My husband I try to follow the same page when it comes to parenting. However, what we constitute as “important” is vastly different. I truly believe there are times my husband brain is made of play-do. Take for example this afternoon.
My beloved boys arrived home shortly after I did this afternoon. The smell hit me like a freight train, I knew immediately what the offending odor was…gasoline. I refused to go near my husband believing he was the carrier of the smell, but immediately reached down to hug my son. Wait a minute, what is this, my child is reeking of the foul waft of gas! My husband says nothing to me and walks in the house. Before I can ask why my baby smells like petro and not baby powder, Mike gingerly and calmly states, you may want to wash his face and hands he dumped al little gas over his head at the neighbors. WHAT! What is a “little” gas, obviously it was more than a drop, but drastically less than the BP disaster. My mind conjures up a pictures of the birds that are oil covered, being carried away and put into cages…OH NO – is this what is going to happen to my child. A do-gooder volunteer is going to knock on my door with oversized rubber gloves on and toss him into a cage?
If I had been there when the incident I occurred (hhmm, strange to write that because if I were there I it never would have happened) I would have immediately put the baby in the car and headed to the ER. Gas + baby surely equals a terrible rash or seepage into the blood stream that would most definitely cause permanent damage! I scoop up the boy up and take him into the shower. His shower was reminiscent of the scene in “Sillkwood” when Cher got contaminated and had to wash in the contamination shower at work. I was scrubbing and lathering and rescrubbing and lathering. His hair was washed and rinsed 3 times. I used the wash cloth and soap with surgical precision as if my sons life depended on it (and in my mind it did!)
My husband believes I am over reacting, maybe I should dump some gas on him!!!
Monday, June 14, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Mommy
I love being a mom. My son brings me happiness and is teaching me how wonderful life is each day. However, my faithful few, I am going to be truthful. Being a mom can really SUCK!
Out of the 24 hours in a day I probably feel complete bliss and peace with my child for about 1 hour of them. Oh please…if you do not admit the same you must be on some heavy duty drugs, or your kid is! My child is only two, and I am told it gets better, but thus far, the light has not shone on the end of my tunnel.
Billy is absolutely beautiful, bit blue eyes, blonde hair, and infectious laugh and a smile that lets him get away with anything. But then there is the TRUE Billy, the monster within….
He will run to you and wrap his teeny arms around you in a sweet offering of affection, don’t let him fool you, the little cherub is plotting...he really wants fling your glasses from your face and watch you blindly crawl on the floor fumbling your way through mounds of dog hair to locate them. He does this with a shit eating grin on his face.
He will come to you with a favorite toy, he will gently ask you to “play”. You gleefully accept, excited and proud that he is behaving so wonderfully. Two minutes into what you believe is a bonding and learning experience, the little boy whips his cars to the floor and begins a monster dance on them, screaming like a wild banshsee. You run in fear, taking cover under the nearest door way to avoid the path of destruction the tornado will surely leave.
I could go on forever, but I am sure you get the point. The next time I find myself in the unfortunate situation of being surrounded by a group of stepford moms who are ooing and aaawing over the “joys” of motherhood, I think I will reach up with a nerf hammer and begin bashing them thouroughly about their heads and upper torsos. While they are distracted I will reach into their diaper bags and grab myself a handful of their “happy” pills…hey maybe being a mom could be great every minute of every day….I really need to get me some of those meds.
Out of the 24 hours in a day I probably feel complete bliss and peace with my child for about 1 hour of them. Oh please…if you do not admit the same you must be on some heavy duty drugs, or your kid is! My child is only two, and I am told it gets better, but thus far, the light has not shone on the end of my tunnel.
Billy is absolutely beautiful, bit blue eyes, blonde hair, and infectious laugh and a smile that lets him get away with anything. But then there is the TRUE Billy, the monster within….
He will run to you and wrap his teeny arms around you in a sweet offering of affection, don’t let him fool you, the little cherub is plotting...he really wants fling your glasses from your face and watch you blindly crawl on the floor fumbling your way through mounds of dog hair to locate them. He does this with a shit eating grin on his face.
He will come to you with a favorite toy, he will gently ask you to “play”. You gleefully accept, excited and proud that he is behaving so wonderfully. Two minutes into what you believe is a bonding and learning experience, the little boy whips his cars to the floor and begins a monster dance on them, screaming like a wild banshsee. You run in fear, taking cover under the nearest door way to avoid the path of destruction the tornado will surely leave.
I could go on forever, but I am sure you get the point. The next time I find myself in the unfortunate situation of being surrounded by a group of stepford moms who are ooing and aaawing over the “joys” of motherhood, I think I will reach up with a nerf hammer and begin bashing them thouroughly about their heads and upper torsos. While they are distracted I will reach into their diaper bags and grab myself a handful of their “happy” pills…hey maybe being a mom could be great every minute of every day….I really need to get me some of those meds.
Friday, June 4, 2010
I am writing this blog to my 2 year old son, in the hopes that one day while he is cyber surfing he will come across it and realize what an ass he can be! Yes, my faithful few, I called my child an ass! Get over it!
Dearest Billy,
Money does not grow on trees, you parents work very hard to put a roof over your head and by you the best and newest items. You must learn to respect Mommy and Daddys toys as well.
Why, oh why do you do the destructive things you do? You have cost your parents one billion dollars over the past two weeks. Lets begin with the phone. I realize that smashing it to the floor time and time again is great fun. I know how much you enjoy watching the battery fly out of the back and roll under the couch. But my loving child, it cost mommy and daddy $75.00 to replace it.
I am well aware Daddy left my camera in arms length of your tiny little hands. I assumed that once I yelled” Billy, no, put it down”, you would listen diligently and do as you were told. It was not necessary to show me that you could throw it halfway across the living room and over the couch, until it fell to its death. I would have been just as proud of your sluggers arm if you did it with say….um, a nerf ball. That little antic winded up taking $140.00 out of your college fund.
By far , my little cherub the worst act in the past two weeks was crashing our computer. You parents were well aware it was a seven year old dinosaur, but until you got a hold of it, it was performing the necessary functions. I am not exactly sure how you murdered it, but I do know one thing, I saw you tapping away at the keyboard and playing with disc drives. That was the last time she ever saw the light of day. We will not even dare to speak of how much buying a new on set your ever suffering parents aback.
Please my young son, I implore you, stay away from the household electronics. Mom and dad are not made of money. If you want to continue to eat and have this roof over your head keep your little fingers to yourself!
Dearest Billy,
Money does not grow on trees, you parents work very hard to put a roof over your head and by you the best and newest items. You must learn to respect Mommy and Daddys toys as well.
Why, oh why do you do the destructive things you do? You have cost your parents one billion dollars over the past two weeks. Lets begin with the phone. I realize that smashing it to the floor time and time again is great fun. I know how much you enjoy watching the battery fly out of the back and roll under the couch. But my loving child, it cost mommy and daddy $75.00 to replace it.
I am well aware Daddy left my camera in arms length of your tiny little hands. I assumed that once I yelled” Billy, no, put it down”, you would listen diligently and do as you were told. It was not necessary to show me that you could throw it halfway across the living room and over the couch, until it fell to its death. I would have been just as proud of your sluggers arm if you did it with say….um, a nerf ball. That little antic winded up taking $140.00 out of your college fund.
By far , my little cherub the worst act in the past two weeks was crashing our computer. You parents were well aware it was a seven year old dinosaur, but until you got a hold of it, it was performing the necessary functions. I am not exactly sure how you murdered it, but I do know one thing, I saw you tapping away at the keyboard and playing with disc drives. That was the last time she ever saw the light of day. We will not even dare to speak of how much buying a new on set your ever suffering parents aback.
Please my young son, I implore you, stay away from the household electronics. Mom and dad are not made of money. If you want to continue to eat and have this roof over your head keep your little fingers to yourself!
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Handicapped animals - should they be saved
I consider myself an animal lover, and somewhat of an advocate. I have adopted all my animals from bad circumstances or shelters. I have paid dearly out of pocket to bring these animals back to health. I am a firm believer in spaying and neutering and it makes me sick when people allow their pets to have litters of puppies/kittens. I always give a generous donation to the SPCA. However, I am an animal lover not a friggin freak!
Sunday the ever suffering husband I took our darling son to a Llama/Alpaca animal rescue/sanctuary. What a wonderful place, they had rescued (of course) Llama and Alpacas, but beyond that horses, mini-horses, roosters, chickens and bunnies were also rescued. I thought what generous and truly selfless individuals. I gave a donation and proceeded to admire these wonderful people who give so much of themselves.
My son noticed the bunnies and ran over with unbridled excitement. I noticed one of them was lying helplessly in a cage. I questioned if the bunny was ok. A woman told me beaming from ear to ear “that is Casio, he is a quadriplegic” hhhmmm, I though, why would you keep that bunny alive, is that even humane? What kind of life does a bunny have when once a year it cannot hop around and give eggs to all the good boys and girls. It would be better off dead. I thought nothing further of the dumb ass rabbit and enjoyed watching my son interact with the Llamas.
What came next was heartbreaking. I almost felt sick. As you know my faithful few, all of my blogs are the truth and nothing but…so here it is. I came across (what I falsely thought was a basket full of straw). In the basket was a cute hen. A woman informed me it was a silky hen. I actually never saw a hen I would consider pretty, but this one surely was. I tepidly asked if I could touch it. I was told I could. I complimented the woman on her well behaved bird…It was not well behaved, it had a broken back! Yes, another quadriplegic. And she mentioned probably mentally impaired. I was scared of this woman, how the hell do you know if a hen is mentally impaired. Does it not know its abc’s at the age of two? Did it fail the Iowa test? I thought the rabbit was bad. But a hen is just totally crazy, above and beyond the norms of reason! That borders on the brink of insanity! I am sure a great boa and nuggets could be made from “Tessa.” I think she would prefer to go out in style knowing she helped feed and glamorize a family!
Sunday the ever suffering husband I took our darling son to a Llama/Alpaca animal rescue/sanctuary. What a wonderful place, they had rescued (of course) Llama and Alpacas, but beyond that horses, mini-horses, roosters, chickens and bunnies were also rescued. I thought what generous and truly selfless individuals. I gave a donation and proceeded to admire these wonderful people who give so much of themselves.
My son noticed the bunnies and ran over with unbridled excitement. I noticed one of them was lying helplessly in a cage. I questioned if the bunny was ok. A woman told me beaming from ear to ear “that is Casio, he is a quadriplegic” hhhmmm, I though, why would you keep that bunny alive, is that even humane? What kind of life does a bunny have when once a year it cannot hop around and give eggs to all the good boys and girls. It would be better off dead. I thought nothing further of the dumb ass rabbit and enjoyed watching my son interact with the Llamas.
What came next was heartbreaking. I almost felt sick. As you know my faithful few, all of my blogs are the truth and nothing but…so here it is. I came across (what I falsely thought was a basket full of straw). In the basket was a cute hen. A woman informed me it was a silky hen. I actually never saw a hen I would consider pretty, but this one surely was. I tepidly asked if I could touch it. I was told I could. I complimented the woman on her well behaved bird…It was not well behaved, it had a broken back! Yes, another quadriplegic. And she mentioned probably mentally impaired. I was scared of this woman, how the hell do you know if a hen is mentally impaired. Does it not know its abc’s at the age of two? Did it fail the Iowa test? I thought the rabbit was bad. But a hen is just totally crazy, above and beyond the norms of reason! That borders on the brink of insanity! I am sure a great boa and nuggets could be made from “Tessa.” I think she would prefer to go out in style knowing she helped feed and glamorize a family!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Married to God
It is very difficult being a mere mortal married to a god. My husband is all knowing (just ask him). He has so many talents, that there just isn’t enough room on this blog page to list them all.
We needed to go to a Wal-Mart two towns over today. MY Wal-Mart didn’t have a “must have” item in stock. I say to God “You know how to get there?” “Yes” he replies. Well, naturally he knows the route, after all, he is god.
The baby is strapped in the car seat and we pull out of the driveway. I (being silly as can be, questioning god) grab the GPS navigator out of the console and type in our destination. God looks at the mortal and states “We don’t need that, put it away, and be sure to power it all the way down or the thing will not stop jabbering”. I obey, away goes the GPS.
This is important my faithful few, remember I stated the Wal-Mart was only two VERY small towns away. After driving for about 30 minutes, I have the unmitigated gall to pose the question, “Are you sure you are going the right way?” HHHmmm, you would have thought I asked him if the sky was falling. Of COURSE we are going the right way. He did not see any signs to get off the highway. Me, and my stupid mouth felt it necessary to inform him that I had been to the store before and he was going the wrong way. That is a statement God never wants to hear. I must be mistaken, there is no way I could possibly know how to get to the destination.
A one point, when the signs were welcoming us to another state (yes this is true) he pulled over. He was not happy about having to give into the fact he was wrong. (Well, technically HE wasn’t wrong, the idiots who post the highway signs were wrong). I informed him that he should have listened to me. I believe he muttered something to the affect “If you don’t stop gloating I am going to slam the breaks on this car going 30 MPH”. (Oh yeah I am one lucky lady to have found God)
He finally ceded and let the GPS do it job. We arrived safely. But God was in a bit of snit. Yet again, I had to open my mouth and say “I told you so”. I just could not let it go. Why on earth would this man not use the GPS from the get go? I do not understand the thinking behind it.
I guess God would rather spend money on gas and valuable time driving down the highway to nowhere. Needless to say, we are still not getting along. This is one pissed off God. I guess me, the mere mortal, knowing one tidbit of information is enough to smack his ego out of whack. He may be pissed that I will not “let it go”. But I plan on riding this wave until the bitter end, smiling inside. Ha ha God – Take that!
We needed to go to a Wal-Mart two towns over today. MY Wal-Mart didn’t have a “must have” item in stock. I say to God “You know how to get there?” “Yes” he replies. Well, naturally he knows the route, after all, he is god.
The baby is strapped in the car seat and we pull out of the driveway. I (being silly as can be, questioning god) grab the GPS navigator out of the console and type in our destination. God looks at the mortal and states “We don’t need that, put it away, and be sure to power it all the way down or the thing will not stop jabbering”. I obey, away goes the GPS.
This is important my faithful few, remember I stated the Wal-Mart was only two VERY small towns away. After driving for about 30 minutes, I have the unmitigated gall to pose the question, “Are you sure you are going the right way?” HHHmmm, you would have thought I asked him if the sky was falling. Of COURSE we are going the right way. He did not see any signs to get off the highway. Me, and my stupid mouth felt it necessary to inform him that I had been to the store before and he was going the wrong way. That is a statement God never wants to hear. I must be mistaken, there is no way I could possibly know how to get to the destination.
A one point, when the signs were welcoming us to another state (yes this is true) he pulled over. He was not happy about having to give into the fact he was wrong. (Well, technically HE wasn’t wrong, the idiots who post the highway signs were wrong). I informed him that he should have listened to me. I believe he muttered something to the affect “If you don’t stop gloating I am going to slam the breaks on this car going 30 MPH”. (Oh yeah I am one lucky lady to have found God)
He finally ceded and let the GPS do it job. We arrived safely. But God was in a bit of snit. Yet again, I had to open my mouth and say “I told you so”. I just could not let it go. Why on earth would this man not use the GPS from the get go? I do not understand the thinking behind it.
I guess God would rather spend money on gas and valuable time driving down the highway to nowhere. Needless to say, we are still not getting along. This is one pissed off God. I guess me, the mere mortal, knowing one tidbit of information is enough to smack his ego out of whack. He may be pissed that I will not “let it go”. But I plan on riding this wave until the bitter end, smiling inside. Ha ha God – Take that!
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
GREASE!!!!!
I can barely contain my excitement as I write this. I am so elated I feel as if I could just float away!! What could make me feel so happy you ask? I hope you are seated…you will not believe it, but my faithful few, I tell you no lies…Grease is being re-released to the movies I KNOW!! However, that is not the most wonderful news ever though, wait for it…it is a sing along! Oh yes, you read it right. I could not imagine in a million years that Grease could be improved, but they did it! The impossible has occurred, and the best part is that it is in my lifetime
How a completely genius and awesome is that!!??? Lordy, I can’t wait!! I am gong to grab my girlfriends, and of course the gays, what would a Grease sing along be without my gays? I will bring an extra large purse and make sure it is stocked with adult elixirs, and oh yes, I will get my sing on! For those who are not as familiar with the lyrics, fret you not, the will be on the screen for you. No one should be left out of this fantastical moment in time
I will be belting out all my faves! I have been waiting for this moment my entire life, there is a god! This is so much better than the Rocky Horror picture show. It is better than candy, it is better than Christmas!
Picture it, me dressed as a Pink Lady, one of my gays as Zucco, we will joyously be standing in the aisle doing the hand jive and singing along with the lyrics. What is better than that. I will tell you what is better than that NOTHING, not a fucking thing!
Those two hours will be my Eden. I will be in heaven. In my heaven there is a drive-in, a dance off, and a huge school carnival. God does answer prays!
I do have a small canundrum, how on earth am I going to sip my elixir while gleefully performing all the renditions? I guess where there is a will there is a way. And I have one hell of a strong will.
To the studio head who green lighted the epic event, I will be forever in your debt, and I thank you from the cockles of my very happy heart!
How a completely genius and awesome is that!!??? Lordy, I can’t wait!! I am gong to grab my girlfriends, and of course the gays, what would a Grease sing along be without my gays? I will bring an extra large purse and make sure it is stocked with adult elixirs, and oh yes, I will get my sing on! For those who are not as familiar with the lyrics, fret you not, the will be on the screen for you. No one should be left out of this fantastical moment in time
I will be belting out all my faves! I have been waiting for this moment my entire life, there is a god! This is so much better than the Rocky Horror picture show. It is better than candy, it is better than Christmas!
Picture it, me dressed as a Pink Lady, one of my gays as Zucco, we will joyously be standing in the aisle doing the hand jive and singing along with the lyrics. What is better than that. I will tell you what is better than that NOTHING, not a fucking thing!
Those two hours will be my Eden. I will be in heaven. In my heaven there is a drive-in, a dance off, and a huge school carnival. God does answer prays!
I do have a small canundrum, how on earth am I going to sip my elixir while gleefully performing all the renditions? I guess where there is a will there is a way. And I have one hell of a strong will.
To the studio head who green lighted the epic event, I will be forever in your debt, and I thank you from the cockles of my very happy heart!
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Mom vs Kite
I am once again going to dole out some free advice to my faithful few. I implore you to heed it. Here is my story.
It was a picturesque evening at the beach. The sun was setting, wind was blowing, it was not a chilly wind, it was perfect temperature. The tide was low and gave us plenty of room to run around flying a kite. What could possible go wrong?
My ever suffering hubby and I got the kite ready; my son was smiling from ear to ear, he was gleefully chirping kite, kite! My husband got the kite up and flying, he gingerly placde the handle into my sons eagerly waiting little hands. He held on tight to his prized kite (for about 5 seconds). Then he screams OH NO! And you know what came next. There I was an almost 40 y/o woman chasing a kite down the beach. Mind you this is no easy talk, I would think to myself I got it, then no sooner the handle of string would jump another two feet. This kite was mocking me. It is a sinister and evil piece of plastic. This exercise in woman versus kite went on for about 2 mins. I thought for sure the kite was gone as it ascended higher in to the heavens. Fortunately it got caught up in a bush and I was able to detangle the string and return the beloved kite back to my boy.
One should have learned their lesson after this adventure, but no me. I am a glutton. How cute it was watching the boy hold his kite smiling into the sky. We let him hold it again, and you guessed it, another battle was waged between mom and the fucking spider man kite! I leaped over sea grass, I bounded over divets in the sand full of water, I climbed over prickly bushes, and yes, once again I was the victor!
This kite and I have a special relationship, it knows I hate it. But it is also wise to the fact I cannot kill it. If I do the latter it would cause my son deep sadness. The stupid spiderman kite and I certainly will go another round. It does not know who it is messing with. I may look like an out of shape woman in my very late 30’s. However, raging inside me is a true despiser of this kite. I will never let it win, NEVER! It will not and cannot beat me down.
For the elderly couple watching this display I apologize for the fowl language and almost taking you out with an elbow jab. In my defense, you should have moved out of the way. Didn’t my look of sheer determination give you pause to think. I was hell bent, I was blinded with rage, the kite would be returned to its rightful owner.
The moral of this tale is NEVER not even once, let a two year old hold a kite alone! I would like to save others from the suffering I had to go through at the hands of the kite!
It was a picturesque evening at the beach. The sun was setting, wind was blowing, it was not a chilly wind, it was perfect temperature. The tide was low and gave us plenty of room to run around flying a kite. What could possible go wrong?
My ever suffering hubby and I got the kite ready; my son was smiling from ear to ear, he was gleefully chirping kite, kite! My husband got the kite up and flying, he gingerly placde the handle into my sons eagerly waiting little hands. He held on tight to his prized kite (for about 5 seconds). Then he screams OH NO! And you know what came next. There I was an almost 40 y/o woman chasing a kite down the beach. Mind you this is no easy talk, I would think to myself I got it, then no sooner the handle of string would jump another two feet. This kite was mocking me. It is a sinister and evil piece of plastic. This exercise in woman versus kite went on for about 2 mins. I thought for sure the kite was gone as it ascended higher in to the heavens. Fortunately it got caught up in a bush and I was able to detangle the string and return the beloved kite back to my boy.
One should have learned their lesson after this adventure, but no me. I am a glutton. How cute it was watching the boy hold his kite smiling into the sky. We let him hold it again, and you guessed it, another battle was waged between mom and the fucking spider man kite! I leaped over sea grass, I bounded over divets in the sand full of water, I climbed over prickly bushes, and yes, once again I was the victor!
This kite and I have a special relationship, it knows I hate it. But it is also wise to the fact I cannot kill it. If I do the latter it would cause my son deep sadness. The stupid spiderman kite and I certainly will go another round. It does not know who it is messing with. I may look like an out of shape woman in my very late 30’s. However, raging inside me is a true despiser of this kite. I will never let it win, NEVER! It will not and cannot beat me down.
For the elderly couple watching this display I apologize for the fowl language and almost taking you out with an elbow jab. In my defense, you should have moved out of the way. Didn’t my look of sheer determination give you pause to think. I was hell bent, I was blinded with rage, the kite would be returned to its rightful owner.
The moral of this tale is NEVER not even once, let a two year old hold a kite alone! I would like to save others from the suffering I had to go through at the hands of the kite!
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Beer sucks!
WHY??? Why oh, why did I have to age. I know for sure my body chemistry has changed. I am no longer the spry young thing I once was. I have known this for awhile but believe I was in denial. I am taking the first step and admitting that I am unable to perform some of the activities I used to indulge in when I wore a younger ladies soul.
My friend Liza came over the other night. I was giddy with excitement, a friend, yeah, we will talk about girlie stuff and drank some adult elixirs. I was completely unaware of the fact the poison would render me useless.
Liza stopped by and cradled in her arms was a twelve back of beer. My eyes lit up, I took one of the cans and enjoyed the taste as it rolled down my throat. I wish it never absorbed into my body! Well, maybe one or two, dare I even go as far as three would have been ok. But did Liza and I stop at three, HELL NO! We joyfully polished off that twelve pack.
We were commiserating about husbands and kids, life in general. Then, as if teenage girls invaded our bodies we begin singing and dancing around my house. We left the large picture window unshaded and put on a show for all the neighbors and the poor passer byers who just happened to have the misfortune of heading down Hathaway Street.
As we took our sixth beer each out of the fridge a wave of panicked swept over us, OH NO! What are we to do? No worries, I sent my ever suffering husband out into the night to purchase more. When he opened the door with a fresh new six pack we were happier than a six year old on Christmas morning. We continued to dance and sing (we are excellent dancers and singers, just ask any of my neighbors). The inevitable occurred, we drank the six pack. YIKES! A normal person would have probably realized they had enough already. But we are no ordinary ladies you see. Off went the husband for yet another beer run.
At some point in time we came to our senses and put down the beer (either our senses or my body quit, do not exactly recall). I thought all was well as I headed into my bed. I was WRONG!
The next morning I paid and paid and paid! I felt as if I could sleep for a week. After showering I still felt as if I had a layer of filth on my skin. And don’t get me going on how many times I brushed my teeth, I hope I still have enamel left on them. My child still needed tending to and I barely had the strength to lift him.
I am glad this is not something that is typical for me. But it does sadden me that I am physically unable to partake in activities such as this even once in awhile. What did I do to deserve this? When did I become someone else? Damn you old body!! I damn you to hell. I want my old body and soul back – it was much more fun and treated me a lot kinder!
My friend Liza came over the other night. I was giddy with excitement, a friend, yeah, we will talk about girlie stuff and drank some adult elixirs. I was completely unaware of the fact the poison would render me useless.
Liza stopped by and cradled in her arms was a twelve back of beer. My eyes lit up, I took one of the cans and enjoyed the taste as it rolled down my throat. I wish it never absorbed into my body! Well, maybe one or two, dare I even go as far as three would have been ok. But did Liza and I stop at three, HELL NO! We joyfully polished off that twelve pack.
We were commiserating about husbands and kids, life in general. Then, as if teenage girls invaded our bodies we begin singing and dancing around my house. We left the large picture window unshaded and put on a show for all the neighbors and the poor passer byers who just happened to have the misfortune of heading down Hathaway Street.
As we took our sixth beer each out of the fridge a wave of panicked swept over us, OH NO! What are we to do? No worries, I sent my ever suffering husband out into the night to purchase more. When he opened the door with a fresh new six pack we were happier than a six year old on Christmas morning. We continued to dance and sing (we are excellent dancers and singers, just ask any of my neighbors). The inevitable occurred, we drank the six pack. YIKES! A normal person would have probably realized they had enough already. But we are no ordinary ladies you see. Off went the husband for yet another beer run.
At some point in time we came to our senses and put down the beer (either our senses or my body quit, do not exactly recall). I thought all was well as I headed into my bed. I was WRONG!
The next morning I paid and paid and paid! I felt as if I could sleep for a week. After showering I still felt as if I had a layer of filth on my skin. And don’t get me going on how many times I brushed my teeth, I hope I still have enamel left on them. My child still needed tending to and I barely had the strength to lift him.
I am glad this is not something that is typical for me. But it does sadden me that I am physically unable to partake in activities such as this even once in awhile. What did I do to deserve this? When did I become someone else? Damn you old body!! I damn you to hell. I want my old body and soul back – it was much more fun and treated me a lot kinder!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Fanatical Freaks
Prelude – this blog is not a hate blog against republicans!! It is a hate blog against the fanatical fringe freaks! I do not want to offend anyone or make anyones political beliefs seem insignificant. I love this country and respect the fact that we are allowed to vote and have our separate political parties and beliefs.
What is wrong with these fanatic fringe freaks?. No, they are not racist – everyone walks around with a stuffed monkey perched upon their shoulders and run their daily errands with a sign of our President sitting on the porch drinking kool aid and eating fried chicken. I abhor the behavior of these uneducated, unbathed fanatical freaks!! They hide behind the guise of political beliefs to bring their racist stupidity to the masses. Thankfully it is difficult for them to spread the word of hate, it is near impossible to understand them when they are speaking at a two year old level and can’t pronounce theirs S’s due to a mouth full of gums. I have never seen one of these jerks with anymore than two teeth in their mouth. (I will not even touch upon their fashion sense, just let it be known, anyone clad in purple sweat pants, a green sweatshirt and knock off crocs has serious issues and should never be taken serious!).
Well my faithful few, watching them rally on TV is so funny, I cringe with delight. They are unable to form a complete sentence or thought. They remind me of ants, following two by two into the ant trap. It is utterly joyful to watch these morons! Speak hate and you will end up in the orange tin of raid, it is only a matter of time. A large portion of the fanatical freaks do not even vote, so KEEP YOUR DAMN MOUTH SHUT, please – hide your infected gums!. If you don’t vote your opinion is like a fart in the wind. Today, one of the toothless wind farters invaded my space!
I was innocently stopped at a red light, waiting to take a left to enter the industrial park where I work. Beside me stopped at the same light, heading straight, was a large, loud (hoopty would be giving the truck too much credit) ugly, circa 1989 p/u truck. What is wrong with this you ask? I will tell… on the side of the door was a large, 3 ft x 3ft magnetic decal that stated “Obama the Commie” I had to see who was driving this limousine, sporting such a well phrased political statement. I crane my neck to look up (the large bald tires held this man well above the rest). Of course!! I set my gaze upon a very scruffy guy. He was wearing his ball cap backwards and gasp, missing a front tooth. All I could think to myself was, poor guy, he obviously had a horrendous childhood. I am sure his mom was a drunk who never hugged him. Probably doesn’t even know who his daddy is. Wait a minute, a wave of recognition, he was on Jerry Springer! (alright, so the Jerry Springer thing is false, but the rest surely is true!)
I attempted to ignore the ogre beside me. But he did not have the same couth. You see, I have a small, well placed sticker on the rear window of my car. It reads Obama/Biden. He noticed it as I turned left and shock of all shocks, this upstanding american beeped and flipped me off!!! The nerve of this asshole! Of course I couldn’t do anything. I am sure he was carrying an arsenal of weaponry in the vehicle. My little keychain flashlight would be no match for this gun toting fanatical freak.
He is lucky to live in America, he can proudly display his magnet and drive around spewing his hate. God bless the fanatical freak fringe, they need his blessings!
What is wrong with these fanatic fringe freaks?. No, they are not racist – everyone walks around with a stuffed monkey perched upon their shoulders and run their daily errands with a sign of our President sitting on the porch drinking kool aid and eating fried chicken. I abhor the behavior of these uneducated, unbathed fanatical freaks!! They hide behind the guise of political beliefs to bring their racist stupidity to the masses. Thankfully it is difficult for them to spread the word of hate, it is near impossible to understand them when they are speaking at a two year old level and can’t pronounce theirs S’s due to a mouth full of gums. I have never seen one of these jerks with anymore than two teeth in their mouth. (I will not even touch upon their fashion sense, just let it be known, anyone clad in purple sweat pants, a green sweatshirt and knock off crocs has serious issues and should never be taken serious!).
Well my faithful few, watching them rally on TV is so funny, I cringe with delight. They are unable to form a complete sentence or thought. They remind me of ants, following two by two into the ant trap. It is utterly joyful to watch these morons! Speak hate and you will end up in the orange tin of raid, it is only a matter of time. A large portion of the fanatical freaks do not even vote, so KEEP YOUR DAMN MOUTH SHUT, please – hide your infected gums!. If you don’t vote your opinion is like a fart in the wind. Today, one of the toothless wind farters invaded my space!
I was innocently stopped at a red light, waiting to take a left to enter the industrial park where I work. Beside me stopped at the same light, heading straight, was a large, loud (hoopty would be giving the truck too much credit) ugly, circa 1989 p/u truck. What is wrong with this you ask? I will tell… on the side of the door was a large, 3 ft x 3ft magnetic decal that stated “Obama the Commie” I had to see who was driving this limousine, sporting such a well phrased political statement. I crane my neck to look up (the large bald tires held this man well above the rest). Of course!! I set my gaze upon a very scruffy guy. He was wearing his ball cap backwards and gasp, missing a front tooth. All I could think to myself was, poor guy, he obviously had a horrendous childhood. I am sure his mom was a drunk who never hugged him. Probably doesn’t even know who his daddy is. Wait a minute, a wave of recognition, he was on Jerry Springer! (alright, so the Jerry Springer thing is false, but the rest surely is true!)
I attempted to ignore the ogre beside me. But he did not have the same couth. You see, I have a small, well placed sticker on the rear window of my car. It reads Obama/Biden. He noticed it as I turned left and shock of all shocks, this upstanding american beeped and flipped me off!!! The nerve of this asshole! Of course I couldn’t do anything. I am sure he was carrying an arsenal of weaponry in the vehicle. My little keychain flashlight would be no match for this gun toting fanatical freak.
He is lucky to live in America, he can proudly display his magnet and drive around spewing his hate. God bless the fanatical freak fringe, they need his blessings!
Monday, April 26, 2010
Fuzzy tail
I am unsure if he is dead or alive. I do know for certain his wish was to die! Suicidal is the only way to explain his actions of the morning.
I was a warm but bleak morning. The ground was still damp from the evenings rain. The sun was attempting to shine but had not mustered up the courage yet. I was driving to work singing aloud to a Mellencamp Song (Pink Houses) Thinking to myself, in 8 hours this day will be over. Little did I know my daily morning commute to work may have possible change the life of a vermin family forever!
I saw him before he saw me. He did a little jig on the side of the street and scurried half way back to the grassy area on the side of the road. I slowed down, and said aloud, WHEW little buddy that was close. Then, suddenly he made an abrupt turn, right into the path of my moving Subaru! NO!!! NO!!!. There was no where I could go! Couldn’t cut the wheel, was unable to slam on the brakes! I was afraid to look back. Not sure of what carnage I may see. I am still unsure if the fuzzy big tailed squirrel made it back to his wife and kids.
All that little guy had to do was stop me, hop in and tell me of his woes. I would have happily volunteered to help him search for acorns to feed the family. I definitely would have offered him and his kin a warm place to stay in one of the vacant offices in my building. Oh Why didn’t he just ask for help. Suicide is not the answer!!! I want to send an open apology to the fuzzy tailed family. I do hope I did not murder your dad or brother. If he is hurt and unable to afford to go to the hospital, please inform him I will be happy to cover any costs incurred. I do not know if vermin are covered under Obamas new plan.
So fuzzy family, if the unspeakable has penetrated your life, just know I am here for you. I do not want job loss, the high cost of living and food to impact another member of your little commune. When you see me driving past that little grass hill, raise your tails in unison, I will be looking. When I see you waving, I will stop. I will give you cash and take you wherever it is you desire. Please know, this was not my fault. If it wasn’t me it would have been another innocent motorist feeling the guilt at this moment! Help is only a tail wag away.
I was a warm but bleak morning. The ground was still damp from the evenings rain. The sun was attempting to shine but had not mustered up the courage yet. I was driving to work singing aloud to a Mellencamp Song (Pink Houses) Thinking to myself, in 8 hours this day will be over. Little did I know my daily morning commute to work may have possible change the life of a vermin family forever!
I saw him before he saw me. He did a little jig on the side of the street and scurried half way back to the grassy area on the side of the road. I slowed down, and said aloud, WHEW little buddy that was close. Then, suddenly he made an abrupt turn, right into the path of my moving Subaru! NO!!! NO!!!. There was no where I could go! Couldn’t cut the wheel, was unable to slam on the brakes! I was afraid to look back. Not sure of what carnage I may see. I am still unsure if the fuzzy big tailed squirrel made it back to his wife and kids.
All that little guy had to do was stop me, hop in and tell me of his woes. I would have happily volunteered to help him search for acorns to feed the family. I definitely would have offered him and his kin a warm place to stay in one of the vacant offices in my building. Oh Why didn’t he just ask for help. Suicide is not the answer!!! I want to send an open apology to the fuzzy tailed family. I do hope I did not murder your dad or brother. If he is hurt and unable to afford to go to the hospital, please inform him I will be happy to cover any costs incurred. I do not know if vermin are covered under Obamas new plan.
So fuzzy family, if the unspeakable has penetrated your life, just know I am here for you. I do not want job loss, the high cost of living and food to impact another member of your little commune. When you see me driving past that little grass hill, raise your tails in unison, I will be looking. When I see you waving, I will stop. I will give you cash and take you wherever it is you desire. Please know, this was not my fault. If it wasn’t me it would have been another innocent motorist feeling the guilt at this moment! Help is only a tail wag away.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Time savers
I have been thinking about ways I waste my time. I love to sleep, if I were so blessed I would sleep as often as my cat. Unfortunately, I have things that must be done. The question is why? I know I am wasting my time doing such things. Here a few I may cut out of my day.
Cleaning my sons room: I must spend 3 hours a week doing this and for what? I get it all cleaned up and I watch him on the video monitor DESTROY it. All the things I have neatly placed in baskets and bins are dumped out immediately!!! I am watching him as I write this. The demon spawn is removing items one by one and placing them back to the middle of this bedroom floor. He must want his mom to break her toe!! Maybe he just prefers to live amongst a chaotic mess (he is his fathers son)
Feeding the family: I put forth a great effort to feed my family healthy and delicious meals. For some reason within an hour of me feeding them, I am changing a diaper and/or opening a window and spraying air freshner in the bathroom. What a waste of time and money. Think of how much money would be saved if I only fed them sporadically throughout the week. Not to mention the savings on the sewer bill, diapers, toilet paper and air freshner. I may be onto something with this idea. How much food is really necessary to sustain human life? Third world countries only eat once a week, if they are lucky!
Grooming my child: This takes an inordinate amount of time. Bathing, trimming nails and toes, washing clothes, brushing teeth. Lets start with bathing; he is two! Aren’t two year olds supposed to be dirty, I could save myself a half hour a night by just avoiding this ritual. Nail and toe clipping, if they get long enough they will just break off, so why waste my limited time. The laundry, c’mon, he outgrows his clothes so fast that instead of washing drying and folding, I should just make a quick trip to Target and get him a few new duds to wear. Brushing his teeth, this is a big one as far as time goes. I have to convince him he wants to brush his teeth, and then spend a long time fighting the toothbrush out of his clenched teeth, aren’t they going to fall out anyways?
Well my faithful few, I think I may have just found a way to get more sleep!! So for all you moms who do not have enough “me” time; I implore you to use follow these helpful tips yourself. I am more helpful than Martha Friggin’ Stewart!
Cleaning my sons room: I must spend 3 hours a week doing this and for what? I get it all cleaned up and I watch him on the video monitor DESTROY it. All the things I have neatly placed in baskets and bins are dumped out immediately!!! I am watching him as I write this. The demon spawn is removing items one by one and placing them back to the middle of this bedroom floor. He must want his mom to break her toe!! Maybe he just prefers to live amongst a chaotic mess (he is his fathers son)
Feeding the family: I put forth a great effort to feed my family healthy and delicious meals. For some reason within an hour of me feeding them, I am changing a diaper and/or opening a window and spraying air freshner in the bathroom. What a waste of time and money. Think of how much money would be saved if I only fed them sporadically throughout the week. Not to mention the savings on the sewer bill, diapers, toilet paper and air freshner. I may be onto something with this idea. How much food is really necessary to sustain human life? Third world countries only eat once a week, if they are lucky!
Grooming my child: This takes an inordinate amount of time. Bathing, trimming nails and toes, washing clothes, brushing teeth. Lets start with bathing; he is two! Aren’t two year olds supposed to be dirty, I could save myself a half hour a night by just avoiding this ritual. Nail and toe clipping, if they get long enough they will just break off, so why waste my limited time. The laundry, c’mon, he outgrows his clothes so fast that instead of washing drying and folding, I should just make a quick trip to Target and get him a few new duds to wear. Brushing his teeth, this is a big one as far as time goes. I have to convince him he wants to brush his teeth, and then spend a long time fighting the toothbrush out of his clenched teeth, aren’t they going to fall out anyways?
Well my faithful few, I think I may have just found a way to get more sleep!! So for all you moms who do not have enough “me” time; I implore you to use follow these helpful tips yourself. I am more helpful than Martha Friggin’ Stewart!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
permanent damage
I hope to find the same joy in scarring my child emotionally for life as my parents found in doing it to me.
I will point out a few moments that are still vivid in my memory.
I was playing softball (“playing” is really pushing it). Let me re-word, I was on the softball team. My dad was ever faithful and came to all my games. However, there is a caveat. He would arrive with a skip in his step and wearing very gaudy green and read plaid pants with Gold piping going through them. My faithful few, as horrid as you imagine them to be, you must magnify the image tenfold. As if this was not enough to damage his lovely little girl - donned on his face were black plastic glasses with a large rubber pig nose attached (he found these at a joke shop and could not resist wearing them at every appropriate moment). I would want to die when I saw him coming. At least he showed up, on more than one occasion, he was the only parent cheering on a child. (Cheering? More like embarrassing the ever living hell out of me!) What happened to these very fashion forward pants you ask – in a very fortunate twist of fate, my cat Tessie birthed her kittens on these very pants – there is a god!!!
On occasion my mom happened by the school and would kindly give some of my friends a lift home. My mom who sings like a bird (being attached by a ruthless cat) had the car radio blaring and was belting out some vintage Janis Joplin. What goes hand in hand with a Joplin ditty, the head bob, of course! During her Joplin induced epileptic fit my mom stopped the car, naturally I though it was time to let my friend out. I opened the car door and hopped out. I did not know my mom was not done driving the vehicle, she was unable to hear the door open while her brains were being jolted about in her skull with the head bopping. Well, to make a long story short, she ran over my foot. My friends are extremely lucky it was not one of them who exited the vehicle first! I was so upset, there were tire tracks on my brand new light blue converse all star high tops. Without further incident, we got my friends safely to their front doors. My mom was going on about how many bones are in a foot and off to the ER we went. It is amazing how much weight a foot can actually support. Nothing was broken, sprained or even bruised. Yet another miracle!
When my parents were not embarrassing me they would be down right cruel. Sinister, the epitome of pure evil. If I did not heed my mothers second call to “rise and shine” these demon parents would begin to blare the Ramones, their song of choice “it’s not my place in the 9-5 world”. Awaking to the screeching sounds of Joey Ramone will make someone instantly angry, if not insane. Who does this to their child, and more importantly WHY???
Dating was the worst! All dates (Yes I had hundreds!!, ok maybe, 3) had to go to the door, the honking of a horn was strictly forbidden. My parents would easily chit chat with my date while he stared dumfounded, my date had same look a squirrel has prior to the impact of a tire. Eventually we would be on our way. Inevitably we had to return to my driveway. And what was in my driveway, a huge halogen spotlight. If (god forbid!!) we were to linger in the driveway for more than two minutes, my mother would begin flashing that light incessantly. Our entire driveway would look like a 70’s disco floor. Not to mention it makes it very difficult to find your dates lips when your eyes are unable to focus due to the orbs floating in them.
Somehow I managed to survive these less than pleasant occasions, and I am sure my son will thrive as well!
I will point out a few moments that are still vivid in my memory.
I was playing softball (“playing” is really pushing it). Let me re-word, I was on the softball team. My dad was ever faithful and came to all my games. However, there is a caveat. He would arrive with a skip in his step and wearing very gaudy green and read plaid pants with Gold piping going through them. My faithful few, as horrid as you imagine them to be, you must magnify the image tenfold. As if this was not enough to damage his lovely little girl - donned on his face were black plastic glasses with a large rubber pig nose attached (he found these at a joke shop and could not resist wearing them at every appropriate moment). I would want to die when I saw him coming. At least he showed up, on more than one occasion, he was the only parent cheering on a child. (Cheering? More like embarrassing the ever living hell out of me!) What happened to these very fashion forward pants you ask – in a very fortunate twist of fate, my cat Tessie birthed her kittens on these very pants – there is a god!!!
On occasion my mom happened by the school and would kindly give some of my friends a lift home. My mom who sings like a bird (being attached by a ruthless cat) had the car radio blaring and was belting out some vintage Janis Joplin. What goes hand in hand with a Joplin ditty, the head bob, of course! During her Joplin induced epileptic fit my mom stopped the car, naturally I though it was time to let my friend out. I opened the car door and hopped out. I did not know my mom was not done driving the vehicle, she was unable to hear the door open while her brains were being jolted about in her skull with the head bopping. Well, to make a long story short, she ran over my foot. My friends are extremely lucky it was not one of them who exited the vehicle first! I was so upset, there were tire tracks on my brand new light blue converse all star high tops. Without further incident, we got my friends safely to their front doors. My mom was going on about how many bones are in a foot and off to the ER we went. It is amazing how much weight a foot can actually support. Nothing was broken, sprained or even bruised. Yet another miracle!
When my parents were not embarrassing me they would be down right cruel. Sinister, the epitome of pure evil. If I did not heed my mothers second call to “rise and shine” these demon parents would begin to blare the Ramones, their song of choice “it’s not my place in the 9-5 world”. Awaking to the screeching sounds of Joey Ramone will make someone instantly angry, if not insane. Who does this to their child, and more importantly WHY???
Dating was the worst! All dates (Yes I had hundreds!!, ok maybe, 3) had to go to the door, the honking of a horn was strictly forbidden. My parents would easily chit chat with my date while he stared dumfounded, my date had same look a squirrel has prior to the impact of a tire. Eventually we would be on our way. Inevitably we had to return to my driveway. And what was in my driveway, a huge halogen spotlight. If (god forbid!!) we were to linger in the driveway for more than two minutes, my mother would begin flashing that light incessantly. Our entire driveway would look like a 70’s disco floor. Not to mention it makes it very difficult to find your dates lips when your eyes are unable to focus due to the orbs floating in them.
Somehow I managed to survive these less than pleasant occasions, and I am sure my son will thrive as well!
Sunday, April 18, 2010
a moms neurosis
I have come to a conclusion. My mother is one of the most wonderfully neurotic individuals on the planet. I love her to death, but she gets some strange thoughts in her head.
When I was young I could only sleep at a select few friends house. If I recall, maybe three, and not very often. Her reasoning “she liked to hear me breathing at night.” I guess if I slept at another’s house I would suddenly forget how to perform the most basic of human functions. She would worry about what type of shoes I was wearing; the wrong kind would not have enough support and would surely lead to flat feet in my adult years.
Sugar cereal was a definite no-no! I would look forward to the (very few) times I would sleep at a friends. They had a might treasury – Sugar Pops! I would savor every spoonful! In my mom’s defense, Harvey Milk was murdered by someone who used “the Twinkie” defense to get a light jail sentence. She must have been concerned I may have gone insane from sugar intake.
She would not allow me to be left unattended in her car until I was 15. This included 2 minute trips inside the convenient store. There is an abundance of kidnappers who are looking to abduct a gawky, smart mouthed 15 year old. And once I reached the glorious age to be left unattended, she always took the keys and made sure the doors were locked!
She has not outgrown these methods. They have been transferred to her grandchildren. I blogged about my son, she was very upset. She felt for certain someone would kidnap him.
Now that I am a mom, I see the apple does not fall far from the tree. I find myself worrying constantly about the smallest issues. Most are unfounded, but I cannot help myself.
Every morning when I put his shoes on I check to make sure they still fit. I cannot say for certain his feet did not grow 2 inches while sleeping. I listen to the monitor to ensure he is breathing. I overdress him to be sure he is warm. I inspect, sanitize and keep close watch on the smallest of scrapes; I do not want it to turn into a puss infested infection. When he bumps his head, I say a little prayer to myself that he has not caused irreversible brain damage. I keep close watch on everyone that comes near him. I trust no one!
I hope that as a mom, I am as neurotic, caring and strong as the woman who raised me.
When I was young I could only sleep at a select few friends house. If I recall, maybe three, and not very often. Her reasoning “she liked to hear me breathing at night.” I guess if I slept at another’s house I would suddenly forget how to perform the most basic of human functions. She would worry about what type of shoes I was wearing; the wrong kind would not have enough support and would surely lead to flat feet in my adult years.
Sugar cereal was a definite no-no! I would look forward to the (very few) times I would sleep at a friends. They had a might treasury – Sugar Pops! I would savor every spoonful! In my mom’s defense, Harvey Milk was murdered by someone who used “the Twinkie” defense to get a light jail sentence. She must have been concerned I may have gone insane from sugar intake.
She would not allow me to be left unattended in her car until I was 15. This included 2 minute trips inside the convenient store. There is an abundance of kidnappers who are looking to abduct a gawky, smart mouthed 15 year old. And once I reached the glorious age to be left unattended, she always took the keys and made sure the doors were locked!
She has not outgrown these methods. They have been transferred to her grandchildren. I blogged about my son, she was very upset. She felt for certain someone would kidnap him.
Now that I am a mom, I see the apple does not fall far from the tree. I find myself worrying constantly about the smallest issues. Most are unfounded, but I cannot help myself.
Every morning when I put his shoes on I check to make sure they still fit. I cannot say for certain his feet did not grow 2 inches while sleeping. I listen to the monitor to ensure he is breathing. I overdress him to be sure he is warm. I inspect, sanitize and keep close watch on the smallest of scrapes; I do not want it to turn into a puss infested infection. When he bumps his head, I say a little prayer to myself that he has not caused irreversible brain damage. I keep close watch on everyone that comes near him. I trust no one!
I hope that as a mom, I am as neurotic, caring and strong as the woman who raised me.
Friday, April 16, 2010
I am a survivor!!!
I had a very difficult childhood. It befuddles me how I survived. I am thankful that somehow I overcame the odds and thrived. Let me explain.
In my early years I did not have a cordless phone. If I wanted to have a private conversation – forget it! I would have stretch the cord to its breaking point trying to find a personal space out of my parents hearing range. Surely strangulation was inevitable. When my folks broke down and got a cordless phone – I thought my worries were over, how wrong I was! The phone came fully equipped with a 3 ft hard metal antenna that was always snapping off when I would walk under a doorway. To fix this problem I would finagle a makeshift new one with an old wire coat hanger, I could have gotten tetanus and perished.
Texting did not exist; in order to talk to a friend I would have to risk life and death. First, I would have to avoid strangulation or tetanus and call them. After contacting them I would have to get up, and head for the door. The door was at the bottom of a flight of stairs, I surely could have fallen and instantly broken my neck. I would head out the door on a journey (yes my young friends I would have to walk, I could not IM or text them) to meet them halfway between their house and mine. How could walking be dangerous you ask, I could have been lunch for a rabid coyote. If a friend was late meeting me I could not pull out my cell phone to insure they were safe. I would worry terribly, thoughts would come to my head “did they get kidnapped by a band of wandering gypsies?” How I did not drop dead right there from stress still amazes me.
This is just the beginning of how perilous life was in the olden days of the 1980’s. Take for example, if I wanted to play a game of baseball, I could not to do in the safety of my own home and just fire up the Wii. OH NO! I would have to go to the open field, get a bunch of other children (who were as stupid and death defying as myself) and play together. With human contact comes germs, luckily this was before the SARS epidemic.
Renting a movie was a MAJOR ordeal and very, very treacherous. Everyone would pile in my dads 1984 Chevy Chevette (not known for their 5 point safety standards) . Off to the rental store we went. Not only would we have to grab a movie, but also rent the VCR. This was a hulking heavy machine. If you were to drop it on your toe you would surely break it, a broken toe left unattended leads to gangrene and eventually an early demise. If you were fortunate enough to beet the odds of gangrene, at the very least you would sprain a finger from pressing the stupid Rewind button. This button was difficult to press, it took a ton of finger strength.
Wikepedia was something we never heard of. To research a school paper we would have to go to the library. This in itself seems safe enough, but you must delve a little deeper. The encyclopedias were old, and what goes hand in hand with old paper, you got it…paper mites! These harmless looking bugs could easily crawl into your ear canal and burrow directly to your brain, causing an aneurism. I know of no one who survived a paper mite aneurism in the 80’s. Sad!
It is with a heavy heart that some of my peers were not hardy enough to survive the 80’s. It was a difficult era. But for those that did, we will never forget cheating death and are proud to call ourselves SURVIVORS!
In my early years I did not have a cordless phone. If I wanted to have a private conversation – forget it! I would have stretch the cord to its breaking point trying to find a personal space out of my parents hearing range. Surely strangulation was inevitable. When my folks broke down and got a cordless phone – I thought my worries were over, how wrong I was! The phone came fully equipped with a 3 ft hard metal antenna that was always snapping off when I would walk under a doorway. To fix this problem I would finagle a makeshift new one with an old wire coat hanger, I could have gotten tetanus and perished.
Texting did not exist; in order to talk to a friend I would have to risk life and death. First, I would have to avoid strangulation or tetanus and call them. After contacting them I would have to get up, and head for the door. The door was at the bottom of a flight of stairs, I surely could have fallen and instantly broken my neck. I would head out the door on a journey (yes my young friends I would have to walk, I could not IM or text them) to meet them halfway between their house and mine. How could walking be dangerous you ask, I could have been lunch for a rabid coyote. If a friend was late meeting me I could not pull out my cell phone to insure they were safe. I would worry terribly, thoughts would come to my head “did they get kidnapped by a band of wandering gypsies?” How I did not drop dead right there from stress still amazes me.
This is just the beginning of how perilous life was in the olden days of the 1980’s. Take for example, if I wanted to play a game of baseball, I could not to do in the safety of my own home and just fire up the Wii. OH NO! I would have to go to the open field, get a bunch of other children (who were as stupid and death defying as myself) and play together. With human contact comes germs, luckily this was before the SARS epidemic.
Renting a movie was a MAJOR ordeal and very, very treacherous. Everyone would pile in my dads 1984 Chevy Chevette (not known for their 5 point safety standards) . Off to the rental store we went. Not only would we have to grab a movie, but also rent the VCR. This was a hulking heavy machine. If you were to drop it on your toe you would surely break it, a broken toe left unattended leads to gangrene and eventually an early demise. If you were fortunate enough to beet the odds of gangrene, at the very least you would sprain a finger from pressing the stupid Rewind button. This button was difficult to press, it took a ton of finger strength.
Wikepedia was something we never heard of. To research a school paper we would have to go to the library. This in itself seems safe enough, but you must delve a little deeper. The encyclopedias were old, and what goes hand in hand with old paper, you got it…paper mites! These harmless looking bugs could easily crawl into your ear canal and burrow directly to your brain, causing an aneurism. I know of no one who survived a paper mite aneurism in the 80’s. Sad!
It is with a heavy heart that some of my peers were not hardy enough to survive the 80’s. It was a difficult era. But for those that did, we will never forget cheating death and are proud to call ourselves SURVIVORS!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Let me introduce you to Billy
Sex: Male
Height: 3 ft
Weight: 29 lbs
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Blonde
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Age: 2
Other pertinent information:
- Screams like a wild turkey at the slaughter machine (Melodic voice, future in the opera )
- Refuses to do as told (very independent)
- Does not like teeth being brushed (eco friendly, a tree hugger)
- Uses domestic pets as bike ramps (includes family pets in all activities)
- Dumps full sippy cups all over everything (likes to experiment with action and
reaction theory)
- Walks around in his moms crocs (in touch with his feminine side)
- Talks back (has a strong opinion regarding the world around him)
- Insists on death defying climbs that lead to near death falls (Will be the youngest person in history to scale Mt Washington)
- Steals food from others plates (enjoys a variety of nutritious snacks)
- Insists mom does everything wrong (the kids a genius, he is all knowing)
- Sleeps atop a pile of steel blocks (covets his matchbox collection)
- Has the biggest heart – loves everyone he meets unconditionally
- The best laugh in the world, starts in his feet and exits his mouth
Gentle, kind and sincere
Has not met anyone that does not fall deeply and madly in love with him, and his less than perfect but quirky ways
Sex: Male
Height: 3 ft
Weight: 29 lbs
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Blonde
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Age: 2
Other pertinent information:
- Screams like a wild turkey at the slaughter machine (Melodic voice, future in the opera )
- Refuses to do as told (very independent)
- Does not like teeth being brushed (eco friendly, a tree hugger)
- Uses domestic pets as bike ramps (includes family pets in all activities)
- Dumps full sippy cups all over everything (likes to experiment with action and
reaction theory)
- Walks around in his moms crocs (in touch with his feminine side)
- Talks back (has a strong opinion regarding the world around him)
- Insists on death defying climbs that lead to near death falls (Will be the youngest person in history to scale Mt Washington)
- Steals food from others plates (enjoys a variety of nutritious snacks)
- Insists mom does everything wrong (the kids a genius, he is all knowing)
- Sleeps atop a pile of steel blocks (covets his matchbox collection)
- Has the biggest heart – loves everyone he meets unconditionally
- The best laugh in the world, starts in his feet and exits his mouth
Gentle, kind and sincere
Has not met anyone that does not fall deeply and madly in love with him, and his less than perfect but quirky ways
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Hey Stupid
Ok America, we need to take back our Country. The stupid people are procreating at an unprecedented rate of speed. We could eat them as some do rabbits, it seems a bit extreme, but at this point another option eludes me!
I have scientific facts to back up my theory. Here are just a few
I am going to take a lot of heat for this one, but here it goes….McCain/Palin voters. C’mon these individuals don’t even have the common sense to see a dentist
Crooked parkers – Really, hey dumbass, The parking lot is crowded, why the fuck do you need to park you 1991 ford temp in two spots, Don’t worry, you won’t notice the new dent from a door or shopping cart
Hey bitch, glad you said “hi” to your neighbor, but I have a cart that needs to get down the same aisle. Throw the Ring Dings in your cart and move your fat ass along
You new your were going to a concert, didn’t you know this would be tight quarters, bath!!! At the very least, throw some right guard under those pits. And HEY, Stop jumping I can’t see the band! Did you just singe my hair with that flippin lighter?
Your opinion? Did I ask for it? NOPE! Zip it dumb ass!
Hey what’s for dinner, it is dark out, dining room light on, are you nudists? YES you are I can see all from the street – close the curtains!
Shit for brains- did you need all the flyers and coupons from Sunday’s paper? Sorry my smart ass slept in until 8, looks like you dragged your slug butt out of bed and beat me to the coffee shop and took out the coupons from the paper – you obviously need them more than I.
WOW! I just saw a real fugitive, he looked like a middle age dad, but the way he sped past me to get to the same red light definitely tells me he is running from the law – Hello Americas most wanted – I found one!
Did you look in the mirror today and tell yourself a half shirt looks good on your body after having 5 kids, YIKES – you are stupid.
This list could go on and on, but I need to keep my faithful few coming back for more. Thanks all for your continued support, even you McCain voters!
I have scientific facts to back up my theory. Here are just a few
I am going to take a lot of heat for this one, but here it goes….McCain/Palin voters. C’mon these individuals don’t even have the common sense to see a dentist
Crooked parkers – Really, hey dumbass, The parking lot is crowded, why the fuck do you need to park you 1991 ford temp in two spots, Don’t worry, you won’t notice the new dent from a door or shopping cart
Hey bitch, glad you said “hi” to your neighbor, but I have a cart that needs to get down the same aisle. Throw the Ring Dings in your cart and move your fat ass along
You new your were going to a concert, didn’t you know this would be tight quarters, bath!!! At the very least, throw some right guard under those pits. And HEY, Stop jumping I can’t see the band! Did you just singe my hair with that flippin lighter?
Your opinion? Did I ask for it? NOPE! Zip it dumb ass!
Hey what’s for dinner, it is dark out, dining room light on, are you nudists? YES you are I can see all from the street – close the curtains!
Shit for brains- did you need all the flyers and coupons from Sunday’s paper? Sorry my smart ass slept in until 8, looks like you dragged your slug butt out of bed and beat me to the coffee shop and took out the coupons from the paper – you obviously need them more than I.
WOW! I just saw a real fugitive, he looked like a middle age dad, but the way he sped past me to get to the same red light definitely tells me he is running from the law – Hello Americas most wanted – I found one!
Did you look in the mirror today and tell yourself a half shirt looks good on your body after having 5 kids, YIKES – you are stupid.
This list could go on and on, but I need to keep my faithful few coming back for more. Thanks all for your continued support, even you McCain voters!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Bad Reality
Social networking sites are great. Facebook has afforded me the opportunity to rekindle friendships (I will post another day about the night of rekindling). On the other side of the coin, I found it brings out some nastiness. I am not shy to post to my status, or type a witty clip. I always try to keep it upbeat and pleasant.
When two “facebook friends” have a spat it can get ugly.(Really people, fangs replace teeth, they spew green vomit and then become large headed and bald) The FB lines are drawn. It is difficult to stay impartial. Each taking a jab at the other on their posts. It is not a pretty sight to behold. It burns my retinas, but yet I must keep reading, it is like a reality show unfolding on my computer.
How does this occur? I oft think to myself, after hitting she “share” button. “I hope no one is offended by this post.” I write the way it sounds in my head, (Yes this is dangerous, considering the way my mind thinks) I do hope my sarcasm isn’t mistaken for cruelty.
I naively used to wonder how one would be upset or take another posts to heart. But my faithful few, it understand it now. It cut to the core of a friend of mine. She is upset and hurt. After she vented her feelings to me I can no longer dismiss vile posts as harmless. It only takes a second to re-read what you have written and re-evaluate. Of course I understand it is YOUR page and therefore YOU have the right to type whatever the hell you deem appropriate. However, once you steer your negativity to another, it becomes THEIR cross to bear. A severed friendship is painful enough. Does anyone truly deserve the humiliation of knowing 60-500 “friends” are tuning in?
Why can’t we all just get along and live in a peaceful paisley world. Ok all, hum along with me… “kumbiah my lord, kumbiah!”
When two “facebook friends” have a spat it can get ugly.(Really people, fangs replace teeth, they spew green vomit and then become large headed and bald) The FB lines are drawn. It is difficult to stay impartial. Each taking a jab at the other on their posts. It is not a pretty sight to behold. It burns my retinas, but yet I must keep reading, it is like a reality show unfolding on my computer.
How does this occur? I oft think to myself, after hitting she “share” button. “I hope no one is offended by this post.” I write the way it sounds in my head, (Yes this is dangerous, considering the way my mind thinks) I do hope my sarcasm isn’t mistaken for cruelty.
I naively used to wonder how one would be upset or take another posts to heart. But my faithful few, it understand it now. It cut to the core of a friend of mine. She is upset and hurt. After she vented her feelings to me I can no longer dismiss vile posts as harmless. It only takes a second to re-read what you have written and re-evaluate. Of course I understand it is YOUR page and therefore YOU have the right to type whatever the hell you deem appropriate. However, once you steer your negativity to another, it becomes THEIR cross to bear. A severed friendship is painful enough. Does anyone truly deserve the humiliation of knowing 60-500 “friends” are tuning in?
Why can’t we all just get along and live in a peaceful paisley world. Ok all, hum along with me… “kumbiah my lord, kumbiah!”
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Gay angel
I love gay male sales people. I adore them!! I believe they are at the hub of all high end woman’s clothing stores. The do not get the credit they are so deserving of!
I went on a reluctant quest for some new pants today. Clothes shopping use to be a passion (when I was a size 2). Now that I am continuously expanding shopping is a horrible experience, I would rather suck on ice cubes made from glass! Today was a completely different experience! Thanks to my new gay salesmen friend.
I shuffled into the store ruing the fact that I needed yet more jeans. It would be much easier on my bank acct to loose some weight. But there he was, a beautiful jean finding angel; balding, slender and dressed to the nines. Shoes polished, nails nicely trimmed, with a simple swagger and great smile. My gay “fashion police”. Hallelujah!!!!
He must have spotted the frown on my face and the “woe is me walk”. He approached me, asked if he could help, I thought to myself, “sure dude, are you a plastic surgeon, do you have a magic fat sucking machine in the back?” I reluctantly informed him I was in need of some new denim. He looked me up and down (and not in the creepy straight guy way). He joyfully chimed, with your shape I highly suggest capris. I know they would fit you beautifully and look fantastic on your frame. Sure gay dude, clothes haven’t looked fantastic on me since I had my kid. I appeased him and let him dress me. After rummaging through the racks and occasionally mumbling to himself, he picked out a blouse and pants. Well, my faithful few, I must say, he did a tremendous job!! After I paid for my purchases, he stopped me before I exited, he informed me that a pair of tan mules with a slight heal would complete the outfit, but not to wear a necklace, as the ruffles going down the blouse would “fight with the jewelry”. I walked out of the store holding my bag as if it were filled with gold nuggets.
The best and most important part of this story is… wait for it…. the capris are a size FOUR!! Unfriggin believable! I am NOT a size four! Yet, my “gay angel” was able to locate a designer who runs their sizes small. I am not removing the tag off my ass. I will bend down every change I get. Everyone will see that size four. EVERYONE!!! I will giggle as they cackle “no way is SHE as size four”. I will point to my rear end and state “read it and weep biotches!!”
I will be seeing my new friend again next weekend. This time I am going on full fledged shopping spree. How can I go wrong?! No need to lose that weight! Not unless my new found personal shopper finds another occupation. Let’s hope that is a bridge I never have to cross.
I went on a reluctant quest for some new pants today. Clothes shopping use to be a passion (when I was a size 2). Now that I am continuously expanding shopping is a horrible experience, I would rather suck on ice cubes made from glass! Today was a completely different experience! Thanks to my new gay salesmen friend.
I shuffled into the store ruing the fact that I needed yet more jeans. It would be much easier on my bank acct to loose some weight. But there he was, a beautiful jean finding angel; balding, slender and dressed to the nines. Shoes polished, nails nicely trimmed, with a simple swagger and great smile. My gay “fashion police”. Hallelujah!!!!
He must have spotted the frown on my face and the “woe is me walk”. He approached me, asked if he could help, I thought to myself, “sure dude, are you a plastic surgeon, do you have a magic fat sucking machine in the back?” I reluctantly informed him I was in need of some new denim. He looked me up and down (and not in the creepy straight guy way). He joyfully chimed, with your shape I highly suggest capris. I know they would fit you beautifully and look fantastic on your frame. Sure gay dude, clothes haven’t looked fantastic on me since I had my kid. I appeased him and let him dress me. After rummaging through the racks and occasionally mumbling to himself, he picked out a blouse and pants. Well, my faithful few, I must say, he did a tremendous job!! After I paid for my purchases, he stopped me before I exited, he informed me that a pair of tan mules with a slight heal would complete the outfit, but not to wear a necklace, as the ruffles going down the blouse would “fight with the jewelry”. I walked out of the store holding my bag as if it were filled with gold nuggets.
The best and most important part of this story is… wait for it…. the capris are a size FOUR!! Unfriggin believable! I am NOT a size four! Yet, my “gay angel” was able to locate a designer who runs their sizes small. I am not removing the tag off my ass. I will bend down every change I get. Everyone will see that size four. EVERYONE!!! I will giggle as they cackle “no way is SHE as size four”. I will point to my rear end and state “read it and weep biotches!!”
I will be seeing my new friend again next weekend. This time I am going on full fledged shopping spree. How can I go wrong?! No need to lose that weight! Not unless my new found personal shopper finds another occupation. Let’s hope that is a bridge I never have to cross.
Friday, April 9, 2010
trade offs!
It is that time of year, sunshine on your face and sand under your feet. What at glorious time of year. Most years I would be in agreement, one little negative, this time of year also means bathing suits.
In the not so distant past I didn’t have any issues with donning a skimpy piece of lycra. Now the sheer though of it brings me to my knees with worry. Back then I only had a small issue, my breast were the size of an overweight 12 year old boys. I could and did live with it. Off to the beach I went.
Things have changed drastically!!! While pregnant something amazing occurred – I finally grew the elusive breasts. I did not want to get excited and used to them, I feared my excitement would soon be depleted (literally and figuratively) . Well my faithful few, I am more than happy to report, they remain! In my life there cannot be a positive without a negative, along with the new additions to my upper torso, I also received an unwanted nasty guest. Girth around my belly!!! (UUUGGGHHH!!!!!! The horror!!) Why is it I can not have my new friends and the physique I did at 20? How sad is it cannot show off my mighty fine appendages without them being overshadowed by me newly formed belly.
Here is my predicament, and where your advice is needed. Do I purchase a bathing suit with a plunging neckline, or one with a granny skirt to cover my belly? Do they manufacture bathing suits with plunging necklines AND granny skirts?? Hmmm, if not, I may just design one.
In the not so distant past I didn’t have any issues with donning a skimpy piece of lycra. Now the sheer though of it brings me to my knees with worry. Back then I only had a small issue, my breast were the size of an overweight 12 year old boys. I could and did live with it. Off to the beach I went.
Things have changed drastically!!! While pregnant something amazing occurred – I finally grew the elusive breasts. I did not want to get excited and used to them, I feared my excitement would soon be depleted (literally and figuratively) . Well my faithful few, I am more than happy to report, they remain! In my life there cannot be a positive without a negative, along with the new additions to my upper torso, I also received an unwanted nasty guest. Girth around my belly!!! (UUUGGGHHH!!!!!! The horror!!) Why is it I can not have my new friends and the physique I did at 20? How sad is it cannot show off my mighty fine appendages without them being overshadowed by me newly formed belly.
Here is my predicament, and where your advice is needed. Do I purchase a bathing suit with a plunging neckline, or one with a granny skirt to cover my belly? Do they manufacture bathing suits with plunging necklines AND granny skirts?? Hmmm, if not, I may just design one.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Lola
By now, most of you have come to the conclusion I have a slight issue with OCD. It took full effect at work yesterday.
I noticed a single, innocent ladybug (well I don’t know how innocent she really was, for all I know she was the whore of the bug world, we will call her Lola) oops, I digressed. She was perched on the window by the copy machine. I knew she needed to be released, she would surely perish under the fluorescent office lights. I went into the break room and got a Dixie cup to safely contain her and set her free. In the seconds it took me to get the cup, she was gone. I was shocked! I thought ladybugs were sluggish insects, this, my faithful few, is a fallacy.
I became obsessed, must save Lola, where is she? I casually looked around the copier, no where to be seen. I began to panic. Was she on the bottom of some ones shoe? NO!! I had to find out. Without looking freakish, I attempted to peer at the soles of my coworkers shoes. Do not try this!!! The whole NOT looking freakish things does NOT work!
Throughout the rest of the day I in inconspicuously searched for my little harlot. My mind was racing, is she ok? Please Lola show yourself – I am here to help!
Sadly, my little red and black lady friend never reappeared. I hope she escaped safely. Little Lola, my thoughts are with you, best wishes!
One last thought – Never kill a lady bug, the stench is horrendous. This little tidbit of information was supplied by my mother. Hey, how does she know that, is she responsible for Lolas disappearance?!
I noticed a single, innocent ladybug (well I don’t know how innocent she really was, for all I know she was the whore of the bug world, we will call her Lola) oops, I digressed. She was perched on the window by the copy machine. I knew she needed to be released, she would surely perish under the fluorescent office lights. I went into the break room and got a Dixie cup to safely contain her and set her free. In the seconds it took me to get the cup, she was gone. I was shocked! I thought ladybugs were sluggish insects, this, my faithful few, is a fallacy.
I became obsessed, must save Lola, where is she? I casually looked around the copier, no where to be seen. I began to panic. Was she on the bottom of some ones shoe? NO!! I had to find out. Without looking freakish, I attempted to peer at the soles of my coworkers shoes. Do not try this!!! The whole NOT looking freakish things does NOT work!
Throughout the rest of the day I in inconspicuously searched for my little harlot. My mind was racing, is she ok? Please Lola show yourself – I am here to help!
Sadly, my little red and black lady friend never reappeared. I hope she escaped safely. Little Lola, my thoughts are with you, best wishes!
One last thought – Never kill a lady bug, the stench is horrendous. This little tidbit of information was supplied by my mother. Hey, how does she know that, is she responsible for Lolas disappearance?!
Monday, April 5, 2010
Butter
I believe my brain does not function the same as most people. I get strange and impossible impulses in my mind. I cannot and will not let these ideas dissipate. I must complete whatever oddity my subconscious has dreamed up. The other day was no exception.
Out of the clear blue I decided I was going to make homemade butter. Yes my faithful few, just like the days of yore.
I was obsessed with locating the perfect “butter making jar”. I had no idea what type of jar this should be, I have never made homemade butter before. I couldn’t let that stop me. After spending hours cleaning out a pickle jar (nothing could be worse than butter with a pickle smell) I was ready to embark on my mission. Major problem, how the hell do you make homemade butter? Google HELP!
I sent my hubby out to the market to buy me some heavy cream. I poured the cream in the jar, added a touch of salt and began to shake. I continued to shake; I kept shaking the damn jar! I looked into the jar, and the feeling of failure took over my body. NO, I CAN DO THIS!!. Wait a minute, I just made whipped cream, hhmmm, must be close, keep shaking stupid! (as my body was thrashing I was singing little diddies in my head, this does help with the butter making process) The substance became powdery, shake harder, keep going. Wait a minute, the milk has gone to the top. I open my jar and there it is SUCCESS, beautiful creamy butter.
After all the physical strain I put my body through a normal individual would have thought great job, mission accomplished. But hell no…not me! I sent the hubby back out for more cream. This time I added a touch of Honey and Maple syrup to my concoction, yummy! I am not into sweet butter. Poor husband had to go back to the store. He was armed with a list; scallions, basil, garlic and dill. My herb butter was hit!
When I told my co-workers about my awesome achievement they sat dumfounded, listening with disbelief (and I would like to add probably a touch of envy…yeah, that’s right, envy!) and insisted that they must try some. Hubby just came back from the market. Take Two!.
Out of the clear blue I decided I was going to make homemade butter. Yes my faithful few, just like the days of yore.
I was obsessed with locating the perfect “butter making jar”. I had no idea what type of jar this should be, I have never made homemade butter before. I couldn’t let that stop me. After spending hours cleaning out a pickle jar (nothing could be worse than butter with a pickle smell) I was ready to embark on my mission. Major problem, how the hell do you make homemade butter? Google HELP!
I sent my hubby out to the market to buy me some heavy cream. I poured the cream in the jar, added a touch of salt and began to shake. I continued to shake; I kept shaking the damn jar! I looked into the jar, and the feeling of failure took over my body. NO, I CAN DO THIS!!. Wait a minute, I just made whipped cream, hhmmm, must be close, keep shaking stupid! (as my body was thrashing I was singing little diddies in my head, this does help with the butter making process) The substance became powdery, shake harder, keep going. Wait a minute, the milk has gone to the top. I open my jar and there it is SUCCESS, beautiful creamy butter.
After all the physical strain I put my body through a normal individual would have thought great job, mission accomplished. But hell no…not me! I sent the hubby back out for more cream. This time I added a touch of Honey and Maple syrup to my concoction, yummy! I am not into sweet butter. Poor husband had to go back to the store. He was armed with a list; scallions, basil, garlic and dill. My herb butter was hit!
When I told my co-workers about my awesome achievement they sat dumfounded, listening with disbelief (and I would like to add probably a touch of envy…yeah, that’s right, envy!) and insisted that they must try some. Hubby just came back from the market. Take Two!.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Traditional pictures
If a stranger ever said to me “let your child sit on my lap and take a picture” his smile would end up looking like one of the visitors at a monster truck rally!!
So why is it I dress my child up, take him to wait in a line to do just that? This ritual happens twice a year, once at Christmas and once at Easter. It is insane. Who is behind that beard or scary rabbit head? A crack head, a drunk, a prison escapee? It could be anyone!! I could be leading my child straight onto the lap of very sick individual. But there I am, telling my baby to smile, look, it is Santa/Easter bunny. Today I did just that. I readily admit it my faithful few, I am the worlds most horrible mother. I am sure my son would agree.
My son did not want to wait in line, there was a fountain behind him. He wanted to play in the water and run up and down the steps, looking with amazement at the coins in it. I giddily looked at my husband and informed him to bring the baby to me, it is almost his turn. I brushed his hair one last time, made sure his clothes looked ok, led him by the hand to a freaky looking over sized rabbit. His suit probably riddled with germs from the many children who graced his lap prior.
My child did not want to sit with or be near this creature. I coaxed him, told him it would be ok, I cheerily said, “oh, look, it the easter bunny…yeah, say hi to him”. He refused! I picked up the frustrated child and placed him on the petri bowl lap of the man I know nothing about.
I have my yearly picture. It is of a screaming, miserable child. I think to myself, is it worth it? I teach my children to be leery of strangers. I thought to myself next year I will forgo this process. But, will I? I think not. I must find deranged humor in making my child miserable and uncomfortable.
I will show him the pictures when he is older. I just hope he doesn’t harbor any resentment towards me when he sees the sheer look of misery on his face!
So why is it I dress my child up, take him to wait in a line to do just that? This ritual happens twice a year, once at Christmas and once at Easter. It is insane. Who is behind that beard or scary rabbit head? A crack head, a drunk, a prison escapee? It could be anyone!! I could be leading my child straight onto the lap of very sick individual. But there I am, telling my baby to smile, look, it is Santa/Easter bunny. Today I did just that. I readily admit it my faithful few, I am the worlds most horrible mother. I am sure my son would agree.
My son did not want to wait in line, there was a fountain behind him. He wanted to play in the water and run up and down the steps, looking with amazement at the coins in it. I giddily looked at my husband and informed him to bring the baby to me, it is almost his turn. I brushed his hair one last time, made sure his clothes looked ok, led him by the hand to a freaky looking over sized rabbit. His suit probably riddled with germs from the many children who graced his lap prior.
My child did not want to sit with or be near this creature. I coaxed him, told him it would be ok, I cheerily said, “oh, look, it the easter bunny…yeah, say hi to him”. He refused! I picked up the frustrated child and placed him on the petri bowl lap of the man I know nothing about.
I have my yearly picture. It is of a screaming, miserable child. I think to myself, is it worth it? I teach my children to be leery of strangers. I thought to myself next year I will forgo this process. But, will I? I think not. I must find deranged humor in making my child miserable and uncomfortable.
I will show him the pictures when he is older. I just hope he doesn’t harbor any resentment towards me when he sees the sheer look of misery on his face!
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Bullies
When does it begin? When does it end? How is it learned? When did school stop being a place on integration and learning and become a place of division and fear?
How much pain and humiliation do our youth have to endure before we, as a society step up and take control of bullies. Our future is dying.
Children, killing themselves, each other. Our youth afraid to be the quirky individuals they are. Teenagers being forced to “confirm” due to the torment caused by others if the refuse. Who gives a small group of pimple faced teenagers the right to harass others? Why are the “others” afraid to ban together and overcome the fear they face daily simply by walking into the halls of school? I do not have the answers my faithful few. But I will share my own experiences with bullying.
There was a girl who I was forced to interact with on a daily basis, she was in most of my classes. This bitch would whisper about me to others. She had the ability to get the weak on her side. She was able to herd weak minded drones like sheep. They began doing her bidding, it went from one tormentor to a group of 4 or 5. The taunting and down right evil comments were unbearable at times. I would go home and cry alone in my room. I was too ashamed to let my parents see my tears. A knot would appear in my stomach before going to school. I would look in the mirror, my hair looks good, shoes are new, clothes clean and pressed, but I knew…she would find something, then the one flaw she found would escalate with every taunting comment and my day would be miserable. What did I ever do to her, the others? Nothing! Not one damn thing! The most hurtful part of her incessant cruelty was that she was able to get someone I thought was a good friend to join her. Do this day I am leery of whom I call “friend”.
There was a boy (yes a boy) in the bus. We were sophomores in HS. And this troll looking, short redheaded fuck face would call me names on the bus. I had it, one day I screamed back. What did I get for it – he spit in the face and punched me very hard in the stomach. The physical pain I could deal with, but the humiliation still follows me.
I am proud to say I never bullied anyone. I can sleep at night knowing that. I caused no fear, I was kind to all I met. Those bullies were horrible teens, and they are even worse adults. Parents, please take the initiative and speak to your children about bullying. Let them know it is ok not to follow.
How much pain and humiliation do our youth have to endure before we, as a society step up and take control of bullies. Our future is dying.
Children, killing themselves, each other. Our youth afraid to be the quirky individuals they are. Teenagers being forced to “confirm” due to the torment caused by others if the refuse. Who gives a small group of pimple faced teenagers the right to harass others? Why are the “others” afraid to ban together and overcome the fear they face daily simply by walking into the halls of school? I do not have the answers my faithful few. But I will share my own experiences with bullying.
There was a girl who I was forced to interact with on a daily basis, she was in most of my classes. This bitch would whisper about me to others. She had the ability to get the weak on her side. She was able to herd weak minded drones like sheep. They began doing her bidding, it went from one tormentor to a group of 4 or 5. The taunting and down right evil comments were unbearable at times. I would go home and cry alone in my room. I was too ashamed to let my parents see my tears. A knot would appear in my stomach before going to school. I would look in the mirror, my hair looks good, shoes are new, clothes clean and pressed, but I knew…she would find something, then the one flaw she found would escalate with every taunting comment and my day would be miserable. What did I ever do to her, the others? Nothing! Not one damn thing! The most hurtful part of her incessant cruelty was that she was able to get someone I thought was a good friend to join her. Do this day I am leery of whom I call “friend”.
There was a boy (yes a boy) in the bus. We were sophomores in HS. And this troll looking, short redheaded fuck face would call me names on the bus. I had it, one day I screamed back. What did I get for it – he spit in the face and punched me very hard in the stomach. The physical pain I could deal with, but the humiliation still follows me.
I am proud to say I never bullied anyone. I can sleep at night knowing that. I caused no fear, I was kind to all I met. Those bullies were horrible teens, and they are even worse adults. Parents, please take the initiative and speak to your children about bullying. Let them know it is ok not to follow.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
The boy and the beast
My husband I took our sweet two year old boy to get a haircut this evening. Prior to entering the salon, he ate his favorite meal, walked out of shoe store proudly clutching a bag holding his new pair of sneakers and was the happiest little guy in the world.
Upon entering the salon he was immediately drawn to the hair tonic area. Euphoria was not obtained until all the neatly aligned bottles of product were sprawled out on the floor. He was clapping and laughing with devilish delight every time one of those $20.00 bottle of elixirs toppled over. I should have run while I had the chance. Before I could grab his tiny hand a women (who seemed slightly intimidated) called his name. He gingerly walked to the chair and seemed content to sit in the booster seat. Then it happened. His face turned purple, eyes bulged out of his head, face contorted, arms and legs started flailing about, and the monster inside reared its ugly head. As if this display was not enough, he had to vocalize his objections. A guttural scream immersed and then a high pitched shrill. This shrieking was sound enough to break glass. The hairdressers ears started dribbling blood, her calm demeanor instantly changed. She had a look of terror in her eyes. To her credit, she expertly cut and buzzed the beasts fur.
When the strange women with the scissors (our hero, Xena of the cuttery) finally slaughtered the wilder beast; it retreated. In his place was a smiling happy little boy. He looked up at the hair dresser with his beautiful, liquid blue eyes, gave her a heart melting smile and said “thank you!”
Upon entering the salon he was immediately drawn to the hair tonic area. Euphoria was not obtained until all the neatly aligned bottles of product were sprawled out on the floor. He was clapping and laughing with devilish delight every time one of those $20.00 bottle of elixirs toppled over. I should have run while I had the chance. Before I could grab his tiny hand a women (who seemed slightly intimidated) called his name. He gingerly walked to the chair and seemed content to sit in the booster seat. Then it happened. His face turned purple, eyes bulged out of his head, face contorted, arms and legs started flailing about, and the monster inside reared its ugly head. As if this display was not enough, he had to vocalize his objections. A guttural scream immersed and then a high pitched shrill. This shrieking was sound enough to break glass. The hairdressers ears started dribbling blood, her calm demeanor instantly changed. She had a look of terror in her eyes. To her credit, she expertly cut and buzzed the beasts fur.
When the strange women with the scissors (our hero, Xena of the cuttery) finally slaughtered the wilder beast; it retreated. In his place was a smiling happy little boy. He looked up at the hair dresser with his beautiful, liquid blue eyes, gave her a heart melting smile and said “thank you!”
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
aging
I believe I have come up with a mathematical improbability, and impossibility. I am no mathematician but the equation I have been pondering seems to have no answer. My brain is spinning as I type this, maybe one of my faithful few will have the answer.
Pay attention, take notes and grab your calculators!
How is it my circle of friends have reached the age spectrum of 35-45? They are complaining about grey hairs, and extra 10 lbs, not having the energy they used to and (gasp) spider veins. This is where your math skills come into play; ready…I have not aged since my 25th birthday. I know, some of you say phooey, impossible, but I only speak the truth.
There is more to this perplexing puzzle, others do not see me as the sexy 25 year old I know I am. The cashier at the market had the audacity to call me “ma’am. “Hello, perky breasted 22 y/o, get an eye exam!” The asshole bartender who was obviously having a bad day, hence leading to the negligence in his duty, did not ask me for my i.d – WHAT are you kidding me??!!. I whipped out my newly minted ID rudely and stated “read this you stupid lard ass, I barely look 21, there is no way you could ever guess I am of drinking age! I think the alcohol police better look into the business you are running!”
The worst offender was my friends’ teen age son. He informed he is attending 80’s theme party, and the little dickens must have thought he was funny when he asked for my advice on what to wear. As if I would have any clue!
To all my friends, you are all beautiful and growing old with class and grace. I hope when I reach your age I can look half as good as you. Love you all!
Pay attention, take notes and grab your calculators!
How is it my circle of friends have reached the age spectrum of 35-45? They are complaining about grey hairs, and extra 10 lbs, not having the energy they used to and (gasp) spider veins. This is where your math skills come into play; ready…I have not aged since my 25th birthday. I know, some of you say phooey, impossible, but I only speak the truth.
There is more to this perplexing puzzle, others do not see me as the sexy 25 year old I know I am. The cashier at the market had the audacity to call me “ma’am. “Hello, perky breasted 22 y/o, get an eye exam!” The asshole bartender who was obviously having a bad day, hence leading to the negligence in his duty, did not ask me for my i.d – WHAT are you kidding me??!!. I whipped out my newly minted ID rudely and stated “read this you stupid lard ass, I barely look 21, there is no way you could ever guess I am of drinking age! I think the alcohol police better look into the business you are running!”
The worst offender was my friends’ teen age son. He informed he is attending 80’s theme party, and the little dickens must have thought he was funny when he asked for my advice on what to wear. As if I would have any clue!
To all my friends, you are all beautiful and growing old with class and grace. I hope when I reach your age I can look half as good as you. Love you all!
Monday, March 29, 2010
infinate wisdom
Ok my faithful few. By now you know that I am a virtual endless machine of knowledge. I decided to share some of my wisdom and knowledge with you. I hope this improves your quality of life. So here goes nothing…
Bad perms DO happen to good people
You will not marry the first boy you kiss
Parents know more than we do
Your car is not going to make it another 3 miles when you run out of gas
Not matter how fun it may seem, never and I do mean NEVER stand up in a canoe
Mohair sweaters are itchy
If you can smell your feet, others can too
No one will think you are more beautiful than your parents do
Take the microphone away from your drunk friend BEFORE they sing karaoke
Fish are shitty pets
I have plenty more to share, but I don’t want to waste it all in one blog. I hope you take all of this to heart. No need for others to suffer the same fate as I.. Learn from my mistakes, I implore you!!!
Bad perms DO happen to good people
You will not marry the first boy you kiss
Parents know more than we do
Your car is not going to make it another 3 miles when you run out of gas
Not matter how fun it may seem, never and I do mean NEVER stand up in a canoe
Mohair sweaters are itchy
If you can smell your feet, others can too
No one will think you are more beautiful than your parents do
Take the microphone away from your drunk friend BEFORE they sing karaoke
Fish are shitty pets
I have plenty more to share, but I don’t want to waste it all in one blog. I hope you take all of this to heart. No need for others to suffer the same fate as I.. Learn from my mistakes, I implore you!!!
Poor me
A tragedy has hit my life – I mean it my faithful few, a gross travesty! I have nothing to lament over. I truly miss saying poor pitiful me. I do not know if these feelings are “normal” but they are mine. Fore some odd reason I enjoy making those around me miserable with my poor attitude.
First, I would walk scuffling my feet thinking I am in my early thirties and not married (little did I know at the time that was NOTHING to be sad about). Check that one off my list for the pity party.
Then it was I have been married for 5 years, poor me, guess I will be childless, how truly upsetting. Well, we all know that is no longer the case. Chalk it up for one less poor me moment.
After the baby, I would walk around thinking, I am smart and talented, why won’t anyone hire me? There must be something very wrong with me. I must suck. Why can’t I even get a call back on my resume? Surely I am a horrible resume writer, oh boy pathetic ol’ me. I got a great job that I love, hmm, guess I am not so pathetic.
So here I sit, trying to find something to bitch about. Attempting to locate what it may be that I can spring upon my husband to inform him of the misery that is my life. I am at a complete loss, so not like me.
I could afford to lose a few pounds. I think I will drop that bomb on my husband. I will let him know that I am completely upset and heartsick regarding the fact I have put on a few pounds. I will be sure to bitch and mope about this for the next 3 months. He will be blasted with it at least three times a day. What fun is it to be miserable without taking someone down with you?!
First, I would walk scuffling my feet thinking I am in my early thirties and not married (little did I know at the time that was NOTHING to be sad about). Check that one off my list for the pity party.
Then it was I have been married for 5 years, poor me, guess I will be childless, how truly upsetting. Well, we all know that is no longer the case. Chalk it up for one less poor me moment.
After the baby, I would walk around thinking, I am smart and talented, why won’t anyone hire me? There must be something very wrong with me. I must suck. Why can’t I even get a call back on my resume? Surely I am a horrible resume writer, oh boy pathetic ol’ me. I got a great job that I love, hmm, guess I am not so pathetic.
So here I sit, trying to find something to bitch about. Attempting to locate what it may be that I can spring upon my husband to inform him of the misery that is my life. I am at a complete loss, so not like me.
I could afford to lose a few pounds. I think I will drop that bomb on my husband. I will let him know that I am completely upset and heartsick regarding the fact I have put on a few pounds. I will be sure to bitch and mope about this for the next 3 months. He will be blasted with it at least three times a day. What fun is it to be miserable without taking someone down with you?!
Sunday, March 28, 2010
TV
I fear it! I fear for my child, your children and all the innocently children across the world. What could bring such intimidation to me you ask? I will share. It is a very innocent looking thin box; it is about 52” long and hangs unassumingly on the wall above the fireplace. It is the TV!!! I am shaking as I type those two simple letters.
I will explain. What my child sees on the box is frightening. He watches a show with singing “things” They appear to me to be condoms. They are oval, rubbery and one them even has ribbing. I do not lie – this is true. Along with these dancing creatures is a man with a large head, orange hair and Buddy Holly glasses that pops up o the screen yelling. He is the epitome of the boogeyman. I fear the day (very far into the future) that mine son has to go to the local pharmacy to buy profolatex. He will innocently open the box, and have flashbacks to when he was just a toddler of two. He will curse me under his breath, he will think “I cannot believe my mother let me watch a show with singing and dancing condoms on it”. It could scar him emotionally for life
Also emitting from that box is a little dude name Noddy. This elflike person drives around the town in his fancy sports car handing out wrapped gifts to all. He also has a plane that he lands in the middle of the town square. Prior to his arrival the town folks are walking along as if they are waiting for the methadone clinic to open. Once he arrives the town junkies light up and they have vim and vigor in their step. He does not have a job, (how can afford such a luxury vehicle and plane)? His biggest clients and best friends are the local policemen. What is in those boxes? I believe it is drugs! There are evil gnomes that attempt to intercept these packages and take them for their own use. I am the most horrible parent on the planet, I allow my innocent boy to watch these corruptive shows. What am I letting him learn? Is he too young to learn that selling drugs gets you the girls and the nice car?
The absolute worst of these shows is Cailou. This 4 year old sissy whines more than I do with a few drinks in me while PMSing. His voice goes through me, he makes me want to take a .45 caliber to my temple. He is never happy; his parents need to place him on Prozac immediately! NO child of that age should be so miserable!
With that being said, my child is looking at the big box, yelling for me to turn it on. With any luck I will be able to locate an episode of Yo Gabba Gabba, Noddy or Cailou for him to watch.
I will explain. What my child sees on the box is frightening. He watches a show with singing “things” They appear to me to be condoms. They are oval, rubbery and one them even has ribbing. I do not lie – this is true. Along with these dancing creatures is a man with a large head, orange hair and Buddy Holly glasses that pops up o the screen yelling. He is the epitome of the boogeyman. I fear the day (very far into the future) that mine son has to go to the local pharmacy to buy profolatex. He will innocently open the box, and have flashbacks to when he was just a toddler of two. He will curse me under his breath, he will think “I cannot believe my mother let me watch a show with singing and dancing condoms on it”. It could scar him emotionally for life
Also emitting from that box is a little dude name Noddy. This elflike person drives around the town in his fancy sports car handing out wrapped gifts to all. He also has a plane that he lands in the middle of the town square. Prior to his arrival the town folks are walking along as if they are waiting for the methadone clinic to open. Once he arrives the town junkies light up and they have vim and vigor in their step. He does not have a job, (how can afford such a luxury vehicle and plane)? His biggest clients and best friends are the local policemen. What is in those boxes? I believe it is drugs! There are evil gnomes that attempt to intercept these packages and take them for their own use. I am the most horrible parent on the planet, I allow my innocent boy to watch these corruptive shows. What am I letting him learn? Is he too young to learn that selling drugs gets you the girls and the nice car?
The absolute worst of these shows is Cailou. This 4 year old sissy whines more than I do with a few drinks in me while PMSing. His voice goes through me, he makes me want to take a .45 caliber to my temple. He is never happy; his parents need to place him on Prozac immediately! NO child of that age should be so miserable!
With that being said, my child is looking at the big box, yelling for me to turn it on. With any luck I will be able to locate an episode of Yo Gabba Gabba, Noddy or Cailou for him to watch.
Knock offs
I hope not to offend anyone with this blog, but I must speak of a horrible atrocity. There are few fashion faux paus bigger than the one I dare speak!. So here it goes. Ladies (and if the shoe fits, gentlemen) I implore you, do not carry knock off handbags. It is a sight that utterly disgusts me!
You may be fooled into thinking no one will ever be able to tell. You are WRONG! I can spot the off color of cheap leather and the horrible cutting and stitching from a mile away. They look cheap and you appear to be a phony wana be while wearing the offending culprit across your shoulder.
Ladies, ladies, ladies, there are very nice bags available at the local chain stores. They are a much better choice than buying a purse at a party or the flea market that has backwards “C’s” on it, or LV’s that look nothing like the true monogram.
When I see you carrying your fake Prada, Spade, Coach, Luis, Doone etc, I want to begin an intervention immediately. I want to carry your tail to the local chain store and show you other options, open your mind. Please!!!!!
The lure of the knock-off is easy to be taken in by to be taken by. They are being hawked at every corner. You will see a bag and think to yourself “This is great, I can get me a $600.00 bag for $12.9.9” Get those thoughts out of you head, and run as fast as you can . Trust me you are hurting no one but yourself (and possibly me and the fashion police)
Only you can help to prevent this unnatural injustice and fashion genocide.
I have mentioned before, I am not judgmental, and it is your right to carry a trashy, cheap handbag. However, I do feel it is my place to help you. I am available 24/7 . If you feel the need to reach into your pocket and pull out hard earned cash for a terribly made knock-off, please contact me immediately, I will talk you down. It may take time and patience, but I am her for you!
One last thought….
As my friend D.A. so eloquently stated “ I have friends north of rt 24 that can sniff these fakes out and they will laugh you all of the way home!”
You may be fooled into thinking no one will ever be able to tell. You are WRONG! I can spot the off color of cheap leather and the horrible cutting and stitching from a mile away. They look cheap and you appear to be a phony wana be while wearing the offending culprit across your shoulder.
Ladies, ladies, ladies, there are very nice bags available at the local chain stores. They are a much better choice than buying a purse at a party or the flea market that has backwards “C’s” on it, or LV’s that look nothing like the true monogram.
When I see you carrying your fake Prada, Spade, Coach, Luis, Doone etc, I want to begin an intervention immediately. I want to carry your tail to the local chain store and show you other options, open your mind. Please!!!!!
The lure of the knock-off is easy to be taken in by to be taken by. They are being hawked at every corner. You will see a bag and think to yourself “This is great, I can get me a $600.00 bag for $12.9.9” Get those thoughts out of you head, and run as fast as you can . Trust me you are hurting no one but yourself (and possibly me and the fashion police)
Only you can help to prevent this unnatural injustice and fashion genocide.
I have mentioned before, I am not judgmental, and it is your right to carry a trashy, cheap handbag. However, I do feel it is my place to help you. I am available 24/7 . If you feel the need to reach into your pocket and pull out hard earned cash for a terribly made knock-off, please contact me immediately, I will talk you down. It may take time and patience, but I am her for you!
One last thought….
As my friend D.A. so eloquently stated “ I have friends north of rt 24 that can sniff these fakes out and they will laugh you all of the way home!”
Saturday, March 27, 2010
It is your choice
Alright my faithful few. I may be going mad, but I am going to try a social experiment.
I will allow you all to choose an activity for me to do one day next weekend. It can be anything, i.e. make a bundt cake, wash the car, feed the homeless, watch a particular movie, the ideas are endless. I will choose one job from your input. I will attempt the deed and post pics to prove I gave it the old college try.
There are a few rules:
It cannot be costly
1. It cannot be death defying
2. I must be able to complete the task in no more than four hours
3. I will pick a task from the list of ideas compiled on Thursday.
Let’s get this thing started, post your ideas under the comments icon below.
Wish me luck!!!!
I will allow you all to choose an activity for me to do one day next weekend. It can be anything, i.e. make a bundt cake, wash the car, feed the homeless, watch a particular movie, the ideas are endless. I will choose one job from your input. I will attempt the deed and post pics to prove I gave it the old college try.
There are a few rules:
It cannot be costly
1. It cannot be death defying
2. I must be able to complete the task in no more than four hours
3. I will pick a task from the list of ideas compiled on Thursday.
Let’s get this thing started, post your ideas under the comments icon below.
Wish me luck!!!!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Good advice???
I have had some strange advice thrown my way, by no means did I always heed it. I decided this would be a perfect forum to share some of the humorous tidbits During my life that have been doled out to me in short 25 years of life (ok, ok, so it has been a BIT more than 25 years!)
A real doozey was given to me in the past year or so, my mother who is never a t a loss for her insightful comments informed me “do not place the outdoor fireplace in the screen house”. Geez, mom, glad you could help, I would hate to meet my demise in an inferno caused by nylon and a fire – lucky, I listened.
Very early in our relationship my husband and I went for a walk around a local park. There was a stone wall that stood about 15 feet above the ground below. He warned me “don’t fall off that wall” Oh honey, if only I knew then what I knew now. I would have taken the dive.
Growing up I lived in very close proximity to the Hockomock swamp. Fortunately for me my father one day told me “Don’t let the squirrels and chipmunks in the house” Sorry vermin I will have to cancel Saturdays tea party. To this day I do not invite squirrels and chipmunks over for a visit.
While pregnant, a good friend of mine warned how important it is not to push to hard while having a BM. She looked at me solemn faced and said “Stacey, be careful when using the bathroom, you do not want to push to hard and deliver the baby in the toilet.” Billy was not born in a toilet bow,l thanks to Mo’s great advice.
After a night of drinking the cheapest and most disgusting rum mixed with a dash of coke, I woke up feeling like death and looking like I was hit buy a truck. A dear friend of mine though it was necessary to tell me “Never buy rum made in Somerset, Ma.” Ya think!? However, that advice should have been given 12 hours earlier.
While heading out the door in a rain storm my husband (who obviously thinks he married a MENSA member) yelled from the other room, “better turn your windshield wipers on today.” Boy am I ever thankful he reminded me, I may have forgotten to do so otherwise.
While driving my Aunt to the grocery store she felt compelled to remind me (25 times) to stop at the stop sign. How lucky we both are that I didn’t forget. Couldn’t have stopped without you Aunty, it may have slipped my mind.
Perhaps the most prudent advice ever received came from my grandmother. It was four simple words “Don’t drop that baby”. You will be happy to know gram, I followed that advice to a tee.
I must emit an aura of complete incompetence. If you ever gave me advice and I didn’t hare it here please feel free to comment and share. Do other people get such odd and random advice from those closest to them? I would love to hear your stories of unsolicited advice. If you have some post them here.
A real doozey was given to me in the past year or so, my mother who is never a t a loss for her insightful comments informed me “do not place the outdoor fireplace in the screen house”. Geez, mom, glad you could help, I would hate to meet my demise in an inferno caused by nylon and a fire – lucky, I listened.
Very early in our relationship my husband and I went for a walk around a local park. There was a stone wall that stood about 15 feet above the ground below. He warned me “don’t fall off that wall” Oh honey, if only I knew then what I knew now. I would have taken the dive.
Growing up I lived in very close proximity to the Hockomock swamp. Fortunately for me my father one day told me “Don’t let the squirrels and chipmunks in the house” Sorry vermin I will have to cancel Saturdays tea party. To this day I do not invite squirrels and chipmunks over for a visit.
While pregnant, a good friend of mine warned how important it is not to push to hard while having a BM. She looked at me solemn faced and said “Stacey, be careful when using the bathroom, you do not want to push to hard and deliver the baby in the toilet.” Billy was not born in a toilet bow,l thanks to Mo’s great advice.
After a night of drinking the cheapest and most disgusting rum mixed with a dash of coke, I woke up feeling like death and looking like I was hit buy a truck. A dear friend of mine though it was necessary to tell me “Never buy rum made in Somerset, Ma.” Ya think!? However, that advice should have been given 12 hours earlier.
While heading out the door in a rain storm my husband (who obviously thinks he married a MENSA member) yelled from the other room, “better turn your windshield wipers on today.” Boy am I ever thankful he reminded me, I may have forgotten to do so otherwise.
While driving my Aunt to the grocery store she felt compelled to remind me (25 times) to stop at the stop sign. How lucky we both are that I didn’t forget. Couldn’t have stopped without you Aunty, it may have slipped my mind.
Perhaps the most prudent advice ever received came from my grandmother. It was four simple words “Don’t drop that baby”. You will be happy to know gram, I followed that advice to a tee.
I must emit an aura of complete incompetence. If you ever gave me advice and I didn’t hare it here please feel free to comment and share. Do other people get such odd and random advice from those closest to them? I would love to hear your stories of unsolicited advice. If you have some post them here.
Drogging – the act of drinking while blogging
I just made the word up – but feel free to use it
This is a dangerous affliction that is taking over the country. No one is immune to it (accept for those in a twelve step program who may be friends with Bill W.)
You are guilty of this if you take to your facebook, twitter, mypace or personal blog accts after two drinks. What is the harm you ask – let me share!!! I have some personal experience in this and I am more than happy to share my vast wealth of knowledge on the subject and be the voice of reason.
You must avoid the following to save yourself the morning after WHOA IS ME and sober reality moment.
Quips you believe are witty: Believe me, they are not funny or anectodile to anyone else. All of your social networking friends awake to see a comment you left at 3:15 am and think to themselves – dang time for another intervention.
Do not grow your friends list: Very dangerous!! Staying up all night with a cold one in your hand randomly searching for people you haven’t seen since first grade is a bad thing – Nothing good can come from this.
IMing anyone in the open chat window. This is much worse than drunk dialing. Bear in mind the individual on the other end of the monitor has the ability to cut and paste your drunken dribble and use it as blackmail leverage in the future (yes I have done this to a person or two, I have paid my mortgage ten times over with this handy little trick)
Imagine this scenario the next time you take to the keyboard with an adult beverage in your mitts. There is an apprehension when you wake fuzzy headed in the morning. You hit redial on both cell and home phones, you breath a sigh of relief when redial comes back clean, WHEW dodged a bullet, at least I didn’t call my long lost bestie. Then, POW it hits you, a wave of nausea takes over your body – SHIT the computer! You wearily wobble to the computer shakily holding your coffee mug; compose yourself enough to log onto the computer. With trepidation you log onto your social networking acct, then unknown and fear grip you as you are face to face with your worse nightmare, a 15 inch computer monitor. BAM – there it is, your worse nightmare staring back at you. All you see are 15 new posts you do not remember sending, littered with typos and nonsensical ranting. It is there folks, your friends have already read it, the carnal damage is done.
If I have helped just one person avoid this tragedy, my work here is done.
One last thing….Don’t hate on me (ooopss, I mean THEM) when you read a drog, remember, it may be the only chance have in a wek to veg out and relax after a long day give everyone the benefit of the doubt
I just made the word up – but feel free to use it
This is a dangerous affliction that is taking over the country. No one is immune to it (accept for those in a twelve step program who may be friends with Bill W.)
You are guilty of this if you take to your facebook, twitter, mypace or personal blog accts after two drinks. What is the harm you ask – let me share!!! I have some personal experience in this and I am more than happy to share my vast wealth of knowledge on the subject and be the voice of reason.
You must avoid the following to save yourself the morning after WHOA IS ME and sober reality moment.
Quips you believe are witty: Believe me, they are not funny or anectodile to anyone else. All of your social networking friends awake to see a comment you left at 3:15 am and think to themselves – dang time for another intervention.
Do not grow your friends list: Very dangerous!! Staying up all night with a cold one in your hand randomly searching for people you haven’t seen since first grade is a bad thing – Nothing good can come from this.
IMing anyone in the open chat window. This is much worse than drunk dialing. Bear in mind the individual on the other end of the monitor has the ability to cut and paste your drunken dribble and use it as blackmail leverage in the future (yes I have done this to a person or two, I have paid my mortgage ten times over with this handy little trick)
Imagine this scenario the next time you take to the keyboard with an adult beverage in your mitts. There is an apprehension when you wake fuzzy headed in the morning. You hit redial on both cell and home phones, you breath a sigh of relief when redial comes back clean, WHEW dodged a bullet, at least I didn’t call my long lost bestie. Then, POW it hits you, a wave of nausea takes over your body – SHIT the computer! You wearily wobble to the computer shakily holding your coffee mug; compose yourself enough to log onto the computer. With trepidation you log onto your social networking acct, then unknown and fear grip you as you are face to face with your worse nightmare, a 15 inch computer monitor. BAM – there it is, your worse nightmare staring back at you. All you see are 15 new posts you do not remember sending, littered with typos and nonsensical ranting. It is there folks, your friends have already read it, the carnal damage is done.
If I have helped just one person avoid this tragedy, my work here is done.
One last thing….Don’t hate on me (ooopss, I mean THEM) when you read a drog, remember, it may be the only chance have in a wek to veg out and relax after a long day give everyone the benefit of the doubt
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Big Brother
I always thought “Big Brother” was an Urban Legend, like Bigfoot. I was wrong. This person does exist, he is not a figment in my nightmares. I know this to be true because I met him. I am very frightened of him. I have a great deal of fear for myself and all of you!
He is a large, ominous, dark looming figure. He has beady, evil eyes and single horn atop his head. His breath is horrendous. He lurks over all of us knowing our secrets and searching for our vulnerabilities.
I met him this morning. He was monitoring my every keystroke on the computer. He followed me into cyberspace when I was on break. When I checked my FB acct, he did too. This “Big Brother” creature was able to see everything I posted – and even things others posted without my knowledge or approval. This beast was not welcome to be a “friend” on my social networking site, but he was there. Scrutinizing and judging.
This brings up many issues. How far should an employer go? I understand monitoring employee computer use, but is it ethical and fair to view their private accts? Trust issues arise – whats next, check my purse because it is sitting on a “company” desk?
I hope “Big Brother” enjoyed the email I sent to my mother this morning, and I hope enjoyed all my friends posts.
I am very angry and feel violated, do I have the right to feel this way, or should I just chalk it up to what the world has come to.
I think there should be limits, I was at break, obviously this was clear, as I am sure “big Brother” has time stamps on the files I peruse, and why keep my page open long after I have left? All of these questions have me befuddled.
One last thing: Remember, our lives are not our own once we leave the sanctuary of our homes. You relinquish all privacy rights – Big Brother with his horn and beady eyes is ready to pounce on you – BE CAREFUL!!!
He is a large, ominous, dark looming figure. He has beady, evil eyes and single horn atop his head. His breath is horrendous. He lurks over all of us knowing our secrets and searching for our vulnerabilities.
I met him this morning. He was monitoring my every keystroke on the computer. He followed me into cyberspace when I was on break. When I checked my FB acct, he did too. This “Big Brother” creature was able to see everything I posted – and even things others posted without my knowledge or approval. This beast was not welcome to be a “friend” on my social networking site, but he was there. Scrutinizing and judging.
This brings up many issues. How far should an employer go? I understand monitoring employee computer use, but is it ethical and fair to view their private accts? Trust issues arise – whats next, check my purse because it is sitting on a “company” desk?
I hope “Big Brother” enjoyed the email I sent to my mother this morning, and I hope enjoyed all my friends posts.
I am very angry and feel violated, do I have the right to feel this way, or should I just chalk it up to what the world has come to.
I think there should be limits, I was at break, obviously this was clear, as I am sure “big Brother” has time stamps on the files I peruse, and why keep my page open long after I have left? All of these questions have me befuddled.
One last thing: Remember, our lives are not our own once we leave the sanctuary of our homes. You relinquish all privacy rights – Big Brother with his horn and beady eyes is ready to pounce on you – BE CAREFUL!!!
I always thought “Big Brother” was an Urban Legend, like Bigfoot. I was wrong. This person does exist, he is not a figment in my nightmares. I know this to be true because I met him. I am very frightened of him. I have a great deal of fear for myself and all of you!
He is a large, ominous, dark looming figure. He has beady, evil eyes and single horn atop his head. His breath is horrendous. He lurks over all of us knowing our secrets and searching for our vulnerabilities.
I met him this morning. He was monitoring my every keystroke on the computer. He followed me into cyberspace when I was on break. When I checked my FB acct, he did too. This “Big Brother” dude was able to see everything I posted – and even things others posted without my knowledge or approval. This beast was not welcome to be a “friend” on my social networking site, but he was there. Scrutinizing and judging.
This brings up many issues. How far should an employer go? I understand monitoring employee computer use, but is it ethical and fair to view their private accts? Trust issues arise – whats next, check my purse because it is sitting on a “company” desk?
I hope “Big Brother” enjoyed the email I sent to my mother this morning, and I all my friends posts.
I am very angry and feel violated, do I have the right to feel this way, or should I just chalk it up to what the world has come to.
I think there should be limits, I was at break, obviously this was clear, as I am sure “big Brother” has time stamps on the files I peruse, and why keep my page open long after I have left? All of these questions have be befuddled.
One last thing: Remember, our lives are not our own once we leave the sanctuary of our homes. You relinquish all privacy rights – be careful!!!
He is a large, ominous, dark looming figure. He has beady, evil eyes and single horn atop his head. His breath is horrendous. He lurks over all of us knowing our secrets and searching for our vulnerabilities.
I met him this morning. He was monitoring my every keystroke on the computer. He followed me into cyberspace when I was on break. When I checked my FB acct, he did too. This “Big Brother” dude was able to see everything I posted – and even things others posted without my knowledge or approval. This beast was not welcome to be a “friend” on my social networking site, but he was there. Scrutinizing and judging.
This brings up many issues. How far should an employer go? I understand monitoring employee computer use, but is it ethical and fair to view their private accts? Trust issues arise – whats next, check my purse because it is sitting on a “company” desk?
I hope “Big Brother” enjoyed the email I sent to my mother this morning, and I all my friends posts.
I am very angry and feel violated, do I have the right to feel this way, or should I just chalk it up to what the world has come to.
I think there should be limits, I was at break, obviously this was clear, as I am sure “big Brother” has time stamps on the files I peruse, and why keep my page open long after I have left? All of these questions have be befuddled.
One last thing: Remember, our lives are not our own once we leave the sanctuary of our homes. You relinquish all privacy rights – be careful!!!
At a red light the other day, I look to my right, I see a woman in a nice Lexus with a cute toddler safely strapped into its car seat. What I saw next made me want to run out and slap the mother. She cracks the passenger side window about one inch and lights up a cigarette. Mind you I am the last one to get on my soapbox and preach about smoking, but NEVER do I smoke in the car with my child or anywhere around him.
I find it is difficult for people to keep their traps shut about the way others raise their children, but we must all learn to do it.
If a child is well fed, clean, healthy and not being beat, we all as a society need to learn self control. The worlds children do not belong to us.
Since having a child of my own the realization that everyone else on the planet is an expert on child rearing has become apparently clear (from the checkout girl to the bank teller). It is obvious I am the only one in the universe that has not mastered the art.
I do not need my actions on how to raise my child justified by the general public. Trust me, I see your evil looks, I am more than aware of your mouth moving and no words emitting from it. I see you nudge your friend and point, but all I have to say to you is shut the f&%ck up!
So, all you backseat moms, please… keep your opinions on safety, discipline, nutrition and vaccinations to yourself. It is my call as to whether or not I want to remove my child from target during a screamfest. I will decide if it is ok for him to run and splash through the puddles. If he does not want to share his new truck with Johnny, then so flippin be it!
A “friend” called me up the other day after my husband had done some electrical work for her. The phone rings, I check the caller ID and answer with a jaunty “hello”. I thought for sure she would be telling me to thank Mike for the work he performed and informing how great it was to see the baby. But, NNNOOOOOOO, my impartial mood went from disbelief to anger when these words were spewed “You know, I didn’t want to say anything, but I think I have to, that child of yours really needs a good spanking on the ass, he doesn’t listen” I whimped out, I ended the conversation quickly. I was awed, I didn’t know how to respond. Luckily for her I didn’t have any alcohol coursing through my system, it wouldn’t have ended well for her.
After the phone conversation, I thought of many things I should have said, it was all I could do not to pick up the phone and tell her that she needs to keep her pie hole shut (peppered, of course, with some profanity). Instead I just hugged my child, told him he is perfect and that I love him.
One last thing….I truly believe most parents have the best intentions. We all must choose our battles. The next time you are in public and run into the worst behaved child on the planet, remind yourself (before the evil thoughts enter your mind) that this is just a parent doing the best they can, and hey, at least at this moment my child in a cherub.
I find it is difficult for people to keep their traps shut about the way others raise their children, but we must all learn to do it.
If a child is well fed, clean, healthy and not being beat, we all as a society need to learn self control. The worlds children do not belong to us.
Since having a child of my own the realization that everyone else on the planet is an expert on child rearing has become apparently clear (from the checkout girl to the bank teller). It is obvious I am the only one in the universe that has not mastered the art.
I do not need my actions on how to raise my child justified by the general public. Trust me, I see your evil looks, I am more than aware of your mouth moving and no words emitting from it. I see you nudge your friend and point, but all I have to say to you is shut the f&%ck up!
So, all you backseat moms, please… keep your opinions on safety, discipline, nutrition and vaccinations to yourself. It is my call as to whether or not I want to remove my child from target during a screamfest. I will decide if it is ok for him to run and splash through the puddles. If he does not want to share his new truck with Johnny, then so flippin be it!
A “friend” called me up the other day after my husband had done some electrical work for her. The phone rings, I check the caller ID and answer with a jaunty “hello”. I thought for sure she would be telling me to thank Mike for the work he performed and informing how great it was to see the baby. But, NNNOOOOOOO, my impartial mood went from disbelief to anger when these words were spewed “You know, I didn’t want to say anything, but I think I have to, that child of yours really needs a good spanking on the ass, he doesn’t listen” I whimped out, I ended the conversation quickly. I was awed, I didn’t know how to respond. Luckily for her I didn’t have any alcohol coursing through my system, it wouldn’t have ended well for her.
After the phone conversation, I thought of many things I should have said, it was all I could do not to pick up the phone and tell her that she needs to keep her pie hole shut (peppered, of course, with some profanity). Instead I just hugged my child, told him he is perfect and that I love him.
One last thing….I truly believe most parents have the best intentions. We all must choose our battles. The next time you are in public and run into the worst behaved child on the planet, remind yourself (before the evil thoughts enter your mind) that this is just a parent doing the best they can, and hey, at least at this moment my child in a cherub.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Welcome to my blog. Please be patient with me. I am new at this, and just like everything else I do in life, I am going to jump in the deep end head first, and hopefully wade my way through.
I am going to write about daily observances, in my life and possibly those of random strangers at wal-mart. I want your feedback. You do not have to agree with me. I do ask we be civil to each other and respect each persons individual opinions and thoughts. Afterall, thats I why I am starting this blog. However, I must inform you, my thoughts are the only ones that matter in the end. Hence it is MY blog!
I hope you are able to get a better understanding of the human race from this blog. Ok, Ok, at least a humorous side of human behavior. I am goijg to be brutally honest, I hope you are ready for this.
I am a white trash snob!
It is true! Pick your jaws up from the floor!! I wonder how many of you are too. Admitting this cold hard truth can be difficult. The first step is to say out loud “Hello my name is _________ and I am a white trash snob”
I admit it, at home I let gas fly – even giggle about it. I will squeal with sinister delight, “did ya hear that one, wait until you smell it” (c’mon I know you do it to, you will just not admit it!) .
I wear my hair “pebbles” style atop my head. I walk around in my husbands t-shirts and wear nasty sweat pants. Not a pretty visual.
When I leave the house a entire different and more awesome me emerges. I go out in public, I am the epitome of a snob and a hypocrite. I am well groomed, with expensive clothes, shoes and handbags. My child is always the best dressed one in a room. If a white trash Biotch has the nerve to invade my space with her foul mouth and uneducated speech I will think unkind thoughts and turn in the other direction. But the worse she could do is let me hear or smell one of her air biscuits while she is sloppily dressed in sweatpants wearing her hair atop her head “pebbles” style. I would gasp with shock and disgust. I would roll my eyes to the person closest to me and probably mumble something about her being White Trash!”
I wonder if this is just Human Nature. I am a very kind and generation person. I am non-judgemental regarding the type of house you live in, the car you drive, or how much dinero your significant other makes. But yet for some reason, when I see “that” person who resembles what I look like most weekends, (and secretly wish I could go out in the obviously comfortably dressed state they are in) I become a horrible snob and judge far too quickly. Maybe I should look in the mirror more often. This is something I will work on with myself. If you recognize this quality in you, maybe we can spend some time at a K-mart and try to heal together.
….one last thing: What gives any of us the right to think, even for one second, that we are better than the person standing next to us? We are unaware of their story, their life or their history. The woman with the messy clothes and hair, driving the jalopy car, loves her child as much as I love mine. The person living in the tenement housing projects takes as much pride in decorating their living room as I do. I will stop my snap judgments and hope you all do the same. Let’s greet the public with a smile!
I am going to write about daily observances, in my life and possibly those of random strangers at wal-mart. I want your feedback. You do not have to agree with me. I do ask we be civil to each other and respect each persons individual opinions and thoughts. Afterall, thats I why I am starting this blog. However, I must inform you, my thoughts are the only ones that matter in the end. Hence it is MY blog!
I hope you are able to get a better understanding of the human race from this blog. Ok, Ok, at least a humorous side of human behavior. I am goijg to be brutally honest, I hope you are ready for this.
I am a white trash snob!
It is true! Pick your jaws up from the floor!! I wonder how many of you are too. Admitting this cold hard truth can be difficult. The first step is to say out loud “Hello my name is _________ and I am a white trash snob”
I admit it, at home I let gas fly – even giggle about it. I will squeal with sinister delight, “did ya hear that one, wait until you smell it” (c’mon I know you do it to, you will just not admit it!) .
I wear my hair “pebbles” style atop my head. I walk around in my husbands t-shirts and wear nasty sweat pants. Not a pretty visual.
When I leave the house a entire different and more awesome me emerges. I go out in public, I am the epitome of a snob and a hypocrite. I am well groomed, with expensive clothes, shoes and handbags. My child is always the best dressed one in a room. If a white trash Biotch has the nerve to invade my space with her foul mouth and uneducated speech I will think unkind thoughts and turn in the other direction. But the worse she could do is let me hear or smell one of her air biscuits while she is sloppily dressed in sweatpants wearing her hair atop her head “pebbles” style. I would gasp with shock and disgust. I would roll my eyes to the person closest to me and probably mumble something about her being White Trash!”
I wonder if this is just Human Nature. I am a very kind and generation person. I am non-judgemental regarding the type of house you live in, the car you drive, or how much dinero your significant other makes. But yet for some reason, when I see “that” person who resembles what I look like most weekends, (and secretly wish I could go out in the obviously comfortably dressed state they are in) I become a horrible snob and judge far too quickly. Maybe I should look in the mirror more often. This is something I will work on with myself. If you recognize this quality in you, maybe we can spend some time at a K-mart and try to heal together.
….one last thing: What gives any of us the right to think, even for one second, that we are better than the person standing next to us? We are unaware of their story, their life or their history. The woman with the messy clothes and hair, driving the jalopy car, loves her child as much as I love mine. The person living in the tenement housing projects takes as much pride in decorating their living room as I do. I will stop my snap judgments and hope you all do the same. Let’s greet the public with a smile!
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