My new charm bracelet

I love charm bracelets and I have several.  They're really the only jewelry that I wear.  I got my first one from John and it started with two charms; one for each of the boys.  I added charms over the years and now it's full.  My next one I found in a magazine and it's has hearts of all types.  The one in the magazine was $1200 but I thought, "$1200?? that's nuts" and started collecting hearts charms.  It's just about full but I can't wear it until I get it to a jewelry store because all the charms are tied on with yarn.  My third one is the "new" type that Brighton and Pandora sells.  It has 5 beads that the boys picked out and gave me for Christmas last year.  My fourth charm bracelet is my "buyer beware" purchase.  I found this bracelet on Overstock.com along with a red heart that I thought I would add to my Heart bracelet.  Well, the bracelet showed up with the tiniest links I've ever seen in my life.  I really don't know what it's intended for; perhaps a child's bracelet??  So I hung the one red heart charm on it and called it good.  Turns out I quite like it.

My latest charm bracelet is from my Mom.  After my Dad died, she put together a Brighton bracelet with charms that reminded her of Dad.  She ended up with so many charms that it was too heavy to actually wear so she divided up the charms between my sister and me.  I was going through the charms with Sam and explaining that they're all the things that Grandpa loved.  There's a golfing charm and an ice cream charm and a coffee charm and a L.O.L charm (because Dad told stories that made everyone laugh) and a suitcase charm because Grandma and Grandpa traveled a lot…..then Sam piped up and said, 'What about napping? Is there a napping charm?"

Best Sign in Town

Picked up Abbey from the kennel and drove past my favorite sign in town.

Because 5 is just too damn fast

Washington DC

At the FDR Memorial, Sam reading Roosevelt quotes off the walls….

"We have nothing to fear but fear itself……and spiders…..definitely spiders."

Who are you in Fiction?

I just took the Book Week Scotland 2013 Personality Test

Who are you in fiction?

and it says I'm Katniss Everdeen

who are you??

Time Vampires

So John found this game, Mansion Makeover, and thought I'd like it.  You fix up your mansion by selling items in your house.  It's a search and find game; you look for silly items in cluttered rooms until you have enough money to buy a new couch.  It's cute and he was right, I did like it.  But it turned out that there are more games in this series and I really liked the garden makeover one.  I ended up with a beautiful garden but eventually ran out of things to fix up.  Game over.  Bummer.  But, oh oh oh, then I found AquaScapes where you build fish tanks and, uh-oh, when you get one tank completed you can build another one.  And another one.  And another one.  And then your kid wants a tank so you start a tank for him.  And you have to keep all of the tanks clean and all of the fish fed.  And you can name the fish.  And they talk to you.  And sometimes when you switch to a different tank they'll be all lined up, smiling at you and telling you that they love you.  And suddenly you've lost 2 days of your life.  Somebody stop me….please…..<sob>

Man, I really hate people….

But some of them are really asking for it.

So I'm at Jo Ann's.  The third person in a 9 person line at the check-out counters.  There's naturally only one clerk working but she has called for assistance to things are looking up.  The lady at the counter has one return, one price adjustment and is conducting some type of hostile takeover/kidnap for ransom/unintelligible transaction involving her phone that has the clerk so baffled she's called for a manager.  And just to round things out, the lady ahead of me has squatted on the floor and said, "Oooohhhhh, don't come now."  WTF?!?  And in comes Little Miss Thing who walks straight up to the register to be helped.  "I dropped something off yesterday, blah blah blah….."  Me, "Excuse me, there's a line."  LMT, "Oh, you don't mind, do you?"  Me, "Well, you know what?  Since you clearly need help from the clerk, why don't you get in line with the rest of us who are waiting to be helped by the clerk."  I know your mother told you that you were the most special little girl in the world but you're not.  And if anyone is cutting in line, it's the lady having a baby.  And only because I don't want placenta on my shoes.

You know you're old when.....

Me:  "Ugh, Sam, you sound like a broken record!"

Sam:  "What's that?"

For like 3 seconds, I was really confused

I help out in the school library two days a week and when I went in yesterday there was this older gentleman there.  He was dressed rather fancy and I figured he was an author waiting to do a reading for the kids.  After the kids filed in and he went up to do his thing, I leaned over to the lady next to me and asked,"Who's he?"

She replied, "Oh, that's Charles Dickens."

Wait…What?

Well, I had thought he was an author, just not that author. "He looks really good…..for a dead guy."

(He was from a local theatre group and was reading from A Christmas Carol.)

Enrique, you asshole

Okay, so I waxed elegant about how much I love our tilers.  Well, the love is gone.  The last day of work was on Saturday, when John was at home.  Uh-oh

Enrique and I had already talked about getting new baseboards because the old ones would look beat-up next to the new tile.  We totally agreed on this.  Well, come Saturday morning, he's convinced John that the new baseboards should be painted while they're still out in the garage.  John totally agreed.  Then he walked in to the kitchen all jazzed that we should paint the baseboards right then.  And he'd even found the paint in the garage that would match the rest of the molding in the house.  "I'll stay out of your way. I promise."  See what happened there? How it went from you --> we --> me?  Clever.

Now, I totally get it.  I do.  It's easier to paint the baseboards in the garage then crawling around on the floor.  It's also a lot less messy.  And I'm sure Enrique is thinking, "you are NOT painted over top of my brand new tiles, bitch."  I get that too.  But here's the thing, I paint inside where it's warm; not outside where it's cold.  And John and I don't paint together because it would require the services of a divorce lawyer.

I dig out my painting clothes, add an extra hoodie and my heavy camping shoes. (When you paint inside, you don't need shoes.  Another bonus to not painting outside.)   My hair's sticking up and I haven't brushed my teeth.  It's awesome.

So here's me, in the garage at 9:06 painting baseboards. And it's 34 degrees out.

John, "Enrique has a drop cloth we can use."
Me, "I'll just use this plastic here."
John, "Do you need new brushes?"
Me, "What's wrong with my brushes?!"
John, "Do you need gloves?"
Me, "I can't paint wearing gloves. grumble. grumble."
John, "This is going to go so fast. It won't take anytime at all!"
Me, "grumble"
John, "It's already starting to dry."
Me, "It's starting to freeze."
John, "Oh my god, you look so cute. I'm going to take a picture!"
Me, "NO, YOU'RE NOT."

Question the Tiler Just Asked Me

One of the guys just came in and asked, "Is it alright if I vacuum up the dust?"

My answer, "Yes! yes yes yes yes!"  Anyone can vacuum my house, anytime they feel like it.  You don't even have to ask, just come right in.

Dude, "Just wanted to check because of the noise."

You know what that means, right?  It means that when they were tiling someone else's house, the homeowner complained when they vacuumed.  Now they have to double check.  Do you think this was a "No, that's my dust! Are you trying to steal my dust?" response, or a "No, I'm not paying extra for vacuuming!" response, or a "Oh, couldn't you possibly vacuum another time?  I have just a splitting headache. I must lie down." response.  I hope it was the later and there was swooning involved.  And a flouncy robe.

Home Improvement

We're having the hallway retiled this week.  Doesn't sound like much but our hallway runs through the entire house in this U shape with all these terrible angles to cut around.  John and his buddy, Jeff from work, stopped by at lunchtime to check out the progress and discuss manly things like hardie-board and joists with the tilers.  Jeff has a lot of home renovation experience under his belt but, honestly, there'd have to be a hole in the wall for John or I to realize something was up.  ("Waaaait aaa second."  "Was that there before?")  After deciding that everything was progressing as expected, they joined me in the kitchen.

John, "Man, this place is a disaster.  Those guys are working their asses off!"

Me, "Yeah, and you wanted to do the demo ourselves."

Jeff, "Nah, you definitely want those guys doing the demo.  They're the experts.  They have, like, muscles in their backs and everything."

John, "Probably take us twice as long."

Jeff, "Oh, they'll have it demo'd faster then we could make it out of the hardware store trying to figure out what tools we need."

(John just read through this and said, "You gave Jeff all the zingers."  Me, "Jeff said all the zingers.")

So Enrique and his buddy are here tiling my hallway and these guys are artists.  I don't know when we downgraded craftsman to the status of day-laborers but it's an injustice.  (It was probably after Murphy Brown was cancelled and Eldin was left without a gig.)  Enrique's been tiling for 20 years and he's younger than me.  I haven't done anything for 20 years.  Except breathe.  And I'm not very good at that.  (John, "You're a terrible breather. All wheezy and open mouthed." Me, "Exactly!")  They're not even swearing.  I know this for a fact because I may not be able to converse in Spanish but I know all the good swear words.  That's what exchange students are for, after all.

It reminds me of when we had the roof redone on our old house.  There was one guy who stood on the lawn and cut the plywood.  He cut each piece once.  And it fit.  Every. Single. Time.  It was sorcery.  It's the same with Enrique.  All the hardie-board went down with one cut and no blood.  They used the exact amount of tiles in the garage and didn't have to run back to the hardware store for more.  Twice.  Not once did they look up and say, "Well, I guess that's close enough." These guys used to have guilds and were kept on retainer by landed nobles.  Who cares if they only spoke Italian? "You must stay here and make my manor beautiful."  And, boy, are these guys making my manor beautiful!

Before:

 

After:

   

Me, "I'm going to make them a cake."
John, "They don't want cake!"
Me, "They deserve cake."

Me, "And that paint's gotta go."
John, "shit."

Best Book Quote this Week

"It's like a good dream.  Sometimes when you wake up, you wish it could have been real.  But it doesn't matter.  You have to get out of bed."

Annabel Scheme, by Robin Sloan

Update

Me, "I'm going to add some links to my blog site.  You know, like funny ones that made me laugh out loud."

John, "You should add one about sausages.  A site all about sausages.  I bet no one would get it."

Me, "Huh?"

John, "Sausages….links about sausages….."

<pause>
<pause>
<pause>
<pause>

John, "Sausage links!"

<pause>

Me, "Oh. That's funny!"

John, "God, you didn't even get it."

Thanks a lot, Costco

We don't belong to Costco but my Mom does so when she visits we make a Costco run.  Actually we make several runs but that's between me, my mom and our therapists.  Mind your own business.  During her last visit, as we were walking up and down the aisles, she noticed kitchen knives.  I'm sure you've seen the same ones; the set where each knife is a different color.   Mom, "Do you need new knives?"  Well, none of my knives are purple, or orange so I naturally answered, "Yes!"  Maybe, all this time, all I've needed as encouragement to cook more often was a set of Sesame Street knives.  This could be what our kitchen has been missing.  Quick, grab the knives before they're all gone!

So we brought home the multi-colored happiness knives.  I stored them with all the other sad, boring, black and silver knives, bringing sunshine to the entire drawer, and awaited the return of John the Engineer, fully expecting to hear his theory on Function Over Form.  Again.  But it didn't come because, damn, if those aren't great knives!  They're the best knives we've ever owned. You know how on the Food Network, they can chop-chop-chop-chop through an onion in like five seconds?  And it makes that awesome choppy sound?  I can do that now.  With my big beautiful red chopping knife, I'm all chop-chop-chop-chop-chop-chop-shit-ooowwww.  Unfortunately, really sharp knives does not a great chef make.

Every time I use these wonderful smiley knives, I cut off a small piece of myself.  Be it the yellow paring knife, the blue vegetable knife, or the strange curvy turquoise one, some small part of my body is sliced off like a little blood sacrifice to the kitchen gods.  These knives may actually be the worst form of suicide ever.  "Well, she got these amazing knives and then 3 1/2 years later she bled out. So sad."  At one point John asked, "Are you turning into a cutter?  Should I be checking your thighs and upper arms?"

This Thanksgiving was a blood bath.  After the third trip from the bathroom with band-aids, Sam told me, "Mom, you have to stop chopping."  It was like having your get-away driver turn to you, after having barely evaded the police again, and saying, "We've gotta go straight, Man. We gotta try."
And the worst part was I couldn't wash my hair because you know how a few strands of hair will slide through the cut <shiver> god, I hate that!

Anyway, this year I offer thanks for my amazing techni-colored dream knives.  I think.

Just a little off the sides, please.

Turkey Butter

Not what you were expecting, huh?

Gobble, Gobble

Later that day…..

Me:  "So the girls are coming over tomorrow for dinner."

John: "Is the new one coming?"

Me:  "Huh?"

John:  "You know….Joey…. Marky…. something…."

Me:  "DeeDee?"

John:  "That's it.  I knew it was one of the Ramones."

Our morning at Starbucks

Abbey and I were sitting outside in the sunshine.  John walks inside for a coffee and comes out 11 minutes later.  "I got a gingerbread latte with molasses drizzle.  There's no fucking coffee in that place anymore."

Then his story continues.

"So there's this old couple in there.  Skipper and the Misses stop by for coffee; so cute.  He's 100 years old.  She's a decade younger; all dolled up so she's clearly the brains of the operation.  She's in line to order and Skipper's wandering around the place, jingling his keys and looking for a hardware store.  She's looking around like, "uh oh, where'd he go".  He comes up behind me, rockin' the double hearing aids, taps me on the shoulder to let me know he's with her.  She does a pretty good job ordering and they step aside.  People are bobbing and weaving all around them; names are being shouted, coffee's walking off the counter left and right.  Their food comes up and Skipper's confused because their drink aren't there. Pretty soon he bellies up to the bar for whatever drink comes up next.  A few of us are smiling and chuckling and others are rushing up, scared to death that Skipper's gonna take their half-caf, soy, peppermint cup of pie.  Dude just wants a cup of coffee.  Man, society's crumbling….I blame Starbucks."

Conversation with my Car

Oh, if my car could talk…..

stayed up to late last night, tired this morning, boys are off to school, on my way to the gym, in the car….

Me:  "why aren't we starting?"
Car: "no keys"
Me:  "crap"

out of the car, back in the house, grab the keys, out of the house, back in the car, throw keys in cup holders, buckle seat belt, check phone for texts….

Car: <sigh>

oh, funny text from Tina about text messages from a dog, laugh, laugh, laugh, respond to text, toss phone of passengers seat, reach over for seat belt….

Me: "where's the seat belt?"
Car: "I think you're the only person in the world who does this."
Me:  "huh?"
Car: "you're already wearing the seat belt."
Me: "yes, well, most people in the world don't drive."

start to back out of garage...

Car: "is the garage door open?"
Me: "I only did that once.  Jeez."

back into driveway, wow, really sunny, stop the car, search around…..

Me: "where are my sunglasses?"
Car:  <sigh> "in the house."
Me: "crap"

out of car again, back in house again, find sunglasses, back out of house, back in car, okay here we go...

Me: "why aren't we moving?"
Car: <sigh>
Me: "what?!"
Car: "not in gear"
Me: "shit"
shift into drive
Car: "vroom"

back out of driveway, still bright out, flip down sun visor, heading down street…

Me: "why is it still so bright? I can't see a thing! What the h..."
Car: "close sunroof cover."
Me: "oh, thanks."

driving….

Me: "somedays, I wonder how I make it out of the house….."
Car: "it's a fucking miracle."

Happy Thanksgiving?

Last sunday was like any other sunday except the turkeys came to visit.  One jumped up on the fence and pranced around for a while thrilling the humans and completely confusing the dog.

gobble gobble gobble

On the one paw, this is her yard and she protects it from bird or squirrel or neighbor cat alike.  On the other paw, this is quite large. Possibly a bird, but perhaps not.  And why is it looking at us like that?  What does it want?  My bone is out there.  So as we were being amazed at it's size and beautiful feathers and discussing it's possibly gimpy foot, Abbey was running back and forth doing this….

---------------------------> ggggggggggggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

<--------------------------wwwwwwwhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnneeeeeeee

---------------------------> ggggggggggggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

<--------------------------wwwwwwwhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnneeeeeeee

---------------------------> ggggggggggggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

<--------------------------wwwwwwwhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnneeeeeeee

---------------------------> ggggggggggggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

<--------------------------wwwwwwwhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnneeeeeeee

Me: "abbey."

---------------------------> ggggggggggggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

<--------------------------wwwwwwwhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnneeeeeeee

Me: "abbey."

---------------------------> ggggggggggggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

<--------------------------wwwwwwwhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnneeeeeeee

John: "Don't let the dog out.  I don't want her to scare the turkey."

Me: "I don't think that's going to be a problem."

Book Review

So last week I finished my 6 book "Novels of Terror" series, followed it up with a Young Adult distopia book and desperately needed a palette cleanser.  I've had "Mr. Penumbra's 24 Hour Bookstore" on my kindle list for quite so time and now seemed like the perfect time to read it.  I'm about halfway through and it's great!!  It's full of quirky characters, that say things like:

"….when people are past a certain age, you sort of stop asking them why they do things.  It feels dangerous."

and
"She's wearing the same red and yellow BAM! T-shirt from before, which means (a) she slept in it, (b) she owns several identical T-shirts, or c) she's a cartoon character -- all of which are appealing alternatives."

The narrator's voice makes me wish we were friends.  AND, there's a mysterious group of book-readers who are trying to solve the mysteries of the universe.  Can you beat that??  So if you're looking for your next book to read, I highly recommend "Mr. Penumbra's 24 Hour Bookstore" by Robin Sloan.    It's the kind of book that has you re-reading lines because they feel good.

Unless the ending sucks, in which case, never mind….

Robopocaplypse - A Reprieve

So for the last 6 months or so we've had this new Comcast service.  Whenever we get voice mail, Comcast sends a transcript of the message to our email.  I'm sure you have this too.  I don't know how you feel about this but I think it's possibly the very best service Comcast provides.  Other than sporadically dropping my Internet service until I complain to my husband and then when he checks it every thing's fine.  I love that too.  But the emails are great.  For one, I get my messages much sooner because I check email daily but probably only check voice mail weekly.  And only if the blinking light is really bugging me.  It's an even more fantastic service when you factor in the entertainment value.  Here are the last two messages left by my mom; a clear speaking mid-westerner lady that speaks with no accent whatsoever….

I love how it inserts question marks when it's unsure about what was said.  Implying that it was quite sure about all the other stuff.  I don't even check voice mail anymore.  I just read the emails and try to figure out what the message was about.  It's my very own personalized game show and it's way more fun than my Riddle-A-Day app.  And harder.

More importantly it makes me feel far more hopeful about humanities chances in the upcoming Robopocaplypse.  As long as we plan all of our defensive strategies via voice messaging, that is.  The computers will never stop our raid against the main power grid; they'll be too busy staking out Raymond's powder room.  

Kids say the darnedest things

Tom, coming in from the patio, "don't go out there.  I was talking to dad and then....and then...."

Sam, "then what? Then the punches flew and chairs were smashed in two. There was blood and a single gun shot but just who shot, who?"

Oh, You Know Me So Well

My friend, Tina, called me yesterday.

Tina:  "Lisa asked me if I remembered the name of your favorite Chardonnay."
Me: "Yeah?"
Tina: "I told her I was pretty sure it's whatever you're drinking at the time."

Got it in one.

Best Book Quote this Week.....

"...if someone asks me how many people work in this office, I say, 'About half'."  Nelson DeMille, The Panther

Happy Halloween part 2

Texting with John who was flying home from South Carolina

Me: Are the flight attendants dressed up for Halloween?

John:  Yes, one is dressed as an asshole with attitude.

Happy Halloween!

Text String with my Brother:

My costume:

FYI - Watching all six seasons of Face Off does not qualify one to actually DO movie makeup.  In this shot, I'm hiding my pathetic attempt at claw marks.  My special effects medium...eyeliner and lip gloss.  

Bunco Night

So I hosted a Bunco Party a few weeks ago.  My friend, Tina, brought over a bunch of stuff including pulled pork, dinner rolls and these awesome potatoes.  (If you're not eating carbs, you're a sucker.)  When she arrived, she texted from the driveway and I sent the boys out to help carry stuff inside.  A few minutes later, Sam walked into the kitchen carrying a huge bag of dinner rolls and I received this text from Tina,

"Sam just told me 'Nice Buns'"

Of course he did.  I raised that kid right!

The next day, after we finished off the remaining 16 rolls (carbs rock!) Sam and I had this conversation:

Sam, "Miss Tina's buns are excellent."
Me, "They sure are."
Sam, "Have you tried them?"
Me, "Oh, honey, everyone has tried Miss Tina's buns."
Sam, "That's good."

The War on Terror

I was at the gym this morning and the gym is my main source of news.  I don't use headphones, I read the scroll so as long as the T.V. is within my sight zone, I get my morning news.  Some machines are too close, some are too far,  it's a Goldilocks thing.  This morning, as with many mornings, they were talking about the War on Terror.  And this morning, as with many mornings, I thought to myself, "You know, I don't really see any headway here."

Don't get me wrong, it must be a tough war to fight.  The more terror you experience, the more your resistance to it goes up.  In the last week I read two "Novels of Terror" to get myself in the Halloween spirit.  The first one was pretty good but by the third torture scene, I was all 'pfft' and flipped ahead to see it the dog survived.  The second one had potential;  good guys trapped on an island, evil medical experiments, and cannibals.  It also had a main character that carried around a baby in a sling through the entire book.  The kid didn't cry until page 297.  And it was a boy.  So really it was more a "Novel of Fantasy".   My kids and I would never survive the cannibals/aliens/nazis/zombies because they can't be quiet for 297 seconds let alone 297 pages.  "Be quiet." "You be quiet." "I am being quiet." "No, you're not." "Leave me alone." "Stop shoving." "I'm not shoving."  "I'm telling."  And, pow, we're all dead.  Anyway, by the second 'roasting alive' scene,  I was again flipping ahead to see if they ate the baby.  Terror is all relative.

And who decides if it's terror or not? If you asked me how to fight a War on Terror, I'd say round up Stephen King, Alfred Hitchcock, and whoever the hell is responsible for 'Insidious'.  That movie scared the hell out of me.  I had to pee in the middle of it and I made John walk me to the bathroom.....in our house.  Uncle Stevie has had me sleeping with the lights on more than once.  Alfred Hitchcock may be dead but crows will forever be evil little bastards who want to kill me.  You know what, let's round up Steven Spielberg while we are it because I still don't go in the water.  Even their music is terrifying.  Better grab the musicians too.  Oh, oh, and the American Horror Story people.  That show is creepy as hell.  Does that count?  It's so confusing because one person's terror is another person's creepy.  Who decides?

And air travel, talk about terrifying.   And I'm talking once you wade through all the morons in the terminal.  You'll never explain to me how that plane stays in the air.  It makes no sense. Half of that physics is made up and you know it.  Air pressure, my ass.  That plane is staying afloat with witchcraft and xanax.

Maybe there has been some headway made in the War on Terror.  It's the middle of October and the movie theaters are devoid of scary movies to usher in Halloween.  Guess I should have gone to see the 'Conjuring' when I had the chance.  A minor victory; very minor when you realize it will be On-Demand next month.  In fact, I can stream just about any horror movie out there and the books I read were downloaded to my Kindle in about 3 seconds.  I'm willing to bet that I actually have a greater access to Terror since this war began.  Maybe we should scrap the War of Terror and choose another emotion to declare war on.  How about Frustration or Apathy.

Now if you want to talk about the War on Terrorism, well, that's another story.....

Food Poisoning Part 2

My food poisoning has been gone since Saturday night but I'm still having some issues.  My internal organs no longer trust my judgement when it comes to edible/inedible decisions.

Me:  I'm hungry.  What should I have for lunch?

Stomach:  Order what you want, sister.  We're sending everything back to the kitchen.

Food Poisoning

I lost 3 1/2 pounds yesterday.


I do not recommend it.

Texts from John

I just figured out how to take photos of text messages.  I'm so 2007.

Next text:

Then I got this one:

More Awesome Bumper Stickers

Saturday afternoon at JoAnn's

So John and I made the fatal mistake of going to JoAnn's on a Saturday afternoon three weeks before Halloween.  John, "Couldn't you do this during the week?  I mean, you don't work."  Me, "Yes, but we're already here."  John, "We could change that."

I should clarify that John didn't intend to go to JoAnn's.  He went next door to the grocery store.  And he was in there so long that he thought for sure he'd get back to the car and find me standing there pissed off.  But I wasn't so he wandered into JoAnn's out of amazement really.  (I should also clarify that I don't sew but I found out my friend, Deb, does so I'm making her sew shit for me.)

I was at the Cut Counter.  The Cut Counter at JoAnn's is what I imagine a Methadone Clinic to look like.  30 people loitering around, glassy-eyed, not talking to anyone and if you do try to talk to someone they get all squirrelly.  Half the people don't know what they're doing so they're up at the counter waaaay longer than they should be.  And the clerks are all cranky.  Or waaay to talkative.  Frankly I prefer cranky. 

John walks up and I'm rockin' number 32.  The counter is currently helping number 19.  

John, "What the fuck?!" 

<mouth hanging open>

John, "That counter isn't right, is it?" 

Me, "Yeah but it was at 14 when I got here and they're moving pretty fast." 

John, "Why can't we cut it ourselves?"

Me, "All hell would break loose.  There would be blood."

John, "No, really why can't we cut our own?"

Me, "You have to have the inventory scanner-thingie to get the slip with the yardage and price."

John, "What the fuck..."

5 minutes later....

John, "Wait a minute...is she going on break?....what the fuck....."

John, "What is this fabric for anyway?"

Me, "Two are for Abbey's Halloween costume and the other is for her new pillow."

John, "We're standing here for the dog?!?"

5 minutes later....

We're standing next to three high school cheerleaders (I'm assuming) and all their Halloween costume paraphernalia.

John, "What do you think the fringe is for?"

Me, "Cowboys and Indians?"

John, "Ahhh.  Oh look, they're up."

Me, "And they don't know what they're doing so it's going to take forever."

John, "Holy shit, they're measuring each other."

Me, "Yeah and they're doing it wrong."

John, "Shhh, leave them alone, they're doing fine......"

5 minutes later....

John ducks outside to crack the windows in the car so the boys don't suffocate.  When he gets back, 4 of the cutters are standing around, cackling at each other, and not cutting any one's fabric.

John, "What'd I miss?"

Me, "The Great Scissor Debate of 2013.  Apparently Mabel tried to take Gloria's scissors.  One of the pairs of scissors is not as good as the others and no one wants to get stuck with them and it's all very funny."

John, "We should come here drunk."

5 minutes later.....

They're up to number 30.

John, "You're almost up.  Better get loose."

So I start bouncing on my feet, shaking out my arms and shoulders.  Cracking my neck.  

Lady next to me, "You going in?"

Me, "I'm going in."

And they call number 32.

We rush to the counter. I slap down my bolts of fabric and push two towards the cutting lady.

Me: "I need a yard of each."

Cutter: "Hey, hey, hey." <shoving one back at me> "I can only do one at a time."

Me: "Oh, I'm sorry.  Didn't mean to confuse you."

John: "Easy there killer. One at a time."

Me: "I dare you to climb on the counter and lay down."

John: "Does she have the good scissors?"

Cutter is pissed.  Apparently has noooo sense of humor.

But we make it out alive with our cut fabric and little slip of paper.  There was, shockingly, no line at the registers so I walk right up.  As the cashier is ringing up my purchases, two high schoolers get in line and the guy is carrying a bolt of fleece.  I can only assume he's going to be a Teddy Bear to her Miley Cyrus.  The cashier tells them they need to get the fabric cut at the cut counter.  That's right, junior.  There's no skippin' the Cut Counter.

Nobody knows what Gluten is

Want proof?  Here it is....The lady in front of me at Whole Foods was soooo excited to find gluten free cashews.  "Oh my god, they're finally making gluten free cashews!!"

Oh my god.  I hope you paid a fortune for that little bag of goodness because if 'stupid' can't hurt, it should at least be really expensive.

I think the meat department should relabel all of their product "gluten free" and raise their prices.  Then the next time I'm at Whole Foods, I'll be able to hear someone say, "You know, they're the only store with gluten-free fish."

Carpooling

So I've got this awesome carpool this year.  My friend, Tina, takes the kids in the morning and I picked them up.  Oh, I know, it's fancy but it's my first year to carpool so it's all very exciting for me.  One day last week, Tina had an appointment in the morning so I was doing the morning shift.  I had the boys loaded up in the car and was on the phone with TIna talking about silly PTA stuff and I ducked back into the house to pee.  At some point during the conversation she said, "Alex doesn't have his shoes on for some reason but he'll put them on in the car."  And I thought, "Okay, they're on their way over." So I walked back out of the house, past my car and was wandering around the driveway still talking on the phone.  Eventually one of the boys climbed out of the car and said, "Mom, we're going to be late!!" I yelled back, "We're waiting for Alex!!"  He said, "Alex is in the car!"  And I said, get this, "No, he's not."  So the kid is looking at me like I'm nuts because he's been in the car for the last 10 minutes talking to Alex so he's pretty darn sure the kid is in the car.  Not to mention than I walked right past him when I came out of the house and how does one fail to notice an entire additional human being in one's vehicle??

Me: "Shit shit shit shit shit"
Tina: "What?"
Me: "I didn't know Alex was in the car"
Tina: "What!?!?!"
Me: "Gotta go."
Boys: "We're gonna be laaaaaatttteeeee."
Me:  "No, we're not.  I drive fast.  Alex don't tell your mom how fast I drive."
Alex: "Woohoo!!!"

So this morning Tina had another meeting and I'm doing the morning shift.
Me: "Miss Tina has a meeting so I'm dropping you guys at school."
Sam: "Oh god, Mom, don't mess it up!"

Old Dogs...New Tricks

So Abbey has a few favorite spots to sleep during the day.  One of which is Tom's bed.   The room is warm and she can see out his windows to bark at dogs passing by and lose her mind when the postman has to delivery something to the front door.  Unfortunately, as with her other favorite napping spots, Tom's bed is rather hairy.  This would gross me out but he doesn't seem to mind.  And growing up with pets reduces the chances of developing allergies and asthma.  True story.  So really this is just another way that I'm Mother of the Year.  Not to blow my own horn or anything.....

But the slightly hairy bed, bothered my mom.

Mom: "You know, you could put a towel or small rug on the bed and train Abbey to sleep on that rather than on the quilt."

Me: "Well,  let's call that Plan B.  I still haven't given up on training the Human child to make his bed so the dog sleeps ON it rather than IN it.  As soon as I give up on the higher-life form, I'll move on the the canine."

Mom:  "And how long do you think that will be?"

Me: "I'll give it another year."

If you'd have just gone with the cake walk.....

So I ran by Target this morning on my way home from the gym.  I stopped by to pick up a few random things and the lady in line behind me had a bunch of Halloween-ish books; Frankenstein, Dr. Jykle and Mr. Hyde, that sort of thing. And I said to her, "Oh, those are cool." and she said, "Yeah, and they're only $1."  To which I responded, "Those would be great for the school's book-walk."  Of course I was halfway through my transaction so I'd have to finish up with this purchase, take these things in the car and come back in.  But it's for the school so fine.

I should back track...I was talking to my friend Tina yesterday and she was telling me how they were going to be dropping the Cake Walk from BooFest this year because of lack of time and maybe they'd have a Book Walk instead.  I was all "WHAT?!" cause I started the cake walk and I love it.  Then she said that she hates cake walks and would never eat a cake someone else baked because you never know if they washed their hands or picked their nose.  And I'm all, "but it's cake!" but I'm not at the school anymore so whatever.

Back at the car...I throw my bag in the car and grab my phone so I can text Tina. But I don't get around to that and just I tuck my phone into the waistband of my workout pants along with my key fob.  I tuck my key fob in my waistband all the time and it works fine and I'm left just carrying my wallet so life is good.  But apparently the added bulk of my phone had allowed enough wiggle room for my key fob to start sliding down my leg.  Great.  Now I'm walking through Target with my keys down my pants.  And as I'm wondering how to get them out, my phone starts sliding down after them.  Fuck. This is my second trip to Target in 4 minutes;  I just want to grab the books and go home so I just keep walking.  By now the keys have worked their way to my ankle and have dropped to the floor.  Woohoo.  I pick them up and keep going.  And I'm thinking "well shit, the phone is hung up on my knee so there's no way it's making it's way to the floor..."  when it starts ringing.  So here's me,  standing in the checkout line,  pants ringing,  pretending this kind of thing happens all the time.  "That's okay, they'll leave a message."

So if you parked at Target this morning, next to a lady who was sitting in her car, digging elbow-deep in her pants....that was me.

And Tina, I'm baking you a cake.

Open Letter

To All Silver Rav4 Drivers at my gym,

I think we should arrange to park together.  We could find a nice area in the back and park all in a row. That way I would no longer meander through the parking lot, each morning, trying to find my car.  I could just try one car after another until one of them opens up.

And before you ask, yes, I know my license plate number.  This doesn't, however, seem to stop me from trying to get into one or more of your cars every. single. week.  And some of them don't even look like mine yet I still find myself walking all the way up to the door, reaching out for the handle, waiting for the beep and shit.  again?! really?!

Or is it just me??

Coup d'Lynn

So I'm no longer PTA treasurer.  The executive board staged a coup three weeks into the school year and ousted the president.  That's right, all the women who re-elected her at the end of last year (and I was at the meeting. They all voted 'aye') got together and in a flurry of emails and texts decided she had to go because she, wait for it, disagreed about the website.  Oh. My. God! Off with her head!  And it involved the council level pta people and the district level pta people and the assistant superintendent and the principal who finally said, "Holy shit. You gotta go cause these fuckers are crazy and I'm not losing my dental insurance over this."  Okay, I don't know what he really said.  I'm paraphrasing.

But anyway, I decided that this was the perfect time to resign as well.  For a couple of reasons really.

One: this was a clear shift from the usual Ha-Ha Crazy to a World War Z Crazy where you have to slowly and quietly back out of the room before they notice you and try to eat your brain.  Ha-Ha crazy is entertaining.  Zombie crazy is just plain scary and I'll leave that to Brad Pitt.

And two: this was the Worst. Coup. Ever.  It wan't even a real coup.   It was a Slap Fight.  Frankly it was embarrassing and I demand to be in charge of the next coup.  I'll go all Argo on their asses.  We'll storm the gates of the school.  Well, someone will have to call ahead and make sure the gates are closed and locked, and then we'll storm the gates.  We'll need a ladder, someone write that down. We'll break windows and burn files.  Papers will be shredded.  Demands will be shouted over the PA system.  Kids will sneak away on bicycles. And hostages!  What's a coup without hostages?!  Someone is getting handcuffed to a fucking radiator!   I want someone down a rat-hole until the marines show up.   We're in this for the long haul so line up your babysitters now!  And the next person who plans a Twitter-coup is getting put on cafeteria rations for a month.  Jeez.

Careful what you say...

So my mom is down for a visit and I was showing her this amazing blanket that I found during our trip to France.

Me:  "Feel it!!  You gotta feel it!!  It's sooooo soft...."
Mom:  "You know, you can get those at Costco."
<pause>
Me: "I'm going to remember that comment when it's time to put you in a nursing home."

Miscommunication

So John was watching football when I walked into the family room and said, "So I'm thinking about doing something different in the bedroom."

He jumped up, tossed aside the remote and said, "YEAHHH?!?!?!"

Me: "With the furniture."

John, plopping back down on the couch and reaching for the remote: "Can this wait till halftime?"

My Homage to The Bloggess

Eight Pounds of Uncut Cocaine

Okay, it's my Grandmother's china but after I unpacked it, I thought "Holy shit, I'm a mule!"

Now that's the response I was looking for

I've been cleaning closets for the last couple of weeks and I really should have taken before/after pictures because I'm under appreciated in my time.  See, I am an awesome purger.  I know what to keep and what to get rid of.  And most importantly, I know that most of the crap is not worth keeping. We may not have been Army brats but my Dad worked for the government and we moved like Army brats.  Is it Grandma's?  Are they your baby shoes?  Have you touch it in the last year?  Nope? It's gone.   You know all the stuff that you shoved in a closet to deal with later?  I dealt, baby.  I dealt. I cleaned out all of the closets in the house except John's.  He has a strange attachment to personal items that only a person who spend 25 years in the same house can have.  I really don't get it.  And I really don't get that he can't tell the difference.  Look! Just look!

Me:  John, come in here!!
John:  What?
Me:  Come on! You have to see this!!
John: Where are you?
Me:  Sam's room!  You've got to see this!
John:  What?
Me:  Look!!
John: What?
Me: The closet!! Look in the closet!!  Look at the shelves!!
John: Ooh, yeaaah, it looks great. Can I go?
Me:  As soon as you can tell me what I did?
John: Ahhhhhhh, I really don't know.
Me:  I cleaned it out!! I emptied four garbage bags worth of crap out of here!! Look at all the space!!
John:  Oh yeah, it looks great.  Can I go?
Me:  Ugggh.  Never mind.  I'll call mom.

I had the same problem when I cleaned the garage.

So finally my friend Deb came over.  I opened up the cupboards in baggage claim to show her:

• all the school supplies that had been gathered from throughout the house and neatly organized on one shelf
• the oddball Christmas decorations that were together and out of the way on the bottom back shelves
• containers of cd's and dvd's we can't part with in neatly stored way up on the top where you can't reach things anyway.  
• all the umbrellas in one spot

It was a work of art.

She took one look at it and said, "Oh, now that's sexy."

See, now is that so hard??

Dogs - Man's most expensive best friend

So I stopped by the vet's this morning to pick up Abbey's meds.  Just regular ole over the counter flea/tick meds and heart worm pills.  $147  When did the cost of caring for your dog raise to the same level as the cost of caring for your kids?

Don't get me wrong, I love Abbey.  She may be pushy about the belly rubs but there are days when she's my favorite person in the house.  She hangs on my every word and no one in the world is as happy to see me as her.  Even when I've just been in the bathroom.  Bouncing, tag wagging: <where have you beeeeeen? I missed you soooooo much! scratch my belly.  scratch it.  scratch the belly.>

But $147 for flea/tick and heart worm meds??  Let face it, if fleas and ticks didn't bite humans, no one would care about them.  And heart worms?  I'm still not entirely sure they exist.  I didn't buy the pills until they starting putting those 3-D plastic models in the examination rooms.  Neither did you; stop lying.  But that model is so gross, and strikingly similar to several sci-fi movies, that I bought the pills.   I didn't want that those things bursting out of her chest and eating the rest of the crew.  Who needs that?

Me:  The vet wants $500 to clean Abbey's teeth so she doesn't die of kidney failure.
John:  How can bad teeth cause kidney failure?
Me:  I don't know but the price is still $500.
John:  The dog didn't cost $500.
Me:  I know; that's what I said and she gave me a funny look.  The vet, not the dog.
John:  Her teeth look fine.
Me:  I know.
John:  So what are we going to do?
Me:  I bought a $13.99 canine toothbrush and told Sam I'd give him a quarter every time he brushed the dog's teeth.
John:  Genius.
Me: I have my moments.

Welcome to San Ramon!

That's right, Harry Sachs is running for City Council.

Almost as good as the flyer we received in Arizona for a Kindergarten social hosted by the teachers:  Ms. Kuntz and Ms. Cox.  (hand to god)

Or the attorney in the office above John's buddies:  Richard Head, esq.  (you really can't make this stuff up)

Treasurering's Hard

So yesterday evening was my first meeting as PTA treasurer at the middle school.  It was the first meeting of the year so there was a good turn out, maybe 25 people. Mainly strangers.   I muddled through the treasurer's reports and stumbled through the motions I had to proposed but all in all, I though it went pretty well.  Until the agenda moved on to the student directory.  The principal piped in and said, "Well, I suppose this is the time of year we discuss whether we should move towards an on-line directory only and eliminate the printed hard copy."  And so the discussion ensued...the pros and cons of an on-line directory...the pros and cons of a hard copy....lots of opinions.....lots of comments.  And during a lull in the conversation, I blurted out, "Well, I always like a hard one!...oh damn,  totally came out wrong....oh sh-!" Then Lynn, the president, said, "Jennifer, stop talking!" Or something along those lines.  I really couldn't hear anything at that point and my vision had gone all blurry.   Sometimes you really need a friend to tell you when to stop talking.  I think I'm going to embroider that on a pillow.

The Mantis Shrimp

After seeing the mantis shrimp on Saturday, I've been thinking that maybe we should get one.  It would go great in the Beach Shack.*  I guess John was thinking the same thing because we had this conversation last night.

John:  "I've been looking into getting a mantis shrimp."
Me:  "Really??  How much do they cost?"
John:  "Well, it's not the cost of the mantis shrimp that gets you, it's everything else."
Me:  "It needs a special tank, right?  Cause it can break the glass of a regular tank?"
John:  "Yeah, and you need chain mail gloves lined with Kevlar to clean it."
Me:  "Oh, I'm sure we have some of those in the garage."
John:  "And some of these retailers won't ship them.  You have to drive out to get it."
Me:  "To Florida?  really?......What do they eat?"
John: "The usual"
Me:  "You don't have to feed them things that are alive?"
John:  "Not like crickets or a rabbit but you could give them live mussels or something like that."
Me:  "Okay, but how much do they cost?
John: " Anywhere from $40 to $100. Depending on the type.  They're not all rainbow colored. Did you know that?"
Me: "But I want a rainbow colored one."
John:  "Cause they're pretty?"
Me: "Cause they're pretty......That's kinda pricey though.  What if it dies?!"
John:  "If it dies, we can eat it."
<silence>
Me:  "I can't believe you're going to eat Rosemary."
John: "Rosemary?  Really?......Rosemary with butter and garlic.....that works."



*We don't have a formal living room.  We turned it into the boys' play room with a beach theme hence "the beach shack"  We also have "baggage claim".  It's that strange area at the end of the hall that you walk through before going through the laundry room and into the garage.  Not sure how it got that name but for the longest time we didn't know what to call it and now we all do.

What's wrong with people?

So we went to Monterrey this weekend to see the mantis shrimp at the aquarium.  If you don't know what a mantis shrimp is check this out:

www.theoatmeal.com/comics/mantis_shrimp

Mantis shrimp rock!

When we got back to the hotel, John went to check out the pool and there was an emergency phone on one of the walls.  It was enclosed in hard plastic with a break-away lock and a posted sign that read "Emergency Phone".   Pretty clear?  Thought so yet this guy was trying to break into it.  John, seeing no emergency anywhere in the pool area, stopped and said, quite incredulously, "That's an emergency phone."
And the guy responded, "We're out of towels."
John, "but it's an emergency phone."
Guy, "but...the towels are gone."

John, stunned speechless, walks away.

Birds of a Feather

When we lived outside of Seattle, we had these huge trees in our backyard.  One of them housed an owl and I loved listening to it hoot at night.  We also had a woodpecker and I loved it too because it sounded EXACTLY like woody woodpecker.  Without the laughing, cause that would have been just weird.  Anyway I loved listening to the rat-a-tat-tat, until the day it decided to peck on our chimney sending horrendously loud echo-ey metalic-ey rat-a-tat-tats all through the house until I went outside and threw a basketball at it.  Oh fine, call the Audubon Society, whatever.  If that fucker had woken up the babies, I'd have thrown more than a basketball.  I'd have thrown bird shot or a cat.

Then we moved outside of Phoenix and I missed my owl and woodpecker until all these new birds came down for the winter.  Storks, herons, ibises, egrets...  All these awesome water birds frolicking in our man made lakes and fountains and waterfalls.  I guess the chlorine didn't bother them. Or it did but we won't find out for a few more decades.

Then we moved to Northern California and more cool birds!  Eagles, falcons, quail, stupid doves that manage to breed too much, and turkeys.  Wild turkeys.  Roaming the suburbs in turkey packs, rooting in lawns and scaring dogs. We've been here almost 3 years and we will still run to the window to watch them.  They're so funny looking.  And they're big. That huge butterball in the supermarket? That was once walking around, stopping traffic.  And they do stop traffic.  You can always tell a newcomer because they'll honk at them.   I did too.  But honking at a turkey does nothing.  It  will turn towards you and do it's best Robert De Niro, "You talkin' to me?  You talkin' to ME??" And it knows you're not going to hit it because you'd be picking turkey bits out of your grill for a month.  Who needs that hassle?   So you drive around it.  That's right, you drive around the bird.  Bet you've never done that.  Unless you live on an ostrich farm.

If you don't believe dinosaurs evolved into birds, you've never seen the turkeys running through the long grass.

They're tiny little velociraptors.  It's a miniaturized Lost World, looking for a little tiny Jeff Goldblum.
And when the big one is staring at you through the kitchen window, you can tell she's working things out.  Respect the birds, people.  I'm convinced they'll be ruling the world one day.  After the robot are through with it. 

PSA

So we went to the Mariners game last night.  In Oakland.  Mariner's won -- woot woot!

Before the game started there was the typical round of announcements:  highlights from past games, little joey smith's birthday, section 209 won tacos, the boy scouts are here, support your oakland a's... blah blah blah

Then there were 12 minutes of evacuation procedures in the event of an emergency.  Section by section.  How to proceed out of the stadium in a calm and orderly fashion.  The terrorists have won.

It's like Slug-Bug, only Different

So John and I invented this game called "Douche Bag" and I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this.....

It started when we were in Santa Cruz one weekend this summer.  Now don't get me wrong, Santa Cruz is a great town, when you get off the boardwalk.  But the boys loooove the boardwalk. The rides, the carnival food, the games with cheap breakable prizes AND there's a beach.  What could be better?

You know what else is there?  Dudes in cut-off tank tops, dudes in Ed Hardy shirts, dudes with popped collars, dudes wearing socks and shoes in the sand, dudes who are one corn dog away from a coronary eating corn dogs...shall I continue?  And they're all loud because naturally we all want to hear what the most interesting man in the world is talking about two blocks away.  And I'm not talking about the kids.  If you're under the age of 30, you're gonna dress and act like an idiot.  We did, they do, and the next generation will.  It's a rite of passage, just embrace it.  I'm talking about all the dudes over the age of 40 who should know better.  Hang up the phone, douche bag, you're not that important.

It was reminiscence of the first time John and I went to Olive Garden.  It was probably 1999. As I was perusing the menu, John was looking around the room.  After a few minutes he leaned over and said, "I think we're the best people here."

Go to Santa Cruz, you'll be the best person there.  With your unwashed hair and mustard stained shirt, sunburned husband and kids screaming to play mini-golf; you will be the best. person. there.

Anyway, this week was middle school registration.  It was hot and we were standing 30 deep in line, in the sun.  And some short dude, with spiked blond hair and a pink shirt was expounding on his kid's karate* and I punched Sam in the shoulder and said "Dou...."
Sam: "oooowwwww"
Me: "uuhh"
Sam: "what was that for"
Me: "uuh, nothing, sorry"
Sam: "jeez"

(*I don't have a problem with any of these things unless you roll them all together and marinate them in douche bag for 45 years. Then we got problems.)

Tonight we're going to the Oakland A's game.  Better bring shoulder pads.

Global Robopocalypse

So on our trip we had this GPS system to help us get around in our rental car.  We also had the map functions on our phones and the ability to read signs yet we still managed to get lost way more often they we should have.  Go figure.   But the GPS system was quite useful.  The toughest part was deciding which voice to use.  The man (American Joe or whatever the hell he was called) sounded way too mechanical and creepy.  "Shall we play a game?"  The first female voice (Marlena Bland, I'm guessing here) was weird so we decided on the second, who I dubbed Satellite Sally.  I thought it was funny.  Tom thought it was mean.  Should have listened to Tom.

So the GPS worked great but it didn't know about all the freeway closures.

Sally: Take the first right onto the A17
Me: The A17 is closed
John: <tapping GPS buttons while driving>
Sally: Take the first right onto the A17
Me: It's closed
John: <tap><tap><tap><tap>
Sally: Take the first right onto the A17
John: Get the phone
Me: It thinks we're in California, just a second.
Sally: Get in right lane and take the next exit towards the A17
Me: Jesus, Sally, enough with the A17
John: What does the phone say?
Me: You have twelve new messages
John: Jennifer!
Me: Ummm....there's a blue dot on Europe
Sally: Take the A83 towards the A17
Me:  Can we shut her up?

She also didn't know about all the little one-way streets in the little towns.

Sally:  Take the first left
John: Shit, it's one way
Sally:  Take the first left
Me: Just go straight and take the next left
John: <turns right>

At least the "Recalculating" response was disabled.

So on the last day as we were driving back to the airport, we missed the freeway entrance and ended up on a side street.  Sally started trying to get us turned around when Sam said, "She sounds really serious today."  Then Tom added, "Um, yeah."  That was a worrisome statement because, well, she's a machine.  It was even more worrisome because for the last 20 minutes, I'd been thinking, "Man, Sally's pissed off."  but I figured it was just my imagination.  Apparently not.  After a week of wrong turns, blatant disregard for her directions and making fun of her french accent, we were at the mercy of an angry GPS system who may or may not be in communication with our plane.  Me, "Well, it's been a long trip for everyone.  Let's just give Ms. Sally a break."  I threw in the "Ms" as a kiss-up to get us through the first round of exterminations.  Worth a shot.

The best signs in France

Restaurant in Paris.  Really

Well, that's not how I'd pronounce it

Wine and Terror?  What?

Leads to

Angers leads to

Suffren leads to the Dark Side

And it kills me that I wasn't quick enough to get a shot of :

"L'Instant Pain"   (When you just don't have time to wait)

"Seduction Canine"  (pretty sure this was for dogs, not teeth)

and the very best....

"Le Butte es Gros"  

Me and the 11 year old boys:  "heeheeheeheehee"

John: "that means big"

Me:  "that's still funny"

Last Day in France

Back at the airport, heading home.   If I were Charles de Gaule, I'd be pissed that they named this mess after me.

At the pre-screening spot, the guy starts asking questions in a completely indecipherable drone.  Is it French?  Is it English?  John speaks both and can't figure it out.  I think it could be Mandarin.  The guy keeps looking at me and mumbling shit.  "Huh? Did I what??" John travels all the time and he's starting to look nervous.  Not a good sign.  Sam, "Are we in trouble?"  Me, "Quite possibly now shhh." Another question.  John: "Uh, yes?"  Me:  "Did we just sign up for Amway?"  As we weave our way over to the baggage check-in, I look back over and the dude is totally laughing!  Bastard was fucking with us!

At the baggage check-in counter, the lady starts asking us the same questions.  John: "We just went through this with him."  And we're both fairly certain we had.  John: "Look, he put stickers on our passports."  Turns out they're Hello Kitty stickers.  Not really but it wouldn't have surprised me.  Then her machine runs out of tape.  She has to climb over to our side of the counter to replace it.  Who designed that?  And the metal door keeps swinging back and hitting her in the arm.  So I step over our bags and hold the door for her because that would drive me all kinds of shades of crazy to be over on this side of the counter, trying to replace the roll and the fucking door won't stay open and Pierre's over there on his little stool laughing at me.  aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!  "Someone's going to Emergency, someone's going to jail." Anyway, she gets back to her side of the counter and puts two priority stickers on my bag.  Then 26 hours later, it's the very first bag off the conveyor belt!  Pay it Forward, Bitches!!

Next stop security-security.  "Have your bags been out of your sight at anytime?"  Fucking hell, again??

Day 12 in France

My Feet:  Stop walking.

Me:  "Oh, look at the cute little..."

My Feet:  Stop walking now.

Me:  "Just a couple of blocks down here...."

My Feet:  Stop walking now or I will take you down, bitch.

Me:  "Oh, a cafe, let's have a drink."

My Feet:   That's my girl.

Day 11 in France

The worst part about traveling?

My inane desire to start collecting thimbles.

Tom: "What's a thimble?"
Me: "Exactly"

Oh, look this one's pewter!

Day 10 in France

Select the correct photo caption:

A. Why is France so bright?
B.  I want to go home.
C.  Why are none of the French or Canadians hungover?
D.  <whimper> <whimper> <whimper> <sob>
E.  All of the above.

Day 9 in France

Today we're going to Saint Nazaire to see......something old.  It's a blur at this point.

But first we have to stand in the driveway for 20 minutes trying to get 14 people into two cars.  In France.  How does that math work?  Pretty sure we're on the entirely wrong continent for that.

Unless someone is willing to pull a Chevy Chase and strap Aunt Edna to the roof.

Day 8 in France

Weirdest bathroom mural in the world. Period.

Didn't photograph all of them but this should give you an idea.....

This dude was on the ceiling.