I think I'm missing the "functional" gene...

...because on days like today, I just sit down.

The Nice Kid leaves for Disney in Orlando with the school chorus tomorrow. The Big Boy leaves for Lousiana on business Wednesday.

The washing machine died yesterday and last week was vacation.

Today? Pick up Kid#3 at 3 o'clock. Pick up Kid#2 at 3 o'clock. Drop off Kid#3 20 miles away at 3 o'clock. Drop off Kid#2 at 4:30. Pick up Kid#3 20 miles away at 4:30. Basketball game for Kid#2 at 6. Basketball game for Kid#3 at 7:30.

Kid#1 turned 29 yesterday. She has finals through Wednesday so we didn't even TALK about a birthday celebration. That sucks.

In here somewhere? Food. Homework. Get enough clothes washed to make it through the next few days.

Y'all...this is NORMAL for people with kids. These kids play one sport a semester. Chorus is a class. Christmas programs are par for the course...there will be another one next year. I need to spend an entire DAY hauling stuff OUT of this house, so that I can bring more stuff IN.

I used to be competent. I used to be the organizational FOOL of the English department. Now? I'm just bumfuzzled.

I need a wife.

Reconciliation

They say confession is good for the soul.

I'm not sure who "they" are, besides priests, but I'd hazard a guess that they are a dull lot, without much to confess themselves. Or, as the post-modern VIIs like to say, "reconcile" .... like it's an accounting ledger.

So here is my recent multitude of sins, venial as they may be. I'm purging my soul so you all can feel better about yourselves. You're welcome.

* I don't care what AA says, I prefer to drink alone and do so often and without hesitation.

* I am obsessed - and I mean obsessed in a bad way, not in an "oh, it's okay, it's academic" sense - with ink. Tattoos. Especially tribal tats. I am completely obsessed, lately, with body art. Not that I'm going to do anything about it on my own pasty, blank canvass, but I cannot avert my eyes from the painted flesh of others. It's becoming a bit ridiculous, actually. I dream about tattoos. Not Jesse James, per se - although he IS as hot as the hinges of hell - but boys with ink in general. Is that wrong? Never mind. Don't judge.

* I have itchy feet. Not literally - don't be disgusting. But I just returned home last night from visiting the Fam in Yankeeland, and 8 days before that returned from a long-ish trip abroad...and I'm ready to head out again. Am I running? Am I over-analyzing? Perhaps my *real* father was a traveling salesman?

* Fanfiction: It is an addiction. I cannot - will not - stop reading Twilight fanfiction. And not just the smutty stuff. Au contraire - I actually prefer the stories with plots to the stories that are all violent verbs: thrust, penetrate, scream. I mean, seriously, there are some really talented writers in the Fanfic universe and the stories - entire novels - are free! PLUS many of them are accompanied by kick-ass playlists. I. Love. Fanfic.

* I may be having a fashion midlife crisis. I've completely embraced the neo-punk grunge revival look. Which is not necessarily cool when you're 40 and live in an extremely conservative little town. I loved it the first time (punk in the late '70s and early '80s, grunge in the '90s) and am now regularly sporting thermal shirts with flannels, biker boots, Sex Pistols tees and the most beloved item in my winter wardrobe: steel grey Converse gym shoes. If going grunge is wrong, I don't want to be right. I will, however, stop before I get a mohawk this time.

* Not a confession, but I'm putting you all on notice: My new nephew, Ryan, is absolutely - in all seriousness - the cutest baby I've ever laid eyes on. And you know I'm not big on babies. But he is cute, beautiful, adorable and actually HANDSOME - and he's only 4 months old. He's also huge. Like, in the 90th percentile for length and weight. He's going to be a massive, lady-killing teddy bear of a football player-type when he grows up. It is good to see the few good genes on my mother's side of the family get an airing out every few decades.

Everybody's crazy but me...

...and if that doesn't make you stop and think, nothing will.

My washing machine broke down today. The Nice Kid leaves at 5 a.m. Tuesday morning for six days in Orlando with the school choir. The Big Boy leaves Wednesday for a week in Louisiana on business. It's two days after Thanksgiving and there are dirty clothes EVERYWHERE. And my washing machine copped an attitude.

Once upon a time, when I was a single parent, I had this leftover washing machine. When I was in high school my grandmother had a washeteria. (Took us three months to figure out how to spell that. Turns out? It's negotiable.) When she closed the business down, my dad put the industrial machines in the barn. When I needed a washing machine, he took the cover off the coin return, hauled the washer to my house and I hooked it up. Whenever you washed a load of clothes, you picked up the quarter from the bottom of the coin return, dropped it into the slot, pushed the money holder and and presto! Washed your clothes.

Life should be so simple.

The washer and dryer I have today? Talk to you. Remind you to change the lint filter. Adjust to the weight of the load. Handle 16 pairs of jeans at once, or wash your grandmother's linen tablecloth easier than your hands can. So when I started getting an F/02 error message today? Great. Just great. Reset. Reprogrammed. Eventually reached the unplugging stage. Can't get it going and we can't live without it so...I emailed Sears. Repair.

Do you KNOW what they want me to do?

Pay them THREE HUNDRED AND TWENTY dollars a year, for a service contract. PEOPLE!!! I can buy a new one every three years for that! And like I told the nice little salesgirl, when I bought the machine and she offered me an extended warranty..."I'm not buying a machine I have to pay YOU to run. The reason I bought this machine? I'm trusting you."

Dumbass.

So Thursday...that would be three full days from now...someone is coming to fix my machine. That means that sometime tonight I'm going to have to pare down the washing to manageable levels and then...take it to my mother-in-law, I guess. MY mother sure as hell ain't washing nobody else's laundry. I'm trying to trick the machine into resetting itself. I keep programming in funky cycles, just in case it got all comfortable with "Normal." Or some such shit.

Right now? I just want these piles of clothes OUT of my kitchen. OUT, OUT, damn spot. And streak, and stain and drip.

I was going to stop drinking, except for Friday and Saturday, so that I didn't have to worry about an extra ten pounds creeping up in the next four weeks. Fuck that shit...I'll stop eating, instead.

These never end well...

...the confrontations with the passive-aggressives.

We have, for all practical purposes, been out of milk for seven days. This family drinks a LOT of milk; and considering that the kids have been out of school since last Friday? That stuff is flowing.

Once a day, we get ready to eat and...there's no milk. The Big Boy volunteers, goes to the store and comes back with...one gallon. One. Gallon. One gallon. Six hours later? We're out of milk. Again.

Had I not had a FEW other things going on this week, of course I'd have stopped and bought milk. I did buy two gallons on my last Thanksgiving run. Lasted a day. No biggie...go buy more. But he refuses to buy more than one gallon...even with The Not Nice Kid standing there SAYING..."Buy two! We always buy two!"

Nope. Won't do it.

So I'm about to go get into the shower and go to the grocery store. Where I'm going to buy four gallons of milk, then come home and throw half the stuff in the refrigerator away to make room for the milk.

No one will say a word. The milk will last until Monday morning. I'll have made my point, which was exactly what he intended from the beginning.

Jeez. We've been doing this for nearly 25 years. One of us must be crazy.

Happy Turkey Day

When all your crazy relatives* get you down, watch this and have a laugh.

*Results may vary: The greater the number of family members present, the more you'll have to watch the video.

PS - Is it me or does Tyson Ritter look like he has a glass eye?

I'm going with 30 posts in 30 days...

This is a picture from my family's farm. This fat-ass kid is NOT a member of my family. This picture is from a high-end surveillance camera on the farm. The object flying in front of the boy's face? IT'S THE STICK HE IS THROWING AT THE SURVEILLANCE CAMERA. The surveillance camera on OUR farm...onto which he is trespassing. Please take note of his PARENTAL FIGURE, standing in the background WATCHING his dumb ass. WATCHING. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?????


>
This NEXT picture? Is the fat-ass kid's MOM. WATCHING him survey the damage. She looks pleased with his abilities. Possibly, she fed him a Twinkie after he finished destroying private property. And since it's not a tiny little farm? These people had to HIKE to get to a place where they could destroy, in a show of familial camaraderie, someone else's belongings. They probably hiked in from somewhere in Brook's Acres, or from Trousdale Slough in Aqua Vista. I'm guessing LardAss doesn't make it far without caloric sustenance.


<>

It is possible they will make the state line before we make the district attorney's office. Possible.


Can you tell we are LIVID?

Another Tick in the Loss Column

Damn. We blew it again.

This year we fell down on the job 22 days in, rather than on the first day.

I'm not sure which is worse.

:: sigh :: Well, if it hadn't been a Sunday that'd kicked our NaBloPoMo asses, it would have been Thanksgiving later this week.

:: shaking fist::

"We'll get you next year! Damn you, NaBloPoMo!!!!"

Day 21

Here's another funny for you.

I haven't been out of the house since Wednesday, so I don't have a single thing to bitch or gripe about. - Enjoy it while it lasts, kids.

Friday Funny

This works...

I found my pearls and ordered a new lens. They're just things.

Life is good.

A Very Pixie Christmas

Attention, Displaced Chicagoans!!

When was the last time you enjoyed a Fannie May Pixie? Or a Melt Away? OR - my personal fave -a Trinidad?

Probably the last time you were in ChiTown, right?

Well, tell your sweet tooth to take note: Walgreen's stores, nation-wide, are carrying Fannie May candy for Christmas!

I went into Walgreen's at lunch today to buy Benadryl for the dog who ran to the door this morning with a baboon-red hot spot on his ass, and as I waited at the checkout, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a box of individually wrapped Pixies.

I thought I was hallucinating. Worse, I thought Walgreen's had always carried Fannie May and I'd just never noticed.

Turns out it is a holidays-only kind of thing, but, hey, it's better than a poke in the eye.

Carpe Pixies!

WHY do I have to repeat myself?

Every now and then I ask my kids, "Don't you get as tired of LISTENING to me yell, as I get of YELLING?" I'm beginning to think the same thing applies to the driving habits of the general population. Will you just do what I SAY?

Totally ignoring the left-lane drivers, and the 40-80 mph-in-one-mile drivers...WHERE IS THE COMMON SENSE? By the time I get home every morning I am LIVID. This is a CO-OP people...you ain't the only belle at the ball.

Just this morning:

Four-way stops. A four-way stop means that four roads converge in one spot, and every car approaching that spot has to stop and give consideration to the other three cars. It does NOT mean that you proceed one at a time. I sit at the intersection of Sannoner/Tuscaloosa and Royal every morning and watch TWO cars, facing each other and each going straight ahead, GO AT DIFFERENT TIMES. No lie. WTF? It's all about COMMON SENSE, people...and getting the hell out of MY way. MOVE. I've still got one more school to get to.

That space ahead of you. Or behind you. If you are in a line of traffic and there is a significant distance between you and the car ahead of you? SPEED UP. You are impeding the flow of traffic. If there is a significant distance between you and the car BEHIND you? Slow your ass down before you run over one of my kids.

And then, keeping in mind I AM a woman and I DO have a cell phone...WOMEN ON CELL PHONES. Honey, it is a REFRAIN in our car...yesterday the car in front of us pulled into the right-hand turn lane, with no blinker, and then just as I started to pass her, WHIPPED OUT into the traffic lane again. Still no blinker. I hit my horn, she jerked back over, then pulled BACK into traffic. The Not Nice Kid was singing, "Woman on a cell phone, woman on a cell phone," and damn if it wasn't...a woman on a cell phone. Totally unapologetic. Dumbass.

I'm just sayin'. And I get SO tired of trying to explain the basics. It's really easy...to paraphrase Don? Just act like they told you in Sunday School.

NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Monday, City Girl and I wrote posts at approximately the same time. Posted hers, saved mine. When I went in yesterday and posted mine? IT USED THE DATE I WROTE IT. We DID post Monday and Tuesday...and I want a recount. Damn it.

I am bereft. Absolutely...at sea. My pearls are missing. Not "missing" missing, but...somewhere IN this house. We are painting the downstairs, everything is in piles and hampers and boxes and...somewhere in here are my pearls. The loss of which is compounded by...

...my camera lens is gone and it is NOT in this house. I am afraid to think this through too thoroughly (say THAT one fast five times) because I will absolutely, positively LOSE MY SHIT, but it's...gone. I know I had it Sunday afternoon at the soccer tournament, and I remember taking it off to switch lens and handing it to The Nice Kid at the Awards Ceremony.

And therein lies the problem.

Handing things to TNK is tantamount to...chunking them. She SAYS she remembers putting it back in the camera bag but...she ALSO says she remembers putting that load of clothes into the dryer and I just re-washed them for the third time because they were fast rooting through the little holes in the tub. It is ENTIRELY possible...but I will not believe that. Yes, it's a big bag and yes, it was open and yes, it was sitting out in a field with several hundred people milling about but...please tell me someone did not take my lens. Not my LENS.

I'm waiting on Parks and Recreation in the host city to call me, on the off-chance there's a lost-and-found with my lens in it. I foolishly go through my bag every 20 minutes. I COULD have overlooked it.

Not.

Tennis tournament this weekend. I could have a new one overnighted.

I could just sit here and FREAK.

It's the "S" branded on my forehead

For "sucker."

We have three dogs. Nick is The Dog...he lives in the house, loves his mama, can't be trusted to behave around strangers and is a big baby. One hundred twenty pounds of yellow lab.

Tupelo and Copper are...legacies. Copper came from a teacher at our school, and is the single ugliest dog ever put on this planet. He has beau coups of attitude, and if he is stretched out on a step and you need to get by? Hate it for you. He will cock an eyebrow in your direction, but that's the only acknowledgement you'll get. Step over, and don't disturb him while you're doing it. He got there first.

Tupelo came from a soccer teammate. Black and white generic. Smart but...scattered. Does tricks if you ask him but has a car-chasing gene. I hit him a couple of months ago, knocked him into the middle of next week. Took him about ten days to get over it and then...every now and then he chases cars. Special kind of stupid.

There are cats. This is the country so...today there are four, tomorrow there may be ten, the next day two. Can't save every chicken.

I got out at the liquor store two Fridays ago and this BEAUTIFUL retriever/setter/golden-something came bounding up to me. Full parking lot on the side of a major four-lane highway and this dog is wandering around amongst the cars. Followed to the door of the store and then watched me go in. Me, and just me. There were tons of people there but...me. Turns out, he had shown up a couple of weeks ago, disappeared, come back, left again. Must live toward the river.

When I left? That dog was sitting in my car. MY. CAR. My sister and I were swapping kids and when she pulled up and they opened the car doors? He got in my car. HOW DID HE KNOW THAT WAS MY CAR????? Obviously, the Sucker tattoo extends to possessions.

We drove through the neighborhood, opening the door at intervals and waiting on him to recognize something. No go. Went back to the shopping complex and borrowed paper and marker and put up signs at the businesses. Came home and waited on the phone to ring.

That was 2-1/2 weeks ago.

I have blanketed Facebook and my email. Put an ad in the paper. No collar or tags. No chip.

Y'all...this is a GREAT dog. He sits, shakes and walks to a leash. He is house-broken. Stays outside during the day...sleeps at the foot of the bed at night. Is breathtakingly regal. Calm. Polite.

He definitely IS a retriever, though. We figured out THAT the night we brought him home, and everyone was scattered throughout the house. Heard this crash, squawking and uproar and when we got to the hall...Red Dog had "retrieved" Sugar. The 13-year-old cockatiel. A little while later The Nice Kid came in and said, "Mom, there's seed coming out of that puncture wound in Sugar's chest."

Not good. She died during the night. Obviously, we didn't think THAT one through.

So here we sit.

This house is bursting at the seams and we have ANOTHER dog. As my sister pointed out? That's how I ended up with three kids...things just "happen." Apparently?

I'm a REAL slow learner. ')

Why Do We Do This to Ourselves?

Today is my first day at home since...a week ago last Friday.

To Hub's credit the house looks great. There is a stack of dishes in the sink that a miniature Jean Claude Killy could race down, but that's better than finding a towering helix of pizza boxes in the corner.

Got up this morning to make Hub a nice breakfast, opened the fridge...and heard an echo. Not good. Mother Hubbard's Amana was bare, baby. Ran out, on an empty stomach, at lunchtime, to buy groceries. Several hundred dollars worth of cans, bags and boxes later I was strangely still hungry.

So WHAT did I do? I drove through McDonalds. That's right. After a month of not eating fast food, months of not eating french fries and over a week of eating actual, real FOOD, Dummy consumes a Filet-o-Fish, fries and a Diet Coke.

I honestly thought I wouldn't make it home before I puked. I know, that's gross, but believe me - it WAS gross.

Nearly two hours and two tooth-brushings later I still feel like I've consumed a rancid cannon ball: My tongue burns from the sodium, I have a weird greasy film in my mouth that CANNOT be brushed away and I feel like my stomach is going to rip open a la Sigourney Weaver in Alien.

I'm done, kids. No more McDonalds for me. After a similar experience a decade ago, I swore off Taco Bell and have only been back a half-dozen times in all those years. This was just the experience I needed to divorce myself from Ronald and the Hamburglar.

Hey, Burger King, consider yourself warned, Buddy. I'm watching you.

Sliding in sideways...

...and back out again. Seven minutes to take a shower and then drive 60 miles for the final game in a three-day soccer tournament...and we've won every match so far. There is no joy like that of happy kids...

It's a post.

Just in Case

Very freaking tired and not at all looking forward to 11 hours on planes tomorrow, but still thinking of you, kids - and of NaBloPoMo, of course.

So here is a "just in case CG1 doesn't have a chance to get to a computer today" post.

I know it's practically cheating, as far as NaBloPoMo goes, but, hey, it's something, right?

L8R, Doods.

I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles

* Robert Pattinson and I did not sleep together in London. I know...I can see it in your eyes (web cam) you're as disappointed as I am.

* I am not, in fact, taking any photos on this trip. Sorry, CG1. It just isn't a tourist picture kind of trip. I'm just not feelin' it.

* I have never been as soaked-through wet - shoes, socks, pants, coat, sweater...all of it - as I was this afternoon. NOW I understand the power of a "cuppa tea."

* My inner punk has never forgiven my outer responsible adult for getting rid of my black Violent Femmes concert t-shirt. I remedied that today: Bought a really cool old-school Sex Pistols t-shirt. The punk, she is happy. (1)

* Came this [ ] close to buying the Doc Martens I've always wanted...and still might do it.

* Our cab driver tonight was - had to be - a direct descendant of Eliza Doolittle.
Before 'enry 'iggins ruined her.

* Said cab driver actually asked me, "Is everyone in Alabama like you?"
And then refused to take more than £10 on a £12 meter.

* Billy Elliot in four words: Coal Miners in Tutus. Good stuff.

* Met my long-time, online friend, Pauline, for the first time today and she is a HOOT. Also, she took good care of me. It's easy to be a stranger in a strange land when you have a guardian angel leading you around by the hand.

* I have been christened a West Ham supporter. Don't worry if you don't know what that means. It does not mean I prefer HoneyBaked to Heavenly. And if you do know what that means, no, the christening did not involve bubbles, blood, urine or Stella.

Jetlagger Out.

(1) PS - Pauline knows all the lyrics to Anarchy in the UK. How random is that and how perfectly suited are we?!

If we're lucky...

...we'll get a London post later today.

Meet Me in London

Unless he flies out tonight, Robert Pattinson and I will both be in London tomorrow.

Roughly translated: I will be in London with Robert Pattinson tomorrow.

Implication: Robert Pattinson and I will both, at some point, sleep in London tomorrow.

How it sounds in my head: I'll be sleeping with Rob in London on Friday.

Yeah, I like the sound of that....

Guten Haben!

Actually, I'm in suburban London now...Oy, what a day!

So here is what I learned in Frankfurt:

1. Germans, generally speaking, are INSANELY tall. Every time I, wearing 3 inch heels, stood beside a towering Teutonic goddess, I felt silently mocked.

2. I LOVE GOOSE! Who'da thunk it? At the previously mentioned biergarten I celebrated St. Martin's Day (a few hours early) with apfelwein and goose. Amazing.

3. Apple wine (apfelwein) will sneak up on you, jump you and then soundly kick your ass.

4. German Thai Curry is...yeah, it's just gross. As gross as it sounds...I want to be nice...but can't.

5. Forget the stereotype - German business people can be really cool and a lot of fun. And when you spontaneously hug them...even though you just met them...at the end of a really long day...without thinking...they will not, actually, throw you in ze kooler.

6. Toilets in Germany - whether in your hotel room, an office building or in a public place - come equipped with scrub brushes. Like you use at home. If you make a mess? You, by God, are expected to clean it up. Can we impose this by LAW in the U.S.? Please? With the death penalty and everything?

7. IT geeks are IT geeks the world 'round and Ich Liebe them all.

8. Three-inch heels + quaint cobblestone streets = Disaster. And you end up walking three blocks, in the rain, barefoot, while homeless people look at you with pity in their eyes.
:: der sigh ::

9. Like Jen said about a month ago: Ausfahrt (exit) and Einfahrt (no entry) are, indeed, the funniest damn words in the German language.

10. Stumbling across a Starbucks, on the most random corner, in an unfamiliar city is a gift from the heavens (image). Is there a patron saint of comfortable, familiar, soy triple lattes? No? There should be.

11. I also learned about our customer, the industry, blah, blah, blah. But that stuff doesn't hold a candle to Ausfahrt or the homeless guy feeling sorry for me.

**Time Lapse **

Note to the guys currently hanging out in the lobby at the Holiday Inn in Woking.

Jesus Bulgari-Bathing Christ. How much cologne do you need to wear? SERIOUSLY. Are you on your way to a f*cking competition? The How Far Away Can You Smell Me Friggin' Cup? Because I'm pretty sure their goalkeeper just plopped down beside me and their entire freaking FAN CLUB is at the bar. Holy. Shit. I'm not joking: My eyes are watering.

City Girl is in a Bier Garten...

in Germany, no less.

And all I can give you is fat jeans...

My life is complete. Absolutely totally AT THE PINNACLE complete.

I found a pair of jeans. That fit. And feel good. I bought them all.

If you have a body then you know that bodies essentially come in two shapes...belly gainers and butt gainers. Although there are MINOR deviations on these two themes...that is basically IT. Belly fat or butt/thigh fat. And it doesn't matter WHAT you do or HOW you do it, short of surgery you are stuck with what you were given and even then, $15K lighter, you're still just a variation of your basic shape.

Back in the day, when I was 5'9" and a size four, with 18% body fat, I SERIOUSLY obsessed about that 2-1/2 ounce pooch. Right under my perfect belly button and right above my perfect thighs. At the time? I was oblivious to what was right and focused on what was wrong. My only jeans problem involved tiny size and extra length. (My greatest accomplishment as a parent is that...my children are comfortable in their skin. Flaws, pluses, minuses? They think they are okay. Thank you, God.)

Someone just slap the SHIT out of me. For my utter stupidity. Then do it AGAIN because...

I had two kids after 40 and the Jean Gods whacked my ASS. Today's belly button? Has had two infertility surgeries, two c-sections and gall bladder surgery. Those thighs? Roadmap to hell. I would post an after picture, except that I think it qualifies as Used Body Porn.

Women's jeans come...with a waist. City Girl and I EXEMPLIFY the two types...she could use a BREAD TIE for a belt. Me? Cut that bread bag into strips and tie them end-to-end. Women's jeans have this waist and then...if you're a belly gainer like me...they have these two pouches on the side. Pouches that if you have HIPS, fit your body. If you have BELLY, you are wearing parachutes from your belt loops. Or out-of-whack jodphurs, without a four-legged beast in sight.

So a couple of days ago I am strolling through WalMartHell and somehow...I was in the men's department which doesn't make sense but...there I was. And lo and behold...Levi's are making jeans for WalMart. Now, I LOVE me some Levi's. I spent about a FORTUNE last year trying to find the Silver Tab jeans I USED to wear in a size I never DREAMED of but...apparently there were a LOT of Silver Tabs and I never got the ones I wanted. So there I stand, and right in front of me are 1) relaxed fit 2) Levi's 3) in LENGTHS and 4) WITHOUT hips. Oh. My. Goodness.

The first pair was too small...32's. Considering that for years I bought 28's and took them in, this was an insult. So I bought 34's and while they were okay out of the dryer...30 minutes later I've got one hand holding my glass and the other hand holding my pants.

33X34. I am in HEAVEN. I have ARRIVED. I have JEANS for the first time in...five years. They FIT through the waist and hips and then are LOOSE through the thighs and they COVER my boot-tops and...reference an older post concerning SpongeBob Butt, which comes from wearing hip-huggers which didn't work when I was 14 and look even worse today...I am comfortable.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you, Levi's. Thank you...acceptance. Because now? I'm feeling so good...I have a winter equivalent to my summer linens which incidentally...I got in the men's department at Kohl's. It may have taken me 53 years but I have stumbled upon an epiphany!!

The WalMart aspect sort of taints it, don't you think?

You do NOT want to go there....

It was one of those things that...happen. One minute you're cruising and the next...all hell breaks loose.

It was a kid's basketball game. Girls basketball. (But my girl can whip your boy...just ask him.) We won...The Not Nice Kid scored the winning goal in overtime. If you don't believe in levitation? You ought to see a bunch of fourth-graders come in off the court after a game like this one...floating on air. It was AWESOME. They were high-fiving every living thing within slapping distance.

An aside...I have a really cool camera, with an awesome sports lens, both of which were purchased under the influence of margaritas and the BEST damn impulse buy I EVER made. I take pictures of EVERYTHING, and I take them for EVERYONE. I spent most of Thursday uploading action shots from the new SportsPlex for the city to use. While I was looking for this mis-labeled file of pictures I started a search and according to that little dog who searched my computer, there are 140,953 photographs on here. Equal opportunity photographer. You want pictures of your kid? Call me...it's on here somewhere.

Keep in mind...this is really funny NOW. Whacko funny. But at the time? WTF?

We were leaving the gym and I had stepped outside to wait on my kids when this female walks up and says, "Why was your daughter taking pictures of my child?"

At that point, the surreal shit kicked in. I looked over my shoulder to see to whom she was SPEAKING, but damn if it wasn't ME. And being a little slow and a little excited and a little happy, I said, "What?"

And then the fight started.

According to this stranger, The Nice Kid, who had taken the camera after the game to get a team photo, had deliberately been taking pictures of this woman's daughter.

"I SAW her focusing in," she insisted.

At first, I just sort of blew it off. No, we weren't. Taking pictures of ANY specific child. "There are probably over 400 pictures on there from tonight," I assured her. "If you'll give me an email address, I'll send you some."

Wrong. Do NOT go bein' nice to The Idiots. Gets you NOWHERE.

Situation went from bad to worse. The woman is insistent...we are equally so. It had stopped being funny, and the woman was getting...threatening. TNK had walked outside, and when the woman jumped HER, TNK started crying. I started raising my voice.

The woman said, "I WILL be calling your administration in the morning." And just then I looked up and coming out the door was...The Administration. So I pointed and said, "You don't HAVE to...there's my principal."

This is actually the funniest part of the night. Our principal is drop-dead gorgeous. Classically so. Her daughter is on our team. She walked out of the gym, still on cloud nine with her daughter, and here stand a bunch of angry women, pointing at her. I honestly believe her mouth fell open. I know mine would have.

I started to explain, when the woman broke in...belligerently, I might add. TNK is crying, the principal is staring dumbfounded, I'm insistent and the woman is...crazy as batshit. Crazy. As. Batshit.

Just as things started to get interesting, the other team's coach came out of the gym and stopped things in their tracks. "This is OVER," she said, and marched the belligerent woman up the hill. We went back in the gym...you think I'M going out into that dark parking lot with Psycho Bitch out there? The coach came back and kept us there for an extra 15 minutes...apologizing. Turns out, this woman gets her jollies causing "problems;" seems she did the same thing when THIS child didn't get the same jersey number as the OLDER child.

Are you SERIOUS??????

We finally got in our car and on the way home, both kids crying. Took a couple of miles, but we started turning it around. Pointing out the funnies. Laughing at our imitations. Called and told Grandmother. Perfected our imitations. Embellished some.

Turns out, the next day the OTHER administration called to apologize. To us. No apology needed...it's over and it's funny now and ummm...you know that picture I had? Of that woman's daughter, arms extended, ball six inches off her fingertips, feet three inches off the floor? Soaring?

Deleted that sucker. Into the Recycle Bin, and then emptied it. You want pictures? Take your own because as it turns out?

THE BITCH VIDEOTAPED THE ENTIRE GAME.

Damn well better hope MY kid isn't on YOUR videotape...and since MY kid scored eight of the 12 points? You might want to DELETE that game.

I'm just sayin'.

Before someone goes Psycho Bitch on you.

Ooooops!

Nearly blew that one.

But I didn't. ;)

First Saturday of NaBloPoMo

This is one of those classically lame NaBloPoMo weekend posts: thrown together and essentially uninformative.

Why, I'd wager that no one will even read this post. I could say anything I like and nobody would call me on it.

"I can wear French ticklers if I want."

Let's test the theory, shall we?

Unicorns are real. I keep one as a pet. Her name is Petunia and she eats magically delicious Lucky Charms then poops rainbow piles of unicorn dung. I bury the piles, water them, and lovely candy-bearing trees spring up overnight. This is where Skittles come from.

Reaction, anyone? I thought not.

Friday Funny

I know I Tweeted this last night, but it is SO worth a repeat.

Remember, Remember the Fifth of November

For our few readers not living in England, I should point out that today is Guy Fawkes Day.

Which makes me wonder: Why haven't effigy burnings ever caught on in the U.S.?

Over the last decade we've all witnessed, on television, hundreds of effigies of George Bush being burned in the Middle East...Africa...Europe...Canada....

Anyway, you see my point. Burning a paper likeness of an disliked leader is a tradition in the global community. Except in the U.S.

I don't recall many paper Bush burnings in the Midwest. Or burnings of FEMA officials in New Orleans. Or burnings of St. Louis Cardinals players in Chicago.

Why is this? It certainly isn't that we're too polite or genteel. Are we too uptight? Most likely we're too concerned about how it will look to the neighbors.

I'll bet if Brad and Angelina burned, say, Octomom, it would catch on quickly.

Oooo! That's it! We could start by burning annoying pop culture figures and work our way up to politicians.

Burn effigies of Simon Cowell, Paris Hilton, John and Kate....

Come on, America! You're missing out on all the fun! And just think of the positive, stimulating effect the spike in paper, cardboard and lighter fluid sales would have on the economy. Hell, it's practically unAmerican NOT to burn an effigy today. Get to it!

Oh, Lord...this woman is DIVINE

My aunt sent the link to this blog and I...just clicked. The name does not even BEGIN to hint at what's inside...brie stuffed mushrooms, for starters. I'm in.

Check out The Pioneer Woman Cooks.

You're welcome.

McIdiots

Not to waste a perfectly good post during NaBloPoMo - because God knows we'll need it come Thanksgiving week - BUT....

Two separate McDonald's screwed up my order this morning. Granted, it was pretty complicated, but hey, they're Service Industry Professionals.

Medium Diet Coke. Light Ice.

Tough, right?

The first McDonald's gave me a medium Diet Coke. Heavy Ice. I mean the whole damn thing was a block of ice. The cup contained all of .003 ounces of The Magic Diet Elixir.

It was my fault for zoning out to "Tainted Love" on the ol' iPod and not paying attention to how heavy and not-liquidy the cup was when the girl handed it to me. Fine. My bad.

At McDonald's number two, I just pulled up to the window - forgoing the McSpeaker - and said, "Look, the McD's in Rogersville screwed up my Coke, do you think I could just give the cup-o-ice to you and pay for a refill?"

Uh, no. I had to pay for a new Diet Coke. Fine. Here's your $1.49.

Turned off the iPod, took the cup from The New Girl, jiggled it, and heard sloshing. Looked at New Girl and asked, "Light ice, right?" "Right," she assured me.

Got down the road, stopped at a light, took a sip.
Regular Coke.

Sonuvabitch.

I haven't graced a McDonald's drive-through in at least two months. I don't do fast food and I normally don't drink soda/pop/fizzydrinks/whatever. But this morning I was craving - CRAVING - a fountain Diet Coke.

Yeah, THANKS, McDonalds. Seven dollars later I had a Starbucks latte - which I should have purchased in the first damn place. As usual.

Getting sushi for lunch. Let's hope my luck changes. If not, I may end up with mercury poisoning from the Spicy Tuna Roll.

Jeez.

A quick aside...

This is an AWESOME food blog...especially since I'll never get around to figuring this stuff out myself. Vanilla Garlic is my new best friend.

I'm pretty sure I had things to do...

Stealing a trick from Badger. An organized way to gather these disorganized ramblings:

*Yes. We can do NaBloPoMo. Quantity over quality...what a concept!

*Apparently, referring to your husband as "the village idiot" at a family wedding does NOT get you written into the will. Especially since...it was his family. Damn.

*I broke down last week and bought the weather station of my dreams (obviously, I'm easily amused) and actually hung it on the wall. Got home this morning and...there lay the sensor. In the yard. Chewed up by the SAME dog who ate the remote to my car and my cell phone. Sucker ain't long for this world.

*These kids REALLY need to get out more. Walked into the wedding yesterday and The Not Nice Kid looked around and said, "You can get married in a BUILDING?" For real. Apparently, we've been overdoing it on the outdoor wedding theme.

*We had the greatest Halloween...neighborhood hayride/bonfire/food orgy. Old friends. Lots of happy kids. We ordered a port-a-potty and my sister STERILIZED it and we had pleasant potty experiences. Sometimes, everything comes together.

*At the same wedding, I realized why I do NOT spend time with these people. He's not the Village Idiot, it's a VILLAGE of idiots. Take your pick...there's a whole slew of them.

*I sat down this morning to work on pictures, and there was bowl of party mix sitting here. Stale, leftover from yesterday. So I ate it for breakfast and then got a beer to wash it down. This does NOT bode well for my new exercise routine. Not to be confused with my OLD exercise routine which...doesn't exist.

*Two more Mondays of welding class. I have to pick up one kid at 3, another at practice at 4:30, be at welding class from 5-9, have a kid at practice at 5:45 and picked up at 6:45. It's highly possible they expect to be FED at some time during this and I'm thinking..."Ain't gonna HAPPEN!"

*I don't carry a purse. I have an Amex and my driver's license in my pocket and I can't find them. Anywhere. This doesn't look good unless they're...

*IN THE WASH. Because I brought the chili pot home from the hayride, and it had been sitting on a fish cooker. So the entire bottom was smoked UP and I picked up the pot and carried it into the kitchen and then...took the clean clothes out of the washer and put them in the dryer before I realized I had black soot all OVER my hands. And clothes. May set a record for how many times I can wash the same load.

It's a lovely day with sunshine and autumn leaves and I think I'll go do something that does not involved laundry or dirty kitchens or chores. I think I'll go find a friend and laugh a lot. I love it when that happens.

No Mo' NaBloPoMo?

So here we are, 01 November: The first day back at Standard Time, All Saints Day and the first day of NaBloPoMo.

I don't know whether CG1 and I will actually take a serious stab at NaBloPoMo this year - we haven't discussed it -but since I'm actually cognizant of the date this year - unlike last year - I figured I'd post...just in case.

So what is your special, belated Halloween "Trick"?
A share of my Ear Worm.

"Show me how you do that trick
The one that makes me scream" she said
"The one that makes me laugh" she said
And threw her arms around my neck
"Show me how you do it
And I promise you I promise that I'll run away with you
I'll run away with you"

Damn, I love The Cure.

And thanks to Dory, Dory, Dory! for the cool old school NaBloPoMo badge at left!