Monday, March 31, 2008

The Naked City

DC traffic... it's always something aound here. Everybody's heard about what a zoo DC traffic can be. And sometimes you just don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Like today... a backup on the Beltway, partially caused by an accident. And I guess one of the participants caused a bit more rubber-necking than usual... seeing as how he was apparently naked and all. After what was reportedly a minor fender-bender, dude got out of his rental car, stripped down to his birthday suit and ran around the traffic lanes for 45 minutes.

Now that I think on it, this is the second or third naked traffic incident in the last few months. What the heck? It isn't even all that warm out. I don't imagine that streaking down the road in 40 degree weather is really going to show a man at his best, but obviously thats the least of their worries.

and can you imagine trying to explain why you're late to work? ''Yeah, I'm gonna be late today... Naked Guy.''

DC traffic... it used to be exploding tankers on the beltway, now its nudity. Always something.

Sunday, March 30, 2008

Day planners only work if you use them.

Some weeks ago, I found a really great day planner that was small enough to fit into my purse and even better... it was on clearance. But... I haven't exactly used it for its intended purpose, which is NOT to be a paperweight on my antique vanity.

Which brings me to where I am going to be spending my morning, instead of relaxing at home with coffee and a book.

The state vehicle safety and emissions inspection line.

Gah. Both my inspection and my registration expire at the end of March and I have been so preoccupied, I didn't give it any thought. Nor did I plan ahead when I drove across town to the one place that's open on Sundays... so I lack reading material and a sustaining beverage. I'm debating whether its worth it to leave the end of this line of cars, drive over to Borders Books, stock my car for the long wait and return.

hmmm. I have to wonder about this????


So i'm back with books and a caramel latte and only one additional car got in line while I was gone.

Also? On my way back, I was treated to the cutest sight. A black SUV decked out in silver hearts and streamers and a Just Married sign.

The occupants? The happiest-looking elderly couple EVAH. My heart? It glows. There go two people with the best wishes this total stranger can send after them.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Turkeys and Tags and Birds Without Shame

So we have this very very large shrub at the corner of the house, next to the living room window. It's apparently a wonderful place if you happen to be feathered, and I often hear birds chirping from its leafy depths. The last few weeks have led me to realize a few things... first, that shrub is THE birdy place to be. The club of choice. Birdland, if you will. Any birdy who's SOMEbirdy is there.

Second, Birdland seems to be the place to find your birdy hookups. And if you happen to be a birdy hooking up... you then move to the No Tell Motel, which would be the top of my front door. Yes indeed. Any hour of the day, unsuspecting passersby could find themselves witnessing a little birdy action taking place on my front door. No wonder the chipmunk moved out. I mean REALLY.

I was driving up to my mom's shop this morning to drop of some things and noticed what appeared to be a turkey up on the small hill. "Oh neat," I thought "Man, I haven't seen wild turkeys around here for... well... a really long time." And I went on my way.

When I was returning home, that turkey was still there, now joined by about a dozen more. And as my car got closer, I realized that they weren't turkeys at all. They were buzzards. And more were landing... lots more. And oh. Ick. They were handling the ah... roadside cleanup detail because apparently the department of transportation has been lax about deer on the road. Not exactly the charming tableau I thought I'd been seeing. Bleah. There are times when nature ain't so cute.

I've been tagged. Thankfully, its a meme and not like a toe tag... although there have been days this week where it felt like that was entirely within the realm of possibility.

But I digress.

Mommy Brain tagged me and this is how you play:

Rules are:
1. Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird. (Weird? Oh, I got yer weird, never fear)
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
4. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

1. I know how to spin. And I don't mean ellipticals or whatever the heck people are referring to when they talk about spin classes. I mean taking tufts of carded wool and making yarn out of it. And yes, I have both a spinning wheel and a drop spindle, and Rumplestiltskin ain't my name.

2. I hate whistling. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my teeth curl. It really, really, really drives me up the wall. I don't know why, there's just something about whistling that hurts my ears and makes me want to run away.

3. I read really quickly. I can finish a 600 page novel in about 2 hours, with full retention. And I will re-read books I like, which means I have more books in my house than anyone knows what to do with.

4. I am afraid of the dark, but only indoors. I used to have this scary crazy black cat when I was a kid, and he would hide under things and jump out and bite you in the dark. So, unless there was a light on, we were certain Lucifer was gonna get us. That cat has been dead more than 20 years and I STILL hate being in the dark in the house.

5. Although I love horseback riding, white horses make me uncomfortable. I am not certain why.

6. I hate the smell of vanilla unless it involves food.

7. I am a great big geekazoid and own and play more video games than my teenaged son. Ok, well I don't get to play much anymore, but I can lay the serious smackdown on the boy when I choose to. My favorites are FPS, survival horror (gimmie some zombies and I am a happy chick) and RPGs.

I am closing my eyes and hitting links at random, so here's who gets tagged:

Velocibadger, for many reasons including Im in hur blog, taggin hur brayn

The former South Carolinian, now in Ohio


Suzie who now has me thinking of the Holy Handgrenade of Antioch

Lone Grey Squirrel

The Reluctant Housewife


Although I smacked... er... TAGGED everyone at random, really anyone can play.

And because I have to go to work, I'll alert everyone that they were tagged sometime later today.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

"HEY! I'm walkin' heah..."

So I'm driving my tired butt home from training at the part-time job last night (Best phrase by management last night - 'omg I forgot you were here.' This bodes well.) and its about midnight. No other cars on the long street through my subdivision. Then I see this big ass raccoon, ambling along, in the street. Its not crossing the road, its walking IN the road.

Well, i don't want to hit it, so i slow way down... and it neither gets out of the road, nor does it hurry up any. I come to a stop and honk the horn just a little.

That got a response, but not what I expected . The raccoon whirled around to face my car and kind of did this back-arching thing and i'm pretty sure it was growling or hissing or whatever raccoons do because its mouth was open, although I sure as hell was not getting out to check. (I have tangled with raccoons on my grandmother's farm and they can be right nasty little SOBs) That raccoon had had enough and by golly, he was going to stand up for his furry right to the road. Raccoon had balls, you gotta give it that much.

So we sat there, staring at each other for a minute and I guess some semblence of survival instinct finally said ''Yo raccoon... you versus toyota equals splat.'' It whipped around again and bolted for the other said of the road.

I continued on my way and last I saw it, the raccoon was waddling up the sidewalk as fast as he could go.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Jacob Makes a Fateful Discovery

My thoughtful husband went to Target to pick up some OTC medicine for my stomach (because having a cold wasn't enough for me, I gotta go for the gusto) earlier this evening and took Short Stuff along for the ride.

He decided to introduce Jacob to The Toy Aisles (cue theme for 2001: A Space Odyssey) this is the first time that Jacob really NOTICED the toy section, and by that I mean the little guy had an epiphany.

My husband said he stopped dead in his tracks, clenched his fists, his arms rigid at his sides, and looked slowly around at the wondrous sight. He then took a long, deep breath and began flapping his arms up and down frantically, squealing a jubilant ''EEEEEEEE!!!!'' as he raced down the aisle, clearly overcome by the idea of All. These. TOYS.

My husband got him an inexpensive car and muttered to me that he may have made a tactical error by introducing him to the toy aisle concept.... but maybe Jacob wouldn't remember next time?

While his daddy was running the bath, I asked Jacob if he had fun at the store with daddy?

He put his hands on my cheeks and leaned forward, looking at me with his serious expression.

''Caaaaaaar,'' he whispered, almost reverently.

Oh, I suspect he's going to remember.

Monday, March 24, 2008

She's Cold as Ice

Sure enough, I now have Jacob's cold. I can't take cold medications so it tends to put me a little off of my game.

However I put on my big girl panties and went to work, to wage my daily battle against... well, whatever I need to battle. There's always something.

But I'm trying to be sensible, drinking plenty of liquids and all that, and that was why I had a 32 ounce cup of ice water in front of me. HAD is the operative word, here.

Naturally, being a klutz who's somewhat foggy in the head, I knocked into it when I leaned down to open one of my file drawers. Although I managed to catch the cup before it tipped all the way over, I splashed a generous amount down my chest. Including a few pieces of ice, some of which slid down into what COULD be called cleavage (if one were feeling generous) and lodged there.

And even more naturally, because we are very busy, someone Very Important walked into my office to tell me a painfully long story while that ice melted into my bra.

It is not considered Acceptable Professional Office Behavior to reach in and grab ice out of your tatas, so all I could do was try to look as though I was not considering such action and wait for the Very Important Executive to leave.

At least I was wearing black, so the dampness didn't show but let me tell you what... Boobs On Ice will definitely wake you up faster than a double shot of espresso.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Happy Easter Y'All

Once again, I say "Oh we'll just do something small." Once again, I spent waaaaaay too much time in the kitchen. Originally, it was just going to be my husband, Short Stuff and me. Then the teenager decided he wasn't too cool to have Easter dinner with his mom (yay!) so we quickly threw a shopping list together and made plans for an actual Dinner. That also meant I had to empty the dining room table so we could put it to its intended use, rather than World's Flattest Filing Cabinet.

And then my daughter called to say that she'd be able to come for dinner after all too (yay v2.0)and was there going to be chocolate cream pie (a family tradition)? Aw heck, the stores are now closed and I have no pie crusts, nor pudding. But I do have The Joy of Cooking and a ridiculous Can-Do attitude about Easter Sunday Dinner , and lo. I made 5 individual-sized cream pies - two vanilla and three chocolate. And lo. That was an enormous pain in the ass. And an even bigger mess. And my super-flaky crusts kept breaking as I tried to get the pie beads out of the shells, but Common Sense gave my Inner Martha a savage beatdown and said "Bitch! You wanted pie, you shut up and make PIE!" Common Sense knows that broken crusts tastes the same.

And someone else was hoping for sweet potatoes. Someone else wanted mashed potatoes. Asparagus, broccoli, wild rice... I see why people go OUT for Easter dinner, but I was on a roll. Good grief, this was easier when I was a kid and only had to worry about my sisters eating my coconut egg out of my easter basket. How many years until I can pass the baton of holiday dinner responsibility on, I wonder?

I was ALSO insane enough to make parkerhouse rolls from scratch WHICH a certain someone who will remain nameless observed that they sort of kind of maybe looked like labia... which made the teenager's ears turn scarlet with embarrassment and made everyone decide maybe we didn't want any more rolls with dinner. We're Klass right here, folks. I KNEW I should have gone with Pepperidge Farms brown & serve....

No one squabbled, I only cut myself twice, nothing blew up. A good day. Well, other than the rolls. You can't have everything. Not even on the good china.

Friday, March 21, 2008

Second Verse, Same as the First

A little more snotty and a little bit worse...

Yep. Short Stuff has come down with Nasty Cough and Cold #433 for the year, with a side of Really Green Goop and Occasional Fever. So he and I are home today... I really absolutely needed to toss a load of his clothes into the wash, so as he sat playing, I turned on the TV in search of perhaps Sesame Street to occupy him for a minute.

What I got was Little Einsteins. Now, I've had friends tell me LE is kind of like Kiddy Crack, but I'd never experienced the.... oddness that is Little Einsteins. Classical music? Check. Great, we love it around here. Classical artwork? Ok, that's good too, if perhaps a bit of an advanced concept, but art is A Very Good Thing, so I'm down with that.

Characters and story? Okay, we have entered into some sort of preschooler twilight zone. The story appears to center around a Mommy Cello in Italy, who is hatching baby cellos out of five different-colored instrument cases arranged in a nest.


And THEN, for drama, one of the baby cellos falls in a RIVER, and the LE kids have to help it find its MOMMY.

Ok, now we had some weird shows when I was a kid, and I never have quite figured out how I felt about Time for Timer on the ABC network but.... Italian cellos hatching out of a nest?

What is IN their sippy cups?? I think it fermented.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

I am having a bad day. A really really bad day.

I was certain that today was going to be kind of amusing but I surprised myself.

This is so bizarre, you just can't make this shit up. Ok, taking a trip in the WayBack machine... you know my grandfather's house? the one I had to evict the scary crazy deerkiller guy from and THEN fend off frozen squirrels in ziploc bags falling on me (really) and an entire befeathered turkey wing -btw do you know how freaking big a whole wing is??? - in the refrigerator (really really) and a nightmare-inducing pile of deer legs that will never be scrubbed from my brain...? That house.

The house my grandfather built - every bit - with his own two hands, on land HIS grandfather gave him, from the farm that has been part of generations going back and back...

There's a family renting it who have a connection, too, through his uncle, who had been my grandfather's best friend for more than 80 years.

And some months back, they approached my sisters, telling us of odd happenings in the house. Footsteps. Voices. Things moving. And they asked permission to have it checked out. And asked permission to take part in a Maury Povich episode if they were careful not to gve any identifying information. Ha-ha, we said, sure, knock yourselves out!

The show aired today. And it wasn't an entertaining story to me, although I was really expecting it to be. They had some photos, they had some EVP recordings.... and really, they covered very little on the show.

It still felt like a solid punch. My grandfather died in that house, in a horrible, stupid accident. And really, if he's still hanging around, i have no doubt its because he wants to. You have no idea how he felt about that place, and how he never, ever wanted to leave it.

This is the view from the back steps... or at least the right half of the view

We were all mildly amused about the house being featured on Maury. We figured we'd giggle like idjits at it, and really, it WAS pretty silly. All the same though, now I don't know what to think. And its really difficult to explain that you're upset because they say your house is haunted by your grandpa after all and... and... seriously!

But... listening to one of those recordings and watching the show was an enormous emotional shock I simply wasn't expecting. It feels just like it did when my mother called to tell me he'd died that Halloween a few years ago. I miss my grandfather terribly. I loved him fiercely. And apparently I'm not nearly as over it as I thought I was.

But .... I just do not know how to process this Slice O' Weird. How in the EFF does this shit keep on keepin' on?


Up the attic steps to the "haunted chest of drawers"

The day I finished cleaning out the horror from scary guy... this is what I saw.

No words necessary.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Things that make you go hmmmmm.

So I was supposed to begin training at my new second job last night. I dutifully arrived ten minutes early, ready to get started. I could see how busy they were, so I patiently waited. And waited. and waited.

And finally the manager comes to tell me that they're soooo shorthanded this week, gee could I come back Saturday??

Well THAT makes sense, doesn't it? I want to work, you need people, but.... okay then.

Cabbages... the last time my mom went out to her farm, my uncle wasn't doing too well and had to go into the hospital. Mom called Aunt F to tell her and F replied with great concern ''Oh no! DO YOU NEED A CABBAGE????''

Um. Huh? Local color notwithstanding... does anyone understand the cabbage thing? Is there some significance to illness or emergency and cabbage?? We have no clue and alas... we recently lost Aunt F to a stroke, so we may never know.

And what is up with Blogger? I wrote out a post last night (and let me tell you, doing this on a handheld is a special excercise in stupid, i think... ) posted, saw the message that it was complete and then went to bed. This morning? Nada. My thumbs? They were irked, having done all that work for nothing.

Monday, March 17, 2008

A Sign of Things to Come

So I was giving Short Stuff his bath, and when he'd finally shriveled into a prune-like state, I lifted him out and wrapped him in a towel. Bathtime is his Best Thing and it puts him in a faaaaaaabulous mood, tonight being no exception. Beaming, he threw his little arms around my neck for a big hug.

Before I had a chance to get all mushy from the concentrated dose of cuteness, though, he pivoted and threw his arms around the TOILET and gave IT an even bigger hug, laying his cheek against it and crooning ''awwwwwww''


I figure either toilet training's gonna be a snap, or he's practicing for college frat parties.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

Your momma don't dance

... and apparently she doesn't pay attention to the laws of gravity and physics, either. And if she'd put things away, this wouldn't have happened.

I fell off the toilet. Yes, you read that correctly, I FELL OFF A TOILET. Stone cold sober, too.

Men gots it easy. They can just shake things and go on with their lives. Except some of them are convinced there is a Toilet Paper Fairy and if you leave an empty cardboard tube, the Toilet Paper Fairy will replace it with a fresh, spongy roll of that heaven-sent stuff, and therein lies part of my problem.

Second, we all know one merely RENTS coffee and at some point, you're going to be finished with it. Sooner rather than later if you happen to drink um... 5 cups?

And well. I sort of kind of forgot to restock the cabinets although I had the foresight to cart the resupply upstairs and leave it outside the door.

I know, I know, I know.

And I was SURE I could reach it if I just stretched a little more.... just... one... more.... inch....

Do the math. Hit the door frame with the top of my forehead. Rock ON with my graceful self.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

We came, we saw, we blog partied.... and other random thoughts

1,489 participants in the Ultimate Blog Party this year. It was pretty fun; I found some really interesting blogs and according to my site meter, I appear to have run off quite a few people. Heh. Sorry 'bout that folks, hope you won't need extensive therapy to recover. I really do need a warning sticker.

At any rate, I found some great new blogs to add to my reading list... if I missed yours, forgive me... Momnesia. What can I say? At any rate, just drop me a note and I'll fix it.

* * *

Optimism and Google

Ok, you. The google searcher who asked about "Bailiff Whack his Peepee" (I'm Number 1 with a Bullet on Google, folks! SO proud) at 10:48pm, 12:57am and 2:14am and clicked on the link to my blog EACH time... is that optimism, or do you need a sign? (Here's yer sign...)

* * *

My husband has recently discovered Facebook. His entire family has joined this interest and the other night I heard him talking really loudly. I thought he was yelling at a basketball game but when I listened more closely, the context was really out of place. So, I wandered downstairs to check it out.

He and his whole family were all on Skype and Facebook, having a high old time. Did I mention his parents are in their mid-eighties? My MIL burst into song, my FIl and my husband were having an argum... er, lively debate about IMing and other people were chatting about who knows what. It was cute. I get a kick out of my inlaws.

* * *

Commercials that Drive Me Insane

the Crayola toddler marker commercial. Is this woman crazy? Lets put a piece of paper on a WHITE carpet and hand a marker to a two year old. Is this commercial underwritten by Rug Doctor? Inquiring Gerbils Want to Know.

Also? This made me snort.
Humorous Pictures

Friday, March 14, 2008

Who's Your Daddy??

My husband and i have a routine worked out with Short Stuff... Daddy drops him at the sitters in the morning and I pick him up in the afternoon.

Lately he's been QUITE the daddy's boy, but never as much as today.

I knock on the sitter's door and i hear her exclaim ''Jacob! Jacob, your mommy's here'' and as she opens the door, Jacob rushes forward, excitedly squealing "Daddy! Daddy!" He stopped dead when he saw me and frowned. "No momma, nooooo momma!"

And flung himself down on his face, shrieking and kicking his little legs. My sitter was watching, her mouth agape. "Jacob! Don't you want to see your mommy?"

And my little imp stopped shrieking, sat up and looked at her. "No," he said, matter of factly, "My DADDY."

All the way home he asked "My daddy?" in this hopeful voice, and if I asked "What about mommy?", he'd growl like a pissed-off rottweiler. This went on all night.

Needless to say, my husband thinks this is very funny. That's all right, the tide will turn and in the meantime? I know something he doesn't.

Jacob had grapes, broccoli and apple juice today. And that means he's working up something really.... special.

Just for Daddy.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

When Worlds Collide

So I'm coming up on a stoplight and there's a white Odyssey minivan on the left, a souped up red Mitsubishi with a body kit and other Fast & Furious wannabe modifications on the right. Naturally, the stereo in the Mitsubushi was pumping out some bass-heavy stuff. Nas, unless I miss my guess.

But the minivan? Blaring even LOUDER. I mean ear-shattering. Journey. JOURNEY. "Don't stop Believin" and let me tell you what, the soccer dad behind the wheel was ROCKING OUT. He was dancing in his seat like he had a bad case of fleas, tossing his head and just WAILING out the tunes.

The look on the Mitsubishi kid's face was a study of fascinated horror and disbelief. He was being drowned out by a soccer dad and it was PRICELESS.

The only thing that could have made the scene better was if Soccer Dad was playing Tom Jones or something.

But you gotta admit. Journey? That's pretty good too.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Evil On Two Feet

No really. ON two feet.

I'm talking socks, here. Notably used socks. I wage a daily battle against the cotton hellspawn and i swear they breed like bunnies.

My husband, From Whose Feet Springs Grimness, swears up and down that he doesn't leave those horrid, crumpled piles of used socks on the floor... the stairs... the couch... the bed....

You know how a dog pees on things to mark his territory? I've accused the man of doing much the same thing, only with socks. And its reached a point, where like the apprehensive dog owner, or even the Giant of Jack lore, i enter the house, look around suspiciously and sniff.

''I smell... waugh!! SOCKS!''

i don't know why it is that I can face down a reeking diaper full of intestinal nuclear-grade waste, with a side of baby vomit down my shirt and never even blink. But socks? Something about their wrinkled crumpled sweaty piles of evilness just gives me the creeps.

And lets not discuss the teenager's socks. I haven't quite recovered from last week's stomach-turning episode. (I am buying new shoes for that kid and i think the old ones have to be declared a HazMat.)

Is there a solution? I have no less than 4 hampers in the house and I DO find socks in them... maybe the others are acually escapees. Is there an evil Sock Fairy, who scatters her foul footwear to mark those who offend her?

I don't know. All I can say is...

This situation stinks.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Why You Should Always Run that Internal Spell & Grammar Check or... THINK before you speak.

So the other day, I was taking some computer test and the older woman administering said test was chatting amiably, explaining the layout of their cramped little computer set up. I stared at key keyboard for a moment, which dated from about 20 years before the Age of Ergonomica (yes I made that up) and said something about familiarizing myself with the board.

"Oh yes," she says cheerfully, "I have to do that to. But then, I've always been a hunt'n peck-er."

Think about that for a moment.

And we looked at each other. And she turned absolutely scarlet. Now, for a double entendre, it really was rather tame, but she looked completely mortified. I suspect the strongest word out of this woman's mouth might be "poop".

So I said "Well, guess I'll get started on this test!" And turned to the monitor as she slowly slunk away.

Monday, March 10, 2008

Recognizing when you've reached THAT age - a handy guide

There's a really easy way to tell when you've achieved that certain level of maturity...

It's not when 20-somethings start calling you ma'am.

It's not when you start getting grey hairs. Nor yet when you start wondering when hell skirts got so short. Not even when you think that a night of dancing and vodka & Red Bulls is just too much work.

Its not when you look at a cute guy and your first thought is not 'rowr!' but 'good lord, comb your hair', not when you slam on your brakes and your arm insinctively flies out to protect the passenger, not even when your idea of being hot has more to do with flashes...

None of it.

What DOES tell you that you are now of THAT age, ready to ake your matronly place in the Halls of Maturity?

Its when your MOTHER now views you as peer and forwards raunchy sex jokes to you, to your dad's utter horror. And THEN calls to ask if you got it.

Please pass the Clorox and the qtips, I have some grey matter to santitize.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Being a parent: the stuff no one can prepare you for

now, granted, our family has been through a wringer in the last 18 months, getting my older son back on track. But there are worse things and some of them came calling tonight.

My son came over for a few hours and was pretty subdued and quiet and after watching a movie with me for a while, he told me what was wrong.

One of his former classmates, a bright and beautiful young girl, killed herself last week. She would have been 19 next week. She was struggling in her first year at college and despondent over her failing grades although by all accounts, she let no one know. She hung herself.

There is nothing that can prepare you for your child asking why... WHY did this happen?

She could have had help if anyone had known... and if anyone could have convinced her that failing school is not failing LIFE.

There was a memorial service at the high school and my son had gone, although he was embarrassed he hadn't been dressed up. ''What you wore is not the important part,'' i told him. ''Only that you were there.''

We talked at length and it was hard on both of us. Some years ago, I lost a friend to suicide as well.

He'll never forget this. And the questions will always be there.

If you can, spare a prayer for Kristin and her family and her friends. For comfort, for peace, and for the strength to heal.

And maybe a small prayer for my son, who's learned some hard lessons in the last year, but perhaps learned the hardest one tonight...

Now THIS is the life

Bless my husband and everyone who looks like him. The man took pity on me (well AND his mom who was starting to get the shakes from Grandson Withdrawal, I think), packed up Short Stuff and headed off for an overnight visit. Jacob, naturally, was pleased as punch (apparently, punch is generally quite pleased, according to Those in the Know) since visits to Halmeoni and Harabeoji mean ALL BABY, ALL THE TIME, woooooooooooooooooooooooooot NO NAPS YAYYYYYYY party party party!!!!

So, I went to bed around nine, in a glorious nest of ALL the pillows and ALL the covers and ALL THE BED. Woke up, made coffee. Ate cold pizza for breakfast. Fired up the PS3. Am continuing to sprawl, in my lounge pants with my hair all freaky looking and IT IS GOOOOOOD. There comes a time when a Mommy requires some recharging of her batteries and I'm going to have the whole day all to myself to do so. (cracks knuckles) AND the Clever Husband had given me a gift card to Gamestop for my birthday, so I have two new games to play. Bwaaaaahahahahaha.

* * *


So I had to run up to the local grocery last night to return a DVD for the husband. I'm getting out of the car when suddenly this truck that was bigger than Tom Cruise's EGO came flying around a curve, and careened into the spot next to me. I had barely enough time to slam my car door shut and flatten myself against my car. The fecking driver smirked at me. I saw red. Not just red, but all the way past Rose Madder... beyond Cadmium Red and well into the throes of ALIZARIN CRIMSON. (woe be those that paint for we shall be stuck calculating how to get That Shade forevermore...)

The guy wasn't a teenager, either. Looked to be about mid-thirties. Ooh. we are having one of those "sorry about your penis" moments? And as he headed across the parking lot, I took a step after him to give him a piece of my scattered mind.

Yeah. Not so much.

My head jerked back and I just about fell down.

I'd cleverly slammed my hair shut in the door.

And while we're at it, some pics because I haven't posted any in months and months

I call this: Jacob Sings the Blues. I should point out that he isn't actually crying, he's yelling at me with his eyes squinting shut because I wouldn't hand him the Gibson guitar leaning against the wall behind me. AAAAAAngry boy! "EuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuHHHHHHH"

Saturday, March 8, 2008

Chicks Who Blog...

That time is upon us again... the Blog Party. The best kind of party... lots of company and you don't even need to vacuum first! AND, nobody cares if you're wearing lounge pants and there's legos on the stairs.

I'm supposed to be posting some sort of introduction, here.

I'm 41. Married. Three children (20, 18 & 20 mos). Actually yes, that is on purpose, thanks for asking. We have kind of a wacky life... typically suburban with a side of ludicrous. I'm used to having bizarre things happen on a regular basis and we just roll with it.
The GerbChildren

On the other hand, I don't exactly fit the Suburban Mommy Mold... not in my neighborhood at least. I'm a Game Geek of the first water and would rather watch action or martial arts movies than classically defined chick films.

On the other hand, I know all the words to Red Grammer's Down the Do Re Mi and I can make my own Play Doh. And I think rolling around the floor with 20 month old Jacob is the best way to spend an afternoon.

We have no cat, we have no dog, but I have some of the most spoiled gerbils known to man. Or woman, for that matter. I love me some rodents! My two current boys are Raisincranz and Guldens-stern. ( They always have food puns, and we've had such names as Indiana Scones, Elvis Parsley and Poi George.)
The rodents

And on to the party. (Sorry guys, its a Chick Thing although you might still find some cool new blogs to read through the link up top.) Ladies, feel welcome to click the link and join the party. It'll be as fun as we make it!

Out of the mouths of Babes, redux

My poor husband was up much of the night, so he was trying to catch an extra hour of sleep this morning. Jacob needed a diaper change and as we walked up the stairs, he pointed to the closed bedroom door and said "Daddy? Daddy night-night?"

"Yes", I assured him. "Daddy is sleeping."
"Ohhhh," answered Short Stuff and appeared to consider this.

And then he launched into an uncannily accurate imitation of some SERIOUS snoring.

I laughed so hard, I woke up the poor husband.

Friday, March 7, 2008

For those that asked Google..

... just who said ''bailiff whack his pee pee''?

if i recall, it was on the 1971 comedy album titled 'cheech and chong', track 5 - Trippin' in Court. you can't download it here, so try iTunes or something.

also... 'someone kicking someone else's butt''.....?


ok then.

at least the 'braless children' searches have stopped.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Dear Unknown Coworker

Thanks to you, i have learned that there is actually something far worse than onion breath.

Onion crap.

not only was i unable to step further into the ladies room due to that utter wall of oniony ass you left behind (and my bladder hates you)

... but i don't think i'll be able to face down any more salad for a while.



I was channel flipping recently

And stumbled across "Keeping Up with the Kardashians."

What a freaking train wreck. Really. And yet, I kept watching it, even through the commercial breaks, trying to understand just what the hell was supposed to be the appeal of this bunch of nutcases. Have you seen it? Apparently one of the daughters was a Paris Hilton friend, had a sex tape released by an exboyfriend aaaaand... spends a lot of time and money on herself. That's all I could divine.

BUT... After about the third commercial break, a pattern dawned on me.

All the commercials were for:

Pregnancy Tests
Various versions of The Pill
some ridiculous thing called Re-phresh or something like that, which as near as I could tell, is sort of like Febreze for one's hoo-hah.

And so on and so on. Just when I thought the show's demographic was teenaged boys, the commercials suggest otherwise. The show was horrendous but at least I got a pretty good laugh.

No wonder I hate tv.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

My brain is a blank... i wore it out today. So I give you a story instead.

And its even a true story, although a few of you have heard it before.


(cue eerie music)

My mom's parents lived on a farm in this small town area. Very small town. I'm probably related to half the county. And the farm was sort of out there... it was a good 45 minutes into the nearest big town if you wanted to shop for something other than canned Del Monte peas, green beans and a bag of corn meal that may very well have seen the signing of the Declaration of Independence.

My grandparents were born here and although they went on (and out of state) to become IBM engineers, they retired back to my grandfather's family farm.

Note. This is not the farm of The Deer Stalker. Not the Leg Pile. This is the farm from the twilight zone. Just trust me on this.

Anyway, we'd been out for the morning and were coming back over the winding, twisting roads, when a local man flagged us down.

"D'you lose a cow out here?" The word Cow was stretched into additional syllables. That was one helluva drawl.

"Nope," my grandfather answered. "She's right here!" And my grandmother smacked him one in the arm.

"Somebody done hit a COW! On this road," the man insisted, "and they kilt it! Kilt it dead! But when we came back with the truck," he paused, I couldn't tell where it was for intentional dramatic effect or he was simply overcome by the gravity of the whole cow thing. "it.. it was GONE!"

My grandfather gave him a measuring look, thanked him for alerting us, and we continued on our way. From the rear window, my sister and I could see the man standing in the middle of the road, watching us. There was some joking about Zombie Ghost Cows and all, but we were fairly smug in the knowledge that obviously the cow hadn't been kilt dead at all, but probably just stunned senseless and it wandered away after it recovered a bit. I mean, come ON.

Fast forward a couple of hours. There was no cable television out here, and after dark, there just wasn't a hell of a lot to do. My grandfather was having his regular evening nap and my grandmother, sister and I were playing card games at the kitchen table and drinking really asserific coffee. All of a sudden, we heard this really odd noise. I mean REALLY odd. I'd never heard anything like it before and it was really creepy.

We all kind of looked at each other sideways and didn't say anything. You know, that sort of "if I pretend I never heard that, then it couldn't have really happened" kind of thing. We silently continued the card game for a few more minutes and then we heard it again. It was a kind of low, guttural sobbing that cranked into this long "OOOOOOOOOOOO", capped off by a rising wail.

It was definitely the sort of thing that would freak a body out.

Calmly, I got up from the table and went to wake my grandfather. And then of course, the noise didn't happen again and he got cranky and went back to sleep. Clearly, we were on our own. The third time it happened, I grabbed a flashlight and my grandmother grabbed my left arm and my sister grabbed the right, and we went out to investigate, all Lions and Tigers and Bears, OH SHIT!

We circled the house. Nothing. Out by the spring house. Nothing. chicken house? All quiet. Feed shed. Nothing there. Nothing anywhere. And as we were heading back to the house, feeling a little silly, we heard it AGAIN. Oh dear lord, it was coming from up the hill.


We didn't say a word, but all three of us scrambled for the house and got jammed in the doorway like the pack of idiots we were, clawing and flailing to get back into the house. Finally the bottleneck broke free and all three of us thundered through the living room, up the stairs, into the big bedroom and all three of us jumped into the big iron bed and under the quilts. And we STAYED there, too.

Did I mention that my sister and I were adults at this point? Not that it mattered because we were all handling it like 5 year olds and there was nothing on this earth or the next that could have gotten us out from under those covers until daybreak.

So. The next morning we all pretended like nothing had happened, but I was out with my grandfather, counting the cattle as they came in for feed, and trying to describe what we'd heard. 12... 13... 14... 15. Hey. wait a minute, we only have 14 cattle. Count again. No we come up with 15. And then at that moment, the last animal in line lifts its head and.... you got it. That gawdawful noise from last night.

It was the McCoy's bull. It had broken out of its pasture last night and gotten stuck in the cemetery. And we got teased quite a bit about that Ghost Cow of Daybrook.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Out of the mouths and all that

This past Friday was Dr. Suess Day and some of us went to a local elementary school to read books to kids. Part of the suggested curriculum was to discuss the book after it was read. This is what I got from the kindergartners:

Me: "And does anyone have any questions?"

a wee, tiny solemn-faced little girl raises her hand.

me: "Yes dear?"
tot: "Miss Gerbil, are you wearing... stockings??"
me: "Why... yes, I am."
tot (nodding) "I thought so. Thank you."
me: "You're welcome."

Also? I'm feeling tres Put Together this morning. Pinned my hair up in a chignon, hose with NO snags in them yet, my dark brown knit only-designer-top-that-I-own and my chunky fabulous smoky topaz pendant that I TOTALLY got for dirt freaking cheap but nobody knows that except well... everyone NOW but anyway.

I strutted just a bit as I exited my room. Shoulders back, chin up, feelin' GOOD.

And I went out and got coffee and all and completely failed to notice the big ol' splotch of toothpaste directly over my right nipple.

Because I'm just Klassy like that.

Monday, March 3, 2008

Not Feeling the Target Love

Nearly everyone I know loves the Land of the Big Red Dot known as Target. And ye cats and little fishes, you find nearly as many of them dotting the landscape as Starbucks. But I have to admit, I don't understand the fuss. Sure, I occasionally shop there because its convenient, being barely a mile from the house. My husband, on the other hand, loooooovvvves Target and delights in spending a couple of hours wandering through every nook and cranny of the store.

I just don't get it. Maybe its because the Target nearest us just plain bites. Truly, it does. Its staffed by what has to be the culls from every other Target. The Minor Leagues of Target, right here. I have yet to experience anyone on the sale floor who is not engaged in earnest (and often hand-wavingly energetic) conversation with a coworker about their social activities in the last week and who dissed who, to the exclusion of absolutely everything else, including I don't know... their actual jobs? They see absolutely nothing wrong with blocking entire aisles (and those are fairly wide aisles) with multiple carts piled high with cardboard and other retail detritus and then walking away, abandoning their crap to become some sort of consumer obstacle course. We needn't discuss the general attitude should I, a lowly shopper, need to intrude upon their space for any reason. Dude. I have news for you. This is a Target, NOT Tavern on the Green. Get the hell over yourself, all I need is some help reaching that item on the top shelf so I can support the economy just a little bit, mmmkay?

It frustrates the hell out of me. Plus, our Target seems to be poorly stocked, often failing to carry the same items that the Target across town does. Even the presence of Starbucks there doesn't sweeten my sullen view of The Target That Sucks because its staffed by the same Targetistas. (Besides, Starbucks might be padding their bottom line but the caramel macchiato goodness also pads MY bottom line. If you know what I mean.)

The best answer, of course, is to simply not give them my money. Alas, I have my moments when convenience overtakes my sense of consumer justice and I find myself doing the walk of shame through the red doors (which, by the way Target, you really ought to fix those. Its really aggravating to have them get stuck as they're trying to open. Don't make me kick you.) I justify myself by murmuring that really, with the price of gas these days, I'm really saving money by not driving across town, really truly. And some part of me knows that really? I'm just freaking lazy.

I feel cheated. I read all these stories of True Target Love and the fabulousness of the big red dot but... i got nothin, man.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Speaking of Thermoses...

Speaking of thermoses....

In my family, we have phrase that indicates the the conversation is about to take a sharp turn off track in a manner which might make no sense, but there's no way to logically segue into the next topic, so.... "Speaking of thermoses" is that phrase.

This can be traced back to my great-aunt L, who I have mentioned before. We were all sitting around the kitchen table in a great gathering (probably after a funeral) when she abruptly slapped her palm onto the table and announces "Well, SPEAKING of thermoses..."

which we weren't.

And she launched into some completely different discussion and the phrase took on a life of its own. Its kind of where my brain is today. Big shock, I know.

* * *

I have two new gerbil pups in the house... Indiana Scones finally passed on to that great toilet paper roll beyond, at the advanced gerbil age of 4 1/2. I now have a black and an argente (golden) pup and we have named them Raisincranz and Guldens (like the mustard)-stern. And given their colors, this horrid pun works on two levels. Bonus.

* * *

I got a worried call from my mom recently... my sisters and I jointly own my grandfather's property in New York. We've had our ups and downs with the property after my grandfather's death, notably the renter who trashed the place and turned the basement into a veritable abbatoir. (surely you don't think I'm kidding. )

He was, among other unsavory things, a very very busy poacher and he did his dirty work in the basement of my grandfather's house. Trust me, you do NOT want the photographic proof, although there are bloggers who can back me up on this one.

Anyway, the current renters are very nice people and knew my grandfather. However, they've approached my sisters a couple of times and mentioned that there appears to be some paranormal activity going on and its beginning to freak them right out. Supposedly, they emailed a list of the incidents to my sister, but she has yet to forward this on. I am not certain what to think of this but am dying to know what's got everyone worked up.

We've got quite the history in that house anyway. My great-great grandfather deeded the land to my grandfather when he married, and my grandfather dug the foundation and built the house himself, brick by brick. My grandfather actually died of an accident in the house on Halloween, a few years back. It was pretty grim. For many years, he'd told all of us that he wanted to be cremated and have his ashes scattered there on the farm. But when we had the funeral, the director of the OTHER funeral home called the one handling Grandpa's arrangements and said " I have MRS Lastname here!"

Uh... what?????

My grandmother had died nearly 10 winters prior and Grandpa had told us he'd scattered her ashes in her beloved garden. So uh... what the heck???Sure enough. Grandpa had apparently forgotten to ever pick up my grandmother's ashes and they'd sat in the basement of the other funeral home for like TEN YEARS. Oh man. You know when he got to the pearly gates, my grandmother had a few things to say to him.

So, we retrieved Grandma. And scattered her ashes over her prized rhubarb patch. Grandpa? well, Grandpa's in his blueberry bushes, a good distance from the rhubarb because you KNOW she wasn't speaking to him. My family is wondering if any activity might be Grandma, still pissed off at being forgotten in the basement.

* * *

We had to replace the washing machine recently. All I can say is... when you do laundry 24 hours prior, and you come back and it looks like the segment of Creepshow where the asteroid lands on Stephen King's backwoods farm and he touches it and starts growing green, fuzzy fungus???? Yeah. That is bad.

I actually spent two hours trying to eradicate the slimy crap that had taken over my washing machine, not because I thought I could restore what was an old and dying machine ANYWAY, but because I was too grossed out to even have this crud in my house. Like it was going to ooze out and get us all in our sleep or something. So we bit the bullet and got a front loader and it does a wonderful job... except, did I mention the 2nd floor laundry hookup? Right. The washer is now preparing us in case we ever move to California or something because everytime the spin cycle begins, everyone in the house thinks we're having an earthquake. In my mind, its a small price to pay to for mold-free laundry.

* * *

Irony I Have Known

Not so long ago, I witnessed a fairly bad rear-end collision on my way to work. The guy in the van pretty much obliterated the back of the little Nissan, which had inexplicably stopped dead in front of him.

He was on the phone, shrieking at someone and I saw the girl who'd been driving the Nissan staggering by the side of the road, nearly stepping into traffic. I went to assist and had her sit back down while I called emergency. She was 6 months pregnant and luckily, the fire station was literally just up the road. Emergency asked me to remain on the scene until they got there.

As a police officer hurried over to where we were waiting, the girl looked up at me and said shakily, "I really need my cigarettes." And my heart? it sank a little. (I'm not making judgements about smoking, i know exactly what a nightmare it is to quit... but while pregnant? Oh man.)

I look into the front seat and sure enough, there's a carton in there. Apparently, that's what caused the accident. She dropped her cigarette on the floor and without thinking, slammed on her brakes as she reached for it.

The brand?

Wait for it.


Some things have to be seen to be believed.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

Return to Pooh Corner

...or something like that. My mother always said "Life is what happens when you have something else planned." And the last months were no exception around here. Nothing particularly earth-shaking, just life. And lots of it, to the extent that I had very little spare time for much of anything else.

That and I STILL haven't gotten the computer fixed (the adage of the shoemaker's children going bare comes to mind).

Ah well.

Jacob's doing fabulously - 20 months now (how is that possible??? Time seems to have sped up.)and beginning to show a mild interest in potty training. We're not pushing it but if he has a successful episode we make much of it.

However, pride can go before a rather unpleasant fall...

(Warning: the following post contains brief nudity and bathroom humor. Literally. Parents will nod sagely, all others may experience nausea and disgust.)

Sooooo. There we were on Wednesday night... Jacob's happily splashing around in his bath - his favorite activity of the evening. He looks up suddenly, and looks very concerned. "Oh," says he, "Ohhhhhhhh. Ooh." And small bubbles began issuing forth, prompting some squirming and worried wrinkles across his brow.

Being an experienced mother (like that means diddly), I said "Jacob, would you like to sit on your potty??"
"Yes! mm. YES!"

And I scooped him out of the bath and set him on his Winnie the Pooh potty and noted the clenching of tummy muscles and more squirming and then he held veeerrrrrry still and got that faraway look. And I congratulated myself for recognizing the signs of impending poopdom.

And yes, Jacob pooped his first Potty Poop, a great grand stinker right there in the Pooh Potty. And daddy was called to witness this, The First Poop. And daddy ran off to call the grandmother and tell HER. (And I thought to myself "good lord, only parents celebrate CRAP, no wonder everyone thinks we're insane). Jacob was terribly pleased with himself and after getting cleaned up a bit, went back into his bath so I could clean the Pooh Potty.

Except he'd no sooner sat down then he sits bolt upright and looked freaked out. And I grabbed him up and sat him back on the pot and he proceeds to go again. Hmmm. I was sure he'd been done. And that one was um.... not so er... well.... firm.

But finally he's done and gets cleaned and back into the tub. And as I am cleaning the little potty, KA-BLAMMO.


In the bathtub.

Yeah, they all do it at least once, but this? This was especially bad. I learned later that he'd been fed apple juice and lots of it - a sure fire recipe for tush-related disaster.

Ack. Ack. I grab the child and stand him on the rug while I try and grab bathtoys before they're... awwwwwwww noooo, Jacob sat down on the rug, making a big brown assprint and... no! oh hell no... he stands back up, grabbing my pants legs as he does and now I have handprints of... augh!!!! the wall! not the wall! Ohhhhh the guest towels. Ladies and gentlemen, a veritable shitstorm is taking place in my bathroom. I'd rate it about an F3 on the Fujita scale.

finally, the bathwater finishes draining, I grab all the toys and plunk them into the sink for a good cleaning & I start scrubbing down the boy. I get a diaper on him, send him in to daddy and proceed to disinfect the bathroom. Ten minutes later, the child is back in the tub and incredibly pleased with himself.

1 - he was highly praised for pooping on the potty. 2 - his tummy feels SO much better and 3 - he got TWO baths.

Mommy? After the boy went happily to bed, mommy got BEER. and an awful lot of laundry.