrasound melted my little heart, what else can I say? Besides, I can either be happy about it or waste time and energy being pissy about it. I think the way I've chosen is the better start to the grandma-granddaughter relationship.

So, here's to sharing baby's first pics with the cyber world!

Birth Control

2006-08-17T08:17:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm used to the idea now that Cheeks and Zombiedude are going to be parents. I'm still weighing whether or not to like it. Several people have asked me about the apparent lack of birth control in some form or another. I am 95 % certain that it was actually being used. I try not to be in the same room at such times, so there is some room for error on my part. I do know that Cheeks was using the Nuva Ring. Which obviously failed. Another obvious failure is telling them that no method is 100% effective except not having sex. Silly me. At any rate, since all this began (again) I did some research into birth control. Just out of curiosity. I mean, I haven't had to use birth control for that purpose since 1997. And, I simply cannot believe how many different kinds there are now! It used to be condoms and the Pill. Then diaphrams. Sponges. Assorted creams, foams, and gels. Then that Norplant thing. Which I tried. I gained a ton and got so sick, they took it out two months later. I don't trust diaphrams. They look more like a trampoline for sperm than anything else. I know it's supposed to be a barrier, but I get the idea it's more like running your kid ragged at an amusement park...you do it because it's fun, but you also hope that by the end, she's so tired that she falls asleep before you even get home. A diaphram seems to operate on the same principle in my opinion: a very small trampoline put in the way of the traveling spermies. Not only do you hope they get distracted enough by it that they never make it 'home', but you pray that if they do head in the right direction, they're so tired from the trampoline that they wear out before they get there. Sorry. I just doubt the entire objective. For starters, I've seen my ADD child after playing on our trampline. Guess what? He's far from tired when he's done! Same thing.

Then there's the female condom. I've only seen one once. People, these things come with an instruction book thicker than my stereo system had. They're also huge! And that little stick thing? Hmph. Plus, from the instructions, you need to be far more flexible than I've been since grade school to use one. I like the concept of them. I do. And one woman I know who has used them, says they're fairly comfortable and easy to use once you have practiced a couple times. I guess this is why I keep getting told not to judge things by how they look. I'm just glad I don't need them.

And the Pill? It certainly isn't the same as the ones my mother saw come into existence. Or the ones I used. Now there's like 100 different kinds? Whafuck? Ones that help with acne, ones that help with PMS. Wow. Ones you only have to take once a week or something. I tell ya, if I was still having those messy, once a month deals, I'd be all over some of these pills. Not only do they prevent pregnancy, but they have cool fringe benefits...such as no period for three months. Works for me.

And then there's this Nuva Ring. For anyone who hasn't seen one of these things, they look a lot like a larger version, slightly lumpy, of those jelly bracelets girls used to wear. They're clearish and look about as much like birth control as a cupcake. The icing on this cupcake? You have to store them in the fridge! Yes. They must be kept cold up to the point of insertion. Again, I don't need to use these things, but from what Cheeks and a few others have told me, that chill factor lasts about a half an hour. And is fairly unpleasant. Not excruciating, but still unpleasant. I believe them.

Oh, and IUD's. These have apparently been revamped and are less hazardous to your health than the ones around in the last few decades. I'm glad. Those old model IUD's were something beyond painful from the stories I've read, not to mention worthless. I just still have an issue with allowing a doctor to insert a metal object into my uterus. Besides, as high tech as we're getting in security measures, I'd be afraid of setting off metal detectors everywhere I went. I'm sure that doesn't happen, but the idea it could would bother me. Does bother me.

There are even a variety of natural birth controls out there. Aside from the rhythm method or keeping track of fertile times. It seems there is an entire market of herbal contraception. Of course, these are not evaluated or monitored by the FDA, but many of them boast a 100% effectiveness rating. Right. I'm all for herbal remedies and such. And I have no doubt that our forebears used plants in ways we would never dream of and to great effectiveness in many different things. I just worry that most of these herbal contraceptives are a bunch of dried grass with no value or worse, harmful side effects. When the FDA and drug companies and such perform studies and begin to turn to nature for remedies and give them the 'ok', then I'll worry less.

I don't know. There's no guarantees on any birth control, aside from abstinence, but there's so many rumors, myths, and utter crap out there I'm surprised the birth rate isn't higher than it is. I'm also very glad I don't need to worry about it any more. For starters, refrigerating my birth control and then putting it inside my body? No thanks. I'd rather take a pill.

Manic Briefs

2006-08-16T10:13:00.000-07:00

For those in the know:

We are still living in the same place. Still have internet. No long distance, but whatever. All is well. NO further worries on that front.

For all others:

Cheeks is pregnant again! This one seems to be taking. Not sure if that's a good thing or not yet. They heard the heartbeat today. Ultrasound tomorrow to be sure everythingis cool. Also, her mother and her have both been dreaming she's having twins. They run in the family on my son's side, so it's possible, I guess. More later.

I'm presenting to a conference in November. Due to a variety of circumstances, my Self-sufficiency worker thinks I'm a great person to present on the barriers presented to self-sufficiency via bipolar disorder. I'm looking forward to it very much. I think it's a fine time to show people in the social work business exactly what can happen, and sometimes does, to prevent people from becoming "upstanding citizens" and "productive" adults.

The slug-bug game is still going on. I'm still behind. I'm still enjoying this trip back through my childhood.

School (for my kids) starts here on Monday! Hurray! I love my kids with all my heart. Really. I admit there are days, more and more of them lately, where I just want to love their little heads right off their bodies, but since school resumes Monday, I'm sure that will end shortly. In fact, they're looking forward to it too, for a change. Too much time together over the summer, I'm sure. That and utter boredom since I refuse to rent or purchase any new video games until they start doing their chores without being reminded four hundred thousand times.

I've also started a petition that will hopefully gather several thousand signatures and then be sent on to every member of our US Congress. Basically, I believe there needs to be a law, not some avoidable policy (or lack of any policy) that requires employers of any person (male or female) who is having their wages garnished by any child support collection agency to notify said agency within 7 days if the garnishee (or obligor) stops working. Too many times I have experienced a horrible wait trying to figure out if child suppport is just late or has stopped. And I'm not alone. Yet, too many states do not have a law enforcing this kind of notification. I'm not asking for any privacy to be violated. Simply faxing or calling the agency and stating, "My name is _____. I work for ______. We have been sending child support payments to your agency for (insert obligor's name here) under case number (if available). I'm calling to report that this person no longer works for this company and we will no longer be sending support payments. So and so's last paycheck will be processed or has been processed as of (provide date), and that will be or is the final support payment that will be sent by our company." Finished. How hard was that? There is no need to go into any further detail. Oh, it'd be nice if the company knew where the person is now employed or if they are employed at all and would pass that info along, but not absolutely needed. Same thing if the person is deceased. Pass it along if you know and desire to, but it is not a requirement. Things like that can be found in other ways. With thousands of deadbeat parents out there being blamed for everything from a child's behavior to a child's lack of shoes for gym, there should be no more delay than 7 days in finding out a parent is no longer employed with any given company. Not when a 3 minute phone conversation can handle it. Will this make parents pay their child support? No. But it helps the parent and the agency collecting the support to catch up with those who are supposed to be paying. As for enforcing such a law, if it's possible to fine a business for providing hazardous things to minors (cigarettes, booze, etc) then why shouldn't it be possible to fine them for NOT doing their best to help a minor in this small way?

Cheeks and my eldest son are on Grasshopper's endangered species list. Grasshopper has had three boys. She loves them very much. But she desperately wants a little girl. To this end, she has threatened that if my granchild is a girl (much less twin girls) to come and make them both extinct. At first she only threatened Cheeks. Once I pointed out that the male decides the baby's sex, she added my son to the list, citing that while his sperm give the sex to the child, Cheeks would still get all the joy of the daughter. Good point, I guess. I'd remind Grasshopper that she and Twitch could try again for a girl, but that would put ME on the endangered species list as well. Not my idea of a good time.

That's all for now. More briefs as they occur.

VW Beetles

2006-08-09T21:30:00.000-07:00

Herbies. Love bugs. Bugs. And, the all-time favorite...SLUG BUGS! Oh man, gotta love a slug bug! And suddenly, there are a plethora of them in Iowa City. Now, maybe it's just me lapsing into my childhood in a time of extreme stress, but I have recently been enjoying a near daily game of slug bug...no returns with my daughter and my soon to be daughter in law. It began just between me and Cheeks. My daughter honestly couldn't understand why we kept punching each other and yelling colors at each other. I tried being my usual sarcastic self and told her that we really hated each other and were disguising our fights with a pretend game. This backfired immediately with her trying to run interference between the two of us. So, I explained the game to her...in great detail. Apparently, I managed to NOT teach her this game years ago and neither did her brothers. I'm terribly remiss in my maternal duties, obviously. At any rate, now she's a whiz at spotting the damn things. My arm has had several bruises from her reaching between the seats and whacking me, and I believe the constant ringing in my ears is due to her shrill shrieking of "Slug Bug (fill in the color here)...no returns!" about two inches behind my head. Since I'm the driver, I'm allowed to not have to touch the others for it, just be the first to spit out the damn line with the correct color of bug. So far, I think I'm behind about 20 slug bugs to my own child and about 8 to Cheeks.

Which brings me to my next point. After one spotting of such a bug and actually being the first to notice it and the one right behind it next to us, I wondered about some stuff:

1) The people that buy these cars...did they used to be as enthusiastic slug bug-ers as my daughter, and that's why they bought one?

2) Once they do own one, when they notice a car with appropriately aged and informed children in another car in the next lane, do they chuckle to themselves, saying, "I bet those kids are just whaling on each other because of my car?" (hysterical, maniacal laughter by said owner) I know I would.

3) If the answer to either or both of the above questions is "no", then are these vehicle owners simply too old to appreciate the fun of being a slug bug-er? Or is it possible that these motorers' parents/siblings/friends/whatever NEVER educated them to the game? Are there people out there, from this country, who have never been exposed to this cultural phenomenon? Is it possible to get too old to enjoy a good game of slug bug?

I'm not sure I want to know the answers. For starters, the idea that our society has gotten so technologically adavanced that games like slug bug, zip, and license plate bingo have gone by the wayside is truly scary. No wonder there are so many kids being overmedicated, over scheduled, over stimulated, and under satisfied. Of course, those same children are the ones who grow up to be over achieving, type A personalities who only talk to their families and friends via Blackberry's and palm piloted 'quality time'. Also, I'm not sure I like the idea that people are allowing this cultural piece of history to die out from lack of exposure. What does that say about our priorities? Our parenting? MY parenting? Cripes, if there are worse parents out there than me...and I don't mean the ones that boil their kids because they wet the bed...then everyone should have to get issued a license to have sex.

As for me, I'm going to take advantage of teaching Cheeks to drive, giving Link (my middle son) driving practice, and begin allowing King Rat to drive places when we go as a family just so I can keep a better eye out for the little critters...the slug bugs, I mean.

Speaking of which...SLUG BUG YELLOW! NO RETURNS!

Leave it to Me

2006-06-29T10:55:00.000-07:00

Leave it to me to have the strangest things going on. My mother is cleaning out her closets, getting ready for a garage sale. Apparently, she doesn't hang her clothes on hangers. Nope, she told me she hangs things on hammers. It was just a slip of the tongue, but still. A few days later, I'm talking to Grasshopper and tell her about returning our popcorns for money. I'd meant to say popcans, but it didn't come out right. Weird. And funny.

Now, my husband has been dizzier than hell the last few days. Literally dizzy, not just silly dizzy. So, after two days of missed work, off to the doctor's we go this morning. It turns out he has an inner ear infection, which is causing him to have "acute labrynthitis". He looked at me and said, "great. I've got the queer David Bowie in my ear." Now, King Rat is not homophobic, but he is a smart ass. I don't know. I thought of The Labrynth too, but in a different way. I told him we'd have to tell the kids they had watched it a few too many times in Rat's presence and now he had a disorder caused by seeing it too often. Our oldest is the only one who got it...either of them.

Another thing, I've done some analyzation and so on over the past few days, and come to realize that I worked my fat ass off for the past five years reading and writing mountains of papers, earning a Bachelor's Degree in English for no reason. I'm the first person in my family to attend college much less earn a degree of any sort, and it's doing me dick shit. See, I live in the middle of nowhere. Yes, I am close to Iowa City, but that isn't always a good thing. IC has the highest number of graduate level educated people in the state, and something like 6th in the nation. It sucketh. So, here I am, recently graduated, in need of employment and stuck trying to figure out where I'm going to land a job that pays about $11.50 an hour so that we can make it. Yeah. Right. And the war on drugs and the war on terrorism are working.

Grr. Snarl. Hiss. And, Growl. I need a vacation from reality. Wonder if I can OD on cheesecake? I think I'm going to go try...as soon as I gather up all the popcorns to take back to the store, hang up all the clothes that need to be on hammers in the closets, and make an appointment at the looney barn for evaluation of an impending cheesecake addiction.

Decisions, Decisions

2006-06-26T17:14:00.000-07:00

In this life, there are always a number of decisions to make. Therefore, I took the time to think thins through and make several decisions all at once. I figure it might save me some time and energy. So, here are a few examples for ya.

1) I've decided to become the 1950's wife/mother figure everyone in my house seems to believe I should be anyway. In doing so, I have chosen to increase my stress level, lower my standards, and go against all my natural inclinations. I'm sure this news will make Wendy very happy, since she has a strong theory on this type of topic.

2) I have also decided to swear. Now, this does not seem like a monumental decision, but since I do have children, it must have impact. Yes, I have chosen to swear. I rather like cussing. Not because it's immoral, forbidden, or impolite, but because I enjoy it. If I'm going to do #1, I might as well be able to get some things for myself. Besides, there are many occasions where a simple slang term will not suffice, and only a swear word will express truly the emotion of the moment...and (thanks, George Carlin!) you can't fool me, shoot is just shit with two o's.

3) I've decided to not decorate my house any more than it already is. This does not include holidays, because those are exceptions to most of my rules. But, my house is entirely too cluttered as it is, and adding more stuff for me to wash, dust, or worry about getting broken is simply not worth the time or money. Besides...

4) I've decided to continue to be as lazy as I can whenever possible. I hate housekeeping. Some chores are worse than others. I think everyone has certain chores they hate. Grasshopper hates washing silverware. So do I. We both hate mating socks. I'd rather clean a toilet after two months of non-cleaning when the toilet has been used by only men who never flush than to do wash dishes or dust. Also, (thanks Roseanne!) when Hoover invents a rider, that's when my house will get vacuumed regularly. With this decision comes the need to create shortcuts and cheats in all housework or other chores. Such as hiding dirty dishes in the oven right before my mother or a neighbor stops in for a quick visit.

5) I've also decided to research earwigs. I know they are some sort of insect. I believe my house is infested with them. Since I'm not sure exactly what they look like, I need to find pictures. I also need to figure out how to get rid of the little suckers. I'm certain one stung or bit my ass two nights ago in my own bed. If not an earwig, some sort of long critter with many legs resembling a centipede (mini sized) and equipped with two pincers did it. Whatever it was, there are several of its relatives living in my home and I have decided they need to die or leave. I prefer die.

6) I've decided that in my next life, I want to be a cat. I can sleep 16 hours a day, wait for people to provide food and water for me, seek out attention when and only when I desire it, and I never have to clean my own bathroom. Not to mention, no one would blink an eye when I took a shit in public and dug in the dirt to cover it up. I'd be able to do good deeds for my people, such as hunting down rodentia in the home and bringing them little treats like birds or snakes to show my appreciation for all they do to take care of me. The ability to purr is an added bonus.

7) I've decided to give up on the idea of ever catching up on my blog. I fall behind and try to catch up and then life gets in the way every damn time and then I'm farther behind than before. Figures. So, instead of trying to catch up and posting stupid shit for days on end that was once funny or interesting or whatever, I'll just start fresh from this post on.

8) I've decided to start using old fashioned words. I like "spiffed" for "drunk", among other phrases and words that went out of style shortly after WWII.

9) I've decided to start hiding literary and movie references in all of my blog posts to see who, if anyone catches on to them. It was my pooka's suggestion, and I like it.

Playing Catch-Up...Again!

2006-06-17T10:31:00.000-07:00

Wedding Stories
King Rat & I remarried May 1st. It was an interesting day. To start off with, we had a houseful. Spanky came over to stand up with us. Rat's friends, Hobbitt and Sydny, and their son (and their homosexual dog) came down from MN. Fine. Crowded, but fine. I actually went to classes that day, taking Spanky and Sydny with me. That was entertainment. Then, home, off for a few errands, and back home to pick up the men folk. At this time, King Rat decides to dress up for the civil ceremony. I had thought I was already dressed, but instead of just t-shirts and jeans, he decided to wear jean shorts and a semi-dressy button down shirt. So of course, I had to change my shirt, do my hair and make-up. Then he tells me he can't find any socks so we can't get married.Grr. Off we go, in two vehicles to pick up kids from school so they can come watch us get hitched. Right. Big mistake. Once we met up, I was the only one who knew where the wedding was. Fine, except I got lost. We drove in circles for about half an hour before I remembered what the secretary had told me, which was to park in the parking ramp by the strip mall. Duh! I still haven't heard the end of that one.
In the office building, the elevator was so small, half of us walked up the steps to the office, while the rest braved the antique elevator. We all took the steps back down. Too much shaking. Then, sent the kids to the mall, while we adults hit the first open bar we saw. Three drinks each and then home. King Rat hadn't slept or eaten right, and since he is diabetic, became ill, so everyone went home. Still no honeymoon.

Being a Tourguide
Sydny, who has never been to our neck of Iowa, noticed the football stadium on one of our many trips into town. For those who don't know, it's Kinnick Stadium in Iowa City (go Hawks!) and they've been doing an huge remodeling job. It looks great and Sydny commented on how neat it looked. When we passed it the second or third time, I said (being a smart ass) "And on our right is the grand Kinnick Stadium. To our left, several of the homes that get trashed during home football games." Sydny started laughing. "Oh, it's Kinnick. I kept trying to figure out why someone would name a stadium Knick Knack!" That one was a hit at classes the rest of the week.

Okay. I'm done for now. I'll be posting more over the next few days to catch up. I hope.

Being Behind Schedule

2006-04-28T19:12:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'm lame and I know it. Partially due to our economic status and partially due to our strange familial schedules, my family is waaaay behind the times on most movies, books, and other pop culture events. A prime example would be our recent viewing and acquisition of Napoleon Dynamite. I had no desire to see it when I first heard of it. My kids did. But, we did not see it. I did, however, see the llama t-shirt in a Hot Topic shortly after the movie came out and had to call my friend Tina, just because I thought it was funny to wait for her to answer the phone and without so much as a 'hi' say, "Tina, you fat lard! Come get some dinner." This was not as funny then as it is now that I have actually seen the movie. Well, parts of it.

I'm not sure why, but several parts of this movie struck my funny bone. Maybe it's a sign of the stress from impending finals. Maybe it's a sign of my lunacy. Maybe it's a sign of an upcoming manic moment. No matter what, the llama part kills me. Namely because while I do not consider Tina to be a fat lard, she does vaguely resemble the llama. Tina has dark hair. Her neck is nowhere near as long, neither are her legs, nor does she have as many, but she is a bit on the wide side. And, although she'll kill me for putting this online, I can think of at least one use of her hair, similar to llamas.

Now, many moons ago, Tina, Willing Tilly Tushy, Pink, and myself were all bored. (Willing Tilly Tushy and Pink are guys by the way). We decided to end our boredom by playing Truth or Dare. Tina was being fawned over by both the guys, which was okay with me, but being the witchy woman that I am, when she finally had pushed the flirty touchy feely thing too far in front of me when my husband was out of state and I wasn't about to get any, and she was sitting on the floor in a swimsuit between Willing's legs on the floor. Bear in mind, she had just shaved her legs earlier that day. It was Willing's turn and he chose Dare. So, I dared him to pull three hairs from Tina's body...below the waist and above her ankles. Guess where they had to come from? Hehehehehe. Okay, so I'm evil. It took all four of us to pin her down long enough for Willing to pull the hairs. She ought to consider herself lucky I didn't specify to do it one hair at a time. To tie this in to the whole llama thing, while I have never pulled a hair out of a llama's body -- from anywhere -- I imagine the results would be the same: much kicking, yelling, and biting. The upside? Willing and Pink decided that the game had gotten much more entertaining and Tina learned to trim herself at an earlier age than a lot of women I know. Oh, and the hairs were put to good use on the next turn, when I believe Pink was dared by someone (I won't say who just not me) to put one into a new arrival's cigarette. Gross, I know, but he didn't really, we just had the guy convinced he did. The reaction was worth it.

Okay, so I think that's the end of this manic moment. For now. I need to go write my last will and testament. Tina's gonna read this and come kill me. If I never post again, eat chocolate and lemon in my honor (not at the same time) and have several margaritas to finish it off.

Spanky-isms

2006-04-25T19:44:00.000-07:00

Everyone has a separate language among their friends. I don't care who you are. There are either certain phrases or messed up sentences or words or whatever that are just between the group of you, or two of you. Whatever. For example, my mother and my immediate family 'do' movie lines. As in, we quote movie lines to each other and work them into general conversation. This issuch fun for me, I decided to share. I got Grasshopper to start doing it. Twitch does it now too. And Spanky.

Of course, then there are the times when a certain word or phrase becomes a 'thing' for my friends and I. Like my friend Thompson. HE got me started on "ish". Now we 'ish' at each other all the time. Or he'll share with me about his cat-crap. (Don't ask)

However, the most fun often comes up when two friends are out together doing whatever and one of them fucks up a sentence or a word. Like Spanky is prone to do. Now, don't get me wrong. I fuck up sentences and words just as much as she does. It just isn't as funny.

So, here are a few Spanky-isms for you:

1) Loony Barn: this is apparently similar to a loony bin, but when Spanky goes there, she can play with all the animals...somewhat like visiting the State Fair's petting zoo.

2) "Open your armpit!" This command was actually issued to me by Spanky in a Wal*Mart. Spanky was being a very decent friend and buying me some things when I was broke (things like soap, shampoo) because the Non-recyclable Ex-hubby (aka Fuckwad) had decided to ditch us with no notice and no money. Spanky is a truly giving person, who would literally give you the shirt off your back if she thought you needed it. However, it seems that late night runs to the local Wal*Mart are not good for her vocabulary. Her hands were almost full and my hands already were, because we are not smart enough to get a cart at midnight, and she wants to hand me something. I think it was a soda, but I'm no longer sure. When I inform her my hands are full, she tries to tell me to open my arm out so she can stick it up under my arm until we get to the checkout. What came out instead was, "Open your armpit!" at which point we both became useless for the rest of the night.

These are just two of the examples I could provide, but if I do, I'm afraid no one would understand and that, by sharing, they would be less funny to me and Spanky. Who is, at this very moment that I am typing, waiting for me to click back onto Yahoo Messenger to tell her I'm done and this is posted. I'm just going to tell her the rabid deer ate the post. She'll understand.

Things You Never Want to Hear Your Child Say

2006-04-25T18:34:00.000-07:00

For the record, these are all real quotes. Some from my children, some not. Either way...well, you'll understand.

1) "I do not have my own room! I share it with all the video games...and they keep me awake all night...talking! (pause) And they're mean."

2) "Mom! Buy (insert brother's name here) his own razors or make him quit using mine! [much bickering ensues] He's using the razor I shave my face with on his...his...on his balls and shit!"

3) [child drops something he was bringing you, clasps hands quickly together, waits about half a second and says...] "It was the dog! You know he doesn't have any thumbs!"

4) "What would you say if I decided to take a job working for the mafia?"

5) "Hey Mom? How much money do you think I can make running an extortion business at school?"

6) [sound of crash and glass breaking outside window] "Uh Mom? (insert four year old sister's name here) stepped on the broken glass from the pitcher I just dropped...and I think I can see a piece of her toe."

7) [spoken to the daycare provider as you are walking in the door] "Hi! What's for lunch today? My mom's wearing a diaper because she's, uh, oh yeah, menslooating."

8) "Mom, can you have Dad bring home more condoms from work?"

9) [from a nine year old daughter] "Pretty soon I'll be ready for women sized bras."

and, 10) "Do you know Mary Jane?" ( two choices for an answer...both of them bad)

Ah, the joys of parenthood!

Senioritis

2006-04-05T14:42:00.000-07:00

This is my final semester as an undergraduate. I'm a senior! Yay! And it's only about 4 1/2 weeks until it's done. And, I have no motivation whatsoever. None. I'm a naturally lazy person, but I don't usually have to fight myself this much to get anything done. It's ridiculous. I know from talking to my fellow seniors that I'm not the only one, but god...I don't think I had it this bad in high school.

As you can see, instead of working on papers or other homework, I'm sitting on the Net, bitching about having senioritis. And it only gets worse from there. Arggh. Or, maybe I should put 'yawn'. Either way it comes to the same.

I'm just so sick of school. It's been fun and all, but I'm done now. Yup. Just done. And I know it's bad because I actually had to change seats today so that I didn't beat one of my instructors to death with my notebook today. She's jsut driving me nuts. The bad part? She's the head of the department of the graduate program I want to get into. Not only would it be bad karma for me to migrate her nose three inches to the left, but I doubt it would get me into the program. Of course, if she wasn't such an idiot, I'd probably be just fine sitting next to her. Maybe not. I've entertained similar thoughts about my other instructors off and on over this semester, too, so it can't be just her. Must be me. I have a hard time believing that all of my professors are morons even if we do live in Iowa.

Just Another Rant

2006-04-02T06:53:00.000-07:00

First of all, I admit I'm a liberal. I do not consider myself to be a bleeding heart liberal. I am also a feminist. I am not a feminazi, though. However, I'm tired of so many people suffering from "ostrich syndrome". A wise person once said, there are none so blind as those who refuse to see. Whoever he/she was, it was a very correct statement.

I hate to point this out, but our country is falling apart and failing its citizens. I don't mean the war (though that's debatable), but just in general. Prices keep rising, wages don't. At least not enough to make much difference. Utility companies are monopolies (aren't there laws against that?). Housing is scarce, unfit, unregulated, and ungodly expensive. Benefits are becoming more stringent (some companies can fire you for smoking at you home), less available, and less worth it. A Bachelor's Degree is becoming more like an Associate's Degree every day, and a Master's Degree is getting close to that status, depending on the area. Our educational system is failing our children in significant ways, and our children are expected to know how to run the country within a few decades.

Also, I'm getting really irritated with people who don't have kids, have never had kids of their own, or only been step parents for brief periods of time thinking they make the best parents in the universe. For example, there is a young woman in one of my classes who just recently discovered she's pregnant. She's been in several of my classes, and while we're not buddies, we do get along and chat fairly frequently. She is married. Brava for her. I'm happy that they're happy with the coming baby and wish them well. However, over the past couple weeks (since she found out), we've had more than one heated discussion about children. Now, she's heard me bitch (off and on for two years) about being a mom. When we've worked together on projects, she's heard me yelling at my kids and cussing at them. She also knows that my family is the recipient of a few different assistance programs. I'm not proud of it, but I won't be ashamed of it either. At any rate, she's lately decided that she knows everything about being a mom. She's also told me prior to this that she thinks most people on any kind of assistance are just lazy, and basically worthless, if they've been on it for more than about six months. I'm not sure where she came up with the time limit, but whatever. I didn't hold it against her. What I do hold against her is that suddenly, she knows exactly how she'll react when her kid decides to fry her computer keyboard, 'forgets' to turn homework for two weeks straight, or throws a tantrum. She also apparently is no longer against applying for any kind of assistance she thinks her family might qualify for. To this end, she's been asking me where to apply for what and if there are any loopholes to use. When I questioned her on it, she basically told me that if everyone else could get it, she could too. Now, maybe I'm wrong, but that pissed me off. From what she's told me of their living situation, they might need some extra help, like WIC maybe or maybe insurance. However, as much as I realize how bad the economy is for the majority of people, I don't think it's right of her to complain about the programs she's now trying to take advantage of. Especially when she's asking me how long she can push things. I don't know. But I firmly believe that until you've actually been there, done that -- no one should think they're an expert on anything...parenting or assistance programs or otherwise.

A Sad Ending

2006-02-24T11:20:00.000-08:00

Tidbit is no longer coming. It's a terribly complex ordeal. Both Cheeks and Zombiedude are devastated. I understand. And the only comfort I can offer is the same thing my family told me: this is nature's way of taking care of something that would have been a mistake; whether the baby had something wrong or whatever, nature often knows and takes steps to take care of it. Small comfort, I know, and it sounds harsh. However, they are both still young and this will not be the only chance they have. So far, they seem to be coping as well as can be expected. There also appear to be no ill health effects, which is a great relief. I may not get along with Cheeks or Zombiedude all the time, but that doesn't mean I wish evil on either of them. (I reserve that for the truly worthy--professors, ex-husbands, etc.) The past few days have been hell on both of them, but they're starting to find their sense of humor again. It isn't frequent, but it is there...and that's the best sign anyone can hope for.

Cheeks' Mom made a suggestion I found very interesting and useful. Apparently when a friend of hers went through a similar situation, she sat and wrote a letter to the baby and put it in a box to keep. She said it really helped her through the situation and she'll pull it out now and then when she's thinking about it and it helps her feel better. Sounds like a great idea and one I hope the kids use. Not sure if others have done anything similar, and while I'm not wishing this on anyone, should anybody like the idea for themselves or someone they know, use it and pass it along.

Rant for the Pagan Student

2006-02-21T15:53:00.000-08:00

Okay, as I've already stated, I have senior-itis in a bad way. This makes it very difficult to make myself accomplish much of anything. However, today it hit me that, once again, I am surrounded by religious doggerel...er, dogma. Catholic doggerel...er, dogma, to be precise. Why? Because the Middle or Dark Ages were immersed in it. In fact, I recently saw a bumpersticker that made me giggle and reminded me of class: When religion ruled the world, it was known as THE DARK AGES. Not only do I like the political message, but it's just humorous to me. I can't help it. My mother warped me. At any rate, I am in a medieval women course. To study medieval women, one must understand something of the culture and society they lived in. Unfortunately, watching A Knight's Tale doesn't qualify, even though Heath Ledger is rather yummy. Apparently, Catholicism at the time, and a truly patriarchal society, made it difficult for women to get any respect. I mean, these people actually believed redheaded children were born that way because their trashy mothers had sex during their menstruation. Conception during menstruation was also blamed for such lovely illnesses as measles and chicken pox. Oh yeah, these people were brilliant. No, I do not believe this was a Catholic doctrine, but the mackerel-snappers certainly played their part. For the record, several of my boyfriends (including one husband) were Catholic. I am friends with several Catholics...practicing ones, I mean. And under other circumstances, I try to be less prejudiced. I just have a strong aversion to female oppression.

Back to my original point. Today in class while discussing Memorial by Angela of Filigno (who died in 135?), we examined some art depicting women receiving blood from Christ. Now, I admit I have no artistic talent, but these paintings are a bit odd. One of them was down right creepy. In examining these pictures, several references to the religious beliefs of the day came up. One of them, the seven deadly sins. Now, I've committed most of them. I rather enjoy them, myself. But, as part of the discourse, I volunteered to research them and their counterpart virtues. Which is why I am on the internet now. FYI: this is not a recommended past-time. Researching the seven deadly sins and the seven great virtues, I mean. The only good thing I've found out so far is that while I have committed most of the deadly sins, I've also been virtuous. Depending on who you talk to, my virtuousness ended years ago.Just bear in mind that god got Wendy's periods reversed: every 28 days, she starts acting nice. It lasts about a weekend. (which is a movie line, obviously -- now, tell me which movie! That'll tell me if any of you still read this damn thing.)

Tata for now. I'm off to research when the deadly sins began to appear in artwork. This ought to be enlightening. Or would be if I had any real interest in it. Being surrounded by all this christian dogma is really wearing my witchy-fanny out. Pretty soon, I'll be forced to call for the flying monkeys to open a can of whoop-ass on people.

Tidbit on the Way

2006-02-12T12:36:00.000-08:00

Okay, I have recovered my sanity...sort of. As much of it as I had to begin with, I think. I'm not sure. Maybe I'm totally wrong and believing I have my sanity back is simply proof positive of my lunacy. I just don't know. Nor do I care.

In case you aren't sure, I think I'm having a manic moment. Which is fine. It's relatively mild so far. Besides, Queenie seems to be doing without any (good for her) so someone needs to take up the slack. I might as well. Not much else to do.

Which is not the point. Not at all. I am going to be a grandma...at 35. There are definitely good sides to this: I'll be able to enjoy it (hopefully), I'm not so far from taking care of infant children that I've forgotten how, and I'm a pretty hot gramma. Okay, the hot part is debatable, but the rest is good. I've even recovered enough sanity to nickname the baby. It's "Tidbit". Yes. Tidbit. What? It's just a tidbit too early on the preferred timeline for being a grandma, it's still a little tiny thing...you know...a tidbit, and even though it isn't here yet, I'm sure it's going to be the cutest little tidbit of an angel anyone has ever seen. So, Tidbit.

Docs say Tidbit will arrive around Sept. 2. Which happens to be Grasshopper's oldest son's b-day. The only woman I know who actually gave birth on her due date. It also happened to be Labor Day that year, which apparently gave new meaning to the day. Anyhow, Cheeks (the mom) and I both believe she's farther along than what the docs are saying. Maybe not by much, but I'm betting she's at least four months. I would bet Tidbit arrives shortly after Wendy's little Sharkbait and Queenie's Pillsbury arrive in July.

Cheeks is moving in next week. After much tussle, hassle, and flurry, everyone decided it was the best course of action at least till Tidbit's around 6 months old. Gives them time to save up some money and to go through this really cool program that basically sets them up with an apartment and stuff, along with monthly or weekly visits from a staff member who acts as a guide/advocate/monitor. Sounds like a plan. Besides, that way, if things get hairy, they're here and it's easier for one of us to step in and help out.

At any rate, off to go do homework. It's my last semester (hooray!!!) and I've got senior-itis in a bad way. If I want to graduate in May, I need to buckle down...like a month ago.

I Blame My Mother

2006-01-12T09:45:00.000-08:00

Yes, I do. She volunteered for it. She did! She laughed to hard when her friend told her right before Christmas that she was going to be a great-grandma. Well, now my mom is too. That's right. Senorita Psychopath is pregnant. This lovely bombshell was suspected last week and confirmed last night.

I am going to be a grandmother. At 35. I know it could be worse. I'd just prefer that it was better than this. Uh huh.

When I finally find my sanity again, I'll create another post.

(I'll be able to cope enough to nickname this one too, eventually, right? Right?!)

In the meantime, anyone have a meat grinder?

Hippo Gnu Deer

2006-01-03T17:15:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! Blah blah blah, yak yak yak. I know I should be more enthusiastic than this, but I'm just too exhausted. My Christmas spirit left me about a week before Christmas. I swear to all that is holy (or unholy) that Santa is only bringing gift certificates next year. They take up soooo much less space than all the other crap he brings. NOT that I dislike the jolly fat man. In fact, I adore him. He always brings me the neatest little gifts. Yes, folks, Santa still comes for me. Of course, it's my mom, but still...it's the whole idea. She and I fill each other's stockings and buy one or two Santa gifts for each other every year. It's great. Except for trying to find room for all the crap afterwards. I mean, we took 3, count 'em..3, Christmas tree type storage totes to my mother's this year...each full of stuff. Trust me, they were just as full if not more so, coming home. Of course, we also took two dogs, three children, and one bunny. The hamster was left behind to guard the house. (Hopefully, he's rabid) The return totes are obvious evidence that my mother "cut down" this year. Snort! Right! Uh huhn. Sure. "I'm cutting down" is all I've heard since last year when we had to open gifts in shifts at her place. So, in the whole spirit of that ordeal, my family left our "each other" presents home to be opened and only took over there for the giant family name-draw get-together thing, Santa stuff, and for Mom. Now, each of the kids had a total of 6 presents from Santa. My mother had a total of 14 presents from my family. For the name=draw thing, each person in our family had at least 2 gifts for their person. I must say one of the totes was filled with only gift bags since those crush so easily, but still...good grief. That was just OUR stuff. I really did cut back. My mother, on the other hand, for all of her talk...each kid had at least 10 packages from her under that tree. And what did she say? "Christmas isn't about presents alone...but it is for kids." Ohhh-kay. Fine. If my family hadn't left our 'each other' stuff at home, we'd have been opening in shifts again. I know part of the problem last year was the size of some of the gifts. I mean, Santa brought my oldest a really, really long sword. The box was at least 5 feet long. That took up some space.

Enough of that. On to baby stuff. I've been sharing some wonderful pregnancy and delivery stories with Wendy. Like peeing on any stitches afterwards is sooo much fun, and how the lovely nurses like to come in within hours of delivery and start pushing on your belly...which is full of extremely sore muscles. Or how the pain-killing injection they give you before stitching you goes directly into to cut or tear and burns oh so pleasantly. OH, and my personal favorite, being the one to explain to her that when they check to see how far you are dilated, it's not a visual thing until right before the baby pops out...it's a hands, er...fingers, on type of thing. Also pleasant. Am I evil? Oh yeah! However, I've also shared a few truly comforting tips with her. Like a little Vaseline strategically smeared on a pad can relieve the itchy, dry, burnies when stitches begin to heal.Or using one of those squirty-type water bottles full of warm water to douse yourself with the first few days of peeing post-delivery. I have other, nearly as handy tips to share, but I'm holding those back. Why? Because I have sooo many of the other kinds of stories to share too. Doesn't every mom? Eventually, they'll even out. If they didn't, no woman would have more than one child. I still believe the powers that be got seahorses and humans mixed up, though. I mean, really. What a deal those female seahorses have! They impregnate the males. The males give birth...to live babies! Hundreds of them at a shot! The females do hang around for moral support. Well, maybe they just want to make sure the guys don't screw it up. Damn it. In one of my next lives, I want to be a female seahorse.

More baby stuff. I found the cutest flannel and fleece for making baby blankets for Sharkbait and Pillsbury! I made receiving blankets for Bug, plus one of those tie-together fleece blankies for him last year. That fleece blanket is his favorite. Yes, I know Sharkbait and Pillsbury are summer babies, but they will still be babies in winter. Besides, the material is too cute to pass up. And the blankets are oh so easy to make! I don't even need a sewing machine. (Thank god, cuz I can't operate one)

There is even some joking that Batman wants me to come take his place in the delivery room. Fine with me. So long as I can wear chainmail. I'm not stupid. I know Wendy. She'll bite me. Other than that, she can be as mean to me as she wants. Nothing new there. Besides, it would be very nice to see a baby born from the not-so-painful side of the event. Of course, I keep threatening to bring the camcorder along. For some reason, Wendy fails to see the humor in that.

No more baby stuff. Out of other things to babble about. Resolutions? Nah. Gave those up for Lent years ago and never picked them back up. Nasty habit resolutions. I prefer to just wallow in my current nasty habits. They make me entertaining and easier to live with. Just ask Wendy.

Fetal Nicknames

2005-12-21T19:00:00.000-08:00

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

2005-12-21T12:54:00.000-08:00

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!

2005-12-12T16:47:00.000-08:00

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

2005-12-10T20:22:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-30T08:51:00.000-08:00

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!

2005-11-03T19:45:00.000-08:00

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

2005-11-03T19:30:00.000-08:00

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

2005-10-25T06:50:00.000-07:00

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'

2005-10-19T16:34:00.000-07:00

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!

2005-10-13T17:17:00.000-07:00

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)

2005-10-11T12:08:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-07T20:03:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-03T13:56:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-01T20:24:00.000-07:00

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!

2005-09-24T16:03:00.000-07:00

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

2005-09-19T20:34:00.000-07:00

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

2005-09-17T20:10:00.000-07:00

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!

2005-09-15T15:14:00.000-07:00

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

2005-09-13T12:48:00.000-07:00

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

2005-09-10T20:04:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-31T15:16:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-22T18:44:00.000-07:00

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!

2005-08-17T15:40:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-13T19:25:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-13T19:02:00.000-07:00

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!

2005-08-08T18:51:00.000-07:00

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...

2005-08-07T19:12:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-05T19:26:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-04T19:42:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-03T16:20:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-02T11:00:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-27T17:39:00.000-07:00

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!

2005-07-27T08:14:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-25T11:42:00.000-07:00

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!

2005-07-24T10:07:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-19T07:55:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-18T20:08:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-17T12:16:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-16T09:05:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-15T12:02:00.000-07:00

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...

Creative Kat, Kids, & a Strong need for Valium

2005-07-13T10:19:00.000-07:00

Kat, as in Pryncess, is THE SHIT people. Oh yeah. I worship her computer-talented fingers. I grovel at her feet. I quail in the light of her awesome powers. I .... fuck it, I owe her big time. I know y'all can't see it just yet, but Kat has done some very awesome and wonderful work on a new blog for me. For nothing. Except my groveling, whining, bitching, and thanks. I have offered her Diet Coke and chocolate, but she lives too far away for a prompt delivery. I think. I do not know anything about her true identity. Which poses the problem: how can I deliver so much as a Wal*Mart card to a person I know so little about? I mean, I know that she's funny, smart, witty, a chocoholic, an animal lover, and incredibly talented. Beyond that, no idea. So, calling upon complete strangers to help out, someone suggest ways to show appreciation and/or payment for such excellent work. If anyone reading this knows Kat and is willing to assist in a covert delivery of a gift card through Wendy if necessary, let me know. The woman needs chocolate and diet coke, dammit!

Now, picture this: three boys, one girl, two skateboards, two old washing machine hoses, and one nasty green plastic lawn chair (the kind that lay flat like a cot). Imagine all of these loose on a cement patio together. The older boy manages to attach the chair to the skateboards. He also threads the two hoses through the front to form makeshift harnesses. The folding ends of the chair are folded straight up. Another child then seats him/her self into the middle, grabs the hose, braces for impact, and allows one or two of the others to pull him/her around the patio...usually into a post or wall, occasionally a tree. Yep. Creative. But wait, there's more. This apparently is too slow a mode of transportation and bodily injury, for the eldest child (16) comes into the house, snatches car keys from my purse, and disappears back outside. Now, the recycled hubby is outside watching and waiting for the blood. He continues to watch until the children decide to hook the little cart thingy they've made up to the car to be pulled up and down the driveway by my oldest son...behind the car! At this point, Rat (the hubby) returns to the house, providing few details to me, and denying any part of it and denying seeing anything remotely unsafe...laughing the entire time. About this time, I hear the car head down our gravel road...quickly. The cart and the other kids were left behind, thankfully, but this only encouraged the others to run into the road and wait for Jack to return. Uh huh. Other people drive on this road like it's the Indy 500, and my children are standing on it. It took me 20 minutes of ranting to get my heart rate regular again. And who's side do the children take? That's riiiight...the Rat's. Go figure. Even my little girl did. How rude. God, I need valium...especially since other parents assure me that it only gets worse. I can only imagine. Jack will take his driver's license test next week. Pray for me.

Helpless Men

2005-07-12T07:53:00.000-07:00

So, is the phrase 'helpless men' an oxymoron? You know, like criminal lawyer? Or is it just me? Please excuse the rage, but I am beyond frustrated. In fact, I'm nearly to the point that my recycled husband can truck his lily white ass back to MN and I wouldn't think twice about his leaving. The man cannot cook. He can't or won't clean. He cannot remember anything that doesn't directly affect his immediate well-being for longer than 40 seconds.

I am the epitome of lazy. I recognize this. However, I can at least take leftovers out of the fridge and heat them in a microwave by myself. My 8 year old daughter can do it. Not my man. Oh no. Of course, this is the same man who lined one of my cookie sheets with waxed paper, put marinated pork chops on it, and stuck it in the oven. The smell had quills people. He will do things if I ask him to. So far, he's volunteered to put supper remnants away once and to try to bag up garbage in the kitchen once. Other than that, nada. I will admit to a few other improvements. Now, Wendy has seen my old homes and knows how I used to live. Mr. Man's apartment was fifty to one hundred times worse. Popcans and trash and god knows what else all over the place. And he wondered why I wouldn't drive up to visit him. At any rate, he is at least taking care of 98% of his cans and dishes and so on here, so that is some improvement. However, I think it'd cause a thrombosis for both of us if he actually helped finish putting away all of his stuff or threw in a load of laundry or helped his son fix a plate of leftovers or left the house for longer than an hour at a shot. Yes, he is looking for a job, but not energetically. And forget doing things as a family. Or as a couple. Plus, he actually accused me of becoming frigid the other day since he's only gotten sex twice since he moved in. Getoverit! With my stress level, sex is the farthest thing from my mind. Can he keep his hands off my tits? Nope. Arrrrgggghhh!

Sorry about that. Tension breaker. Had to be done.
Thank you for your time. Send me the bill.

Roadkill

2005-07-11T08:00:00.000-07:00

Roadkill is everywhere. It cannot be avoided. In the South, I've seen roadkill armadillo. In the mountains, its marmots and those prong-horned elk type things. In the Midwest, it's raccoons and opossum and deer. Well, rabbits and squirrels, too. I don't have a problem with roadkill, as such. It's often icky, but other than that, no big deal. However, I recently realized that some of these animals look surprised. Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but I've seen plenty of these critters rush into oncoming traffic for no apparent reason. No forest fires. No wildcats in chase. No hunters. Nope. Just heavy traffic and a suicidal animal. I'm not kidding. I swear to god that some of these animals are actually plotting their own demise. I think that it's rather nervy of them to jump in front of a vehicle in order to end their lives, and then look surprised afterwards when it worked.

I've also seen several apparently uninjured critters just lying along the side of the road. No blood or gore. No look of surprise or pain. Just a dead animal. These are the ones who look relaxed and peaceful. Like they've crawled to the edge of that particular road just to say good-bye to the world or like it's some kind of special memory for them and they want their last moment on earth to be there. I think these ones have returned to the road, glanced around fondly for whatever reason, then laid down and died decently. My question is, why? Most of these roads have been around long enough for most of these creatures to NOT remember anything else being there. Is it some kind of memory of a lost loved one? Maybe an initiation right? Maybe that's the reason some of the other roadkill looks surprised. Ever read The Far Side? The dogs running into traffic with the caption, "Randy's in the club"? Yep. Like that. Some kind of animal fraternity prank gone awry. Other than that, suicide missions and deciding to drop dead at the side of the road for reasons unknown to humans are the only things I can come up with. But, there is only two kinds of roadkill: the ones that look surprised and the ones that look like they belong in a funeral parlor. What's the deal? I'm open to other theories.

Chocolate and Diet Coke for Kat

2005-07-10T11:13:00.000-07:00

Jeez! In my ranting, I almost forgot. I need to send chocolate and diet coke and stuff to Pryncess Kat in mass quantities. As computer challenged as I am, she has taken on the not-so-insignificant task of helping me with a better looking blog. So far, it looks wonderful! I can't say thank you enough! Applause around the Net for Pryncess Kat!

Men & Moving Part 3, and For the Love of Girlfriends

2005-07-10T10:54:00.000-07:00

Grrr fucking Grrr. So, there's like a gazillion computer CD games running loose in my living room, right? I know I've written about this already. At any rate, in a burst of energy this morning, I decided to put as many as I could into a plastic/resin tower deally that was purchased especially for these things. Fine. Except that, as stated earlier, more than 3/4 of these things are never played...by anyone. When I asked, very politely I might add, why we were keeping all of them, guess what the answer was. Go ahead...I dare you! Okay, since you asked...he said, my beloved man, "They're mine." Uh huh. Riiiiight. Now, keep in mind, we need another tower or two to hold the rest. But, since they are his, there is no reason to get rid of any of these things. Arggh. Now, apply the same answer to my stuff, and it would get rejected. I'm sure of it.

Which leads me to girlfriends. Without my dear friend Grasshopper, I'm sure I'd be in a psych ward or prison by now. Thank god she's always willing to give me an alibi. And to listen to me rant about all my stresses and smart enough to not try to offer too much advice that I wouldn't use anyway and would just piss me off more because it'd feel like a lecture during my rant. Gotta love your girlfriends people. Grasshopper has been there through thick and thin, love and war, children, men, and sickness. In fact, she is one of the few people alive who know the proper was to 'wedge' me when I'm cold from being ill. Wedging is a fine art and not easy to properly accomplish. She even let me shit her bed (not really, but it's an ongoing joke) though she did take a rather vile photo of me on her toilet when I was in super-stress mode after vacating on a boyfriend who had thrown my into my dining room table. If it weren't for our daily, often hourly, chats, my life would be over. I love her more than my luggage and she worships the quicksand I walk on. The feelings are interchangeable, mutual, and completely foreign to our perspective partners. Especially when it's time for smart remarks. One of us will say something, the other will call that one a bitch or wench or whatever. These are terms of endearment for us, and people do not get it. I miss her terribly since she lives so far away, but thank god for unlimited long distance...we can talk as much as we want. Same thing with Wendy. I don't get to talk to her as much, but we can pack a lot into a one hour phone call, believe it. Speaking of, I have drastic news for her, can't reach her, and cannot wait to tell her. Just wish I could see the look on her face. If I could schedule it so there were witnesses with digital cameras, I'd wait to tell her. The look on her face will be priceless! Yes, I'm evil, but so is she. I taught her everything she knows. Just like Grasshopper. Thank god for girlfriends. If they were psychiatrists, I'd never be able to afford them.

Book du Jour or Livre of the Day

2005-07-08T17:33:00.000-07:00

I highly recommend reading Undead & Unwed by Mary Janice Davidson if you haven't already. For starters, my interest was piqued when my mother recommended it to me. For those who don't know my mom, she is warped and twisted (you have to be in law enforcement), but not into the supernatural much. So when she told me she found a hilarious and great vampire novel for me to read, I about shit. She read me the little blip from the back cover and I was hooked. I trudged down to my local library, waited two weeks for their only copy to come in, and read it in about 4 hours.

It is really funny! Betsy, the protagonist, reminds me of me. Except she is reportedly tall, blonde, and a former model. I am short, squat, and the one modeling thing I did was when I was like 13 for a plus-size store show. Not one of my high points. At any rate, Betsy is easily distracted and has bizarre trains-of-thought. Sad part is, while these are eminently humorous, they also made sense to me. I could picture myself thinking the same things in the same situations. Yes, I am aware it's fiction. I don't care. That's part of what makes it a good story: the ability for readers to associate with the characters (learned that in a writing course).

I am hunting around for the next book, Undead & Unemployed, as I type. Another thing to spend money on. For some reason, I simply cannot avoid buying books I like. Might take me years to acquire the ones I want, but I do. In fact, it took me over a year to realize that hanging onto my Trixie Belden books and my Meg books, was simply taking up space I needed for other books that I would read more. I actually had chest pains and real tears when I boxed them up and took them to the Children's Hospital for their use. Now, every time I see one at a garage sale, I almost have seizures trying to stop my hand from snatching them out of the hands of little girls.

Okay, I digressed. No shock there. Go get the damned book, already! If you like the slightly weird, slighty erotic, terrificly (that don't look right) funny story, this is one for you.

Wine towels and idle thoughts

2005-07-07T16:04:00.000-07:00

I saw an embroidered wine towel today in some artsy-fartsy store downtown. Well, I saw several, but the one I liked best said "Tis better to have loved and lost than to live with a psycho the rest of your life". Funny! My only problem is, what if you're the psycho? I mean, if you are truly psycho, do you know it? What if both partners are psycho? Do they think only the other person is nutszoid? Or, if a person can be psycho and realize it, do they think the other psycho is normal? This are the things that keep me awake nights, my friends. Yes, I have issues.

I've also come to wonder about mushrooms. Apparently, their roots can be like 50 feet long or some such. And, since they can get moldy if left too long in the fridge or on coutertops, do all fungus (fungi) grow fungus? Isn't that rather paradoxical and wrong somehow? Seriously, I accidently forgot about a carton of those giant portobello mushrooms in my fridge once...for like months. When I went to clean out the drawer, I swear to goddess the damn things had toadstsools growing on them. It probably didn't help that the appliance was not working properly and tended to heat the bottom drawers and dump liquid in them, but still. For some reason, I feel an urge to hunt down a science teacher and make them explain to me why fungi can grow fungi. It just seems wrong somehow...against nature.

Another thing, what the hell are wine towels for? At least I assume they were for wine...they were next to a bunch of wine decanters and wine accesories. Do people really need wine towels? I thought you just poured the shit in a glass and drank it. I did not think special equipment was necessary. Or maybe they're for klutzes like me who spill things from football fields away. I'm just wondering. I'm having a hard time imagining a fancy restaurant using embroidered wine towels with witticisms on them...or without wit, but logos. Seems to be tacky and low-class.

Oh and thanks to Queenie's blog, again, I checked into a local pottery place since she gave me a creative compulsion. They too, do a royal night of sorts, only over here it's referred to as Queen's Evening or Diva's Afternoons. They also offer family nights/days. Dammit. Now I'm going to go spend money...and wonder about wine towels and fungus. Who says being bipolar isn't any fun?

Braindroppings, Napalm, Silly Putty, and George Carlin

2005-07-05T15:24:00.000-07:00

My man George Carlin! I got to watch a Biography thingy on him the other nite and am more enamored than ever. The man is a genius! And he makes too many good points that aside from being funny are so completely true that it offends people. For example, "why is when it's chickens, it's an omelet and when it's us it's an abortion?" I won't get drug into the whole prolife/prochoice thing because it's no longer about that. It's about who's right. And who's side God is on. As Stephen King's character, John Leydecker in Insomnia put it, "I wish they'd all go get drunk and sing 'We Are the Champions'". I will say this, I don't believe in any part of my cold, black heart that the ones having fits about abortion and making laws to stop them 1) have any right to tell any one what to do; or 2) have ever been in the position to make such a heart-rending decision. Let them take care of a group of AIDS or Crack babies for a year and then tell women what's right or wrong. But, I'm stepping off my soapbox now, I swear.

I deeply admire George Carlin. And agree with so many of his 'ideas'. And, since he is fond of the not-quite-paradoxical query or statement I feel a certain affinity for him. No I am not a stalker. I wouldn't do that. If I met the man on the street, I'd ask him how his day is, shake his hand if he let me, ask politely for an autograph, and flee before I had a fit of hysterics...laughter I mean. Just thinking of his material makes me smile.

Okay, so this is shameless advertising or plugging or whatever, but for people who haven't taken the chance...go find yourself any of his books, CD's, or videos and have great time. Even if you don't laugh (which makes you sick and wrong), you should still get food for thought.

Have a crappy day!

Recycling Husbands and Moving & Men Part 2

2005-07-03T14:56:00.000-07:00

Okay. My recycled husband arrived on Friday around 9:30. Within half an hour, my living room was filled to capacity with junk. Well, not all junk, but no one could walk through it. During the mess and hustle, the bunny went MIA. We found it under a console tv in the play room, cowering in fear and attempting to gnaw through electrical wires in a failed attempt at bunnicide. Yesterday, we purchased extra special treats for him to make up for it. Poor little guy.

Also, I am revamping my idea on the recycling of husbands. Anyone seen Snatch? Yep. Pigs recycle too. I know this not only from the movie, but from one of my science courses. It appears that once pigs are done recycling, it is impossible to find DNA or fingerprints. Bone fragments also seem hard to come by. Honestly, though, it isn't all bad. He's actually trying to clean up after himself and to assist with child care. Plus, he spent all of his money on us which is never a bad thing. He is a mite upset that he and I haven't had conjugal time yet. The first night, I was exhausted. Yesterday, he woke me up from a nap and it irritated me and at bedtime, he was too tired. Tonight's the night. It'd better be or think I'll be divorced before we're remarried. Speaking of, was looking at a flyer for Iowa's Renaissance Festival which is only about 15 miles from my house this year. There's a website you can go to if you want to get married at the Festival. $200 plus period costume. You can have this made and purchased for keeps or rent for the ceremony. Lovely thought, not affordable at this time. Plus, the only people I know who would join the wedding ceremony like this live out of state. Hint Hint Nudge Nudge to Wendy. Grasshopper might, but Twitch would have a fit and I'd be forced to kill him and bury him a shallow unmarked grave. Will have to give it further consideration.

Part 2 of Men & Moving: As I stated previously, I fail to comprehend why men think that tossing stuff into boxes willy-nilly is an effecient way to pack and move. I hate moving and packing, but I at least make an attempt at organization. I just don't understand. Of course, I now get to go through two movie collections and dispose of duplicates and weed out ones we don't care for so we can make room for his movies on my entertainment center. I also have to come up with space for all his other stuff. Hell, I don't have room for MY stuff, much less his. I'm not sure is less prepared for this, me or him. Let's say .... him. Yeppers. Sounds good to me. As part of this whole move the recycled husband in bit, I have discovered a long list of things we need to go shopping for. And since they are things we actually need, he can't complain when I spend our (read his) money on all this stuff. Or when I'm weeding out stuff, if stuff of his makes it into the 'go' pile. After all, how many demo discs of games and movies does one need? And there are over 100 computer games here now and I'll bet my left tit that 80% of them never get played...by anyone.

Well, on that note, time to start the ole heave -- ho, search and destroy, out with the old mission. This could take months. If no one hears from me in a week, send a platoon bearing chocolate, sweet tea, and fried green tomatoes to the rescue. Oh, and some pain reliever wouldn't be bad, either. He's going to have an Excedrin headache by the time I'm done.

Panic Attack Over

2005-06-30T07:27:00.000-07:00

Okay, now that my mind can keep focus on a single issue for longer than 3 seconds...

The recycled husband will arrive here late Friday night. He is bringing a child with him but it appears to be only for the remainder of summer. Said child refuses to live with us because he is apparently afraid of school buses since his mother has always given him rides to and from school. This is his sole reason, I swear. I'm just letting it go, since I have no idea whether it's my place to try to fix it or not. Being the wicked stepmother does have its disadvantages.

My car has a leak in a hose someplace, which is why it overheats. So long as I dump coolant in it daily, I'm fine until the hose breaks completely or I get it in to be replaced, whichever comes first.

It stormed last night. Lots of lightening, thunder, and rain. Now, my area is flooding too--but only in a few select locales according to this a.m.'s news. It has also decided not to be as humid. Still hot, but not sticky. Don't matter to me, I have Central Air.

My bank tells me that until I am gainfully employed, I am a leper. Fine. I've been a leper before in a variety of circumstances. Being persona non grata is nothing new to me. They'll kick themselves when I am a rich and famous author though and won't use their piddling services.

My children are no longer attached to my hip. They have rediscovered the outdoors. It seems that we have a large family of woodchucks (aka groundhogs) living under a shed in our yard. The babies are almost grown and the entire family can be seen several times a day frolicking about the yard and drive. Living in the country, we also have an assortment of groundsquirrels, raccoons, and oppossum. That and a nearby farm has puppies, kitties, and horses to go visit. Which was fine until the horses broke loose and ended up in the field next to my house at 6 this morning. Ever try to herd horses that early? It isn't fun. Not recommended. The owner met us about 50 yards from the fence (broken), apologizing profusely, and thanking us for getting his horses back. Thank goodness he didn't think they'd been stolen. There's still that nasty little hanging law on the books for horse-thievery.

See? Told you I could handle it. I just had to figure out what was going on. The Redhead wins again!

I'm a Damsel. I'm in Distress (again). I can Handle It...as soon as I figure out what's going on.

2005-06-29T14:11:00.000-07:00

I will never again say anything remotely similar to 'it can't get any worse'...because it does. Immediately. It has been so hot and dry here that my well went dry Saturday. It was fixed in fairly short order, but I still couldn't flush, wash, or anything connected to a faucet or pipe for four hours. What did I say? "It can't get much worse than this." Boy was I wrong. Mother Nature must have taken that as an insult, because then it finally rained...and blew. North of me is flooding. My phone went out overnight due to a downed line some place. It's still not wet enough here, so everyone is out doing their rain dances. My car has decided not to run more than a total of two hours per day in this heat before overheating in protest. My kids are afraid to run the sprinkler for fear of running the well dry again, so they are continually up my ass going "we're bored..there's nothing to do". My recycled husband is apparently moving here next week. I thought I had closer to a month to get ready for him. I think one of his other children is coming with him, but I'm not sure. It seems that there is a school bus issue involved somewhere. I'm totally broke. My bank acts like I'm a leper. My dog has become antisocial, hiding in my bedroom all the time, for no obvious reason. I discovered an extremely long, blond (I am a redhead) eyebrow hair today in my left eyebrow, then another in the right with at least two more in each growing as we speak. These things were over an inch. Longest eyebrow hairs I've ever seen. Oh, and eyebrow dandruff. I had no idea my skin was that dry in that area considering all the acne I have mere billimeters (are those real?) away from the flakes. As soon as the hullaballoo is over, I think I'll have a panic attack, get falling-down standing-up drunk, and run away from home to hide in an unsuspecting friend's closet --- not necessarily in that order! And no one is going to deprive me of it, dammit, I've worked to hard for it!

Confession Time

2005-06-28T09:02:00.000-07:00

All right, I admit it, I've been sucked into satellite tv. I can't help it! I have this damn dish now and there's sooooo many great programs on it! I swear I didn't mean to. I just can't help myself. FBI Files, Law & Order reruns, movies that I don't own, oooooooodawwggy! How do people make themselves leave the television?! Don't get me wrong, it hasn't comletely taken over my life. I still get laundry and stuff done: spend time with my kids, fight for my computer time, so on and so on. I just ...well...it dawned on me around dawn that my window of sleep is getting smaller all the time. Why? Because I was too cheap to invest in the TiVo thing when I had the dish installed and since my VCR is schizophrenic about recording things, I simply stay awake watching stuff. I am such a bum, I know, but what is summer vacation for? Bumming! At any rate, I wonder with all these recognized 'addictions' out there, like Internet addiction and so on, if there's some support group for people addicted to satellite programming? Of course, then I'd probably have to like, leave my house and my TV, and like, go to some meeting where they refuse to have satellite service...not sure I'm into that. Besides, my remote proposed to me last night! I can't just start changing our relationship now, can I?

Men and Moving

2005-06-27T08:09:00.000-07:00

Why is that men think throwing everything into boxes, tossing said boxes into a truck and then tossing them into a house is the way to move? Is it an illness with them? Or is this some genetic abherration to their species? Maybe it's one of those topics covered in those "secret" classes that boys get somewhere between junior high and high school? I don't know...I doubt I'll ever know. Maybe in my next lifetime. I'm sure I've made enough mistakes in this one to justify my return as a man. I just don't get it.

Okay, I'm done rambling and will explain. My recycled husband is apparently sick and tired of his job, his roommate, his town, and his apartment. I think he's also sick of only being able to see me (read get laid) once a month...hehe, it's like a reverse period, haha...and is planning on moving in within the next few weeks. He also seems to think that he can just toss all of his worldly goods into boxes NO Organization needed, and troop on down here. Of course, this also means that Yours Truly will get to be the one sorting, disposing, and unpacking of all these jumbled boxes and items. Ugh!

This is one more reason I think men should be divided into two camps: a worker camp & a breeder camp. You need something fixed, you call the worker camp tell them what you need, and they send someone over. You need your 'plumbing' worked on, you call the breeder camp, tell them what you want/need and they send someone over. Once the job is taken care of, they return back to their camp. Much easier: no mouth, no mess, no miscommunications, no hassles. Divide every town in half, set it up, and the world would be a much better place in a single generation. Hey, it's my fantasy, dammit! Don't fuck it up!

Arggh! Frick-a-frackin' dad-burned Computer Crap!

2005-06-25T19:55:00.000-07:00

Flippin' figures! I change the template thingy and lose everything I had put on for links and so on! Why can I not figure this shit out? Is it because I'm an idiot? I'm not, actually, I have a very high IQ and can usually do things I attempt. NOT when it comes to anything computer related however. Grrr! Fine, I give up. I surrender. The computer crap wins.

If anyone out there who reads this (enjoying it is negotiable) and has a kind heart and computer skills enough to help me, pleeeeeezzze do so! I'm ready to blow up my PC, commit hari kari, or drink myself into oblivion and then try to do it myself...whichever will satisfy my frustration easiest and right now they all look like viable options.

**Mumble, grumble, swear violently, and slam fists repeatedly on desk and head**

This Makes No Sense

2005-06-25T19:44:00.000-07:00

Okay, it's summer vacation. I am not taking any classes. I cannot seem to acquire a job. I have no requirements on my time aside from running kids, housework (hahaha), and ... that's it. I don't have anything to study or whatever. I have all kinds of time to read for pleasure that I normally don't have from August to May. I've read nearly every book I own a dozen times. I can't seem to find anything new at the library or bookstores. I'm bored. It's like that Twilight Zone episode where that guy who loves to read and hates people is the sole survivor of nuclear holocaust and then breaks his glasses. I know Rod Serling is long dead, but for the love of all that is holy (or unholy--take your pick) why can't I find anything to read???

I have entered a dimension of sight and sound....**du-du-du-du du-du-du-du**

5 Things I Miss Most from Childhood

2005-06-23T08:16:00.000-07:00

Okay, being computer illiterate, I'm cheating. That and since I have no time on the computer any more since school is out (gotta love kids), I'm cheating. Sorry, Q, but this is the best I can offer right now!

1) My grandma. Yes, everyone says that...pretty much. My grandma and I made mints together, sewed, baked, all kinds of things. I miss her terribly. I think part of it the fact that she was my main babysitter for so long and that I was the first grandchild...not fair, but it did give me a special bond with her and Grandpa. I miss the smell of her house. It always had some kind of something cooking or crafting in it. And talk about Redneck-engineering? That woman could fix damn near any household mishap or accident. Need to know how to rig a tear in your best shirt in time for the all-important job interview? Call Gramma. Too much salt in the sauce? Call Gramma? Out of vanilla or some other recipe ingredient? Call Gramma. The woman was a genius...and she didn't get her GED until I was almost 16.

2) The ability to stay outside in the sun. When I was born, with my lint-like fuzz of red hair and oh so pale skin, the doctor told my mom to keep me out of the sun or I'd burn to a crisp. Riiiight. I never had a sunburn longer than an hour until I was 11 & that turned to tan within 24. Now? Blisters appear in minutes and I get very faint and nauseous...within half an hour. I used to get as tan as...well, mom always told me in the summers that I looked almost as dark as the mulatto kids two doors down. And, I'd stay tan until around April. Yup. I'd have tan lines still when the high school girls were heading for tanning salons before Prom. Then suddenly -- Dat-dut-duh! Whammo! I'm old, my body is betraying me, and I cannot handle the sun or the heat any more. And I miss it!

3) Weird kid-type foods. When did raviolio's lose their good flavor? And Beefaroni? And what about Campbell's Chicken & Stars soup? I miss the taste of those things. I used to love tatertots and fish sticks, tv dinners, and other assorted "kid" foods. Now a can of ravioli being opened can make me gag, fish sticks taste like fish paste, and macaroni and cheese? Ugh! Maybe it makes me odd, but I miss eating mini raviolis on bread and butter or mac & cheez with hot dogs cut up in it. It isn't that the flavor has changed, I don't think, but that I have...and it makes me sad...very, very sad.

4) Those quarter machines. I can remember asking for quarters for the junk in those things until I was 15. Hey, some of that stuff was COOL! Actually, I think this is symbolic of soemthing else, but it's so complex as to elude me for the nonce.

5)My hometown's outdoor pool. I practically lived there in the summers. The smell of chlorine still makes me sigh about it. I can remember when they shut it down. The whole town basically fought against it, but a new indoor Rec center took its place. For many years, it just stood there looking lonely, forlorn, and forsaken...like it missed us kids. Now, it's all filled in and each summer a sand vollyeball net is erected and you can rent equipment at the Rec Center if you don't have any to play that or any number of other games there.

There you have it. Sad, odd, but true. Those are things I think I miss most from childhood. That and not having any responsiblities or sense of mortality, but those things just creep up on you. It's not like most of us are aware of either of those things as children. Thankfully. It'd ruin the whole experience.

Poisoning, Firefighters, & Whiny Ass Cities

2005-06-21T08:44:00.000-07:00

No, I am not poisoning firefighters! I did, however, manage to posion myself recently. Yup. Nearly killed by my own cooking. To anyone who knows me, this should not be a surprise. Apparently, pasta salad made with Italian dressing can and does go bad fairly quickly. Either that or the dressing was plain bad to begin with or mixing it with sunflower seeds was a bad move. All I know is, waking up choking on a mouthfull of mush that tasted what I imagine Mr. Clean tastes like was not fun. Neither were the nasty belches that continued for two days. Nevermind the fever, hallucinations, and other assorted issues. I don't think I'm likely to experiment again...not in my own kitchen anyway. You'd think I'd have learned after the meatloaf trials...or the frozen pizza that was charred on the edges and still iced over in the middle...

Firefighters everywhere are automatic heroes. I don't care about the odd ones or the occasional psycho ones. There's always a joker in the deck. On more than one occasion, I have had reason to be thankful for firefighters (no, not due to cooking). Once, several of them went hunting for my children who I thought were lost in a flooded area. Another time, several of them kept a field fire from spreading to my home (not set by me or anyone I know). Which is why I am torqued. It seems that firefighters in my area are catching flak for cutting each other's hair. You got it, they were saving money (since we all know they make millions) by cutting each other's hair. They were not charging for this or advertising to cut the public's hair. No one is licensed (to my knowledge) so there is no need for State stuff. This is akin to me cutting my own kids' hair or a friend's. No big deal. Not to me, and several other citizens, at least. However, some moron got his underwear in a knot over it and started writing letters to the editor and to the State. Now there's some big deal being made over it. How ridiculous! It's not as if they were going into Great Clips and getting haircuts for free. Do we not have more important issues to worry about? I hope the firefighters have their 'haircutting privileges' restored soon and the idiot who mouthed off gets hemmorhoids. Which leads me to my final topic...

Since this whole firefighter mess is local, and when I consider all the other silly shit that turns into a forum for puling, I have come to agree with another (former) citizen of this town: this is the sissiest city! Any little annoyance gets turned into a formal complaint against someone, a lawsuit, or ends up on some official committee's agenda for study and resolution. Wait..that sounds like the entire country, not just my town...my bad!

Humankind? Humans? Kind? We're all in SERIOUS trouble!

2005-06-12T09:20:00.000-07:00

Aside from my railings about how people react to a broken down car with a woman sitting alone in, I have further evidence that the milk of human kindness has dried up. My friend, Wendy, works for a national department store. She was fairly recently promoted (woo woo) to some kind of department head or some such. At any rate, at such stores, when a child goes missing, there is a "Code Adam" issued. I know from first hand experience that this is not pleasant...for moms, dads, or employees. However, Wendy had one the other day and while she is off searching for a missing three year old, customers are complaining about lines being backed up at check outs and several actually wanted her to do price checks for them. Like she said, the child was found hiding in a changing room, but what if that kid had been kdnapped and found dead a week later? Would those people have the decency to feel ashamed of how they had reacted or would they be more like, "I remember that, it took me forever to get out of that store!"

Now, I'm a true child of the 80's. Best and worst years of my life. I wouldn't change that. I especially wouldn't change my mother and I watching a movie called "Adam". To this day, that movie terrifies me. The fact that it's true, thinking of my kids running loose in a store countless times, and how there never used to be such a thing as a 'Code Adam'. some poor little boy had to be kidnapped and decapitated for that to happen. After all, I'm sure the people in the store when little Adam Walsh went missing tried oh so hard to help find him. I'm sure several did, actually. I'm also positive that the larger number didn't much give a shit one way or the other. "Not my kid" they think. Or worse.

Frankly, I'm ashamed of us all. 99% of us are guilty of this type of thing, including me. Why? Have we become so numb, so busy? That may be part of it. I admit that if I think overly long about stuff like this, I have panic attacks when I take my kids out of the house, so a bit of it must be there in order to survive. I also admit to being overly focused on my own selfish needs when I'm in stores. I don't go shopping in order to make friends. Good thing, too, from the way people act, but that's another story. Usually, when I'm out shopping, it's for stuff we need and I always have an extensive To-Do list running through my head urging me to hurry the fuck up, Mabel, and get out of here. So much for all the time technology is supposed to save (also another story). Between these two areas, I admit, I'm often not paying much attention to anything else and it makes it all that much easier to just block out people who might need help and lets in impatience and all that. Piss poor excuses though. And I'm sure that too many of us use the same ones. How sad. How unbelievable sad.

Yee Haw, Hee Haw and so on!

2005-06-09T15:15:00.000-07:00

I am certainly not mechanically inclined. In fact, I was close to 17 before I learned how to pump my own gas, much less check my own oil. The area under the hood of any car, especially mine own, is something as fantastical and alien as Wonderland or Hobbitton. I like it that way. Which does have it's disadvantages. (See the first entry called "Idyll") Like seeing a large hose that is apparently connected to nothing but the side wall of the inside of the engine area under the hood. Since it has been this way since I got the car, an old, crappy, Buick impersonator of a rust bucket, it has looked that way. I somehow or other managed to convince myself that this was A/C related and that I had no such cooling in the vehicle. Much to my surpise, and delight, I just today discovered that I was wrong! I have A/C in my car!!! Yay! This is beyond good since the heat index around here has been like 100 degress the past few days. And humid? Oh good goddess! If it were any more humid, it would be raining. Hot diggity damn!

Which it decided to do at about 1:30 this morning. Along with some very brilliant lightening and thunder. This caused the dog to have hysterics, pee in the hallway, and climb into bed with my nearly-sixteen year old son. It also caused me to turn on the hall light so I could see to clean up the urine, which in turn led me to discover that the pet bunny's cage had both doors open and the bunny was MIA. A trail of rabbit pellets led under my daughter's bed, so the mystery was solved quickly, but the rescue took almsot 20 minutes. Between thunder, lightening, and my middle son trying to stalk the poor thing, I almost think the mission should have been postponed until daylight. Once the bunny was properly restored to his enclosure and curtains shut, the storm quit as abruptly as it started. Figures. This left two teenage boys awake until about 5 this morning. But who cares? I have A/C in my POS! The world is once again fragrant and beautiful.

Summer Vacation & Summer School

2005-06-08T16:18:00.000-07:00

I have many reasons for being a substantial supporter of year round schooling. Not the least of which is that summer vacation is a slow form of torture for parents. I was an only child, my mother worked 40 hours a week, and I am told that I was a fairly good child (until my teens) by my mom and other family members and she still went nutso during summer vacations. I understand why. Today is the first full day of summer break around here and I am ready to strangle my eldest two children. I think I need Prozac...maybe Valium. Or I need to give the children lobotomies. I hear keeping them drugged with darts is illegal. All those child abusers out there make it hard on the rest of us. Okay, so that was beyond awful, and I am sincerely sorry. It's just my mood.

Not that summer vacation is going to feel like much of a vacation for my two younger ones. They both get to go to summer school. Of course, the district set up these things to run at different times instead of together, so I'll spend all my summer running kids back and forth to summer school. Which isn't necessarily that bad. The way the older two are acting, I'd just as soon drop them off there now, summer school or no, with some food, sleeping bags, and clothes and pick them back up in August aobut two days before school starts up again.

How the hell did my mother survive? Maybe me being the only one made the difference. I knew I should have followed her lead. Yeah right. I'm obviously not that intelligent.

Bumper stickers, pet food, and drunken house guests

2005-06-07T08:33:00.000-07:00

Pardon me, everyone, but just to get it out up front, I believe I'm headed into a manic moment. For those of you who know me, then you'll understand. For those that don't, excuse the mess below. You were warned.

I have a thing for bumper stickers. My first car was plastered with them. I don't do that much nowadays, but the urge is still there. I'm always on the lookout for new and interesting stickers. I saw just such a one the other day. It was in a shop called Spellbound in the Hall Mall here. It's this lavender/purple shade. It says, "Sorry I missed church. I was out practicing witchcraft and becoming a lesbian". I almost died. Made me think of several people I know. Wendy is one, though the lesbian part isn't true. I also saw one that said "I'm so gay, I don't even think straight". Also hilarious. I even bought one that is more like a window sticky -- clear with white writing. It has a picture of a broom on it and says "My other car is" directly above that. I made it a special point yesterday to wash all my windows and get that puppy on there. I'm hoping to be burned at the stake when they bring that old favorite back. I think it would lend itself nicely to my personal history. Might as well start advertising now.

I also have a thing for weird thoughts. Everyone has seen those emails about why do they call it a driveway when it's used for parking? Yeah. Things like that can keep me entertained for hours. My most recent obsession is pet food. Yup. Cat and dog food mainly. For starters, there's all this advertising about how good it tastes. Okay. I want to know who signs up for that job? I mean really, the smell of some dog foods can make me gag for hours, I can't imagine having the job of dog food taste tester. Same for cat food. Of course, I'm not that fond of fish and milk, either so that would let me out of the running right away. Which reminds me. I read in some old email long ago about why isn't there mouse flavored cat food? I demand to know! Or rat? How about Filet O'Field Mouse? Rat Rinds? Robin Ribs? Cuckoo Cutlets? Sparrow Souffle? Bunny Biscuits for a special reward? Same for dogs. I know my dog would love a Bunny Biscuit. Probably more than one dog would like Feline Filets. Or, Garbage Stew? I'm serious. And as much as dogs love the smell of rotten, what about Roadkill Riblets in Gravy? I think the pet food taste testers would demand an increase in salary, but other than that, why aren't these things out there? I think it's completely unfair and an untapped market.

Last item on the agenda is drunken houseguests. I had an especially annoying one this weekend. I know he has a drinking problem, but it isn't my place to babysit him, and he does fine if he only has a few beers. Which is what it started at. Then he found my rum. He laid on my couch, talking to no one for almost three hours. He'd yell at people I've never heard of. When he started to sound agitated, I rescued my son from the downstairs bedroom and found all the booze in the house and hid it in my room. Which pissed Monkeyboy off, apparently, because I could hear him searching through the cupboards for it and 'talking' to someone about leading him to it if they found it. When he finally shut up enough for me to fall asleep, it was almost four a.m. Since my kids had me up at 9:30, I made sure he was up and moving by 10. And I kept him awake all day long. I even drug him out into the glaring sunlight to go see the sights over here, so he wouldn't fall asleep. He was not happy with me. Awww! I look at it like this, his drinking is his problem. In my house, I won't stop anyone unless there is something drastic going on, but also in my house, if you drink while my kids are around, you must be willing to put up with them when they wake up in the mornings. Is that rude? Good.

Lapins, Neon Food Coloring, and Misadventures in Produce

2005-06-03T09:23:00.000-07:00

Lapin is French for rabbit, one of which I am now a Grandmother to. Yep. My daughter now owns the class bunny. Her teacher could no longer have him and while other kids certainly wanted him, we were the only ones capable apparently. His name is Bunnicula, just like in the story. Over here, students are in teams not grades. Each student spends two years in the same team before moving on to the next level. Last year, Bunnicula's name was Darla...until she went to the vet and it was discovered that she was a he. The class voted and now it's Bunnicula. And he is currently pushing his little wooden house and food dishes around in his cage in my daughter's bedroom. He's really pretty cute, white with what closely resembles dribbles of coffee on his fur, except the coffee stains won't leave. Best of all, he's quiet. No racing through the house, no barking to be let in or out, and no hogging my bed like my dog is prone to do. Of course, the dog's favorite past time is playing 'get the bunnies' when we go for walks or whatever, so there is some trepidation that he's going to try to play 'get Bunnicula' while we're gone one of these days. As of right now, the dog seems to be ignoring the rabbit except for their first meeting after school yesterday when the bunny came home. The dog sniffed the box, smelled bunny, and followed me closely until he saw me put the bunny into the cage at which point he sniffed, grimaced, and sneezed violently about 6 times before going in and stretching out on my bed. The bunny came with everything he needs and then some, by the way. I had no idea that bunnies had so many toys. He has a little wooden hut thing that was once painted in the primary colors, but since he chews in incessantly, it looks like a tornado victim. He has two little wooden chew treats. One used to be a yellow dolphin, but now looks more like a twisted banana and one that is an orange triceratops. He also came with nail clippers, food, treats, timothy hay (which smells kind of odd), special bunny litter, bowls, water bottle, and cage. My daughter also seems to think that he can be trained to a collar and leash. Claims to have read it in a book somewhere. I can't wait to see this...and see how long it takes before "Gramma" is the only one who even looks at the poor guy. I'm already responsible for making sure that we have carrots and lettuce for treats once a week. Which leads me into...Misadventures in Produce! Knowing that Bunnicula would be coming home yesterday, I dropped into the store for carrots and a few other odds and ends we needed. While I am doing price comparisons on some tomatoes, I feel something rather round and hard poking me just above my butt. (Don't get perverted...I knew it was a cucumber) When I look, one of the guys who had been tortured through Shakespeare with me was jabbing me with his zuccini and smiling like lunatic the whole time. I smiled too, because he's as gay as Truman Capote and completely safe, and gave him a very very playful and gentle bop on the arm. It seems, however, that Jeff has no center of gravity and promptly tipped over into a peach display which collapsed. I tried to grab him, tripped over my own feet and knocked down half the tomatoes, a third of the citrus fruit, and cleared a tabletop display of baked goods when I pulled the tablecloth off trying to gain my own balance. We were completely embarrassed! We offered to help clean up and pay for damages, but the clerks just shook their heads and sent us on our way. I can't be positive, but I think at least one of them was trying not to laugh and another one was so relieved to see us walk away without damaging anything else that he started to cry.

By the way, Queenie turned me onto neon food coloring, since I obviously live in a cave and don't pay attention. At any rate, I recently made tie-dyed cakes for my son's school, which were so well received that I'm under command to make at least one for each school activity until he graduates. Well, his end-of-the-year picnic was today. Of course, I got about four hours notice to make something. So I whipped out a fudge marble cake mix and decided that would work. I made the batter like normal, but added a whole bottle of neon green food color after taking out the requisite 1 cup for the fudge part. I mixed the fudge part up. It was very dark brown. So, I grabbed the neon blue. Did you know that you can dye chocolate? I had no idea. That fudge stuff was so dark blue in the bowl it looked like the midnight sky. Then I made it like normal. I can't wait to hear how it goes over. Especially since I frosted it with regular chocolate frosting and no one will notice it's colored cake. My son is supposed to take pictures for me. If I could figure out how to load them up, I'd show you all the tie-dye cakes and this one. Neon food coloring is so much fun!

Arrrgh! Holiday travel!

2005-05-30T16:45:00.000-07:00

Okay, so, it's Memorial Day Weekend and I have to travel two and a half hours to my mother's. Not smart. Nope. Of course, if it weren't for my son's turning the big 1-4 today, I might not have gone. Which would have been wiser. The drive on Friday wasn't too awful, until I hit Des Moines (pronounced Duh- Moyne for any non-Iowans) at rush hour. Even that wasn't too painful. However, traffic on the way home was agony! Pure torture. Well, around Des Moines at least. Some moron in some kind of tanker truck decided to come to a near complete stop on Interstate 80 before turning onto his/her exit. Which put me as the middle or third car in line in an "oh fuck, we're gonna crash" almost five car pile-up near the Adventureland/Altoona exit. The minivan and SUV behind me took the shoulder to avoid crushing me. And, as I went past the exit after this near collision, I could see absolutely no cars in front of this truck...not even down at the stop sign at the bottom of the exit ramp. Nothing. No one. Nada. I could have screamed. If it hadn't meant a rather time-consuming detour to go back and hunt this stupid shit down with my three kids and my dog in a non-A/C vehicle in close to 80 degree heat, I would have beaten the driver to a pulp with my T-bar or four-way or whatever that lug nut thing is. I'd sick my dog on him/her, but the dog'd just think it was a cool new ride and hop in enthusiastically wagging his little stubby tail, drooling and huffing his horrendous doggy breath the entire time he waits for the ride to start. The kids wouldn't have helped either...just made faces, swore a few times, and possibly trying to tie shoelaces together...and that would all be aimed at me. The driver's only risk would be ruptured spleen from laughter. And all the RV's?! Whafuck? Who are these people? Where did they come from? Where are they going? Do they even know? I'm all for getting an RV myself after my children have all moved out...makes it harder for them to find me to ask for money or to try to move back in. I just don't understand how these humongous campers can pass me by when I'm going 75...you know, the ones that could house a small military force comfortably for three years?...and these little bitty things can't seem to go over 40 and always manage to end up in front of me. I don't get it. I just don't get it. Oh yeah, and since it's a holiday weekend, there have been all kinds of tv and radio ads all over the place about the massive police efforts this weekend to enforce the seatbelt law and other safety laws. Intimidation tactics so that the State Patrol and local law enforcement agencies that garner major grants from the Feds for seatbelt enforcement can write more tickets and so that everyone drives with one eye glued to the rearview mirror for those lights. Uh huh. I didn't see one officer the entire time. Wait, I lied. I saw two of Perry's finest, at least two of their patrol cars, on two separate occasions while visiting my mom. Other than that, I did not see a single State Trooper or other law enforcement vehicle. I didn't even see one of those strange light blue DOT cars out. And I know why...honestly, this is the absolute truth...it's because of all the damned budget cuts! Nobody can afford to pay these guys holiday pay or for the gas to go cruise the interstates and highways. Which leaves perfectly law abiding drivers like myself surrounded by moronic truck drivers and other idiots to get killed or maimed while traveling. Go figure.

Meatloaf, Family Recipes, & Memory Lane

2005-05-25T10:24:00.000-07:00

I was taken on a sentimental journey by reading Queenie's blog again. Of course, I'm also digging through my deep freeze for hamburger now too so I can quench my taste for meatloaf. Thanks, Queenie! Oh well, maybe it'll turn out this time. Any way, it made me remember my gramma's cooking (especially meatloaf). She could cook anything. Couldn't get a recipe from her though. Nope. Like all great chefs, it was "well, I used a scoop of this" or "a pinch of that". Yeah. That helps, Gramma. Unlike you, I cannot cook without explicit directions. Not if people are gonna eat it, anyway. I can bake, usually, and well. Other than that, if it can't go in a crock pot or microwave or Foreman grill, forget it and order take out...it's safer, trust me. I even have a sign in my kitchen that says "Hundreds of people have eaten in this kitchen and gone on to lead perfectly normal lives". It's a lie. 1) I have not yet fed over 50 people in my lifetime...total, not in one sitting. 2) No one I know is normal or leading a normal life whether they've eaten in my kitchen or not, but those who know me well enough to eat my food are doubly cursed and Wendy can testify to that, too. But I am digressing. (Ah ha! Found the hamburger!) Thinking of all the times my gramma fed the army that was my family brought back tons of memories. Making mints with her, learning how to make frosting roses -- I was so proud that she let me and that several of the ones I made went on someone else's wedding cake --her Forgotten cookies and fudge, and calling her in a panic from my first apartment during my first marriage because my in-laws were coming and I had forgotten how to make a roast and what to serve with it. I remember being in 7th grade Home Ec. and having to turn in like 10 recipe cards each week from outside sources and going through her recipe box and cook books. She was always willing to try something new or to play around with old recipes. I remember when a house I lived in had a grape vine in the back yard and her and Ruth (an old family friend) making homemade wine that year. I was like 9 or 10, and they'd let me taste it every now and then to see if it was ready. I know, I know, that was a horrible crime...bite me, I loved it...being considered 'old' enough to try it and giving my opinion. We found 4 bottles of the stuff in her basement four years ago after she died. It was awful, vinegary stuff. I'm almost 35, do the math and you'll see why. Even today, I still find myself dialing her number occasionally, when I miss her terribly or have some kind of sewing or cooking emergency. It doesn't go past the third or fourth number though and I remember she's gone and won't be the one to answer the phone. I know, because I called it once last year in a crying fit and some stranger answered. I hung up immediately of course, but it jarred me out of the bawling jag. I do know that there are some things that never taste the same now that she's not the one to make them: her stuffing, her meatloaf, salmon soup, homemade ice cream, mints. I have all her mint molds and cake decorating stuff now. I can't find the damn mint recipe though. I'm sure it's in her old recipe book or box in my uncle's attic or at my mom's. I take the mint molds down every now and then...I can still smell the mint dough on many of them. When I do, I know she's checking in, making sure I haven't forgotten her and all the stuff she did for all of us, and telling me how proud she is of what I've done with myself. I wish I could find that mint recipe, it was so much fun to make them with her. My own kids can remember making mints with her just like I did, and they ask me now and then if we can. I'll start digging for it again. It isn't often my older two want to do anything with me any more, and they miss her too. Maybe a trip down memory lane is something they need as much as I do. I'll just have to be careful not to cry into the dough too much.

Now, off to thaw my hamburger. I wonder if I'll find her meatloaf recipe anywhere? Probably not. She usually just threw that together. Even if I did, it wouldn't taste the same as hers. Grammas had too many secret ingredients and too much love to put into the things they fed their families...I can't compete...yet.

Never again...I swear!

2005-05-24T06:48:00.000-07:00

Okay. The Idylls have stopped. I'm done. I'm not quite sure what came over me -- aside from a gigantic wave of self-pity. My most sincere apologies. I intend to delete the damn things as soon as I'm done with this.

In other areas, I've come up with several options to clear up our country's financial problems, along with several state issues. Since education and social security are such big issues and rightfully so, I think there are some easy solutions that should be put into place immediately. To start with, every major athlete should have a required 5% of their pay taken from them and remanded to whatever state they graduated high school from. In turn, that state is required to put that money into the educational budget. For states that are so unlucky as to miss out on this, any state that has more than 5 athletes contributing loses the other contributions. Those would be routed to states with less than 5, with those having none or one being a priority state. It would even out fairly quickly. That alone would solve the educational budget crisis within two years. On to Social Security. This one is slightly more complex, but still workable. First, we need to abolish the practice of agencies counting gross wages to decide qualification for assistance programs. Nearly one-third of a person's wages is never seen to begin with, even at tax refund time. Second, all income should be taxable. I know this sounds hinky, but it really wouldn't hurt anyone. If all income was considered taxable, earned income, more taxes would roll in, more people would get more in refunds ( mainly from the EIC), and the excess (ha) funds could go straight into the Social Security program. Within five years, Social Security would again be operating the way it should. Figure that if all sources of income count as earned income, students would pay taxes on their financial aid--sort of, since most students would get a refund of some type--which is quite a lot of tax money each year; plus the other sources of income that do not count as taxable income. I know these untaxed sources are supposed to help out the needy and so on, but there are too many loopholes that are benefiting the wrong people. So, remove the loopholes. Also, bring back the tax on food. Everyone uses it, and those who qualify for Food Stamps or the like could receive a waiver on it, since they're obviously in need of it. Still fair, but doesn't hurt anyone. Some of the tax would go to the state and some to the Feds. Split it evenly, except for places that have the local option sales tax (give them their penny on the dollar or whatever) and POOF! Problem solved. Now all I have to do is get an audience with PResident Bush and the other yahoos in power for the nonce and get them to go along with it. Riiiiiight.