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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

* * *

IF I COULD GET LOOSE, I WOULD GIVE YOU SUCH A SMACK... or A Very Gerbil Moment

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"

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.

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''.....?

really????????


ok then.

at least the 'braless children' searches have stopped.

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.

Resentfully,

Gerbil