Roadkill

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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!

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!

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

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

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

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!