Holiday To-Do List

Let's see, how are we looking so far.....

• Trim the tree and house.  That's done. Although half the decorations are still boxed up in the garage and there is a constant layer of clutter on the counters and tabletops...but that's okay because...I was really going for a....more....minimalist...and.....organic look this year.  Yup, definitely minimalistic and quite organic.  Check.
• Gifts. Gifts, gifts, gifts.....I'm 87% confident that all the gift buying has been accomplished. It's a strong 87; maybe 88. If you happen to fall into that other 12-13% then clearly we share a love so pure that it cannot be encapsulated in a crude gift box and you're welcome for that. Check
• Christmas dinner. okay...so far we have broccoli and a head of cauliflower....well...that should be delicious.,,,Perhaps we can find some sort of meat product at the grocery store....have to look into that...next
• Dessert. I told the guys that I'd make a cake so I definitely need to get going on that...oh, but I didn't plan a Christmas Eve dessert and they've pretty much eaten through the earlier holiday baking but I'm already making a cake and we certainly can't finish an entire cake in one sitting so we'll have the cake for both Christmas Eve and Christmas day....nicely done there...of course that means I'll have to make it earlier...where's that recipe...step one: chop and toast pecans...well that's not happening...grocery store should have pre chopped pecans, wonder if they have pre-toasted as well...have to check on that....next.
• Party Dress. Well I've nailed this one because I found two party dresses and according to my To-Do List, I needed zero party dresses, that puts me 200% above expectations. Exceptional work done there but let's not rest on our laurels just yet....
• Man in the High Castle Season 2.  I started re-watching season 1 of Man in the High Castle to brush up on the major plot points so we can start watching season 2...we seem to be on track for that....it was down on the list somewhere....huh, it's not on the list....that's odd.....I'll just add it to the bottom so I can check it off....there. Check
• What else do we have on the calendar.  Dec 23, 2:30 pm, I seem to have scheduled some dental work for Tom.  That was thoughtful of me....he can have a tooth drilled before we go see Beauty and the Beast....just lovely....maybe I can get John in for a quick prostrate exam as well....you know, I worry about your health because I love you....again, you're welcome.
• Christmas Eve Party at Chris's house...said I'd make something for that....let's see....I'll make a couple bottles of alcohol.. big Check there.....
• And look what else I found time to hide in John's underwear drawer.

 Just tell me those medals don't look like sparkly, sparkly scales.
It may be christmas but we must not forget the whimsy of the season

And that seems to be it. Well, done all around, I think.  Well done, indeed.

You know what's great? Oregon. Oregon is great.

I've been driving around on fumes for a few days now and figured it was time to finally fill up the tank before then needle dove straight through the 'E' and swung back up to the 'F' and I forgot that I needed gas.  So I dropped the kids at school and headed off to the gym.  The first gas station is about 3 blocks from the school but I drove straight past that one because it's a pain to get in and out of.  It sits on a corner and both of the roads that border it are divided with meridians so you have to turn right when leaving the lot and it turns out that I never need to turn right at that corner. Sure, I could just turn right then drive a bit until I can make a u-turn but that's a pain in the ass. The next gas station is maybe 1/2 mile farther and is still on the way to the gym so I stopped there.

I pulled into the lot and there were 16 beautiful pumps just waiting for me.  I pulled up to the first and there was a little white note taped to the screen that read 'Cash Only'. Huh? Well, that's not going to work so I pulled to the next one. Same little sign, "Cash Only'. Okay, I'll try the other side. More and more little white notes.  16 little white notes requesting cash. Is this a joke? We made it through Y2K and now nothing works?  Really?  You may as well tell me that I have to barter with livestock. 'So, how many gallons for a chicken? And, yes, sir, she's a mighty fine layer!' Jesus christ, cash.
So I drove to the gym on the very last of my fumes, the whole time thinking, "cash? It's the end of civilization, that's what this is..." fucking cash.

I don't even like pumping gas and now they're making it harder for me. Really? This is part of the reason that I want an electric car. No more pumping gas.  It's also why I started teaching the boys how to pump gas. I've been pumping gas for 36 years. I'm over it. I have gotten all I can out of this experience and there's nothing left to the relationship. I'm sorry, pump, but it's time we moved on. I lived in Oregon for a year and there you weren't allowed to pump your own gas. Now, I know what you're thinking because I thought the same thing. For about two weeks. Then I realized how perfectly amazing it was to have someone else pump your gas.  That's right, two short weeks and I stopped caring that the gas cost a little more. How cares? I can sit here in my nice warm/cool/dry car and let someone else deal with it. AND, they clean the windshield! Sure, I can pump gas. I can also check the oil, change a flat and jump the battery.  But i don't want to. I'm a strong independent woman perfectly capable of handling minor car maintenance but would rather pay someone else to do it. Isn't that the American way? And in Oregon they can't even accuse you of being lazy. 'Oh, sure I'd pump my own gas, but they won't let me.'

 Gee, Mr. Drumpf*, if you really want to make America great again, you know what you can do? Eliminate self-service.  I bet he doesn't even realize that people have to pump their own gas.  Someone should tell him. Just think of how many jobs that would create. Millions. Put all the pump jockeys in roller skates and I'd consider tipping them.  Let's get the economy rolling! Keep America Lazy! The bumper sticker possibilities are endless. Now I realize none of that helps me with my lack of cash but it's the story I'm going to tell John when I run out of gas and have to call him to come get me. I'll leave out the part where I've had an orange gas pump glowing on the dash for four days.  Yup, that's my plan.

*And, yes, that is his real family name

I wish I remember why this happened..

So I was digging around in the closet looking for the boys' birth certificates because John is in the process of getting Canadian passports for the boys because....Trump.  I've always known exactly where all these types of important documents were because I keep them in a 'safe' place.  Unfortunately a few months ago I cleaned out the closets and found a new and improved 'safe' spot.  Never to be seen again.  In the course of my document hunt, I found this:

Oh, I did eventually find the papers and there were just where I thought they'd be, just pushed really far back on the shelf.

Thanksgiving Memories

We had our last Old Lady general meeting of the calendar year the other week.

(We still have a board meeting and some committee meetings. In fact we had a committee meeting last night.  It was in Valerie's garage because these people have meetings in garages.  I don't know why.  I had put my foot down and declared that I would no longer attend meetings unless I was allowed inside the house with the bathroom and the booze, but I had to make an exception last night because of reasons.  That and no one was noticing My Stand.  Towards the end of the meeting, something moved and banged over amongst the rubbermaid storage containers and scared the shit out of me and the lady sitting next to me.  She thought it was a ghost. I thought it was a rat. We both wanted to leave.  No more garages!)

Anyway, the general meetings typically end with a speaker or something similar.  This month's meeting ending with everyone sharing a holiday recipe or tradition. I would have know this if I'd read the entire email but I adhere to the strict rule "if you don't make your point in the first three sentences then you don't have a point" (IYDMYPITFTSTYDHAP, for short) So, everyone was sharing. Everyone. E.v.e.r.y.o.n.e.  Fun fact, most people's Thanksgiving traditions include turkey and stuffing.  Jesus wept.  I left when the microphone was pasted to the second table.  I did not have the fortitude to wait for the microphone to make it over to the six of us at table #12.  I'm sure there's a lesson in there somewhere about what's wrong with the country and the importance of taking the time to listen and care....whatever. I left. Come the rapture, that one's on me. 

IF I had stayed I would have shared this story.

It was two thanksgivings ago.....John has always been in charge of the turkey because the guy can cook a mean bird.  That particular year he decided to order a fresh turkey from Whole Foods.  I offered to do the ordering for him and it was going well until I logged onto the Whole Foods website and discovered that there were approximately 7,000 different kinds of turkeys. Nope. I'm out. "John, you're gonna have to order it yourself.  I will, however, go with you to pick it up." Color me helpful. We put off the pick-up until the last possible moment so Thanksgiving Eve found all four of us at Whole Foods along with a couple thousand other folks.  Turkey pick-up was in the back of the store, past the meat counter and down the hall towards the loading dock. It was madness.  Folks standing everywhere, in what would have been a line except each customer was accompanied by their entire extended family. People who'd picked up their birds had to fight their way back through the same mess and to top things off the bathrooms were down the same hallway. "Is this the line for the bathroom?" "No, it's down there. Best of luck to ya!" It took me about 4 seconds to decided that I did not need to be there.  "I'm going to the front of the store. Text me."

I waited at the front, watching the frantic last minute shopping unfold around me. After a while the boys wandered to the front to join me.  One had even thought to bring the car keys with him. Groovy. We're out of here.  text: John, meet you at the car.

John eventually showed up, exhausted with turkeys, grocery stores and humanity in general. We then spent 20 minutes trying to get out of the parking lot because as we all know one of Whole Foods' key business strategies is to ensure that each of their locations has only 60% of the necessary parking. Eventually we got home. John worked his magic on the bird. We got the kitchen cleaned up and were done for the night.

John, "So how much did the bird end up costing?"
Me, "Huh?"
John, "The bird. You went up fr......"
Me, "You had the pape....."
John, "but...uh..."
Me, "didn't y.....?"
And that was the year we stole a turkey.

On a side note, if you go into Whole Foods on the day after Thanksgiving and explain how you stole a turkey and that you'd like to pay for it but you don't have the paperwork and can't remember what kind it was but it was around 12 lbs., they will ask you to leave.

There's nothing like good pastry

So we went to see the new Harry Potter movie the other week. About half way through, this one character, Queenie, shows off her famous apple strudel.  And the skies opened up and a ray of sun light shined down on me right there in the middle of the theater.  You see, I made a new friend at the beginning of the school year. She and her husband are German. They've been living in the states for the last 15 years or so and have a son the same age as the boys.  Now the important piece of information to pull out of those last few sentences is: she's German.  So there I was sitting in the theater, looking at Queenie's strudel and <da DA> please please please PLEASE tell me that Kerstin makes her grandma's apple strudel every Christmas.  Please please please please.  It's not that much to ask, really.

Now fast forward to this morning.  I was leaving the gym and spy this woman who kinda looks like she could be Kerstin so I circled the parking lot. Sure enough, it was Kerstin.  I quickly pulled over, threw the car in park and ran across the street.
"Kerstin!" <bear hug>
Kerstin was talking to this nice lady named Nadia.  I know that was her name because Kerstin introduced her to me and I know she's a nice woman because she smiled and said "hello" rather then scrunching up her face and yelling"WTF?!?"
I quickly explained the Harry Potter movie and said,
"Please, please, please tell me that you make your Grandma's apple strudel every Christmas!"
Kerstin, "Well, I can make a crumble."
Me, "Is it your Grandma's?"
Kerstin, "No."
Me, "Ugh, you're no good to me."
Kerstin, "You really need someone from that generation because it's really an art form...."
Me, "I know! This is what I'm saying!"
Then we promised to text one another so we could get together and drink. Like ya do.

So here I am, two weeks post-New Harry Potter movie. Kerstin is dead to me and Oma's Apple Strudel is going the way of the Dodo.
God Damn It! This is why we need more immigrants!

My Niffler would only steal pastry.
 PASTRY!!

Trump Logic

A.K.A
When good Logic goes Bad

AKA
How to Fool People into believing a Lie without Lying

The percent of Muslims in Slovenia is 62% higher than the percent of Muslims in the U.S.  That's a lot. It's higher. Much higher. It's their second highest religion.  All I'm saying is that Melania Trump was born in Slovenia. She didn't become a permanent resident of the U.S. until 2001. A lot of people are staying it. A lot of people.  How could someone spend 31 years in a country with a percent of Muslims that is 62% higher than the percentage of Muslims in the U.S. Is she a Muslim? I don't know. I don't know. I'm not saying she is but why isn't this being looked into?  I don't know. Why won't she move into the White House? Does she have a secret? Is she hiding something? People are wondering if she's hiding something. I've heard a lot of people wonder about this. Would you feel safe if the  president was married to a Muslim? The American people deserve to know. I just don't know why this isn't being looked into?

Don't you hate it when....

you have plans with a friend but your social anxiety kicks in so you make some lame excuse to cancel but then your husband buys movie tickets for a show you really want to see but you're convinced that despite the fact that there are around 70,000 people living in town you will definitely run into the gal you ditched so you're sitting in your bedroom trying to decide what to do and you find yourself saying to your husband, "See, now this is when a burka would really come in handy."
Or is it just me?

Humor as a Defense Mechanism

So the biggest drawback from joining my Old Ladies Group is that a lot of the ladies are old, and on occasion, die.  We had a couple of bad weeks last month so John took the club's boilerplate and sent me this:

Jennifer Moore  Jennifer passed way at the last old lady board meeting due  to chronic boredom coupled with Itsafuckingmicrophone-itis.  A  memorial service will be held this Friday, October 7th (time to be decided soon) at Hopyard Pub (1st 50 mourners get free nachos), As soon as a time and more details are available I will get confused by email and mistakenly not send them out. We will  be doing some sort of Preachy Bullshit Ceremony during the pub crawl Please contact Lucifer (666) 666-6666 if you are available to participate.

Please keep her family in your prayers, cards welcome and a service announcement will follow. Love, Lucifer XXXOOO

It's a Wonderful Time to be Alive

This is an emotional support duck.  He was on a flight recently with his owner who suffers from PTSD.  His name is, wait for it, Daniel Turducken Stinkerbutt.

I would pay extra to sit in his row.

I think I need to knit him another sweater.

It's Stephen Sondheim's Fault

Things got side tracked this weekend and suddenly everyone stopped talking about clowns.  Last week we were all about clowns.  The yahoo homepage ran an article called "Clown reports tying up Police Resources".  I got an email from the school district titled, " National Clown Social Media Hoax".  By Friday morning, there was an overabundance of evidence that clowns were seen on the walking trail behind the high school and a shooting threat had been made for the next Friday but some moms were keeping their kids home this Friday just to be safe. Facebook, instagram and emails were referenced, names were dropped, and Julie definitely saw them.  By 8:35 am, I was convinced that absolutely nothing had happened.  So I called my friend, Tina

Me, "The clowns are here. Well, not THE clowns but some clowns."
Tina, "THE clowns? There aren't THE clowns and other clowns. They're just clowns."
Me, "No, I mean the scary clowns....well, they're all scary...."
Tina, "I looked it up on the internet and every couple of years there's a flurry of clown related crimes."
Me, "Did you hear that sentence? I can't believe you just said that."
Tina, "I can't believe I told my kids not to talk to clowns."
Me, "Well, if you don't talk to your kids about clowns, who will? If a clown asks you to get into their tiny car, say no. I know it'll be tempting with all the squeaky noses and squirting flowers and sure one more can squeeze in. Just say No."
Tina, <talking about her youngest> "He's going to be The Joker for Halloween and now he's worried people will think he's a clown."
Me, "You could dress like Harley Quinn and explain that The Joker is not a clown. The Joker is a Joker, that's why his name is The Joker. Or you could throw playing cards at them."
Tina, "I don't think the Heath Ledger Joker had playing cards. Did he?"
Me, "He did. If you guys get arrested as a community threat, I'm totally coming up for your trial."
Tina, "I can't talk about this anymore. I've gotta go."

Then things got fucked up over the weekend in the real world and I missed the clowns but we seem to be getting back on track because a clown carrying a chainsaw was spotted at Burnel University in England. You can google it. It's terrifying and a complete hoax because who would stand there and record it on their phone, and this is why the aliens keep flying past instead of stopping but it did give me a really good idea.

Now I just need a tiny doggie chainsaw

Meter Stick

I just finished reading "Tony and Susan" by Austin Wright.  It's been turned into a movie called, "Nocturnal Animals" and the preview looked good, like some who's-who, what-really-happened psychological thriller so I decided to read the book.  Someone needs to read this and tell me if it's good or not.  I really don't know.  I also don't know what it's about.  Some of the wording was odd so I thought maybe it was originally written in a language other than English and the translation is off but when I looked up the author, it turns out he's American. He's also written essays on critical thinking.  Okay, maybe I'm too dumb to understand it.  It must be an illustration of some philosophical concept but I don't know what. Again, I'm too dumb or something.  Anyway, there was this great quote that I thought was very relevant in our current political climate.

"....when his rudeness was replaced by civility, civility looked like glamor."

Civility should be the bare minimum of our expectations.
You don't get credit for not being an asshole.

Iron Chef Canada

John cooks on the weekends.  Lately his signature dish is chicken.  The man can roast a mean chicken.

I need this sign

My Old Lady Group

So I attended my monthly Women's Club meeting last week.  When I got there, I had a bit of a panic because I my friend, Lisa, who got me involved in the first place, wasn't there and these old ladies are crazy....

So I sent a few texts to keep her up to date:

Later John asked how the meeting went so I showed him the text string. Including an additional one that I'd sent prior to the monthly board meeting that I also attend because they tricked me.  Crazy yet wily old ladies. 

John, "Uh...wha....hhh....I don't know what any of this means."
Me, "Exactly. Yet notice that Lisa knew exactly what I was talking about each time."
Me, "Want me to explain them to you."
John, "I really don't."

Later, when we were leaving the high school football game:
Sam, "How was your old lady's meeting?"
Me, "It was fine.  I sat at the 'young' table but our token old lady got upset because I kept saying 'fuck'."
John, "JENNIFER!"
Me, "Well, if you had taken a greater interest in my day, I wouldn't be standing here telling the kid.  And he said 'bitch' not 10 minutes ago. You didn't say anything about that."
Sam, "I was being funny and I didn't say the whole word."
Me, "You stopped at H."
John, <walking away> "oh my god."
Me, "What?"

Why does anyone care about this?

Why, why, why, is Kaepernick still getting air time?  I'm convinced it's just so the news outlets can prove they know how to spell his name. If they really want me to pay attention, they need to start finding new and interesting ways to misspell his name. Throw a few Kaeperninski's or Kaeperachoo's in the crawl and I'll sit up.

What is his endgame here?  Is he hoping to introduce moral responsibility to the NFL?  Yeah, right. American football has already sold it's soul.  The list of moral transgressions they don't give a shit about is endless.  Hell, they'll help you protect a child rapist as long as you keep winning games.   They'll even honor you at Homecoming.

I'm also not impressed with his choice of civil disobedience.  All he's doing is sitting on his ass.  I can do that.  He's not even sitting out the entire game. He's sitting out for 1.31 minutes.  He is risking nothing. NOTHING.  He's worth millions. His latest contract is worth  millions. If they fire him, they'll have to pay him millions and another team will pick him up for more millions.  His sponsors aren't going to drop him because he's "standing by his beliefs" and he's getting more press. Wow, Kaepeppernut, you're so brave! Move over, Rosa.

And you know what my biggest problem is with this publicity stunt? I don't believe him.  I don't for a minute think he believes that black lives matter.  He believes that some black lives matter. Otherwise he'd be sitting on his ass and refusing to play with or against the players who beat the shit out of their wives, or girlfriends or kids.  Oh, but wait, that's asking a lot so maybe just the ones we've seen ON TAPE. I guess those lives don't matter.

So fuck off, Kaepernicus, and go back to throwing your little ball around. You're not a role model.

You're not the Boss of Me!

Every fall John runs the Fantasy Football league for his office so around this time of year, we get a flurry of FF related emails at our home address.  This year I decided to respond to them.

Emails 1 & 2, reading from the bottom of course:

Emails 3 & 4:

John decides to jump in:

New player enters the game:

His response? "Fair enough"

"Fair enough?" Are you kidding me with this??

Later that day,
Me, "Adam Gold has no sense of humor."
John, "Have you been emailing my co-workers again?"
Me, <silence>
John, "I don't know some of these guys very well." <scrolling through his phone>
Me, <silence>
John, "Really, I'm serious, you need to stop..." <finds email>........."Okay, that's funny but.."
Me, "I know. I had my next response all lined up. 'Smoke signals have been discontinue because only you can prevent forest fires' but the guy gave me nothing."
John, "Stop emailing my co-workers."
Me, 'YOU'RE NOT MY SUPERVISOR!"

When good science goes bad

So I was reading this article. You know how people always say that humans only use 10% of their brains and assume the other 90% is some mystery that if harnessed would mean limitless cosmic power? Well, that's not entirely true. We know what the whole brain does, well, not me but they, they know what it all does. We just use 10% at a time. That would have to be an average because everyone couldn't use exactly 10%. It's like body temperature. Every one's isn't exactly 98.6, that's just the average.  Some people have a higher body temperature and some people have a lower one.  My is on the low side, around 98.3 or something which is probably is why my kids don't really get fevers.  In fact they were the scourge of their first elementary school and it took several months to figure out that they were spreading Strep Throat around like little 5 year old Typhoid Mary's. They didn't run fevers or have any other symptoms; they were carriers only. It wasn't until John and I came down with our 5th collective case that the doctor said, "okaaaaay, who do you live with?"

But back to brains. People use 10% at a time on average, so some people use more and some use less.   Now here is where I start waxing philosophically rather than scientifically. The difference being scientists pose questions, run experiments, collect data and report results.  Philosophers sit around and debate whether someone's cat is dead or not and decide that it's both and, you know what, it's not. The cat is ALIVE and you know how I know that? Because it's not fucking dead.  Get a real job, ya hippies.

Again, back to the brain.  So some people use more of their brains at one time and others use less.  That would explain why some people are better at mutli-tasking then others, follow me so far? That mean's that when I'm dealing with someone who is only using 9.5% of their brain and I'm using 10.5% of mine and he's driving me completely nuts and, let's face it, it's definitely a HE, and I'm starting to lose it and the situation is quickly unraveling, it's not because I'm impatient or have unreasonable expectations or "need to calmthefuckdown for christsake". It's because I'm a genius.  Now that this has been scientifically proven, I'm sure things will go much smoother in the future.

This, by the way, is also why my handwriting is messy.  Geniusness is such a burden.

Why is it....

whenever I see a clean-cut white man driving the speed limit, I assume he has a body in the trunk?

The Good and the Bad

So far, the best thing about having high-schoolers is that school drop-offs no longer involve sitting at an intersection manned by an overzealous crossing guard.  Unfortunately, I no longer get to sit at that same intersection marveling that I would make the world's greatest crossing guard if only these morons would listen to me. Not sure how I feel about this....

So Many Things Didn't Make Sense This Morning

1. My knee hurts from walking around Great America wearing Flip-flops, and I'm not surprised.
2. I've started judging amusement parks based on their cleanliness and I will comment on it out loud.
3. Because, really, how could a bathroom be that filthy when the park had only been open for an hour?
3. I know the lyrics to all the songs that are playing at the grocery store. When did that happen?
4. David Bowie died. How can there be no David Bowie?
5. Why do I have wrinkles and a zit? Someone is fucking with the space/time continuum and it isn't me.
7. My vet thinks that my dogs need flu shots? So that's a thing now?
8. I have to get out of bed and take the boys to High School because the boys are in High School.
<sigh>

First day of Preschool:

First day of High School:

Me, "Ready??"
Sam, "uuummpphh"

Me, "Tom??"
Me, "Hello??"

Olympics Update

Gymnast Marisa Dick has created a tricky new move.  The technical name is "a change-leg leap to free-cross split sit". The  colloquial name is The Dick.  She created a Dick Move. I am not joking.

Best CosPlays!

amazing wings!

The Tick!
and arthur

okay, horrible picture and he didn't look like Nick Fury but
He had his own soundtrack
Everyone should walk around with their own soundtrack

again, not a great picture. Snow White's dress was beautiful!
the blue bodice sparkled

 nuff said

Comic Con 2016 Pictures

It was the 75th anniversary of Wonder Woman so it was a very-wonder-woman con!!

 Wonder Woman Costume from New Movie

Original Wonder Woman Costume
It wasn't stored correctly so it is badly faded
but still awesome

Always get a mystery box!!
Yours may have an Umpa-Lumpa

Get a Haircut, Hippie

Tom wears his hair rather short and Sam prefers to wear his longer.  Not super long but down to his shoulders.  It tends to be rather curly, when it's clean, and rather unkempt.  When it gets particularly unruly, John will suggest that he get a haircut.  Tom got a haircut about a week and a half ago, but Sam took a pass. At dinner last night,

John, "Sam, you need a haircut."
Me, "I like his hair long."
John, <nodding towards Tom> "I'm not saying he should get something like that. Just get it trimmed up and.....contained."
Sam, <standing up and flipping his hair back> "I'm a wild stallion and can not be contained!"
Then he started prancing in place.
clip-clop clip-clop clip-clop clip-clop clip-clop clip-clop

Your Civic Duty

So John came home a few weeks ago and asked, "Why haven't you been called for jury duty?"
Me, "Oh my god, I can't believe you said that out loud!"
John, "<someone> at work got a summons..."
Me, "Stop talking!"
John, "He was saying...."
Me, "OHMYGODIMNOTLISTENINGIMNOTLISTENING"
And I left the room.

About a week and a half later, I got a jury summons in the mail.
I immediately called John at work.
Me, "I am so angry with YOU!"
John, "whhhaaaa"
Me, "This is all your fault! I told you not to talk about it but, oh no, you wouldn't listen to me."
John, 'I..waa..hh"
Me, "I got a summons for jury duty. YOUSONOFABITCH!"
And I hung up.

When John got home from work later that day, he reminded me that I could request a deferral. Yeah, yeah, I knew that and I showed him the back of the summons. The back 3/4 of the sheet dealt with deferments.  There were fourteen circumstances listed that would disqualify you as a potential juror.  Although, I'm sure, that are thousands more that they haven't thought of yet, like I'm rehabilitating a family of squirrels and they require feeding every four hours. And, no, we're not running out of squirrels but every squirrel is precious, do you really want me to set PETA on your ass?

One reason is, "insufficient knowledge of the English language" which begs the question, how did you read that?  But more importantly, this is the number one reason to learn a second language.  If I knew a second language I would totally pretend not to understand English.  I used to work with a gal who would do that.  It was really funny until the time I ended up dealing with a moron at the warehouse sale and she went upstairs to get pizza.
Sonja, <in fake broken Chinese-English>, "No speeek ennn-gleeeesh"
Me, <yelling down the aisle after her>, "YES, YOU DO!"
Stay in school, kids. Knowledge is power.

Did you know that you can't get called for jury duty if you've committed a felony?  That to me is totally backwards.  Felons have a far great knowledge of the criminal justice system than the rest of us.  My knowledge base comes from binge watching Law and Order. As far as I know, the average criminal trial last 23 minutes.  Felons have lived this shit. Some have made a career of their involvement with the criminal justice system. Jury duty should be part of their parole package.
Felon #1, "Aw, man, you can't do that. Where's the probably cause?"
Felon #2, "See, that right there is grounds for an appeal."

You can also get out of jury duty if you are breast feeding a child but here's the catch. It doesn't specify whose child, and you only get deferment for one year. So, by my thinking, I could get a stack of business cards that read "Jennifer Moore, Wet Nurse" and I'm free for life.

Unfortunately none of the Deferment Options apply to me so I figured, what the hell, it's summer vacation. May as well get it over with while the boys are out of school.  Then John reminded me that the date was the week before ComicCon and if I were to get selected for a jury it could screw up our vacation.  Well, that would seriously suck so I got online and requested a postponement until after our trip to San Diego.  Since then I've been thinking, what could they really do to me if I didn't show up? Really?  I've never had a warrant issued against me so I could check that off the ole Bucket List. I guess I could be charged with Contempt and throw in county lock-up, but, honestly, at my age, my biggest concern would be whether or not the mattress was stained.

Not surprisingly, county lock-up has fallen into the same category as rehab or a psych-ward.  (I had this conversation with my friend, Tina, a while ago.)  I've decided that a stint in rehab/psych ward wouldn't be that bad.  I mean, John would have to send me to a nice one or he'd look bad. He'd need a shiny brochure to show people, "look at the pretty garden she can walk through." So what are we really talking about here? Detox would be a breeze; how long does it take to get Chardonnay out of your system? No one writhes on the bathroom tiles, moaning "It was a young vintage. And rather fruity." So what's left? Someone else is cooking and cleaning, and I'd wear pajamas all day so bonus, no laundry. That leaves jigsaw puzzles in the rec-room, and sitting in a circle and talking about our feelings. Bitch, please. It's not like I'm going to be working through tough emotional issues that I was hereto for unaware of. Hell, I could diagnose everyone else in the first 20 minutes; the counselor could take the week off.  Think how much sleep I'd get. And I love checkers! Sure, jail would be louder and John would need to bring me cartons of smokes so I could stay in the card games. But I do play a mean game of Spades and I know when to lose. That coupled with the fact that my commissary account would always be flush, I think I could carry myself for a couple of days.  Tina totally agreed and had been contemplating it herself.  That's why we're friend.  Incidentally, when the boys were infants, I discovered other mothers in my twins group had also fantasized about getting hospitalized.  Not with anything serious, mind you, just something minor so we could get some sleep for a couple of days. I guess things really don't change all that much.

So here I sit.  Waiting for 5:00 to roll around to see if I'll be driving up to Richmond tomorrow, through rush hour traffic, mind you,  to see if I will be participating our democratic legal system.  And I CAN'T forget to bring my cell phone charger.  If I get stuck up there all day and my phone dies, that would be a disaster.  See, these are my chief concerns: dead batteries, mattresses, and rush hour traffic.  I should be dismissed on those grounds alone.  Potential Juror #15 does not appear to be taking this very seriously.  And won't stop bitching that she's only getting paid $27.  Keeps yelling, "I don't get out of bed for less that $30".  Communism is starting to sound good.

Let it Begin! Let it Begin!

San Diego Comic Con - Before the Madness!

And AT&T thinks we're in Mexico. I'm sure Trump will get that straightened out.

Outlander Finale Party

So I've been collecting all these old whiskey bottles.  I was planning on making them into wine bottle lights; you know, where you drill a hole down at the base and put christmas lights inside? I had four or five of various shapes and sizes, and a couple of Aberlour which is my new favorite whiskey.  The Aberlour bottles are really nice. Kinda shaped like apothecary bottles and really solid, and I couldn't bring myself to recycle any of these because they're really nice bottles.  There must be something else I could do with them and then it hit me. I could fill them with candy and give them to the gals that were coming over for my Outlander Finale party.  Oh, I could tie tartan ribbons around them too.  How festive would that be?

So in addition to the several assorted whiskey bottles in the garage, I had four Aberlour bottles in the kitchen filled with assorted candies and I just needed two more. A few days before the party, John and I were at the grocery store,
Me, "Oh, I need two more bottles of Aberlour."
John, "Ok"
Me, "Waaaaiitt, they don't usually cost that much."
John, "Yeah, they do."
Me, "No way, they were cheaper than that."
As I started thinking that I'd single-handedly created a spike in Aberlour pricing when John said, "Why don't you just buy something else. Or use two from the garage?"
Me, "I can't. I've already got four Aberlour bottles and I can't have four of the same bottles and two different ones, different meaning they don't match the Aberlour or different meaning they don't match each other or the Aberlour either way won't work.  They either need to be all the same or all different and the four at home are already filled with candy so if I switch to all different then I may need more candy and I found the candy in several different stores and I still need to get candy to fill the last two and finding candy that fits in a whiskey bottle is not as easy as you think and I want all the candy to be different..."
By now I've got the heels of my hands pressed against my eyes.
Me, "It's hurts to be in my head..."
John, "Stop. Just get the Aberlour and let's go.
So we left before I started dripping more crazy on the floor.  "Clean up, Aisle 10"

Now on to the ribbon.  That should be easy, right?  Nope. No, tartan ribbon in a 10 mile radius and I ended up buying it on Amazon.  Whatever, it was only $8.  After a week, I remembered the order and thought it was odd that it hadn't arrived yet.  I pulled up the shipping info online and it wasn't going to be here for 6 weeks?  Six Weeks?  How can anything take six weeks to ship from Amazon? I'm pretty sure they could ship their CEO to me in less than six weeks. Unless he's coming from China.  How did I manage to order the only item on Amazon.com that ships from china on a boat? And not only is it slow but it's a tiny little bag of ribbon being throw in a 40' container which is being thrown on a container ship and sent off across the Pacific in the slow lane.  That bag of ribbon is never getting here.
John, "Dont' you remember The Wire? They lost a container full of whores. You're screwed."

Well, the ribbon did show up, the morning of and the party went off without a hitch. Lots of good food.  Lots of good whiskey. We played Outlander Bingo. One of the squares was "Bonnie Prince Charles acts like a tit" so that was basically a free spot for everyone.

A few unexpected things happened.  Like this:

Suzanne brought an Outlander cake complete with the Red Dress, Standing Stones and Jamie's kilt.
Me, "Oh my god. Did you make this?"
Suzanne, "Yeah, right."
Me, "Okay, stupid question."

As we got ready to finally start watching the show, we started to hear music.
"Do you hear that?"
"Is that someone's ring tone?
"Who's playing bag pipe music?"
A few folks wandered over to the window and....

Holy Crap, there's a bagpiper on my lawn!

I'm ashamed to admit that my first thought was, "Oh my god, what a coincidence!" Luckily that thought flew out of my mind as quickly as it entered and I didn't say it out loud.  We all started asking one another if they had arranged it but when no one fes'd up we realized it was John.  "That's why he's been texting and asking what we were doing!" Sure enough it was John.
Suzanne, "Did your man do this? My man has never sent me another man!"
DeeDee, "Is he going to strip?"
And this is how you know you're old. You're old when someone says, "Is he going to strip?"but not in an excited tone of voice but in a 'if he strips, you are definitely getting a letter from the home owners' association' tone of voice. He didn't strip, thank god, but he did take requests and even tried to teach Carol how to play.  And we all had a dram or two on the lawn with him.

All in all it was a great party. It must have been a great party because I woke up at 10:45 with bruises on my shins and John standing in the doorway asking, "Is there a penis on that cake?"

Slainte!

I hate squirrels

So I was driving to the gym this morning and I had to make a tricky right turn between two cyclists. You know how that goes when you're playing a game of Politeness Chicken (thank you, Louis C.K.) You go, no you go, wait, who's going, okay, you go. It took a while but once around the corner I had to stop again to wait for a squirrel to decide which side of the street he was going to dart towards.

This made me think about an animal rescue show that we watched awhile ago.  It took place in the south somewhere, Kentucky? I don't remember.  One episode featured a group that rehabilitated the animals in their homes and yes that did mean that the injured and/or wounded animals were being treated on the kitchen counter right next to food. People food.  "Are they going to eat that?"  "Shh" "Seriously, you can't eat that" "Shhh"  Anyway, they were helping some cool animals like beavers and deer, the occasional fox. But in every one of these homes there were squirrels, and not just one or two.  I think six must be the smallest lot size for squirrels.  Apparently they get blow from their nests during storms which is unfortunate but then again, aren't storms the only predators the squirrels have?  Storms and Goodyears. Michelins. (sorry, Jane) After the fourth or fifth house with a plastic bin full of squirrels, I started thinking "Are we running out of squirrels? As a country, do we have a squirrel shortage? 'Cause I've got a tree full of them. If Kentucky is running low, I could send them some of ours." When I voiced those thoughts, I was shamed into silence. Okay. I guess it's just me and the dogs that don't really care for squirrels. After a few episodes Sam was getting really excited about helping animals. John jumped on this enthusiasm and found a volunteer program with the local animal shelter. We had Sam signed up and six weeks paid for in under 10 minutes.  You've got to strike while the iron is hot, especially with Sam who is apt to reach for an ipad and decide to never stand up again.  It was after marking the calendar and printing off the receipt that I realized we had just paid for Sam to be a volunteer because we live in a stupid place. And all of this was going through my head as I was waiting for that stupid squirrel to get out of the road and what is a squirrel anyway but a rat with a pretty tail and here I am playing Politeness Chicken with a tarted-up rat so I said 'fuck it' and drove on.  9:15 in the morning and I'm mentally exhausted. God, I hate squirrels.

Happy 4th

Assigned Seating

So yesterday we went to the beach.  Half Moon Bay is about 45 minutes away depending on traffic and we left around 10:30 so we figured we'd eat once we got there.  Being the creatures of habit that we are, we all drifted to our assigned seats.  John driving, me in shotgun, Tom backseat left, Sam backseat right, Abbey on the floor at my feet and Alice standing on my lap/stomach staring out the window.  Abbey is an angel in the car.  She lays down on the floor and chills. She's only had a problem once and that was when we drove up the coast, in the dark, on this winding road, for hours and I was convinced an animal was going to dart into the road so John kept slowing down so that I'd shut up and by the time we reached our destination we were all very happy to not be moving and Abbey climbed out of the car and threw up.

Alice does not chill in the car because Alice does not chill.  Her preferred position is standing on my gunt looking out the window but she also likes to lay down on my lap and stand up and lay down and stand up and jump down on the floor to make sure that Abbey doesn't fall asleep and climb back on my lap and shed. Yesterday was new. It went like this:

Alice stands on my lap and looks into the back seat.
John, "What's that smell?"
Alice sticks her head between the seats.
John, "It smells like salami."
Alice jumps into the back seat.
John and I turn around to look.
Sam is holding a sandwich bag full of salami.
Alice is in love with Sam.
Sam, "What? It's a snack."
John and I turn back around.
A minute goes by.
Me, "The kid is sitting back there with a bag of meat."
John, "I think I'm jealous."

All my life I never knew that the key to a peaceful road trip was a bag of meat.

Marketing at it's Best

So Abbey threw up on the couch last night.  She's fine but now the couch smells so I went to Target for Febreze which, I think, needs another 'e'.

In the check-out line I saw this:

"Organic Sweeteners"

So, like, sugar

You're so sneaky!

I no longer ask a third time

You know how you ask your kid to clean up the kitchen and he sets down the video game controller long enough to put three things away so you ask him again to clean up the kitchen and he sets down the video game controller and puts away two more things? Now I do this:

Sweet Dreams

Now I Can Look Back and Laugh

One of the last projects that boys had was to build a Trebuchet for 8th grade science.  Once upon a time this was called the Catapult Project but someone thought Trebuchet was french for catapult so it was renamed the Trebuchet Project even though only one kid in the history of the school built a trebuchet and it's mounted on the wall in the science classroom if you'd like to see it. It would have been renamed the Ballista Project but no one anticipated the rise in popularity the ballista would experience due to video games featuring siege warfare.  This, by the way, is how they sell new textbooks. They change the names of things without changing any thing else. Math has not changed in 5000 years so let's stop saying "equal to" and start saying "equivalent to" and, shazam, now everyone needs to buy new textbooks.  In this lesson we will be building a trebuchet. No, you're not.

Luckily this project was completed mostly in class.  I only got involved when Sam and his partner had a problem with the drill.  They didn't have a drill bit big enough for the dowel they were using and after many, many attempts, the partially built catapult came home looking like swiss cheese. Which, by the way, was not found to be a 'funny' observation.  John was on his way to San Jose because the Sharks were in the playoffs so I was on catapult duty despite my strong negative feelings toward Middle School Projects. At least this one didn't involve glue sticks. I left Sam at home because he was in poor-humor and drove to the hardware store on my own. On the way there I had this conversation with John:

Me, "What size dowel is Sam using?  He needs a bigger drill bit but I don't know how big."
John, "There's a large drill bit in the bag."
Me, "I know. He tried that one but it wasn't big enou.."
John, "It's a black bit and it's not in the case, it's loose in the bag."
Me, "I know. He tried the bla.."
John, "It's not one in the set."
Me, "I know! How big is the dowel?"
John, "It's a big black bit.."
Me, "STOP TELLING ABOUT THE DRILL BITS!"
John, "Jeez, I'm just trying to help."
Me, "Try Harder!"

Then I hung up.  I ended up buying new dowels and several huge drill bits, and drove home going 3 miles an hour because it was 5:10 and everyone who wanted to get on the freeway was in the wrong  lane even though they drive home this way every, fucking, day.

Now I'm in a lousy mood and I'm hungry and I need to go grocery shopping and I need to fix a catapult with a pissed off teenager.  So we went to the pub for dinner because it's close to the grocery store.  (Yeah, right.)  Anyway, the place was packed because the Sharks were in the playoffs and the Warriors were in the playoffs and there was only one guy working.  Where were all the girls?  The pub is usually staffed with five girls who could waitress for the US olympic team and I'm stuck with this guy who has completely disappeared again and all I want is the bill so we can leave.  Sam was crawling the walls, freaking out about his catapult so I sent the boys to start grocery shopping while I decided whether or not to dine-and-dash.  Or rather, Dine-and-saunter out the door after trying several times to pay. Jesus, Harold, where the fuck are you?

By the time I got to the grocery store, the boys had everything in the cart. Awesome. But the only register that was open had the chatty-fellow working it.  Shit. Not awesome. I was in no mood for that so we went to the self-checkout. Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking. It was such a rookie mistake someone should have taken my mom-license and sent me to the showers.  Maybe it's time to retire. So there I was, 12 items in the cart, 10 of which won't scan and two teenagers in the bagging area 'helping'.  I haven't said "stop touching things" that many times since they discovered their penises. When the machine froze up the fourth time, I actually turned and screamed for assistance.  In one moment of frustration I said 'fuck it" and threw a box of unscanned cookies into our bag.  And then, Tom, my lovely boy, Tom, my 6 foot tall child who has never mastered the delicate art of the whisper, said, and this was my favorite part of the evening, he said, in a voice resonating with self-righteous indignation, "BUT THAT'S THEFT!" And time stood still.  I stared up at him as if he was some as yet undiscovered form of mammal.  I was the scientist who found the first platypus. "But it has a bill?" And then time started up again.
"Yes. It is theft. But they're going to be more concerned with the Homicide. GOTOTHECAR!"

By the time we got back home, I had to go lay on the cool bathroom floor and remind myself why I'd stopped drinking on school nights.

And the whole time John is texting from the hockey game:

Tom, "Cool"
Sam, "Cool"
Me, "So not cool"
Me, "Please stop"

The next day:
John, "Everyone in the arena had these wristbands with LCD lights and they were programed to turn on and off in different colors, making patterns all around the arena. And the ice was a video screen showing the players...."
Me, "Oh, sure, 'cause that's important.  Meanwhile the self-checkout machines are running on software from the Reagan Administration."
It is time to retire.

Closing out 8th Grade

So this week we've had to throw together a costume for Tom to wear to English class.  It needed to be based on a character from the book they just read, "Prisoner B-3087".  So of all the books they've read this year, they've been assigned a dress-up activity for the only one that takes place in a Nazi concentration camp.  Really?

"So, I guess everyone will be dressed as prisoners, right?  Except that one kids who's going 'Yes! I can finally wear my Nazi costume to school!"

I'm still wondering if Tom is punkin' me.  The first due date was Wednesday. Then it was pushed to Thursday. Now it's Friday.

It reminded me of this awesome post by Jen Hatmaker:

http://bplusmom.blogspot.com/2016/06/closing-out-8th-grade.html

Memorial Day Weekend at Yosemite

3 days before the trip. I've taken the boys to the store because they need clothes.
Me, "Sam, do you have shorts?"
Sam, "Yes"
Me, "And they fit?"
Sam, "Yes"
Me, "And you know where they are?"
Sam, "Yes"
Me, "Are you sure?"
Sam, "Yes"
Me, "Cause we're here so now's the time to speak up."
Sam, "YES. GEEZ"

Day of the trip.  I'm driving the kids home from school.
Me, "Dad said that the car will not be easily accessible so we need to try to get everything in the room in one trip."
Tom, "Yes, we know."
Me, "So you can't be packing a bunch of stuff in your backpacks."
Tom, "Yeah, yeah, yeah."
Me, "All your things need to fit into your suitcase."
Tom, "Yeah, yeah, yeah."
Me, "You'll be carrying other things so no backpacks."
Tom, Yeah, yeah, yeah."
* he actually kept saying yeah, yeah, yeah and not as a joke. as in 'I know so shut the fuck up.'

At the house, we're just about ready to head out when:
Me, "Sam, are you changing clothes?"
Sam, "I don't have any shorts."
and then, Tom walks out of his bedroom with 27 lbs of books shoved into his backpack.
I started shouting things and I don't even remember what I said.
First xanax of the trip and we haven't even left the house.

We arrive at the Lodge and it's really nice, and familiar.  When we step off the elevator, it hits me, "Oh my god, it's The Shining."
John, "It is The Shining.  They based the interiors on this lodge."
Me, "That is so cool.  I think."

In the room, I start claiming my space.  Space that is not to be littered with food wrappers, dirty socks or other gross things that males generate over the course of a weekend. I carry my wash kit into the bathroom and check things out.  Pedestal sink, no counter, one long shelf running over the sink and toilet, smaller half shelf above it over the toilet. okay, I'm taking the small shelf and the three of them can destroy the rest of the room. I go to put my wash kit on the top shelf when it falls open and half the contents fall into the toilet.
Second xanax of the trip. Where's the bar?

The next day we wandered around, checking things out and took a tram tour of the park.  It was very interesting, filled with beautiful scenery and interesting historical facts.  But the very best part was one of the lookout spots. I don't remember which one but here's what I do remember. There was a smallish parking lot with spots for cars all around the edges and three long spots marked for tour buses.  The buses and our tram were being driven by professional drivers who knew exactly how long their vehicle was and how tight their turning radius was to within an inch.  The cars were being driven by bunch of morons who probably flunked the written the first time.  It was beautiful. Like a bunch of toddlers being thrown on stage with the Bolshoi.  The teamsters were driving into their designated spots and no they are not going to let you cut in front of them and yes you are parked illegally so you better move because I'm not stopping and if you chose to ignore the ranger and my honking, then I'll just pull it right here and look at that now you're trapped and I'm going to go smoke a cigarette.  John and I stood for the entire 10 minute break with our backs to the scenery, laughing at the cars.  "How do I get a job here? I could stand here all day, writing parking tickets.  They wouldn't even have to pay me."

Next day, John and the boys get up early and go on a steep hike that involves getting drenched by a waterfall. I slept in but I did hear Tom whisper to Sam, "Please, tell me he didn't just wake us up at 7:00 am."  Hours later, I roll out of bed and head downstairs for breakfast.  Table for one, please!
The hostess checks her little chart, then turns to the guy next to her and says, "Please, show this young lady to table #<whatever>" and I'm thinking 'yes, show this youn....wait a minute. She said that ironically.  Bitch just called me a young lady IN IRONY.'  I'll have coffee, oatmeal and a whiskey.

I had a lovely day. John and the boys got back exhausted. The CEO of Apple showed up and you'd have thought he was a rock star.  My first thought was that some athlete was out on the deck.  A lady actually had her picture taken with him.  He was very nice and talked with them all.  Me, "Will you go ask him why my bluetooth keeps turning itself off?"  John, "Oh sure, no problem" but he didn't.

And in case you're wondering what happens when John has too much to drink, here's your answer. He will stand up at some point during the evening and rush out of the lounge and come back with an enormous stuffed bear. "I was afraid the gift shop was going to close."

I think I'll name him Tim, Tim CookieBear,
after our famous guest