"SAM! Get your jock strap off the coffee TABLE!!"
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
Monday, December 14, 2015
Pardon Our Dust
So at the start of the summer, our lovely city implemented a new "No Road Left Behind" street maintenance program. At least I assume it was a dedicated plan and not a mere coincidence. I like to think that there were notices send out and a town hall meeting held in which some city manager showed a PowerPoint presentation detailing their plan to tear up every single fucking road in the city over the next 3 month period. I was simply too busy watching reruns of the Big Bang Theory to attend.
Summer arrived with the blooming of beautiful bright orange traffic cones all over town. Everywhere I went there was a closed lane adorned with a border of orange. There were thousands of cones. Cones everywhere. I even had the privilege of driving down one street following a maintenance truck that was in the process of, ever so slowly, closing off the single open lane that I and my fellow drivers were currently occupying. "Huh. Wonder what the plan here is?" I managed to steer around the truck so I never did find out. I spent months driving around wondering where all of the cones were stored in the off-season. Somewhere there was a Raiders-of-the-Lost-Ark-esque warehouse filled with orange traffic cones as far as the eye can see. They should give tours. They should build a maze and sell tickets.
One road in particular has held my attention for the last 6 months. I travel this road regularly over the course of a week. This single 6 block stretch of road houses a hospital, a fire station and a middle school (without busing). Needless to say, this road carries a lot of traffic, some of which is in a bit of a hurry. I'm sure the city manager optimistically considered the school a non-issue since construction began during the summer break and shook off any suggestions that perhaps the hospital and fire station were the bigger issue. Silly, silly man. I've decided that they will never finish this road. It took 3 days to resurface the road that our house sits on. I supposed I should feel flattered that it was deemed more important for me to gain access to my garage than an ambulance to reach the hospital but it doesn't flatter me. It worries me deeply.
For the first couple of months, there were large (orange, naturally) signs diligently placed on the sidewalks or shoulders alerting drivers to which lane ahead may or may not be closed. The placing of the signs ranking higher in importance than the accuracy of their message. This made for interesting merging and prepared us to take on any synchronised lawnmower driving team in the country. Look for our upcoming national tour.
My favorite day was when they resurfaced the one main intersection leading to the hospital. It was a vision of overly large construction vehicles doing impressive and smelly things, a scattering of men standing amongst them in reflective vests and, this is my favorite part, traffic making left turns through the middle of it. I'm the first to admit that I know nothing about road construction but based on my many years poring over the collected works of Richard Scarry, I thought this was a bad thing. I sat there for a long time with my mouth hanging open looking for the worm driving the apple car. I avoided this intersection for the rest of the week.
We are now in December and the road is almost finished. All that is left are these perfectly round depressions that surround the sewer heads (?), kind of like a reverse doughnut. You can slam your car off them quite nicely if you're not paying attention. It's been like that for a couple of weeks now and I'm thinking that the construction boss had adopted my philosophy which is to shrug a shoulder and mutter "Ach, close enough."
We can now focus on the new "City Center" they've been threatening to build since we moved here 5 years ago. They've almost completed the new City Hall, build atop the only portion of the central park that was consistently used Every Single Day and adjacent to a vacant lot. Let the games begin.
Summer arrived with the blooming of beautiful bright orange traffic cones all over town. Everywhere I went there was a closed lane adorned with a border of orange. There were thousands of cones. Cones everywhere. I even had the privilege of driving down one street following a maintenance truck that was in the process of, ever so slowly, closing off the single open lane that I and my fellow drivers were currently occupying. "Huh. Wonder what the plan here is?" I managed to steer around the truck so I never did find out. I spent months driving around wondering where all of the cones were stored in the off-season. Somewhere there was a Raiders-of-the-Lost-Ark-esque warehouse filled with orange traffic cones as far as the eye can see. They should give tours. They should build a maze and sell tickets.
One road in particular has held my attention for the last 6 months. I travel this road regularly over the course of a week. This single 6 block stretch of road houses a hospital, a fire station and a middle school (without busing). Needless to say, this road carries a lot of traffic, some of which is in a bit of a hurry. I'm sure the city manager optimistically considered the school a non-issue since construction began during the summer break and shook off any suggestions that perhaps the hospital and fire station were the bigger issue. Silly, silly man. I've decided that they will never finish this road. It took 3 days to resurface the road that our house sits on. I supposed I should feel flattered that it was deemed more important for me to gain access to my garage than an ambulance to reach the hospital but it doesn't flatter me. It worries me deeply.
For the first couple of months, there were large (orange, naturally) signs diligently placed on the sidewalks or shoulders alerting drivers to which lane ahead may or may not be closed. The placing of the signs ranking higher in importance than the accuracy of their message. This made for interesting merging and prepared us to take on any synchronised lawnmower driving team in the country. Look for our upcoming national tour.
My favorite day was when they resurfaced the one main intersection leading to the hospital. It was a vision of overly large construction vehicles doing impressive and smelly things, a scattering of men standing amongst them in reflective vests and, this is my favorite part, traffic making left turns through the middle of it. I'm the first to admit that I know nothing about road construction but based on my many years poring over the collected works of Richard Scarry, I thought this was a bad thing. I sat there for a long time with my mouth hanging open looking for the worm driving the apple car. I avoided this intersection for the rest of the week.
We are now in December and the road is almost finished. All that is left are these perfectly round depressions that surround the sewer heads (?), kind of like a reverse doughnut. You can slam your car off them quite nicely if you're not paying attention. It's been like that for a couple of weeks now and I'm thinking that the construction boss had adopted my philosophy which is to shrug a shoulder and mutter "Ach, close enough."
We can now focus on the new "City Center" they've been threatening to build since we moved here 5 years ago. They've almost completed the new City Hall, build atop the only portion of the central park that was consistently used Every Single Day and adjacent to a vacant lot. Let the games begin.
Sunday, December 13, 2015
Best Ringtone Ever
We were up at Tahoe a few weeks ago and John set up an automated text message to alert him to the current snowfall. You could select the time of the message delivery and he chose 7 a.m. And he can't figure out how to stop it. So now our morning alarm is:
<DING>
"ffffuuuuuuccccckkkkkkkk"
<DING>
"ffffuuuuuuccccckkkkkkkk"
Thursday, December 10, 2015
New Theme Song
My theme song has always been Gloria Gaynor's "I will Survive" because...well...because it's awesome. It's the song I sing during take-off whenever I fly and that is why the plane doesn't crash. Oh sure, you can be all thrust and air pressure and airfoils and Bernoulli's law, but that's all crap. Yes, you heard me Mr. Kerry I-am-a-pilot Green, it's all voodoo. The plane is staying up there because of Gloria Gaynor and me. You're Welcome.
But last weekend John and I were at Starbucks doing the Wall Street Journal crossword puzzle. We usually do the other puzzle but that week's was a cryptic and cryptics suck so we were stuck with the regular old crossword. We were also a little later than usual so there wasn't much of a crowd. (Unlike the weekend before when unbeknown do us it was the day of the Jingle Bell Jog and when we parked I looked over and said, "Aw fuck, the place is full of elves!" and John was all like, "whaaaa?") So there wasn't much of a crowd and I could actually hear the music that was playing rather then just the bass line and the guy was singing about gravity. And I was like, "HOLY SHIT! THIS IS MY NEW THEME SONG!" When I got home later I googled it and discovered that it was John Mayer. Huh, I thought he was just a weird twitter douche but turns out the boy can sing.
Gravity is working against me <amen>
And gravity wants to bring me down <sing it, brother>
(some crap about love)
Gravity is working against me <oh yeat>
And gravity wants to bring me down <arms in the air waving back and forth>
(some weird math crap that doesn't make sense)
Whoa, gravity stay the hell away from me <on my feet with the bic lighter app>
Gravity sucks and no one understands it like John Mayer. and my boobs.
But last weekend John and I were at Starbucks doing the Wall Street Journal crossword puzzle. We usually do the other puzzle but that week's was a cryptic and cryptics suck so we were stuck with the regular old crossword. We were also a little later than usual so there wasn't much of a crowd. (Unlike the weekend before when unbeknown do us it was the day of the Jingle Bell Jog and when we parked I looked over and said, "Aw fuck, the place is full of elves!" and John was all like, "whaaaa?") So there wasn't much of a crowd and I could actually hear the music that was playing rather then just the bass line and the guy was singing about gravity. And I was like, "HOLY SHIT! THIS IS MY NEW THEME SONG!" When I got home later I googled it and discovered that it was John Mayer. Huh, I thought he was just a weird twitter douche but turns out the boy can sing.
Gravity is working against me <amen>
And gravity wants to bring me down <sing it, brother>
(some crap about love)
Gravity is working against me <oh yeat>
And gravity wants to bring me down <arms in the air waving back and forth>
(some weird math crap that doesn't make sense)
Whoa, gravity stay the hell away from me <on my feet with the bic lighter app>
Gravity sucks and no one understands it like John Mayer. and my boobs.
I'm still singing Gloria Gaynor during take-off. I'm not crazy.
Tuesday, December 8, 2015
Does This Mean I have Two More Wishes?
So Sam and I were at Target last weekend, shopping for toys for the school toy drive and I saw this:
I squealed and threw my arms around it! Sam was slightly surprised.
Me, "Ooooohhhh, Aunt Cindy got this for her birthday when we were little! And she never let me play with it!!"
Sam, "Awww. Did you get one for your birthday?"
Me, "No, but I gave one to Amy (my niece) for her birthday awhile back and told her that she could only have it if she never ever let her mom play with it."
Sam, "Huh. That seems fair."
That could have been sarcasm. You decide.
Me, "OH MY GOD!"
Sam, "Now what?!?!"
Look closely, people. No, not at the creepy hands. At this:
They've included extensions that you can cut! They even include scissors so you don't have to sneak off with your mothers! Not bad, Mr. Mattel. Although, I'd have put a whole bunch of extra hair inside her head that you could pull out after you cut her actual hair but then you'd have to include that red strip that lets you know when you're getting to the end of the register tape which would look kinda odd, but they're getting there. Not bad, Mr. Mattel, not bad at all...
Me, "Ooooohhhh, Aunt Cindy got this for her birthday when we were little! And she never let me play with it!!"
Sam, "Awww. Did you get one for your birthday?"
Me, "No, but I gave one to Amy (my niece) for her birthday awhile back and told her that she could only have it if she never ever let her mom play with it."
Sam, "Huh. That seems fair."
That could have been sarcasm. You decide.
Me, "OH MY GOD!"
Sam, "Now what?!?!"
Look closely, people. No, not at the creepy hands. At this:
They've included extensions that you can cut! They even include scissors so you don't have to sneak off with your mothers! Not bad, Mr. Mattel. Although, I'd have put a whole bunch of extra hair inside her head that you could pull out after you cut her actual hair but then you'd have to include that red strip that lets you know when you're getting to the end of the register tape which would look kinda odd, but they're getting there. Not bad, Mr. Mattel, not bad at all...
Friday, December 4, 2015
Banner Day
So yesterday I picked up the kids from school and I made it all the way out of the school parking lot with out swearing, waving my hands, honking or calling anyone a moron. It was a conscience effort but still, I did it. I may be the next Buddha.
Monday, November 23, 2015
Maybe she's born with it...Maybe not
So last summer I was at the Clinique counter buying some miracle lotion that will erase all of my wrinkles and make me look 30 again, and perusing the lipsticks. (Lipstick and mascara are the only make-up-y things I wear.) The clerk selected a summer-y pink-y one and had me try it on. It was quite nice but I was concerned that the color was too young for me. When I voiced my concerns, the clerk (who works on commission) assured me that no, no, no it was definitely not to young for me and in fact it brightened up my whole face. Well, then. Sold.
When I got home later, I asked John if he noticed anything new? (He LOVES this game) He groaned and since I was still on my new-lipstick-high, I threw him a bone and said, "I got a new lipstick! Whadda think?"
John, "It's nice."
Me, "Do you notice anything else?"
John, <Aw, shit> "Uh, your eyes are sparkly?"
Me, "No, but good answer. The lipstick brightens up my whole face!"
John, "Oh, I was definitely going to say that next."
Then I hollered at the boys to come over and asked them the same question and fed them the same response. "It brightens up my whole face!" And this became the joke of the summer. Every time I wore my new lipstick, I'd ask them if they noticed.
Me, "Do ya notice anything different???"
Random male, "Uhhhh"
Me, "Do ya notice anything different???"
Random male, "You look lighter?"
Me, "Do ya notice anything different???"
Random male, "Oh. Oh. I know this one!"
Fast forward and yesterday I found myself once again at the Clinique counter. Unfortunately this time I did not have my credit card with me. I'd gone out the night before with my friend Suzanne and had taken my i.d. and credit card out of my wallet and put them in the cute little clutch that I was carrying and forgot to put them back into my wallet. Damn. I told all of this to John and he handled me some bills from his wallet and walked away. I chuckled to myself because he really thought that those few bills would cover the purchase. Bless his heart.
I selected my miracle lotions and potions, and a new lipstick, and texted John to meet me at the register. When he got there, I told him that I'd need his credit card for the purchase.
John, "But I gave you some money."
Me, "Yeah, but it's not enough."
John, "How much does it cost?"
Clerk, <says a number slightly larger then John was expecting>
John, <staring at the clerk>"WHAT?!?"
John, <staring at me> "WHAT DID YOU GET?!?"
Me, "Look, I got a new lipstick."
John, "Unless it comes on a whore who'll do the dishes, it's not worth it."
He didn't actually say that but I know he was thinking it.
Clerk, <holding several items> "You also get a gift with purchase"
John, "Can we have a fistful of each?"
Then he starts picking up random things on the counter, "Can we have this?" "How about this?" "Maybe 5 or 6 of these?"
He was still muttering as we walked away.
Me, "I have nice skin."
John, "It ain't that nice."
As we were walking to the car I started to tell the boys where we were going next,
Me, "So..."
Random boy, "IT BRIGHTENS UP YOUR WHOLE FACE!"
When I got home later, I asked John if he noticed anything new? (He LOVES this game) He groaned and since I was still on my new-lipstick-high, I threw him a bone and said, "I got a new lipstick! Whadda think?"
John, "It's nice."
Me, "Do you notice anything else?"
John, <Aw, shit> "Uh, your eyes are sparkly?"
Me, "No, but good answer. The lipstick brightens up my whole face!"
John, "Oh, I was definitely going to say that next."
Then I hollered at the boys to come over and asked them the same question and fed them the same response. "It brightens up my whole face!" And this became the joke of the summer. Every time I wore my new lipstick, I'd ask them if they noticed.
Me, "Do ya notice anything different???"
Random male, "Uhhhh"
Me, "Do ya notice anything different???"
Random male, "You look lighter?"
Me, "Do ya notice anything different???"
Random male, "Oh. Oh. I know this one!"
Fast forward and yesterday I found myself once again at the Clinique counter. Unfortunately this time I did not have my credit card with me. I'd gone out the night before with my friend Suzanne and had taken my i.d. and credit card out of my wallet and put them in the cute little clutch that I was carrying and forgot to put them back into my wallet. Damn. I told all of this to John and he handled me some bills from his wallet and walked away. I chuckled to myself because he really thought that those few bills would cover the purchase. Bless his heart.
I selected my miracle lotions and potions, and a new lipstick, and texted John to meet me at the register. When he got there, I told him that I'd need his credit card for the purchase.
John, "But I gave you some money."
Me, "Yeah, but it's not enough."
John, "How much does it cost?"
Clerk, <says a number slightly larger then John was expecting>
John, <staring at the clerk>"WHAT?!?"
John, <staring at me> "WHAT DID YOU GET?!?"
Me, "Look, I got a new lipstick."
John, "Unless it comes on a whore who'll do the dishes, it's not worth it."
He didn't actually say that but I know he was thinking it.
Clerk, <holding several items> "You also get a gift with purchase"
John, "Can we have a fistful of each?"
Then he starts picking up random things on the counter, "Can we have this?" "How about this?" "Maybe 5 or 6 of these?"
He was still muttering as we walked away.
Me, "I have nice skin."
John, "It ain't that nice."
As we were walking to the car I started to tell the boys where we were going next,
Me, "So..."
Random boy, "IT BRIGHTENS UP YOUR WHOLE FACE!"
Sunday, November 22, 2015
Jessica Jones
I started binge watching Jessica Jones. Very good show. She just said the best line:
"I need to update my resume. Would you put 'day-drinking' as experience or special skills?"
"I need to update my resume. Would you put 'day-drinking' as experience or special skills?"
Friday, November 20, 2015
The Force is Strong with this One!
So, everybody probably already knows this but I just found out. I was looking through the Vanity Fair photos from their Star Wars issue. Checking out the wacky new creatures and such, and browsing through the articles. That's when I discovered that Gwendoline Christie is the Stormtrooper in the silver suit. That's Brienne of Tarth in that rocking silver suit with the kick-ass cape!! All 6'3" of her! It's a girl Stormtrooper!! NOW, I'm psych'd to see the new movie and I was very much in need of a 11" action figure. But, alas, being the last person on the planet to jump on board the Star Wars VII - The Force Awakens toy craze, I was a tad late. Regardless I put in my due diligence and drove around town checking stores and surfed all over the internet. No Captain Phasma, anywhere short of the secondary market and I wasn't quite there yet. Yes, I had to have her but was I ready to swap an envelop of cash for a brown paper bag in some shady Toys R' Us parking lot? Sure, she's uber cool but what if the movie sucks, then what?
Then last night, John came home from a business trip and what did he have?
That moment was right up there with the time he came home from North Carolina with Flo's V-Eight Cafe, completing my town of Radiator Springs. He carried it on the plane like a boss. "Kids?" "Oh, no, no, it's for my wife."
Then last night, John came home from a business trip and what did he have?
 |
| Captain Phasma, Bitches! |
That moment was right up there with the time he came home from North Carolina with Flo's V-Eight Cafe, completing my town of Radiator Springs. He carried it on the plane like a boss. "Kids?" "Oh, no, no, it's for my wife."
Thursday, November 12, 2015
You! Are! A! Toy!
So yesterday I saw yet another facebook post crapping all over Barbie and I am here to speak on behalf of the defense. I had Barbies growing up and I played with them all the time. I still have one of them and my biggest regret is that I didn't save more of her clothes. I have never looked back and bemoaned her subversion of my self-image. Not once. Mainly because she was a toy. Sure she was designed by a bunch of misogynistic old men who liked big boobs and tiny waists but let us remember those were misogynistic business men and not give them any more credit then they desire. There was no master plan being spun in that board room. They needed to bump up the numbers on the next quarterly report. And the desire for add-on sales ultimately led to the demise of their (non-existent) plans to under mind the girls today. Not following me? Let me explain....
This is why Barbie rocks:
Barbie owned her own beach house, her own pool house and her own townhouse. They were hers. Not Ken's. HERS. The name on the big pink box was "Barbie's Dream House!" G.I Joe may have come over to visit, at least until your brother found out but regardless, he was visiting. She also owned a camper, an Austin-Healy, a Corvette, a Ferrari, a Rolls-Royce, a Thunderbird, hell, I can't even remember all the cars she owned. You know what she didn't own? A fucking minivan and that very thought went through my head when I found myself purchasing a Dodge Caravan. "Well, shit. Barbie always had a convertible." Barbie drove in style. And she always drove. If he was lucky, Ken could ride in the passenger's seat but it was far more likely that Ken was left behind and Barbie's friend rode shot-gun. You'd even shove another friend sideways in the back seat. "Ken, we're going to the beach. Can you grill something up for dinner when we get back??" And this was back in the day when a woman's credit card had her husband's name on it. You go, girl!
You know why else Barbie rocks? Because Barbie was EVERYTHING. She was a doctor, a nurse, a dentist, a veterinarian, a student, a teacher, an athlete, an artist, a business woman, a life guard, a pilot, a flight attendant, a chef, a nascar driver, a photographer, a hair stylist, a waitress, a news anchor, and on and on and on. Barbie had 77 different careers. I counted. Up to and including President of the United States and a Canadian Mountie. How cool is that? When I was 7, I wanted to be an astronaut because of Barbie but here's the kicker. I didn't even know if Barbie was an astronaut back then. But I knew she could be. And she'd have been the mission commander too. Not Ken. Ken couldn't do shit. "Go stand over there, Honey, and look cute in your beach shorts. I've got work to do." Barbie could be a scientist and wear a pair of go-go boots. Nobody put Barbie in the corner.
So let's not fall into the very trap we are trying to avoid, and judge her solely on her looks. And, for the love of god, let's stop saying that a toy has a greater influence on our children then the words and action of the adults surrounding them. Our children act and speak the way they are taught to act and speak. It would be lovely to be able to place the blame else where but ultimately it's our responsibility and we need to own it. I had to do that very thing last week when I found out my kid was acting like a shit at school. And let me tell you, it fucking sucks. But we told him and the counselor that if he does it again, the school can deal with him in the same way they'd deal with anyone else. Actions have consequences and he'd best learn that now. And we'd best remind ourselves as well.
And let's face it, the only time I really remember comparing my physical self to Barbie's was when I realized her hair wouldn't grow back after I cut it. Now if the boys at Mattel could fix that little problem, they could really cure some emotional trauma.
This is why Barbie rocks:
Barbie owned her own beach house, her own pool house and her own townhouse. They were hers. Not Ken's. HERS. The name on the big pink box was "Barbie's Dream House!" G.I Joe may have come over to visit, at least until your brother found out but regardless, he was visiting. She also owned a camper, an Austin-Healy, a Corvette, a Ferrari, a Rolls-Royce, a Thunderbird, hell, I can't even remember all the cars she owned. You know what she didn't own? A fucking minivan and that very thought went through my head when I found myself purchasing a Dodge Caravan. "Well, shit. Barbie always had a convertible." Barbie drove in style. And she always drove. If he was lucky, Ken could ride in the passenger's seat but it was far more likely that Ken was left behind and Barbie's friend rode shot-gun. You'd even shove another friend sideways in the back seat. "Ken, we're going to the beach. Can you grill something up for dinner when we get back??" And this was back in the day when a woman's credit card had her husband's name on it. You go, girl!
You know why else Barbie rocks? Because Barbie was EVERYTHING. She was a doctor, a nurse, a dentist, a veterinarian, a student, a teacher, an athlete, an artist, a business woman, a life guard, a pilot, a flight attendant, a chef, a nascar driver, a photographer, a hair stylist, a waitress, a news anchor, and on and on and on. Barbie had 77 different careers. I counted. Up to and including President of the United States and a Canadian Mountie. How cool is that? When I was 7, I wanted to be an astronaut because of Barbie but here's the kicker. I didn't even know if Barbie was an astronaut back then. But I knew she could be. And she'd have been the mission commander too. Not Ken. Ken couldn't do shit. "Go stand over there, Honey, and look cute in your beach shorts. I've got work to do." Barbie could be a scientist and wear a pair of go-go boots. Nobody put Barbie in the corner.
So let's not fall into the very trap we are trying to avoid, and judge her solely on her looks. And, for the love of god, let's stop saying that a toy has a greater influence on our children then the words and action of the adults surrounding them. Our children act and speak the way they are taught to act and speak. It would be lovely to be able to place the blame else where but ultimately it's our responsibility and we need to own it. I had to do that very thing last week when I found out my kid was acting like a shit at school. And let me tell you, it fucking sucks. But we told him and the counselor that if he does it again, the school can deal with him in the same way they'd deal with anyone else. Actions have consequences and he'd best learn that now. And we'd best remind ourselves as well.
And let's face it, the only time I really remember comparing my physical self to Barbie's was when I realized her hair wouldn't grow back after I cut it. Now if the boys at Mattel could fix that little problem, they could really cure some emotional trauma.
 |
| Holy shit! She was an astronaut in 1965! I know what's heading up my Christmas list! |
Saturday, October 31, 2015
The Witch is back!
Like the Elton John song, get it? huh? nevermind
Happy Halloween!
Happy Halloween!
C'mon, is that not the awesome-est feathery witch hat ever?!?
Happy Halloween
My contribution to the party:
John's contribution:
John's contribution:
Me, "Sam, take a picture of my awesome witch hat!"
 |
| Thanks, Sam |
Friday, October 16, 2015
Paper Mache - The Devil's Art Form
It's book fair time once again. The theme this fall is Monsters. Cutesy-monsters for the elementary schools but we're going with Classic Monsters. Wolfman, Mummy, Frankenstein, etc. And of course, Aliens. That's a stretch, I know but finally a chance to use my Chest-Burster and Face Hugger! I immediately offered to make Alien Eggs out of Paper Mache.
(And a mummy sarcophagus but that's another story. Suffice it to say, you can make an awesome sarcophagus out of three cardboard boxes, one x-acto knife and a butt-load of packing tape.The only difficulty is deciding whether to get help from:
a 13 year old boy:
Me, "Can you hold it right here?"
Me, "Tom, can you hold it right here?"
Me, "TOM!"
Tom, "Huh?"
<sigh>
or a grown-up engineer:
John, "You need to overlap the cardboard to make it more stable."
Me, "I don't want to overlap it. This is the top and I want a smooth surface to paint."
John, "words words words, structural integrity, words words words words, sheer force, words words words, tensile strength, words words words words words, algorithms and math shit words words"
<sigh>)
But back to the alien eggs...Before I got started, someone, who I assumed was my friend, told me that it's much easier to use cheese cloth and fabric stiffener so I thought I give that a shot.
I found a 6-pack of giant balloons. The package only contained 5, fine, whatever. I planned on making three eggs so that left a two extra. One immediately disappeared into Sam-the-Magpie's nest, never to been seen again. I was down to 4; that left one in case something went wrong but come on, what could possibly go wrong. First thing I learned about fabric stiffener? It's a mess. And I'm pretty sure I watered it down too much so it was a huge-fucking-mess. It was everywhere; all over my hands and arms, dripping all over the garage floor, running down the balloon into a puddly mess, and splattered against every vertical surface. But it only need one layer of cheese cloth so it went rather quickly. Tom helped hold the balloons still because as I found out next, round things roll.
The whole experience took about half an hour and went something like this:
(Mom, you should stop reading now.)
fuck
fuckfuckfuck
jesusfuckingchrist
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCKfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUUUUUUUUCK
that woman is NOT my friend!
I decided that two eggs were quite enough. At least they looked good. Really good, actually. Ripply and very organic looking. Until the balloons started to slowly leak. And contract. Pulling the stiffened fabric with them. Well, fuck. Now I have scrambled eggs.
John, "I think you can still use them"
Me, "mmpwhhh"
John, "No, really, I think they look cool"
Me, "I really need you to go away"
Here's a picture of the second one. I don't have a picture of the first one because I threw it against the wall.
I left John standing in the garage as I stomped into the house, swearing and slamming doors. Did I mention that what makes me so good at these types of projects is my even-headedness and mellow nature? After about 20 minutes I calmed down and decided try regular old paper-mache.
Me, "Can you google paper mache? What are the proportions?"
John, "You need to make it on the stove."
Me, "What?! You Do Not need to COOK paper mache."
John, "Well, all of these say you have to make it on the stove."
Me, "You don't have to cook it! The last time I paper mache'd, I was in 3rd grade, in a army school, in Korea! We didn't cook shit! We were in a fucking quonset-hut! See, this is the problem with the mothers of today. Why do something in 3 steps when you can do it in 12? Everything has to be as complicated as pos..."
John,"Wait, I found one that doesn't need the stove."
Armed with a stack of newspapers and a bucket of flour/water, we went back into the garage to give it another shot. This one went much smoother. It was still a mess and now there was paper-mache all over the floor, mixed with the fabric stiffener and traces of cheese cloth and newspaper and the diet coke that I accidentally kick over and a rock solid beach towel that I used to wipe up the diet coke that also soaked up some of the fabric stiffener and was now stuck to the floor. My arms were coated, so were my legs and feet. There were globs of it in my hair. John made lots of helpful suggestions and tried to get me to stop swearing and I didn't even threaten to divorce him. I'm a fucking saint.
Here are my alien eggs:
P.S. My right flip-flop is 'stiffened' to the garage floor where it will remain for all time. It will be disclosed to the new owners as "Fine Art - Man's struggle to move Forward only to get Buggered in the Garage"
P.S.S. When John got home from work, he took one look at the "cleaned" up garage and said, "It looks like someone shot an elephant porno in there. There's hard white crusty shit everywhere! I think it's on the ceiling!"
Happy Fucking Halloween!
(And a mummy sarcophagus but that's another story. Suffice it to say, you can make an awesome sarcophagus out of three cardboard boxes, one x-acto knife and a butt-load of packing tape.The only difficulty is deciding whether to get help from:
a 13 year old boy:
Me, "Can you hold it right here?"
Me, "Tom, can you hold it right here?"
Me, "TOM!"
Tom, "Huh?"
<sigh>
or a grown-up engineer:
John, "You need to overlap the cardboard to make it more stable."
Me, "I don't want to overlap it. This is the top and I want a smooth surface to paint."
John, "words words words, structural integrity, words words words words, sheer force, words words words, tensile strength, words words words words words, algorithms and math shit words words"
<sigh>)
But back to the alien eggs...Before I got started, someone, who I assumed was my friend, told me that it's much easier to use cheese cloth and fabric stiffener so I thought I give that a shot.
I found a 6-pack of giant balloons. The package only contained 5, fine, whatever. I planned on making three eggs so that left a two extra. One immediately disappeared into Sam-the-Magpie's nest, never to been seen again. I was down to 4; that left one in case something went wrong but come on, what could possibly go wrong. First thing I learned about fabric stiffener? It's a mess. And I'm pretty sure I watered it down too much so it was a huge-fucking-mess. It was everywhere; all over my hands and arms, dripping all over the garage floor, running down the balloon into a puddly mess, and splattered against every vertical surface. But it only need one layer of cheese cloth so it went rather quickly. Tom helped hold the balloons still because as I found out next, round things roll.
The whole experience took about half an hour and went something like this:
(Mom, you should stop reading now.)
fuck
fuckfuckfuck
jesusfuckingchrist
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCKfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUUUUUUUUCK
that woman is NOT my friend!
I decided that two eggs were quite enough. At least they looked good. Really good, actually. Ripply and very organic looking. Until the balloons started to slowly leak. And contract. Pulling the stiffened fabric with them. Well, fuck. Now I have scrambled eggs.
John, "I think you can still use them"
Me, "mmpwhhh"
John, "No, really, I think they look cool"
Me, "I really need you to go away"
Here's a picture of the second one. I don't have a picture of the first one because I threw it against the wall.
 |
| Nailed it! |
Me, "Can you google paper mache? What are the proportions?"
John, "You need to make it on the stove."
Me, "What?! You Do Not need to COOK paper mache."
John, "Well, all of these say you have to make it on the stove."
Me, "You don't have to cook it! The last time I paper mache'd, I was in 3rd grade, in a army school, in Korea! We didn't cook shit! We were in a fucking quonset-hut! See, this is the problem with the mothers of today. Why do something in 3 steps when you can do it in 12? Everything has to be as complicated as pos..."
John,"Wait, I found one that doesn't need the stove."
Armed with a stack of newspapers and a bucket of flour/water, we went back into the garage to give it another shot. This one went much smoother. It was still a mess and now there was paper-mache all over the floor, mixed with the fabric stiffener and traces of cheese cloth and newspaper and the diet coke that I accidentally kick over and a rock solid beach towel that I used to wipe up the diet coke that also soaked up some of the fabric stiffener and was now stuck to the floor. My arms were coated, so were my legs and feet. There were globs of it in my hair. John made lots of helpful suggestions and tried to get me to stop swearing and I didn't even threaten to divorce him. I'm a fucking saint.
Here are my alien eggs:
P.S. My right flip-flop is 'stiffened' to the garage floor where it will remain for all time. It will be disclosed to the new owners as "Fine Art - Man's struggle to move Forward only to get Buggered in the Garage"
P.S.S. When John got home from work, he took one look at the "cleaned" up garage and said, "It looks like someone shot an elephant porno in there. There's hard white crusty shit everywhere! I think it's on the ceiling!"
Happy Fucking Halloween!
Thursday, October 15, 2015
Sam's problem with Destiny
The video game, that is.
"Who came up with these names? The Darkblade Alak-Hul? Where's the Raid Boss Jeff? You have angered the Raid Boss Jeff when you killed his son.....Dan!"
"Who came up with these names? The Darkblade Alak-Hul? Where's the Raid Boss Jeff? You have angered the Raid Boss Jeff when you killed his son.....Dan!"
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Monday, September 28, 2015
Running Joke
So John and I have this thing. It started with one of his issues of Men's Journal. If you are unfamiliar with Men's Journal, the covers typically show a front-on head and torso shot of some athlete or celebrity, usually shirtless. The issue in question featured Lance Armstrong, pre-drug scandal. I walked into the bathroom and there on the counter was a shirtless Lance Armstrong staring me straight in the face. I flipped the magazine over and went about my business. Over the course of the week, I would find myself walking into a room and <boom> there was Lance Armstrong staring up at me. I finally said something to John like, "God, everywhere I go that fucker is staring at me!" Over the course of the next week I found Lance Armstrong leaning on my pillow, propped up on the back of the toilet, and inside my medicine cabinet early one morning.
It happened again with an empty Starbucks cup that spent two weeks sitting on the bathroom counter and my casual comment, "Are you every going to throw that goddamn cup away?!?" Sure enough, the next time I saw the empty Starbucks cup, it was in my underwear drawer. I, however, won that round when I made the cup look like Master Shake from Aqua Teen Hunger Force.
And then I had to make Frylock because, well, because.
Needless to say I was not all that surprised to walk into the kitchen this morning to find this:
I laughed and waited for the boys to walk in. So there I was, sitting at the table, having coffee and watching them amble around the kitchen, toasting waffle, and whatnot. And I waited.....And I waited...And still nothing. Finally I said, "Wwwweeeeeeeellll?" Tom look over and said, "Mfph" as he walked out of the room and Sam gave me a half shoulder shrug. Really? That's it?
It happened again with an empty Starbucks cup that spent two weeks sitting on the bathroom counter and my casual comment, "Are you every going to throw that goddamn cup away?!?" Sure enough, the next time I saw the empty Starbucks cup, it was in my underwear drawer. I, however, won that round when I made the cup look like Master Shake from Aqua Teen Hunger Force.
 |
| Top that, will ya?! |
 |
| Boo-Yah |
 |
| Yes, that is my plush Aliens Chest Burster dangling between the kitchen lights. |
 |
| Good Morning, Sunshine! |
I laughed and waited for the boys to walk in. So there I was, sitting at the table, having coffee and watching them amble around the kitchen, toasting waffle, and whatnot. And I waited.....And I waited...And still nothing. Finally I said, "Wwwweeeeeeeellll?" Tom look over and said, "Mfph" as he walked out of the room and Sam gave me a half shoulder shrug. Really? That's it?
Challenge accepted, good sirs.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Treasures
So we went to a Flea Market the other weekend and I found an old Parker Brothers Ouija board circa 1972. It's in really good shape, even the box. So cool!
Naturally, the boys and I will be summoning the spirits of the dearly departed come Halloween. Unfortunately, no one has died or been killed in our house but perhaps we can contact the spirit of the last bird that Abbey killed in the backyard. I'm sure it's pigeon-kin are in need of closure.
I also found this little silver bell with the sweetest sounding ring.
I thought it would come in handle at home. Now, when I need something I can ring my lovely little bell rather than scream across the house. So very Downton Abbey. When I need to know if the boys have finished their homework, I can just ring my bell. Ting-a-ling-a-ling! When I wondering if John is finished using the computer, Ting-a-ling-a-ling! When the dogs have been staring at me for 10 straight minutes because no one will let them outside, Ting-a-ling-a-ling! When I'm in the bedroom reading and really want a Diet Coke, Ting-a-ling-a-ling! It's a marvel, my little silver bell. I'm thinking of getting one for each room of the house. It was the height of civilization. Until John took away my sweet little silver bell.
Me, "Can I have my bell back?"
John, "no"
Me, "Please"
John, "No"
Me, "But.."
John, "NO!"
Jeez, what's got him so upset?
Maybe he wants his own bell.
Naturally, the boys and I will be summoning the spirits of the dearly departed come Halloween. Unfortunately, no one has died or been killed in our house but perhaps we can contact the spirit of the last bird that Abbey killed in the backyard. I'm sure it's pigeon-kin are in need of closure.
I also found this little silver bell with the sweetest sounding ring.
Me, "Can I have my bell back?"
John, "no"
Me, "Please"
John, "No"
Me, "But.."
John, "NO!"
Jeez, what's got him so upset?
Maybe he wants his own bell.
Monday, September 21, 2015
This is going to be Extremely Unpopular...
But here goes:
I am tired of 'organic'. There, I said it. Now can you, please, sprinkle something on those crops so my lettuce doesn't turn black in 2 days?
If '28 Days Later' taught us anything, it was that irradiated apples are a good thing.
I am tired of 'organic'. There, I said it. Now can you, please, sprinkle something on those crops so my lettuce doesn't turn black in 2 days?
If '28 Days Later' taught us anything, it was that irradiated apples are a good thing.
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Proving once again that John and I could lose each other in the same room
John had some time to kill so agreed to run to the mall with me. We were taking separate cars so he could to straight to his meeting afterwards.
Me, "I'll meet you in the Nordstrom shoe section."
John, "Women's?"
Me, "Yes, but it's right next to the Men's so it doesn't really matter."
John, "Right inside the south door?"
Me, "I don't know if it's south or not."
John, "Is Nordstrom on the south side of the mall?
Me, "I don't know."
John, "Next to the Bart station?"
Me, "No, it's on the opposite side of the mall from Mellman's office."
John, "Oh, okay. I'll meet you inside the door."
Me, "Yes, in the shoe section."
John, "What door do you usually park at?"
Me, "The one next to the shoes."
John, "The shoes are on the main floor, right?"
Me, "Yes, and there's only one door on that floor."
John, "Okay,"
Me, "Okay.
15 minutes later.....
I'm in the shoe section, browsing around. No John. I browse around some more. No John. I left my phone in the car but am now regretting it because I could be reading my book while I'm waiting. No John. I find a bench to sit on and it occurs to me that he may have had to go back to work so now I"m really regretting the fact that I left my phone in the car so I leave to get my phone.
Message on my phone, "Where are you? I'm at the door."
I call back.
John, "I'm at the door opposite Mellman's office."
Me, "Why? We said the shoe section."
<I start walking to the opposite side of the mall thinking he's at the door opposite, not the side opposite."
John, "I'm right behind you."
We both hang up.
John, "Where were you?"
Me, "At the door by the shoe section. Where were you?"
John, "At the door opposite Mellman's office."
Me, "That door's downstairs. We said the door on the main floor."
John, "That door is on the main floor."
Me, "No it's not."
John, "Yes, it is."
<the door in question is actually between the floors with stairs going up and down>
Me, "It's downstairs. You have to go down the stairs to get to it."
John, "Whatever. Where were you just now?"
Me, "I left my phone in the car but I though maybe you'd been called back to work so I went to get it.?"
John, 'WHHHHY would you leave your phone in the car?"
Me, "BECAUSE we had decided where to meet."
John, "And as many times as we've screwed that up, you thought it would work out this time?"
Me, "We said THE SHOE SECTION."
John, "And you didn't think we could screw that up?"
And we head off into the mall, both muttering...
Me, "we agreed the...."
John, "leave your phone in....."
10 minutes later, he loses me in the cosmetic section because the clerk and I needed to walk over to a different register that was in a straight and clear line from the first one. I could see him looking around. I was waving. Clerk, looked up and laughed, "men!"
Then I see him wander off as my butt starts ringing.
Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.
Me, "I'll meet you in the Nordstrom shoe section."
John, "Women's?"
Me, "Yes, but it's right next to the Men's so it doesn't really matter."
John, "Right inside the south door?"
Me, "I don't know if it's south or not."
John, "Is Nordstrom on the south side of the mall?
Me, "I don't know."
John, "Next to the Bart station?"
Me, "No, it's on the opposite side of the mall from Mellman's office."
John, "Oh, okay. I'll meet you inside the door."
Me, "Yes, in the shoe section."
John, "What door do you usually park at?"
Me, "The one next to the shoes."
John, "The shoes are on the main floor, right?"
Me, "Yes, and there's only one door on that floor."
John, "Okay,"
Me, "Okay.
15 minutes later.....
I'm in the shoe section, browsing around. No John. I browse around some more. No John. I left my phone in the car but am now regretting it because I could be reading my book while I'm waiting. No John. I find a bench to sit on and it occurs to me that he may have had to go back to work so now I"m really regretting the fact that I left my phone in the car so I leave to get my phone.
Message on my phone, "Where are you? I'm at the door."
I call back.
John, "I'm at the door opposite Mellman's office."
Me, "Why? We said the shoe section."
<I start walking to the opposite side of the mall thinking he's at the door opposite, not the side opposite."
John, "I'm right behind you."
We both hang up.
John, "Where were you?"
Me, "At the door by the shoe section. Where were you?"
John, "At the door opposite Mellman's office."
Me, "That door's downstairs. We said the door on the main floor."
John, "That door is on the main floor."
Me, "No it's not."
John, "Yes, it is."
<the door in question is actually between the floors with stairs going up and down>
Me, "It's downstairs. You have to go down the stairs to get to it."
John, "Whatever. Where were you just now?"
Me, "I left my phone in the car but I though maybe you'd been called back to work so I went to get it.?"
John, 'WHHHHY would you leave your phone in the car?"
Me, "BECAUSE we had decided where to meet."
John, "And as many times as we've screwed that up, you thought it would work out this time?"
Me, "We said THE SHOE SECTION."
John, "And you didn't think we could screw that up?"
And we head off into the mall, both muttering...
Me, "we agreed the...."
John, "leave your phone in....."
10 minutes later, he loses me in the cosmetic section because the clerk and I needed to walk over to a different register that was in a straight and clear line from the first one. I could see him looking around. I was waving. Clerk, looked up and laughed, "men!"
Then I see him wander off as my butt starts ringing.
Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
Did you ever have one of those days...
Where you find yourself in line at the grocery store and all you have in your cart is NightQuil, ice cream bars and a bottle of vodka?
Yeah, me neither...
Yeah, me neither...
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Fear the Walking Dead is Killing Me
I watched the first season and a half of Walking Dead but stopped. I don't remember why but I figured it would be easier to start watching the new show than it would be to catch up on the old one. Especially since I feel the same way about the Walking Dead as the guy who made this up:
I've seen the first two episodes of FTWD and if these folks don't smarten up, I'm gone. Now, I have a very healthy 'willing suspension of disbelieve'. I know this is a pre-zombie outbreak show so there's going to be a whole lot of 'what's going on?' but, come one, these people are not just zombie-show stupid, they're stupid-stupid. I'm having to amp up my WSOD; this is clearly a world without George Romero, Brad Pitt or cable t.v.
So we start out with a drugged out kid who sees his friend eating another dudes face. In the hospital he tells this to his mom and stepdad. The stepdad, in the greatest act of step-father/step-son bonding in the history of the world decides to go check out the crack house, alone, at night, in L.A. If you remove the zombies from the scenario, you still wouldn't do this because 1) crack house, 2) alone, 3) at night and 4) in L.A. This guy is a high school teacher, who brought Jack London to life in a new and exciting way for a group of dead-eyed LA teenagers who all had to walk through a metal detector before entering the building. Yet he still thinks its a good idea checking out the crack house that is home to a bad batch of drugs, that could be laced with PCB, alone at night in L.A. He should have been shot on principle.
After a while, they decide that something strange is afoot and should maybe leave town. So what do they do? They all race off in different directions. "I know, you go to your ex-wife's house, I'll go to the school, that kid will walk into a riot and the daughter can try to get back to the sick boyfriend's house leaving the druggie detox'g on the couch. Then y'all will be the 5 people that I meet in heaven." Meanwhile no one has so much as thrown a can of soup into the car. They live in L.A.! One of these kids had to have put together an earthquake pack for an elementary school project. There should at least be an old backpack hanging in the garage with a flashlight and a couple packs of batteries. I supposed that I should have been bothered that the step dad had the stupidest conversation with the ex-wife when trying to explain why she and the boy needed to meet him but if those two were able to effectively communicate, I suppose, they'd still be married.
By the end of the show, the main characters had, personally, seen two people not die after being repeatedly killed, they're still not in a hurry. They're wandering around, driving the speed limit and obeying traffic laws. And no one has uttered the Z-word. I don't mean, "Oh, look, it's a zombie." but at least something like:
person 1, "There's some weird ass zombie-shit going on here."
person 2, "You're not saying there are zombies out there?"
person 1, "No, man, I said 'zombie-shit' like 'zombie-ish or 'zombie-like'. I'm not crazy, just something is really wrong here!"
then they throw some food in the car and drive out of town.
At this rate, everybody is going to be dead in a few episodes. Except Tobias. Tobias is the only one with his shit together.
By the way, if you tell me that you saw a zombie, I would totally believe you. I don't know who's at the top of your Zombie Apocalypse Call Sheet but it should be me. The same goes for aliens and computers taking over the world. When SkyNet takes over, call me and I'll spring you from the Funny Farm and we can head for the hills together. I'll even bring the dogs so we have something to eat in a few weeks. ( Oh, stop it, the zombie apocalypse has no room for you bleeding hearts. )
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Sure, Now He Listens
Me, "I can't believe I've run out of conditioner so soon."
John, "What?"
Me, "I'm out of hair conditioner but I swear I just got this a few weeks ago."
John, "Oh, I've been using that on my beard."
Me, "You've been using my hair conditioner on your beard?"
John, "What?"
Me, "You've been using my hair conditioner?"
John, "Yeah."
Me, "On your beard?"
John, "Yeah."
Me, "Do you have any idea how much this stuff costs??"
John, "No, how much does it cost??"
Me, "Uhhhh, I don't think we need to focus on that...."
John, "No, really, how much?
Me, "Do you need beard conditioner?"
John, "How much?"
Me, "I'll get you beard conditioner tomorrow."
John, "Ok."
Me, "Ok,"
John, "What?"
Me, "I'm out of hair conditioner but I swear I just got this a few weeks ago."
John, "Oh, I've been using that on my beard."
Me, "You've been using my hair conditioner on your beard?"
John, "What?"
Me, "You've been using my hair conditioner?"
John, "Yeah."
Me, "On your beard?"
John, "Yeah."
Me, "Do you have any idea how much this stuff costs??"
John, "No, how much does it cost??"
Me, "Uhhhh, I don't think we need to focus on that...."
John, "No, really, how much?
Me, "Do you need beard conditioner?"
John, "How much?"
Me, "I'll get you beard conditioner tomorrow."
John, "Ok."
Me, "Ok,"
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
8th grade
The first day of school was a minimum day so the boys have been in school for 3 hours and 20 minutes. Tom already needs a glue stick.
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
My Thoughts Exactly
I just finished reading "I've Still Got It...I Just Can't Remember Where I Put It: Awkwardly True Tales From the Far Side of Forty" by Jenna Mccarthy. It filled the "A book written by an author with your same initials" requirement for my reading challenge.
It's quite funny and she hits very close to home on many, many points but her thoughts on mammograms are dead on!
" .....every time I see my boob flattened out like a homemade tortilla between icy plates of glass and metal, my singular thought is Really? This is still the best we've got? Think about it. We can send monkeys (and humans!) into outer space and sport wearable computers with built-in facial recognition software. We can build a working semiautomatic firearm, an acoustic guitar, a glazed ceramic coffee cup, waterproof bikini, a precise miniature Aston Martin replica, and even human organs with nothing more than a 3-D printer. We can fuel cars with recycled fryer oil, track the calories we burn with every step we take, and transplant entire faces that have been ravaged by disaster or disease. We've built robotic lifeguards that have pulled people from riptides and saved their lives. You'd think by now we could just swallow a little computer chip that would scan our insides on the way down and transmit all of the data to our doctors' computers in real time before we pooped the thing out. But no. Apparently, figuring out how to get Leonardo DiCaprio to Mars has kept scientists extremely busy."
Amen, Sister!
I'm now reading "William Shakespeare's Star Wars" by Ian Doescher.
(Book Challenge requirement: A play)
OBI-WAN: --True it is,
That these are not the droids for which
thou search'st.
It's quite funny and she hits very close to home on many, many points but her thoughts on mammograms are dead on!
" .....every time I see my boob flattened out like a homemade tortilla between icy plates of glass and metal, my singular thought is Really? This is still the best we've got? Think about it. We can send monkeys (and humans!) into outer space and sport wearable computers with built-in facial recognition software. We can build a working semiautomatic firearm, an acoustic guitar, a glazed ceramic coffee cup, waterproof bikini, a precise miniature Aston Martin replica, and even human organs with nothing more than a 3-D printer. We can fuel cars with recycled fryer oil, track the calories we burn with every step we take, and transplant entire faces that have been ravaged by disaster or disease. We've built robotic lifeguards that have pulled people from riptides and saved their lives. You'd think by now we could just swallow a little computer chip that would scan our insides on the way down and transmit all of the data to our doctors' computers in real time before we pooped the thing out. But no. Apparently, figuring out how to get Leonardo DiCaprio to Mars has kept scientists extremely busy."
Amen, Sister!
I'm now reading "William Shakespeare's Star Wars" by Ian Doescher.
(Book Challenge requirement: A play)
OBI-WAN: --True it is,
That these are not the droids for which
thou search'st.
Friday, August 14, 2015
We fought the law and the law won
So we got a Nasty-Gram from our Home Owners Association. This may have come as a shock but it wasn't our first. We'd received them before from our HOA in Arizona. The first one back then was a shock. I immediately thought than one of our neighbors had narc'd on us but said neighbors quickly explained that the old bitties on the HOA board like to drive around looking for things on which to cite people. Time well spent, I assure you.
In our case it was weeds in our front yard. Now forget whatever you know about weeds and remember that I'm talking about Phoenix, Arizona. It's a desert. Nothing grows without a drip line. Our entire yard, front and back, was on life support. When they terraform Mars, it will look like Phoenix. Beautiful, green plant life, man-made lakes and fountains, right up to the edge where it ends it vast dusty, tumbleweedy nothingness. It's Under the Dome, without the Dome.
The great down fall to drip lines is that they're made of plastic. Plastic and heat don't mix well so they constantly needed to be repaired or replaced. Our front yard was "natural landscaping", read: rocks with the occasional non-native plant. Natural my ass. Anyway, the drip lines were always developing little leaks and it's really hot so they were not always fixed immediately so, voila, a weed would spring up. Not a hearty, thick stemmed dandelion-y fuck-you weed but a flimsy, practically see-through pathetic weed that was very easy to ignore especially if you rarely went outside. After a while you'd get a note from the HOA asking you to remove the weeds because your house alone was bringing down the resale value of the entire neighborhood. (Not the complete and utter collapse of the mortgage market. I mean you couldn't give those fucking houses away.) After the first Nasty-gram, John refused to partake in any weed removal until after receiving a "warning".
Me, "It's getting a little thick out front."
John, "I know. The letter should be coming any day now."
So we were old hats at the whole Nasty-Gram thing but we were a little surprised at the reason it was sent. As you may know California is in the middle of a drought. No, really, it's made the news and everything. Every one's lawns are going brown so the HOA board had to dust off the by-laws to find something else to complain about. In our case it was exposed drip lines. Huh? Our front yard has not changed since we bought the house 5 years ago, mainly because the previous owners did a really nice job and we didn't want to fuck it up. After 5 years, they'd had enough of our Drip-Line fiasco and god-damn-it you have 30 days to fix it! For a while we were like, Ooooh, a Nasty-Gram, remember when we got those in Arizona? They like us. They really, really like us. Then we tossed it aside and went to Starbucks.
Over the next 30 days, we would on occasion talk about different ground cover options.
John, "I like that dark cedar stuff."
Me, "I was thinking more like Styrofoam packing peanuts. I would pay a thousand dollars to cover our front yard with pink bouncy balls just so I could say, Well you didn't specify what ground cover."
<end of conversation>
30 days went by and we received Nasty-Gram #2. We're on Step 2! They have steps!
Me, "What do you think step 3 is?"
John, "I don't know. I could probably look it up but I'd have to dig out the paperwork from when we bought the house."
Me, "Don't they have a website."
John, <laughs>
Me, "Why don't you write back and tell them that 30 days is not enough time to fight with your wife about ground cover options."
John, "I'm going to write back and just say, Bring It On."
So we waited. And waited.
Me, "What if Step 3 is a fine?"
John, "I'm not paying a fucking fine."
Me, "What if they send us to collections?
John, "For ground cover? Who the fuck cares?"
And we waited. After 30 days, still nothing. I was starting to think that there was no Step 3. This was the most boring feud in the history of feuds. This was never going to spiral into a tragic death scene where one of our kids falls into a forbidden love with one of the HOA's kids and we're forced to face the error of our ways. Really, people? We say 'no' twice and you give up? This is your level of commitment? Now I'm started to worry about what we're paying the landscapers to maintain the common areas. They could be gouging us and we'd be none the wiser.
We were amazed that nothing had happened and would talk about it on occasion. John would drive around looking at other people's ground cover and would insist I came with him to see one that he really liked even though I kept stressing to him that I didn't care. No, really, I Don't Care. It's not a trap, just pick whichever you want. Eventually we chose a ground cover and made the boys spread it around and cover up the drip lines. It looked really nice and we were quite happy with the result and ended up doing the back yard as well because, damn, this looks good! But we were left with a slightly disappointed feeling. Who wants a wimpy HOA that just rolls over at the first sign of conflict? And then we realized that we'd done exactly what they wanted us to do and we hadn't even responded to the first volley. It was a bloodless coup. They waited us out. Those motherfuckers.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
E-Scripts is Stalking Me
A few weeks ago E-Scripts cancelled my refill order for my anti-depressants. Twice. It wasn't even their fault. It was my doctor's office's failure to respond to the requests for approval that caused the problem. Regardless, E-Scripts is feeling guilty and now they send me three emails a day to let me know the status of my order, it's location and it's mood for the day. "Your order is in the warehouse eagerly awaiting the arrival of UPS" It's the email equivalent of sitting in the ER next to an overzealous candy-striper who keeps patting your shoulder and saying "There, here, it'll be okay."
p.s. Alice hid my right slipper yesterday and I still haven't found it. The left slipper was in her favorite hiding spot, the middle of the sun room. Her second favorite hiding spot is the middle of the family room and her third favorite spot is the middle of the beach shack (read: the room that was supposed to be the formal living room but is instead the boys' game room). If she keeps this up, I'm going to rent her out to hide Easter eggs next year.
p.s.s. One of the t.v.'s at the gym was showing a video of a guy rock climbing naked. Is this a thing now?
p.s.s.s. Also at the gym this guy whistled at his wife/girlfriend to come over to him and she came over. wtf? My dogs don't do that consistently. Abbey/Alice, "Just wait a minute! Someone really interesting shit over here."
p.s. Alice hid my right slipper yesterday and I still haven't found it. The left slipper was in her favorite hiding spot, the middle of the sun room. Her second favorite hiding spot is the middle of the family room and her third favorite spot is the middle of the beach shack (read: the room that was supposed to be the formal living room but is instead the boys' game room). If she keeps this up, I'm going to rent her out to hide Easter eggs next year.
p.s.s. One of the t.v.'s at the gym was showing a video of a guy rock climbing naked. Is this a thing now?
p.s.s.s. Also at the gym this guy whistled at his wife/girlfriend to come over to him and she came over. wtf? My dogs don't do that consistently. Abbey/Alice, "Just wait a minute! Someone really interesting shit over here."
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
Looking for a New Project?
Do you have some time on your hands and need a project?? Here ya go:
Worked in garter stitch with DK yarn on size 7 needles.
Worked in garter stitch with DK yarn on size 7 needles.
Instructions:
1. Cast on 1 stitch. KFB.
2. (And every wrong-side row) Knit across.
3. (And every right-side row) KFB, knit across to last stitch, KFB.
Continue for about 4 inches, or to size. Cast off, and use cast-off tail to tack the front corners together. Apply to your chicken and admire.
Can you figure out what it is? Need help?
It's a Shawl. For your chicken.
A Chicken Shawl.
Chicken Shawl.
I'm pretty sure this is why the terrorists hate us.
Thursday, August 6, 2015
Bet you don't miss this, Laurie!
This is where I live. I'm outside shoveling bark. The boys have spread it around most of the front yard, so I'm finishing up the small part of the side yard that still needs covered. This couple walks by. It's Thursday morning and neither are at work. From the way they are dressed, they've clearly been out for a walk. He's wearing a t-shirt and shorts. She'd donning her best Lululemon yoga gear. The guy looks over at me, smiles and says, "Good morning." The lady doesn't even turn her head to acknowledge my existence. Probably thought I was the help. Gotta love these nouveau riche women. All the money without all that pesky etiquette training.
Friday, July 31, 2015
It's one simple errand
The dogs ran out of food this morning so I had the boys come with me to the store because what's the point of having teenage boys if not to make them lift heavy objects, right? Right. It was around 11:00 and I hadn't eaten in, like, 3 hours so I was starving, like seriously close to death and I really wanted to run in, grab the dog food and get out. I could have easily done this had I been alone but I wasn't. I had brought the two stooges with me and before I'd even parked the car I was envisioning how this simple, simple task was about to spiral into a chaotic cloud of sound effects, silly voices, faux anime fights and entire reenactments of YouTube videos. Before the carnival ride down the main aisle of PetsMart had even started, my patience had run dangerously low. When we reached the dog food section, and Sam attempted to start Act I, Scene I: fade in on morons amongst the kibble, I snapped.
Me, "Can we just do this without all the Bullshit?!?!"
Silence.
Cue the crickets.
We got the errand completed in record time but Sam has been giving me this face all day:
Me, "Can we just do this without all the Bullshit?!?!"
Silence.
Cue the crickets.
We got the errand completed in record time but Sam has been giving me this face all day:
 |
| <cough> <cough> "I beg your pardon, Madam, but your outburst has left me deeply insulted." |
Thursday, July 23, 2015
8th Grades A'Comin
The boys will be starting 8th grade in a mere four weeks. Yesterday I wandered through the school supply section at Target, enjoying the smell of crayons, the sight of pencils that still possessed their erasers and the feel of fresh new composition notebooks. I love school supplies. Long before I had kids or was even married, I would go school supply shopping for one of the moms that I worked with because she was so over the task and I loved picking through all the pencil sharpeners to find the red one. With that being said, I have just one thing that I ask of the teachers, school administrators, district superintendents, the entire national common-core curriculum. It's my grown-up Christmas wish. Please, please, please, no more glue sticks. I beg you. Either initiate an arts program in the school system or put the craft supplies away once and for all.
They were fun to begin with, way back in Kindergarten, but trust me when I say, they have run their course. I used to dream of the day when the boys might consider using a larger font for a column heading or line up the edges or apply more paste to the project than my furniture. Those dreams were dashed on the same jagged rocks that slew my dreams of one day fitting back into my wedding dress. They will never cut in a straight line. Let's move on.
I suppose I could defend them by saying that they are boys so glitter glue was not a significant part of their early childhood or I could say that they're teenagers and would much prefer to be playing video games. But the fact of the matter is, they just don't give a shit. They barely give a shit about the rest of their homework; the worksheet pages, the essays, the quizzes and exams. Hand them a box of colored pencils and the very last ounce of shit-giving that they had flies out the window.
My biggest issue with glue sticks is that whenever they are required, I have to run to the store and buy more. The glue sticks that I bought for the previous project are either 1) lost, 2) dried out, or 3) eaten by the dog. Abbey actually ate a project that Sam had completed and left on the coffee table. Yum, cow hooves and rendered horse fat. They should flavor dog treats with that shit. The next day, I walked Sam all the way into his classroom just so I could see the look on his teacher's face when he told her that his dog ate his homework. I've rarely giggled so hard. "Go on! Tell her. Tell her!" And don't even get me started on their inability to click the cap back on all the way. I should have bought stock in Elmers.
I keep hearing how kids today are vastly ahead of us academically then we were that age. Well, that may be but we gave up paste in second grade and I'm quite sure that it didn't take a PTA initiative or a town hall meeting. The moms just said, 'we're tired of the shit' and stopped buying it. Rather than have them cut and paste together a brochure about the chief exports of Albania, how about having them make the brochure on the computer? You've only got about $100K of computer equipment in that building and you keep asking me for money to buy more. Hell, you got a fucking 3D printer in there. They could make a roman coliseum rather than paste a picture of one onto a tri-fold display board. The computers even come with a handy cut and paste function that doesn't involve wiping paste all over my dining room table. AND developing brochures on a computer is an actual job. The last company that I worked for had an entire floor of people creating catalog layouts. Not a glue stick, ruler or pair of scissors in sight. The craft supplies are only training these kids to be nannies. Let's shoot a little higher, huh?
This year, I'm putting my foot down. I'll call in PETA if I have to. I'm sure they'd love to mount a campaign to have the old decrepit livestock put out to pasture rather than melted down in an attempt to present the rise of the agricultural revolution in a new and exciting way. We can stage a protest with signs and chants and everything. So, say it with me, girls, loud and strong, 'No more glue sticks!'
They were fun to begin with, way back in Kindergarten, but trust me when I say, they have run their course. I used to dream of the day when the boys might consider using a larger font for a column heading or line up the edges or apply more paste to the project than my furniture. Those dreams were dashed on the same jagged rocks that slew my dreams of one day fitting back into my wedding dress. They will never cut in a straight line. Let's move on.
I suppose I could defend them by saying that they are boys so glitter glue was not a significant part of their early childhood or I could say that they're teenagers and would much prefer to be playing video games. But the fact of the matter is, they just don't give a shit. They barely give a shit about the rest of their homework; the worksheet pages, the essays, the quizzes and exams. Hand them a box of colored pencils and the very last ounce of shit-giving that they had flies out the window.
My biggest issue with glue sticks is that whenever they are required, I have to run to the store and buy more. The glue sticks that I bought for the previous project are either 1) lost, 2) dried out, or 3) eaten by the dog. Abbey actually ate a project that Sam had completed and left on the coffee table. Yum, cow hooves and rendered horse fat. They should flavor dog treats with that shit. The next day, I walked Sam all the way into his classroom just so I could see the look on his teacher's face when he told her that his dog ate his homework. I've rarely giggled so hard. "Go on! Tell her. Tell her!" And don't even get me started on their inability to click the cap back on all the way. I should have bought stock in Elmers.
I keep hearing how kids today are vastly ahead of us academically then we were that age. Well, that may be but we gave up paste in second grade and I'm quite sure that it didn't take a PTA initiative or a town hall meeting. The moms just said, 'we're tired of the shit' and stopped buying it. Rather than have them cut and paste together a brochure about the chief exports of Albania, how about having them make the brochure on the computer? You've only got about $100K of computer equipment in that building and you keep asking me for money to buy more. Hell, you got a fucking 3D printer in there. They could make a roman coliseum rather than paste a picture of one onto a tri-fold display board. The computers even come with a handy cut and paste function that doesn't involve wiping paste all over my dining room table. AND developing brochures on a computer is an actual job. The last company that I worked for had an entire floor of people creating catalog layouts. Not a glue stick, ruler or pair of scissors in sight. The craft supplies are only training these kids to be nannies. Let's shoot a little higher, huh?
This year, I'm putting my foot down. I'll call in PETA if I have to. I'm sure they'd love to mount a campaign to have the old decrepit livestock put out to pasture rather than melted down in an attempt to present the rise of the agricultural revolution in a new and exciting way. We can stage a protest with signs and chants and everything. So, say it with me, girls, loud and strong, 'No more glue sticks!'
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
Mother of the Year - once again
The boys have been enrolled in a couple of different camps this summer. This week it was badminton along with a two day babysitting class. My friend, Suzanne, has a 9 year old boy, and she asked if my boys would be interested in babysitting. Sam was all for it. Tom agreed grudgingly. They've only done it once and both loved it, mainly because they got paid to eat pizza and play video games. With one good experience under their belts, John found a babysitting class that we thought might do them some good as they began looking for other opportunities.
The first class was this afternoon. Tom doesn't like to do anything so his less-than-enthusiatic attitude was no surprise. Sam has always been keen for whatever we sign him up for so I was surprised that he was so nervous when I dropped them off.
Sam, "I'm really regretting my decision to do this."
Me, "Why?"
Sam, "Uhhhh, I'm just not sure of it anymore."
Me, "Why?"
Sam, "Uhhh, nothing."
Then he climbed out of the car and walked a few steps away, turned around and climbed back into the car."
Me, "What?"
Sam, "I just really don't want to do this."
Me, "Why?"
Sam, "It's going to be all girls."
Me, "Is that a bad thing?"
Sam, "Well, there won't be any boys."
Me, "There will be at least two. So go on."
Sam, "uuuhhhh"
Me, "What are you worried about?"
Sam, "Sexism"
Me, <well, wasn't expecting that> "Huh?"
Sam, "It'll be a bunch of girls and just us and they'll be making sexist boy jokes."
And here's where I become a shoe-in for mother-of-the-year.
Me, "Suck it up, white boy."
The first class was this afternoon. Tom doesn't like to do anything so his less-than-enthusiatic attitude was no surprise. Sam has always been keen for whatever we sign him up for so I was surprised that he was so nervous when I dropped them off.
Sam, "I'm really regretting my decision to do this."
Me, "Why?"
Sam, "Uhhhh, I'm just not sure of it anymore."
Me, "Why?"
Sam, "Uhhh, nothing."
Then he climbed out of the car and walked a few steps away, turned around and climbed back into the car."
Me, "What?"
Sam, "I just really don't want to do this."
Me, "Why?"
Sam, "It's going to be all girls."
Me, "Is that a bad thing?"
Sam, "Well, there won't be any boys."
Me, "There will be at least two. So go on."
Sam, "uuuhhhh"
Me, "What are you worried about?"
Sam, "Sexism"
Me, <well, wasn't expecting that> "Huh?"
Sam, "It'll be a bunch of girls and just us and they'll be making sexist boy jokes."
And here's where I become a shoe-in for mother-of-the-year.
Me, "Suck it up, white boy."
Monday, July 20, 2015
I'm probably the last person to experience this....
So I went for a pedicure today. I haven't had a pedicure in, at least, 5 years and it did not involve a massage chair. Have you been on one of these?? I had not. Yeah, I know you can find them at the mall and the county fair and the airport but I've never been even slightly tempted to try one out. At least not until they start offering hepatitis vaccines at the booth next to it. Anyway....the massage chair. Oh my god! How much do those things cost? Do you think they'd take my car as a trade-in? Never in my life have I been so tempted to buy a hideously ugly piece of furniture and put it smack dab in the middle of my living room. I'd turned into a 19 year old frat boy. "Dude, we have GOT to get one of these! We can put it next to the keg!" I sat there for 30 minutes; boobs, gut and thighs jiggling away. I'm quite sure that muscle tone would have unforgivably diminished the experience. And the best part was that I kept sliding down in the chair. I'd find my foot lodged in the poor lady's abdomen, grunt an apology and scoot back up into the seat. I don't think I was drooling but no guarantees. I don't know that last thing I spent $35 on, but I want a refund.
 |
| watch it wiggle, see it jiggle..... |
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Last Comic Con Entry, possibly
Why Comic Con is the Very Best Place Ever:
Disneyland - stand in a long line to have your bag checked
Universal Studios - stand in a long line to have your bag checked
Legoland - stand in a long line to have your bag checked
Airport - stand in a long line to have your bag checked
Baseball Game, Football Game, Hockey Game - stand in a long line to have your bag checked
Comic Con - they give you a really big bag and never ever ask to look in it
Disneyland - stand in a long line to have your bag checked
Universal Studios - stand in a long line to have your bag checked
Legoland - stand in a long line to have your bag checked
Airport - stand in a long line to have your bag checked
Baseball Game, Football Game, Hockey Game - stand in a long line to have your bag checked
Comic Con - they give you a really big bag and never ever ask to look in it
 |
| This is actually a medium sized bag. There were much larger ones in case you couldn't decide which lego set to buy so you just got them all. Or you desperately needed 7 stormtrooper helmets. |
 |
| Big enough to hold all my 'motions |
Monday, July 13, 2015
Best Cos-Plays (That I saw)
 |
| Lipstick Taser! |
 |
| Roy, "There's only two of us now." Pris, "Then we're stupid. And we'll die." |
 |
| HawkGirl, Bitches! My pic doesn't do the wings justice. They were AWESOME! |
 |
| <shudder> |
There was also an amazing Edward Scissorhands and LeeLoo from the 5th Element. Leeloo was an overweight sweaty white guy in an orange wig and a white bandage outfit. Close your eyes and imagine. Gotta be Johnny-on-the-spot with your camera or you miss some good stuff!
Someone did not have the same Comic Con experience as I did
Me, "Let's binge-watch IZombie"
John, "Let's not"
John, "Let's not"
Sunday, July 12, 2015
Vacation Final Day
1 day at Disneyland, 2 1/2 days at Comic Con
I got my first blister on Day 1 in the Oakland Airport walking from security to the gate, in a pair of shoes that I'd been wearing for 6 months without incident.
Just my feet's way of telling me, "We own you, bitch"
Still, it wasn't bad enough to wear DeeDee's orthopedic granny tennis shoes.
Lisa to DeeDee, "You have TWO pairs of these??"
Saturday, July 11, 2015
Vacation Day 4
Me, "How do I look?"
Sam, "You look like a Comic Con Geek."
Me, "Okay, I guess that's good."
Sam, "It is good because we're at Comic Con. You'll fit right in."
Me, "But what if I run into a movie star? There are movie stars here. How do I look if I run into a movie star?"
Sam, <ppaauusssee>
Me, "Pause?"
Sam, "uhhhhhh"
Me, "Pause?"
Sam, "uhhhhhh"
Me, "That pause?....when your girlfriend or wife ask you that question, remember that pause. And remove it."
Sam, "You look like a Comic Con Geek."
Me, "Okay, I guess that's good."
Sam, "It is good because we're at Comic Con. You'll fit right in."
Me, "But what if I run into a movie star? There are movie stars here. How do I look if I run into a movie star?"
Sam, <ppaauusssee>
Me, "Pause?"
Sam, "uhhhhhh"
Me, "Pause?"
Sam, "uhhhhhh"
Me, "That pause?....when your girlfriend or wife ask you that question, remember that pause. And remove it."
Friday, July 10, 2015
Vacation Day 3
I figured out why we are at Disneyland. It's to collect all of our emotions. I started with Sadness and Disgust because, let's face it, that's me about 80% of the time. And if I could lay on my back and have someone drag me around by my foot, I would sign up immediately.
Then after spending half the day trying not to get stepped on, I added Fear. The boys spend as much time walking on my feet as their own. This is how I look when their massive clod-hoppers are coming my way.
And it quickly turns to anger, and people look at me like I'm the worst mother in the world because they don't know that I've been, literally, walked on for 12 years.
When John and the boys went back to the park to watch the fireworks and I stayed in the room with ice on my knee because I'm old, I sent him a text asking him to bring me back some Joy because I really needed it. He sent me this reply:
The next morning, John was having a really tough time. He was trying to find out the street address of the rental car company at the airport but wasn't having much luck. He made four separate phone calls from the room, not counting the times he was cut off and was getting more and more incensed by the minute.
John, "I just want to know the actual street address."
Their responds, "What's your reservation number?" "Are you still picking up the car today?" "Would you like an upgrade?" "Paper or plastic?"
I tried to help and called the local office. They gave me the address in about 30 seconds but that just made him madder. Until he realized that I was given the same wrong address he had been given. That made him feel a little better.
We eventually made it down to the lobby and he tried a couple more times to extract the, apparently top-secret, street address and only managed to get ahold of a guy who may or may not have been speaking English. He was infuriated. I was doing my best to help by offering lots of really good suggestions but it just wasn't working. He needed Joy. So I tried to give him my Joy but he was having nothing to do with it.
Me, "Here, hold my Joy."
John, "You need to get away from me."
Me, "But it's JOY!"
John, "Don't touch me with that thing."
Me, "Hmmm, you are sounding more like Disgust. Do you want to hold Disgust."
John, "Go Away. Now."
I tried again when we got in the cab.
He gave Joy the bird. Or maybe he gave me the bird, I'm not sure. I rested Joy in my bag so she could gaze upon him during the car ride and radiate Joy in his direction. I know he appreciated this deep down inside but couldn't admit it because he was ashamed to have previously rejected the Joy. That's okay, I know what he needs even when he doesn't.
Then after spending half the day trying not to get stepped on, I added Fear. The boys spend as much time walking on my feet as their own. This is how I look when their massive clod-hoppers are coming my way.
And it quickly turns to anger, and people look at me like I'm the worst mother in the world because they don't know that I've been, literally, walked on for 12 years.
When John and the boys went back to the park to watch the fireworks and I stayed in the room with ice on my knee because I'm old, I sent him a text asking him to bring me back some Joy because I really needed it. He sent me this reply:
 |
| that's her little yellow arm sticking out of John's backpack |
The next morning, John was having a really tough time. He was trying to find out the street address of the rental car company at the airport but wasn't having much luck. He made four separate phone calls from the room, not counting the times he was cut off and was getting more and more incensed by the minute.
John, "I just want to know the actual street address."
Their responds, "What's your reservation number?" "Are you still picking up the car today?" "Would you like an upgrade?" "Paper or plastic?"
I tried to help and called the local office. They gave me the address in about 30 seconds but that just made him madder. Until he realized that I was given the same wrong address he had been given. That made him feel a little better.
We eventually made it down to the lobby and he tried a couple more times to extract the, apparently top-secret, street address and only managed to get ahold of a guy who may or may not have been speaking English. He was infuriated. I was doing my best to help by offering lots of really good suggestions but it just wasn't working. He needed Joy. So I tried to give him my Joy but he was having nothing to do with it.
Me, "Here, hold my Joy."
John, "You need to get away from me."
Me, "But it's JOY!"
John, "Don't touch me with that thing."
Me, "Hmmm, you are sounding more like Disgust. Do you want to hold Disgust."
John, "Go Away. Now."
I tried again when we got in the cab.
He gave Joy the bird. Or maybe he gave me the bird, I'm not sure. I rested Joy in my bag so she could gaze upon him during the car ride and radiate Joy in his direction. I know he appreciated this deep down inside but couldn't admit it because he was ashamed to have previously rejected the Joy. That's okay, I know what he needs even when he doesn't.
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Vacation Day #1
Arrived at hotel,
John, "Guys, charge your phones."
Sam, "I can't find mine."
John, "Look."
Sam, "I can't find it."
John, "Where did you look?"
Sam, "Everywhere."
Sam, "Use your Find IPhone app."
John uses the app and Sam's phone starts making that underwater sonar noise.
noise continues
noise continues
noise continues
John, "It's over in that corner."
noise continues
noise continues
noise continues
John, "Sam, you're right on top of it."
noise continues
noise continues
noise continues
Sam, "Oh, found it."
John, "Oh my god! It was in your pocket?! It was in his pocket!"
Me, "You couldn't find the phone that was ringing at your ass?????"
We are so proud.
John, "Guys, charge your phones."
Sam, "I can't find mine."
John, "Look."
Sam, "I can't find it."
John, "Where did you look?"
Sam, "Everywhere."
Sam, "Use your Find IPhone app."
John uses the app and Sam's phone starts making that underwater sonar noise.
noise continues
noise continues
noise continues
John, "It's over in that corner."
noise continues
noise continues
noise continues
John, "Sam, you're right on top of it."
noise continues
noise continues
noise continues
Sam, "Oh, found it."
John, "Oh my god! It was in your pocket?! It was in his pocket!"
Me, "You couldn't find the phone that was ringing at your ass?????"
We are so proud.
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
Boy, Do I Love Summer
During the school year, the boys are up and in the kitchen when I am so I can gently remind them over and over and over to empty the dishwasher or put away the cereal boxes, or whatever. When I left the house this morning, the boys were still in their rooms so I left notes for them.
All four notes were within viewing distance of the others. They all read the same thing:
I was starting small. Feed the Dogs. Just the one thing. Didn't care about the dishes, didn't care if they were dressed, didn't care if their teeth were brushed, Didn't care if there was food all over the counter. Just Feed the Dogs.
So I walked into the house and:
Me, "Didn't you feed dogs?"
Tom, <making a long, loud, disgusted noise which loosely translates to "God, you're such a pain in the ass."
Sam, "Huh?"
Me, "I left notes all over the place."
Boys, "I didn't see them."
Me, "Your cereal bowl is sitting half on one of them."
Boys, <grunts>
Me, "You're playing video games! Who took the note off the t.v., crumpled it up and threw it on the coffee table?"
Boys, "Not me."
Me, "Well, I know it wasn't one of the dogs. You know how I know that? I know that because they want to be fed."
Boys, <more grunting>
Me, "FEED THE DOGS!!"
Boys, "Jeez, you woke up in a bad mood."
I'm moving out until school starts up again.
 |
| On the Countertop |
 |
| On the Pantry Door |
 |
| On the Fridge |
 |
| On the T.V. |
All four notes were within viewing distance of the others. They all read the same thing:
I was starting small. Feed the Dogs. Just the one thing. Didn't care about the dishes, didn't care if they were dressed, didn't care if their teeth were brushed, Didn't care if there was food all over the counter. Just Feed the Dogs.
So I walked into the house and:
Me, "Didn't you feed dogs?"
Tom, <making a long, loud, disgusted noise which loosely translates to "God, you're such a pain in the ass."
Sam, "Huh?"
Me, "I left notes all over the place."
Boys, "I didn't see them."
Me, "Your cereal bowl is sitting half on one of them."
Boys, <grunts>
Me, "You're playing video games! Who took the note off the t.v., crumpled it up and threw it on the coffee table?"
Boys, "Not me."
Me, "Well, I know it wasn't one of the dogs. You know how I know that? I know that because they want to be fed."
Boys, <more grunting>
Me, "FEED THE DOGS!!"
Boys, "Jeez, you woke up in a bad mood."
I'm moving out until school starts up again.
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