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Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Poor Babies

Due to the economic crisis and the fact that despite it, I am still having a hard time cutting down the spending this year, I decided to try to get a part time job. I found out a daycare around the corner was hiring, so I went in and applied. It just so happened that they were hiring for the perfect after school hours for me and wanted me to start immediately.

Remember that whole "if it seems to good to be true, it probably is" bit. Yeah. That applies here.

I have fond memories of working in the childcare field. I enjoyed playing with kids and making lesson plans and didn't mind all the other not so fun stuff that came with it like changing diapers and cleaning up after messy lunches.

Here I am working with little kids. Kids from 1-2 years old. They break my heart. Today it got up to a whopping 34 degrees. That's 2 whole degrees above freezing. I had a 14 month old baby come in this morning with nothing but a onesie on. A onesie. A piece of t-shirt material with short sleeves and no legs. She also had no shoes on. When I asked the teacher in the room with me, she replied, "Well, Dad brought her in this morning and I guess he doesn't have winter clothes at his house. She comes like that all the time." *Shrug*. I can't even speak I am so taken aback- not only by this crazy parent, but by the fact that a childcare worker is so unconcerned about this.

Are we not paid to look after the best interests of the child? Would that not mean that we should be concerned if a child is deprived of the basic necesseties like food, shelter and clothing?!? Sadly, my disgust doesn't stop there. The same teacher also told me on my first day that she tried to be "nice" to the kids, but they just didn't respect her, so as soon as she started being "mean" to them, they understood.

They are 18 months old. How can you be "mean" to a baby. But the "mean" only comes out to certain children, I've never seen such a blatant show of favoritism in a daycare.

There is an infant who comes to my room at the end of the day who has reflux. As soon as they walk in the room, the baby gets laid on the floor (which does have carpet in it) and ignored because they don't want to get puked on. Get a fucking burp cloth and get over it. This is a 6 month old baby who needs love and attention. I picked her up today just to spite them. I got puked on of course, but I wash and so do my clothes.

There is a handful of books in this classroom which are kept out of reach of the children because "they will just tear them up and I don't feel like messing with them.". Which by the way, this woman says ALL the time. "Messing with them." Today Little was pointing at the letters on the wall and saying their names and what color they were when she asked me if I "messed with him alot." What? I don't even know what that means. Do I talk to him and treat him like a human being who is worthy of my attention?- yes, but I don't consider that the same as "messing" with him. I "mess" with my car or with household appliances, not my kids. Anyway, back to the books. The children are not allowed to touch them simply because the teachers are too lazy to show them how to handle books properly or keep a close eye on them while they are looking at them. But I guess then they would have to look at the kids instead of texting all day. But I digress.

It's like everything you fear your child going through in a daycare- being ignored because they are too needy, being treated with anger and frustration instead of compassion because they are not the teacher's "favorite", not being allowed to play with certain toys because they will tear them up instead of being taught respect for other people's things. Part of me wants to get the hell out of Dodge, but another part wants to stay with these kids and give them at least three hours of love and support. I'm going to try to stick it out until I am allowed to stay in the room with the kids by myself (should be next week when the background check comes in) so that I can just do things my own way. I'm a bitch like that.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

"Hello! My Name is Go The F*$% Away

We recently purchased a Wii Fit which I have been playing around with (I like my Wii Fit scale, it's much nicer than other scales. =) ) so I haven't been to the gym very often. Last night I recharged my iPod and finagled with my playlists, so I was inspired to hit the gym for a change of pace.

As I finished the weights portion of my workout, I headed to the rowing machines. About 3 minutes into my exercise, I see the woman who "works" the front desk appear next to me. Her face is right in my personal space. Which I hate anyway. I take out my earphone and smile waiting for her to tell me what she wants.

Exercise Lady: "Are you locking out your knees?!" (her tone is incredulous as if she's saying "Are you trying to smuggle dumbells out in your bra!! *GASP*)

At first I don't understand her. Sometimes the attendants have to come and find the fitness crazed parents of children who have been left in the daycare too long. I'm thinking she's mistaken me for someone else and am trying to figure out who would name their kid "Lock Outyernees".

It dawns on me what she's actually saying and I tell her "No" in a sort of "WTF are you talking about crazy ass?" tone.

"Hmmmmm, well, because it looks like you're locking your knees." replies Exercise Lady in an extremely condescending "You are such a flipping idiot" type tone.

WTHell!

I'll pause here to say that it takes alot for me to get to the gym. I don't like working out in front of people because I have long legs and use them to be extraordinarily uncoordinated in almost everything I do. I don't know how to use many of the machines until I have read all of the stick figure instructions on the sides and sometimes, I have to read them a few times before it clicks.

What I DO know how to do is row. I was a competitive rower for 3 years. And a good one I might add. Got the medals to prove it and everything =P. Rowing is like riding a bike to me. Once I learned it (by learned, I mean had every second of my stroke analyzed to death thousands of times at daily practices for 3 years), I always remembered it.

Now I have this woman very much in my personal space, yelling over the machines as to whether I'm apparently commiting the cardinal sin of exercise equipment, in a VERY crowded gym.

"Well, I'm not" I tell her.

I can see the two housewives on the warm up mats less than 10 feet hanging on every word of this exchange and for some reason I'm mortified.

She goes away and I try to get back to the task at hand. But I can't. I'm so angry and embarrassed for being called out when I'm actually using a piece of equipment properly that I can't even see straight. That's probably because I started to cry like an absolute ninny.

So I throw the bar back into the start position, get my feet out and go over to the desk to get my keys- where she is standing. I have MILLION things that I would have liked to say to her swirling in my head, but I can barely open my mouth because I *that* pissed. As I grab my keys and storm out, she has the audacity to call after me "Have a nice day."

"Yeah, not now that you've ruined it." I toss back at her like I'm five. I'm already almost all the way out the door, so she probably didn't even hear me and even if she did, she probably wouldn't have cared. I go to get a shower and have a meltdown.

Here's the thing:

First-The people who work the desk are not necessarily "fitness instructors". Most of the time, they are simply members who got a job there so their monthly fee would be less. I'm not sure if she was one of those or someone actually qualified to work there, but either way. I don't think they cover much on rowers in PE 101. As a matter of fact, I know they don't because I have seen them do their "tour" and show people "how to use the rower" and it's quite possibly the most ignorant thing I've ever seen. Ok, well, not *ever* seen, but it's pretty fricking stupid. In an actual boat, they'd be going nowhere fast.

Second- Did I forget to take off my sign that said please bother the shit out of me while I'm trying to work out? Personally, I'd be more concerned about the mid-life crisisers over in the freeweights trying to keep up with the 20-something muscle monkeys. But they are men, I'm *sure* they know what they are doing.

Right.

So I think I'm just going to buy a pack of those "Hello, my name is:______________" stickers and put one on my back every time I go to the gym that says

"Hello, my name is Leave Me the Hell Alone" or "Don't Bother Me" or "Beware of Dog" or "Caution: Overly Emotional and Cranky". Maybe I'll change it up. Surely they will take the hint.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Confession

Last Sunday evening, Dh's grandmother passed away. At the funeral home in the lounge/playroom, I had the following conversation with one of Dh's cousins *Melanie who has a high-functioning form of ASD.

Big and another cousin were playing obnoxiously like boys of that age do and being up in Melanie's personal space. She lashed out at them screaming and I called Aidan over to me and told him that he needed to cool it and just play on the floor and to not be too upset by her outburst.

She comes over to me and lays her hand on my shoulder sighing and says "You don't know how lucky you are to not have cousins to annoy you."

I just laughed and said, "Well, I have my kids to annoy me and that's enough."

"No, it's not as bad as cousins."

"You do know that is my son right?" I ask her.

"No, that is your son." She says pointing to Little.

"Well, yes and so is he." I said pointing to Big.

"No, Angela and Jason had him." Melanie says.

Finally I get it that she has no idea who I am since I got my hair cut. I tell her that I am Angela and she's beside herself. Soon, she plops herslef down in the chair across from me and decides to have a conversation with me.

"So how old were you when you had Big?"

WTF is it with all these questions all the sudden about this stuff!

"I was 17."

"WHAT HAPPENED!!!"

I kind of smiled and said "Well, it's just one of those thigs that happens."

"No really, I mean, what happened?!"

What, you want intimate details kid?! Ugh, this is what happens when Dh leaves me alone around his whole family.

I simply repeated myself and looked to the table of food to find something to stuff my face with.

She shakes her head and finally says; "Are we talking. . . are we talking. . . *sex before marriage!?!?!?!*!"

I just smile and shrug trying not to fuel this conversation any further.

She shakes her head again and grabs my hands, her eyes the size of poker chips and says.

"God will forgive you!"

Ummm. . . ok. Thanks. I'm glad I got that cleared up.

She crosses her legs and leans into me still shaking her head like I just told her I'm actually a convicted felon out on parole, and says "Didn't your parents teach you about that. I mean really, didn't they teach you!"

At this point, I almost blurt out that we don't believe in the same values that she does, so no, my mother did not set out to teach me that I was going to hell for having sex before marriage. But I decided not to.

Instead I decided that MIL was in dire need of her wallet that she had left down there and that we needed to find her immediately and give it to her. I excused myself and my spawn of Satan children. I ran upstairs and found my FIL first and told him the story which gave him a nice chuckle so at least some good came of it.

Later on, I was standing with some relatives and Dh and FIL comes up behind me and says "Sinner!!!" in my ear. I told him I needed a red letter or something. I'll never be seen the same I guess.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Drop it Like it's Hot.



I did and it is. . .





I donated 10 inches to Locks of Love yesterday and I'm loving it. It's a drastic change, but I needed to spice it up a bit ;).

For more information on how to donate to Locks of love visit: Locks of Love

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Where Were You?

It's the question of the day today.

I was in my anatomy and physiology class. In between classes we had all heard some rumblings from other students "Did you hear? Hear what? Oh that, Mrs. So and so was talking to Mr. So and so in the hallway about something. What's going on?"

We attempted to start class when my teacher, Mr. Gerrard, took out his Blackberry and abruptly left the room. He came back in looking much more pale than when he left and said "Another plane just hit another tower in NYC. Something is going on. I'm going to get a TV." and he left again. My lab partner and I looked at each other and asked if the other knew what was going on. Neither of us did.

He wheeled an old horrid TV in and turned on the first clear channel he could get. There had been plenty of murmuring and small "yes"'s from some when he said he was getting the TV instead of the planned quiz on whatever body system we were supposed to have studied up on.

However, you could have heard a pin drop once the TV was turned on. No one took notes, no one talked- we hardly even looked at each other. Our teacher started to cry. For 40 minutes we all just sat together in a state of shock; unable to make sense of what we were seeing or really to even grasp the depth of the impact this would have on all our lives. The bell rang right as the first tower came down. A chorus of "Oh my God"s rang out as we all looked at each other and I thought "We just watched all those people die.".

When I was pregnant with Big, I would have panic attacks frequently in school. I felt the beginnings of one as I walked to my next class. This time, it was different though. I felt a fear like I'd never felt before. I wanted to leave school and run the 4 miles to Big's home daycare. I wanted to get him and just go home and climb under the blankets and snuggle and pretend nothing outside those blankets existed. I thought of my then boyfriend (now dh). He worked at the 5/3 bank in downtown Cincy. I was scared for him. Terrified actually, but even that didn't come close to the panic that that seized my whole body when I thought about getting to Big.

I made it to my chorus class on time and took a seat off to the side to collect myself. We had a substitute. He informed us that while the news we may or may not have been hearing was disturbing, it was no reason to not rehearse that day and he expected us all to be ready to sing shortly.

I wanted to punch him in the face. I looked around at my classmates. Most were confused and trying to get the story from others and then lamenting the fact that they didn't get to watch TV last period. I started crying. I was so angry. I was angry at my teacher, my classmates and myself. I felt sick and I kept thinking; "What have I done? What kind of world have I brought a child into? I don't know how to deal with this. How do you teach a child about hate and war. They are too innocent for this shit. How am I going to make him feel safe when it's painfully obvious that none of us are ever completely safe." I kept hearing the panic in the newscasters voices and the screams of the people in the streets as the tower came down.

For nearly every problem I'd come across while being a teen mother, I'd managed to find the answer in a book or a friend. I wanted to keep Big safe more than I wanted to breathe, but I didn't know how. Neither would anyone else I knew. I suspected my blanket idea wasn't going to get us very far in real life, despite it's obvious appeal. I tried to think of how I would teach him about love and kindness; helping your fellow man and having respect for all people regardless of where they came from or how they looked. Sitting in that chair that day, it seemed an insurmountable feat.

I don't remember the rest of the day; only that it couldn't have ended soon enough. Most of the rest of the day was spent watching a TV if it was available or having a Q&A session with our teachers. I don't even remember what I did when I got home, but I know that there was plenty of snuggling going on. I remember watching the news for weeks afterward as the stories got less and less about the facts and more about the personal stories of people who had been lost. I remember crying nearly everyday over it. I hated it, but at the same time, I felt like I owed it to them.

This morning I listened to a tribute on the radio which had many of the same clips I heard seven years ago. I sat in the car listening to all of it even though it moved me this morning the same way it did in 2001. And I still felt like I owed it to them. I've done my best to make sure that both of my children feel safe and that they know that love, like hatred, can sometimes come when you least expect it. If I've learned nothing over the last seven years, it's that the philosophy of "an eye for an eye" soothes that burning anger that follows tragedy. However, my heart is more satisfied by Anne Frank's own philosophy that despite everything, people are really good at heart.

I'm struggling with how to end this. I've been at it for over an hour now. I want my children to learn that words are more powerful than any guns and that turning the other cheek doesn't mean having no self respect. I hope that my behavior toward the people in my life will show them how to give and get respect and how to find the good in people.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

I Should Get Twitter

As this is much more "Twitterriffic" than "Blogworthy". I just gave myself my 600th view. Woot. I also gave myself about 450 views before that, but who's counting. Besides me.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Sleep Deprivation

Is a nasty thing. We'll start there. Sleep deprivation (in my mind) is a MORE than adequate justification for a range of crimes from simple bullying to outright manslaughter of an annoying spouse. Not that I have one of those. I digress.

Little has an amazing bladder for a two year old. Seriously, the kid could pee at least a half a gallon several times a day without batting an eye. For this supersized bladder, I have had to purchase the special (expensive) "nighttime" diapers. For a while this seemed to work. However, the problem is out of control now. He soaks his sheets and blankets on every nap time and every night. EVERY time. Talk about being the smelly kid. I'm changing the sheets twice a day have resorted to putting the fitted sheets from our bed onto his and using bath towels as blankets out of desperation.

Last night was no exception other than this time it was so bad that it woke him up. This is bad news for anyone who wants to get some sleep in our house. Or our neighborhood. He woke us and every living being in a 30 mile radius up at 2:30. We don't go to bed until midnight. It was 5 am before he finally decided that we could all sleep. We get up at 7:30 for school.

So I'm tired. And crabby. And tired.

After I drop big off at school, I'm followed home by some random person. I pull into my driveway thinking this is some nutter who is going to go ballistic over some imaginary driving offense I have committed against him (little does he know that he is playing with a sleep deprived crab-ass). It turns out that it's actually a nice little old man telling me that my tire is almost flat. Bah. I think I would have preferred the nutter.

I scrap my original plans of taking Little's 2 year photos this morning (whatever, it's only a month late) and take the car to get the tire fixed. Little's behavior is not that of someone who was up all hours of the night tormenting an entire neighborhood. In fact, he has even MORE energy than normal. Of course. Here is where it gets good.

I hear the guy call out "Angela" from behind the counter. That's me. Little goes streaking out into the showroom pinging himself off the tires hanging precariously on the wall.

Tire Guy: "Angela?"

Me (saving a wobbling tire from rolling across the showroom floor): "Yep"

TG: "With the Maxima"

Me (chasing little down as he runs across the path of an elderly man trying to get to the bathroom): "Yep"

I catch him and plop him on the counter.

TG: "That will be $77"

Me (holy freaking hell!!! The damn tire doesn't even cost that much brand new!! WTF!): "Ok" and I hand him my card >insert "you're a dumbass eye rolling smiley here"<.

He hands me the receipt to sign and I see "Oil change, alignment, rotation. . . " Hang on a minute! I didn't ask for any of this to be done!! They are taking advantage of me because I'm a woman. They are taking me to the cleaners because they don't think I'll know what is going on! What the hell!!! I hate mechanics. What greedy bastards!

I start from the top of the receipt to try to memorize this blatant gender discrimination for use in my tired crabby tirade that this guy is about to be subject to.

"Customer Name: Angela Cowell"

My name is Angela. But not Angela Cowell. As a matter of fact, I don't even drive a fucking Maxima. I drive a Lancer. Which we don't even call "the car" we call it "The Lancer". >insert the same smiley as above. . . again<

Let the self ass-kicking begin.

Me: "Oh my god. I am such an idiot. I'm really sorry, but this isn't my reciept. I'm just in here for a tire patch. I'm Angela *****, not Angela Cowell."

TG: "You don't drive a Maxima?"

Me: "Well, no."

TG: "Did I ask if it was the Maxima?"

Me: "Yes, yes you did and I said yes. I don't know what in the hell is wrong with me. I plead insanity from sleep deprivation."

TG (looking at me like I am the dumbest bitch to ever walk through that door): "Well, ummm. . . ok then. I'm going to have to get someone in here to refund this and try to print out a new receipt. I have no idea how to do this. We've never had someone pay someone else's bill before."

Me (desperately searching for a hole to crawl in and die): "No problem, I'm really really sorry, take your time. You can feel free to laugh your ass off at me when I leave. What an idiot."

Tire Guy cracks a smile and tries to take some of the blame because he can sense my humiliation but we both know that I had a true-blue, no Lady Clairol, au naturale- blond moment right here in the middle of a tire dealership. Except that I am not, in fact, a blond. Sigh.

In the end, Tire Guy is very helpful and nice about the whole thing. He gets my tire patched and hands me the keys with a smirk and says "Here's your Lancer key. It's that one. . . parked right out front." I deserved that.

Oh the shame.


Friday, August 8, 2008

The Case of the Craptastic Earphones

I recently took notice of what a sloth I was being and how my waistline was reflecting that choice. I didn't really think it was THAT big of a deal until one of my very small boobs came to rest on a fat roll as I sat staring into the computer screen for the umpteenth hour one evening.

Since then, I've decided that perhaps having the metabolism of a baby elephant seal isn't the best thing in the world, so I've made a concerted effort to get out there and eat healthier and get to the gym (which we have been paying $75 a month for as I sat stuffing my face with anything that wasn't nailed down. . . ). I started using Spark People to track my food and tried to have a goal of getting to the gym ever couple of days.

I hate going to the gym- not because I hate working out, but because I hate other people. Well, not all people, I mean I like you, I'm talking about other people. So I dug out the iPod that my husband had given me a few months ago and dedicated that weekend to putting together some ass kicking playlists and tune out every greased up muscle monkey and midlife crisis-er in the joint.

I got that taken care of and rocked it at the gym for the next two days. Then my ears started to hurt due to the nickel sized earphones that come with the iPod. I have smallish ears anyway (at least something is small right?!), so shoving two bottle caps in there wasn't the comfiest thing in the world.

We were out shopping soon thereafter and I started perusing the iPod aisle while Dh and Big were geeking out over some Wii somethingorother. I spotted a nice little set of "noise canceling" earphones with cushy stuff (yes, I'm sure that's what it's called) around them. Sweet! So I got those and an armband because I noticed it's what all the cool kids at the gym are wearing.

They fit right into my ears and it's lovely. They are quite "noise canceling" and therefore get a lot of use not only at the gym, but around the house as well.

Here's my problem.

One side of the wires to the earphones is shorter than the other. I brought this up to Dh and he insisted that ALL new little earphones are like that. Hmmm. . .

Apparently, I have been living under a rock. With no headphones. At first it was a minor annoyance. Now, I spend my free time plotting ways to shorten the long side. Or make one ear much further away.

"WTH Angela, why are you getting your knickers in a twist over a few inches of extra cord?" You might ask. Well, I just am, so there.

I do know that it is irritating to have 6,278 feet of cord swirling around you and getting caught on your knees when you are 2,000 meters into a 5K rowing workout. Not to mention that as you've got all this cord action going on on the one side, the other side is very nearly falling out.

To fully illustrate the insanity (ok, maybe just mild weirdness) of this "extra cord", I have gone the complete OCD route and taken photos and measurements to be submitted as evidence in my case.



Exhibit A:

For reference, that is my cell phone which barely fits in the palm of my hand.


Exhibit B:

The short side measures a scant 4.5 inches. The long side? 2-fricken-1 inches. Yes, that is nearly two feet. They are not adjustable at all , but maybe I've got a busted ass pair.

Unless I've got a goiter the size of Chicago hanging off my face, tell me why I need two feet of cord to get to my other ear!?!

Exhibit C (only to prove my long standing allegation that Dh makes shit up just to shut me up):

The iPod earphones are EXACTLY the same length. So don't give me that "they're all like that, stupid" bullshit.


I paid $30 for these little things which I didn't really need, so I'm determined to figure out some way to make these work instead of buying a new pair. My latest plan is to tape down all the extra wires on my body like I'm doing undercover work for the CIA in the YMCA gym. That should work right?

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Big Plans Tonight

Me: Ooooh, you know what we should do tonight?

Dh: (perking up) What?!

Me: We should take showers. That would be good.

Him: (initially looking disappointed, then nodding) Yeah, showering would probably be a good idea.

We know how to live it up.

Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day

Just call me Alexander. Sunday was Little's Big Cat Birthday Party and it was a smash hit! I was so delighted that the party was a success that I agreed to watch the Orphans. We get home and I see that we had a flyer from the county fair and it lists that there is a photo contest.


WTH! I looked about a week ago and couldn't find any info on a photo contest at the fair, so I assumed that perhaps this particular artistic avenue was a bit too cosmopolitan for our area. Not so apparently. It's just the whole website-to-give-out-information concept that is too advanced.

Registration for exhibits is Monday from 2-7. Easy peasy. I've got the Orphans until about 3:30, my mom graciously offered to take the photos I had chosen and get them printed at a lab downtown (honestly why is matte finish so hard to come by!) since she was going there anyway. I'd drop the kids off, pick up the pics and run out to the fair.

If only. . . Fate has other plans for me this day.

First I lost the key to the van. Notice I said THE key to the van. So now Dh has no vehicle. I've also lost my wallet. So now I have no money. (I suspect the key and the wallet are in cahoots together making my life hell by blending in seamlessly with all the other crap I have lying around). Dh offers up the $40 he has in his wallet. Great, that should be plenty. MIL and I take the kids to the pool and surprisingly enough that went well. Consider me lulled into a false sense of security that things are going to go as planned today.

I pick up the pictures from my mom and see that, as I suspected, some printed better than others. No big deal. On to MIL's where we get online to try to see if a fresh pair of eyes can see the link for the rules for the contest. No dice. Three phone calls later to three different people, we find that the rules/categories for photos are in the Floral Hall tab (but that's not where they are being shown, they are in the Open Class Hall) under the Home Economics section. At the bottom of all the sewing/baking/jellies/jams/country bumpkin contest rules, photography is tacked on the end. How was I supposed to find this?!?!

I find out all pictures must be matted (dammit!! That means cutting things in straight lines and using glue. Not my strong suit!) and can't be digitally enhanced, so the awesome local fire hat that I had done some selective coloring on, was out and I wouldn't have time to redo it.

I find the stuff I need at the local craft store only to get to the checkout to realize that I must have left my money in the car. 20 minutes and not a few tears later, I find the money in front of where I got the cart. It had fallen out of my pocket and I've wasted 20 minutes that I don't have.

I race home until the last 2 miles to my house where at 5:45pm I am stuck behind a frigging cyclist who wants to ride @ 10mph on a country "thru" road where the speed limit is 50. It's now 10 after 6, I have to cut the mounts, get the photos mounted, get the kids ready for the fair and get back out to the fair (15 minutes away).

Dh took the car right after I got there b/c we wanted to attempt to get two other pics printed. On the phone, the woman says it can be done. In the store, it cannot be done. For some reason, they cannot print them. I suspect user error, but whatever. He calls and says he's coming home empty handed, which is fine as I've FUBAR'd two pieces of mounting, I wouldn't have had enough for them anyway!

It's 6:20 and I've got one photo (complete with dog hair that happened to be swirling through the air when I sprayed the adhesive on it) ready. SOMEHOW, I manged to get three more boards done, even though I had resigned myself to not even going, but I was so irritated that I kept at it (through tears and all!). Dh arrives at 6:35 and forces me into the car, he swears we can make it on time.

We arrive at the fair @ 6:55. No. Lie. Ironically, as I'm running in, another late entry with some artwork is running for it too. We run together (lost of course, because no one at the fair knows where exactly they are accepting the photography/art submission). We squeak in the door literally as the clock ticks over to 7. The lovely older ladies are surprised by just how close we cut it, but are more than happy to get us set up.

As icing on the cake, I wait for dh and the kids and we go off to get our wristbands when I realize I've lost my phone. You've got it; it fell out of my pocket on the grass back at the entrance where I was waiting. I'm pitching these shorts. (which is a shame since they are one of only three pairs that I am manging to get my arse into.) We go to eat and I manage to spill not one, but BOTH of the cokes that we bought all over our food and dh.

So now I'm trying to figure out just exactly who I skeeved off and why karma has it out for me. My mother calls me and I recount this tale of melodrama to her and realize just how silly it all is. At this point, you just have to laugh.

We take the kids on some rides. We try an updated version of the merry-go-round which goes a little faster and doesn't allow me to stand hovering right behind them. As the ride gets going, Little's face lights up. The wind catches his baby fluff hair and he has the biggest cheesy grin on his face. He screams "Wheeeeeeeee" every time he goes around clutching the handles on his rooster steed (what!? I said it was an updated version!). Big keeps turning around to check on Little to make sure he's having fun. As the ride ends, Little throws his hands up and says "YAY" and proceeds to say goodbye to each animal (which includes a buffalo, dalmatian, and monkey) waving his pudgy little hand and giving the dog a pat on the head.

I suppose it wasn't such a bad day after all.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

I know I'm not good at math but. . .

Yesterday I had some errands to run that included getting the balloons I had purchased for Little's birthday party blown up. We are having a "Big Cat" jungle theme. It's only fitting as his most treasured item in the world is a mangy looking leopard that was actually purchased about 4 years ago for Big; plus, he's a Little Leo. Back to the story.

I purchased about 15 balloons off ebay including three huge (3 feet long) cats; a leopard, a tiger and a lion. I also had several animal print balloons. I carried them into the store in the manila envelope they came in and asked the guy at the balloon counter to blow them up. He starts to blow one up (quite unsuccessfully I might add) when he suddenly stops and says, "They did tell you we charge for this right?". "Of course" I replied wondering who "they" were. No one had told me anything of the sort, but I would never have assumed anything is free these days.

He finally has to call over for some help because this balloon blowing up thing is just really too much. Thankfully, I don't think this was her first time blowing up balloons and she managed to get most of them blown up and tied together (apparently the tying bit is MUCH harder than it looks. . . he struggled quite a bit with it). She gets my receipt all tallied and everything and he hands me the balloons.

Balloon Man: "Are you sure you have enough room in your car for all of these?"

"Oh yeah, not a problem." I reply.

Balloon Man (apparently thrown by the fact that I think I can fit all these balloons in my car when he can't get them out from behind the counter): "Well, you know they take up more space when they are blown up."




I just stare at him for a minute waiting for the smile to show me he's teasing. It never comes. I'm met with "I told you so" eyes instead, so I try to laugh it off and say "Ummm, yeah, I've got a minivan with the seats taken out, I think it will be ok."

Balloon Man: "Oh, ok good." And off he walks.

So, I know volume and surface area and the like are really and truly NOT my strong suit, but my goodness. Really?! They get BIGGER when you put air in them. The hell you say! What is this world coming to when balloons get bigger when inflated.

Perhaps I should have said, "Well, I was planning on using these to fly my fat ass home, so I didn't bring my car."

Friday, July 11, 2008

My Open Letter

Dear Meddlesome Neighbors:

It seems that there are a few residents of this street who have an issue with the way we have prioritized the care of the outside of our home. Instead of beating around the bush (as you've no doubt noticed, I detest anything to do with shrubbery unless there are knights involved), I'll get right to the chase.

To our "neighbor" who called charging us with "not watering our new sod". I'd like to explain a little about being "Eco-Friendly". That means taking care to not use every natural resource including water like housekeeping is going to bring you more in the morning. An example would be that instead of running your sprinkler all day in the blazing sun like an asshole, you time the watering of your grass for when sun is down. This results in the evaporation of less water which means more of the water you are using goes directly to your grass which means you have to use less. See; friendly. Not only on the Earth, but on our wallet as well.

Now I know this concept is extremely scientific. It involves words like "evaporation" and requires you to have a basic knowledge of how things grow and the role water plays in that process. Buy an encyclopedia. Shit, if the Brittanica people come around, I'm sending them to your house. And since you are insistent on hiding behind others to make these false accusations. . . Brittanica is going to have to visit a lot of houses. And I hope everyone in the neighborhood knows it's your fault they've got a pushy salesman hocking crap in their living room for 2 hours.

Now, on to "The Lady Across the Street". I'm not sure which "Lady" I'm speaking to, but I'm pretty sure it's the one whose house is perched on a cliff leading to a creek who lets their dog out only to have it sit on their porch looking forlornly at the front door whose house has been for sale for about 6 months.

For as much as I'd *love* to bear the burden of being the reason you have been unable to sell your house, I have a feeling it has something more to do with the above reasons I mentioned and the fact that you are one of 5 overpriced cookie cutter houses for sale on a street of barely 20 and you are selling in a time that could be similar to the end of days in the housing market. For as much as I'd like to say it is my garbage cans keeping the buyers at bay. I simply can't.

There are no HOA regulations regarding where I am and am not allowed to put my garbage cans. They are in front of my garage on my property. They are not impeding the flow of pedestrian traffic by being in the sidewalk, nor do I put them in the side yard (also known as the Wind Tunnel of Death) so that they are blown willy nilly into the street. I put the garbage cans out and then we park our cars in front of them. Most of the time, you can't see them because there is a vehicle in front of them.

You also expressed concerns that I will put a bag of garbage out on our porch for my husband to take out to the cans. It is heavy and it stinks and it sounds like the perfect job for my husband- however he and I both agree that if you would like to volunteer to schlep the bags over, you are more than welcome.

I have a baby. Which means I have diapers. Which means my garbage cans do not and will not EVER be put inside my garage during the summer. EVER. I'll leave a bag in your garage for two days and then send paramedics over to revive you. Maybe. So outside, away from the WToD and blocked by the cars- not only from view, but from animals getting into them and knocking them over- seems to me the best place to put my garbage cans. I'll be honest however, I don't know that I've ever thought so much about garbage cans and the etiquette surrounding their placement. I've come to the conclusion that to spend this much time and energy on such things is a great waste. You have my pity.

I'd like to close by saying that I am a good neighbor. I don't have wild parties (or any parties for that matter), my kids don't ride their bikes through the street shrieking at 10pm and not watching for cars anytime (honestly, the helmet doesn't do much good when your kid is struck by a car b/c you have failed to teach them respect for the road.). I don't smoke pot around the neighborhood kids. I don't send my kids over to ring your doorbell 4,000 times at nap time so they can hock whatever crap they are selling for the "League of Pestering Children"'s new rock wall. I obey the leash laws AND the poo pick up unspoken laws (except in my yard. I'll pick it up when I get damn good and ready thankyouverymuch).

I am quiet and shy. I keep to myself and play with my kids in my yard. I buy .50 cups of piss warm Crystal Light three days in a row from the "Lemonade Stand" that your kids have set up on the corner of two dead end streets. And I keep my garbage cans in front of my garage and water my grass at night. Kiss. My. Ass.

EADSU,
#1084

I've Been on Hiatus

Not by choice however.

I have officially blown through 2 top of the line laptops. Little is not laptop compatible. At all. The first was an Acer with a ginormous screen and a power cord that was a POS. When I called to say- "hey, this is broken", they replied with "yes, we know, it's a common defect". Useful information BEFORE dropping 2 grand on a laptop but whatever. I got it "fixed" and happily plugged it in when I got it back, I'm a sonofayouknowwhat if that hunk of junk didn't break AGAIN right then and there.

The second was an HP. . . that doesn't technically belong to us. Technically, it belongs to the airline that shall not be named. After numerous yanking and fingerprints and droppings and generalized beatings, it's getting a new screen and getting shipped back to said airline.

Which leaves me laptopless. Not good. That means I have to haul my rear upstairs where the air does not work into the "office" which smells like cat food and pee all at the same time (>barf<) and try to sit in front of an infernally slow desktop as I slowly melt into a puddle of frustration. And sweat. Not to mention, Little is as fond of cat food as he is of dog food. He also likes to bring me handfuls of it and shriek "KITTY!!!" as he dumps it on the keyboard. Or desk. Or down my sickening sticky-with-sweat back.

Needless to say (but I'm going to anyway. . . ) I don't get up there often. Hence the drop in my blogging. For this I am sorry- though I have to report- in general, things have been rather quiet. I'm sure I will be eating those words later.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Deep Thoughts on Trying To Conceive

***

Saturday, June 14, 2008

WiiPlay

Together



Big and Little partake in a lazy rainy summer afternoon. The only one actually playing is Big, but Little goes ballistic if he tries to play without him. He screams "MINE MINE MINE" until we give him the second battery-less remote so he can climb up there next to his Big to watch and copy his every move. And yes, they are both still in their skivvies because that's what they wore to bed. That's how we roll in the summertime.

Friday, June 13, 2008

My Poor Little Mom

My mom is the black sheep in her family. By "black sheep" I mean she isn't a beer drinking, fish-fry-at-the-bar, county dwelling, hillbilly snob. Hillbilly snobs are the worst. Except maybe ghetto hillbillies- see previous post.

My mother is one of seven. Second of the four sisters. Her family (well, and my own warped relationship with my sister) is one of the main reasons I can't- WON'T risk having sisters. A daughter is great. Sisters are Chinese water torture. Her sisters are some of the meanest women I have ever met. Last year they went on a "girls only" cruise. Girls only. . . except my mom. She wasn't even invited =(. They did however invite the ex girlfriend of one of their brothers, isn't that special.

Today is her birthday. She and two of her friends went out with her two sisters (the other lives in OK now), her niece (who is my age and as dense as a board) and the same ex girlfriend. (What the frick lady!! Move the fuck on- he's married, you're not getting another chance. Go leech on another family). The antagonist of this story is her younger sister (sister #3) who has a serious case of the "Solarsystemitis" which is more commonly referred to as "the world frigging revolves around me bitches".

First the restaurant was too expensive. My mother's tab was $17. Sister #3's was so high because she can't keep their hands off the booze. Cry me a river. She ordered a grilled cheese (yeah really overpriced ritzy kind of place. . . with grilled cheese- NOT) which she promptly declare inedible. Did I mention that the owner and head chef is a personal friend of my mothers? She and her husband just got back from a trip to France with him and a few other couples.

The protagonist is my mother's friend "Tanya"*. Who has a chronic case of "IDOWHATIWANTBITCHERIA". She's very nice, but a boisterous, say-what's-on-her-mind type of gal-- especially when it comes to defending her friends. You can imagine how the sparks flew between these two all night. Neither would be outdone by the other. Sister #3 went as low as to talk about Tanya behind a paper menu to the ex girlfriend while my mother is sitting right there. My mom doesn't have a lot of friends, and is so attached to the ones who truly like her and being around her. My mother was in tears by the end of it. It was her birthday and no one even offered to pick up her tab. Ex girlfriend's birthday is next week. You bet your sweet ass, Sister #3 picked up her tab because her birthday was coming up.

I feel so bad for my mom when stuff like this happens. Tomorrow we are going with her and her dh to a swanky Brazillian steak place where I know we'll have a better time. I wish I had gone, nobody deserves to be treated like that on their birthday even if it is Friday the 13th.

*Tanya is of course not her name. Though I have my sincerest doubts she would have given a rats behind if I had broadcast her identity to half the free world. I am of course not suggesting that half the free world reads this blog as evidenced by my staggering numbers on my "visit ticker"-which incidentally counts each time I visit my own blog as a separate visit, so the numbers are incredibly skewed.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

The Answer Will Still Be No

Shortly after we moved into our home, the abandoned house next to us was foreclosed on. By abandoned, I mean it was simply walked away from b/c the owners couldn't afford the payments in the downward spiral of the market. It's only about 2 years old. Still, our house was listed at $185k, our neighbors purchased the house next to us for $130.

I first knew we were going to have a problem when I couldn't figure out who lived there. There are two young adult males complete with wife beaters and chains on their pants, a frumpy crabby woman who was always cradling her incredibly aggressive shitzapoozer or whatever the frick kind of designer mutt it happens to be, a little 6 year old girl, a dirty hippy looking teenage girl in torn "baby tees" and a pregnant African American woman. There were also about 4 cars/vans going in and out of the driveway every day. Turns out there is a mom, her teenage son from a previous marriage, his girlfriend, the dad, the little girl and their live in pregnant nanny.

After I caught the son and his girlfriend smoking a joint in front of his mother, right in front of my son playing in their back yard, I knew we were really headed for trouble. I came out, they knew they were caught and I scooped up my son and informed him in front of them that he was not allowed over there to play any more. The little girl is sweet and loves playing with Big which breaks my heart. Recently, the son moved out (I'm pretty sure) so Big is now allowed back into their back yard. Therein lies the bane of my existence.

They have a trampoline. I hate trampolines. I know how exciting they are for kids, but I REALLY hate how many risks there are associated with them. This trampoline has no netting around it, no bumpers to prevent their feet from going through the springs and is set up on uneven ground full of rocks. Big is not allowed on said trampoline. This creates an unimaginable tension and stress between Little Girl and Big.

Today, Big came in and asked me if he could play on the trampoline. I said no. His response was "Well, her mom said she's not allowed on the ground anymore.

What?

"She's not allowed on the ground anymore, only on the trampoline."

"Well, that is the silliest thing I have ever heard, but if that's what her mommy says, there is nothing I can do about it. The answer is still no."

He goes out to report this to Little Girl (who is sitting on the effing side walk). 5 minutes later, he's back. Now, she is still "not allowed on the ground" but NOW, she is moving. WTF- could I get that lucky. I inquire further:

"What do you mean she's moving?"

"She said she's moving to Florida and I just want to play with her before she moves away!!!" His eyes begin to well up with tears as his breathing gets all raggedy.

"When did she say she was moving?"

"Well, she said she was moving to Florida for 10 days and then coming back."

"Honey, that's a vacation, you don't move somewhere for 10 days- if you come back, it's just a vacation. You can play with her when she gets back."

He bursts into tears. "No, she's moving to Florida for ten days, then she's coming back but she's going to Texas too!!! I just want to play with her and I can't unless I go on the trampoline!!!!"

More meltdown. . . I am just not sure what to make of all this craziness. On one hand, I'm wondering if they are out there smoking pot again and Big is suffering delusions and confusion from second hand smoke. On the other hand, they are just hillbilly enough that there may be some shred of truth to this insane shuffling around of their family. I'm making dinner. It's 8:15, Little needs to be in bed in 15 minutes, Big in 45. I don't have the time or the patience to go over there and attempt to sort out some of this idiocy.


"Ok, honey, you need to calm down. You know how dangerous trampolines can be right?"

Sniffles and wails- and a head nod.

"I just can't risk you getting hurt by playing on it. I know it's fun, but I would feel awful if you fell off and got hurt. You will just have to play with her another day- when she's allowed on the ground. I'm sorry sweetheart."

Sniffles, snotting, wailing and copious tear wiping occurs as he walks out to give Little Girl the bad news and I hear him mutter-

"I told her the answer would still be no."

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Project Blue Take 2


Ok, so I was running around trying to find Little's hospital bracelet which is a lovely shade of teal-y blue. I haven't found it yet, but the search is ongoing. Instead I found this sucker which Big insisted on having. It's got blue in it. Plus I love this picture for some reason. Maybe b/c I actually managed to catch him NOT acting like a carnie with a lolly pop addiction.

Project Blue Take 1

I'm feeling uninspired. All I could think of was "blue eyes". That's not very creative. Still, I thought, Hiruko (our Huskamute) has lovely blue eyes. So much so that when I'm walking Hiro and Zorro together people will stop me and tell me how much they like Hiro and he's their favorite. Because he has blue eyes. Poor Zorro. He's like a little unwanted brown-eyed step child.

Still, Hiruko's eyes are lovely and I thought if I'm going to be boring with a picture of blue eyes, I'll shake it up with blue pooch eyes. So this is take one in my first time participating in Anna Carson's Project Blue. For more info visit

http://annacpics.blogspot.com/




Ok, so I can't resist. I'm not sure what the rules are, but since I'm late to the game this time around, I want to add my favorite blue picture that I have. From my honeymoon in St.Lucia. This is the southern tip of the island:


This is Little when he was about 10 months old. There must be something incredibly interesting in the mulch down there :)

Monday, June 9, 2008

Opening an Orphanage

***

Friday, June 6, 2008

PMS and Budget Cuts

Don't mix.

Dh's BFF/Boss heard a nasty rumor on Thursday that all hourly employees were getting the ax at the end of the month. He went and asked his boss if said rumor was true and she said yes. Dh is an hourly employee. By this afternoon every person in the office knew (dh was not even in the office today due to leaving early yesterday to come in overnight).

So, stay with me. . . his boss's boss's boss got pissed that everyone knew already so she threw a hissy fit and said "you're all going to leave anyway, so today is your last day". Midol. Fucking buy some lady instead of ruining lives.


Just a suggestion.

We were hoping to purchase a house soon. I was to start school in 17 days. We were supposed to go on vacation in a month. Not to mention, we were hoping to expand our family one more time. Obviously, all of these things are on hold. The job search is on like Donkey Kong, but anyone who works in IT will tell you that it is nearly always feast or famine. Right now it's famine- isn't that the story everywhere though?

Saturday, May 31, 2008

I Forgot

Friday I picked Big up from school. As usual. He mumbles something about being happy he's not a girl b/c he has enough scars. I'm not really sure what he's jabbering about- they had field day that day and assumed he was just muttering about something that happened to a girl in his class.

Me- "What does being a girl have to do with having scars?

Big- "Well don't you have a scar like this?" (Pointing to his open heart scar)

Me- "No, mommy didn't have heart surgery like you did, why would I have a scar like that?"

Big- "I thought all mommies had them. Didn't you get one when they cut you open to get the babies out"

Me- shit shit shit. . . "No, mommy didn't have surgery to have her babies."

Big- "Well, how did they get out of your belly?"

Me- I make some sort of not coheisive ramble about a hole a mommy pees from and a hole that babies come from. It doesn't make a ton of sense to me, so I'm not sure how much sense it made to him.

This is where I really wish that I had a camera on me at all times. His face as he tried to digest this was a mixture of the "I just smelled something nasty" face and the "What planet am I on" face with lots of head shaking in between (to get the images out of his head no doubt).

I am too tired to deal with this, so when we get home, I ask him if there is anything else he would like to ask me and he says no (surely he's gotten his TMI quota for the day) and I lamely tell him that it's a hard thing for a little boy to understand. He'll understand it more when he is older.

I hate 7.

His Birthday

My husband has been celebrating his birthday for a week now. As penitence for forgetting (*gasp*) his birthday (in my defense, I only forgot that morning- he gave me like an hour and a half to remember that it was his birthday, plus we have about 4,937 big family events each May and his is the last one, so I am always frazzled near his birthday) my presence was required at dinner last night with his friends. His "BFF" is also his boss and an idiot. The idiocy does not stop there, his gf follows suit. Also in attendance were dh's new gay friends.

The evening starts off late anyway and Bff's idiot gf decides she's ditching us, bff hates that b/c that means there is no one to distract me from talking to dh so that the two of them can spend the evening talking about soccer (of which dh knows nothing) and South Park. Early into the dinner we are exchanging what I assumed was friendly banter and I suggested that his subdued demeanor was that I have a sobering effect on him. He shot back that we have only been together twice, how would I know. I said, it was enough apparently. (as in enough time for me to make things boring- I am just kidding as I obviously don't think I'm boring) He replied "At least we agree on something".

Ummm. . . ok.

So he leaves pouting and saying he will go out and have fun with dh tomorrow night- as in the night that I will not be there b/c that is the only time there can be fun. Well, I am fun. So much fun in fact that I let dh and Thelma and Louise over there drag us to a gay bar. I am dd which automatically makes me less exciting to drunk people, but I also don't know these people which makes me quiet.

Long story short, we are in a "local" gay bar, they are playing pool, I'm quite obviously the only straight (non drag queen) female in the joint and a fight breaks out between queens. I'm going to stop here to say that I try to steer clear of bar fights in general. Bars are not my scene and I hate fights between drunks, but fights between a "redneck" gay man and his refined sugar daddy against a motorcycle riding, tattoo sporting, gay guy and the most butch looking female I've ever seen is comedy gold. For those who haven't been privy to such a sight, there is quite a bit of pointing and hand waving accompanied by raised voices, an ample amount of huffing and scoffing. Then there are unwavering "stink eyes" until it finally ends in a barrage of shrill "whatever!!!!!!!'s".

The next game against dh and Thelma is taken up by a "woman" who looks like Jim Morrison and a voice like Nathan Lane in The Birdcage. His nails are better than mine though he looks like he (she, whatever) hasn't eaten in about 6 months. This game ends when Jimmy Lane shoots the cue off the table and looses it. Darn. It's 3 am. I'm done and dh is more than done. Happy Birthday to him.

Monday, May 19, 2008

Dammit Juno

It's Big's birthday today. 7 years ago @ 10:20am, he came into this world to two people who had no idea what on Earth they were doing. We've been celebrating his birthday for over a week now, and I suspect today we'll just have a nice quiet dinner- something he loves- but not chicken nuggets, I can't take anymore chicken nuggets right now. Hopefully we'll have some nice dinner conversation (at least as nice a conversation as you an have with a 7 year old boy while a 2 year old pelts you with bits of food from behind). I'm hoping to keep it a little lighter of a conversation that last nights which went something like this:

We're watching a show on Sci-Fi about the "Crystal Skulls" which are part of the new Indiana Jones movie. A commercial comes on for the movie Juno. Big looks up from his gourmet fish sticks and asks me

"She was pregnant when she was still a teenager?"


"Yes" I reply hoping it's the end of the discussion.

Big- "That happens sometimes doesn't it"

Me- "Yes, yes it does"

Big "But it didn't happen to you. . . did it?"

**I should interject here that while Big is an unrecognized genius, there is no way he could do the math on his and my ages to lead to this line of questioning. This is, as they say, straight "from the mouth of babes"**

Me- "Well, actually it did happen to me. Mommy was 16 when she was pregnant with you."

Big- "Oh, so you were as old as Nikki (his cousin) when you were having a baby?!"

Me- "Yes"

Big- "Oh, ok"

Thankfully, the conversation did not turn into how I got pregnant when I was as old as Nikki, as he was soon preoccupied with the return of the show. I realize now that it may have been good to sprinkle a little "Yes, that happened to me, but it's always better to wait until you are older to have babies" or something to that effect, you know, being proactive and all that, but I froze. When I get like that, it's all I can do to tell him the truth in a calm and "matter-of-fact" tone.

7 years ago today, I'm sure I thought of how exactly I would handle this conversation when the time came. Then (in my mind) I'm sure I would have made a big drawn out production of it; explaining my side of the story and debunking the stereotypes so unjustly put on all teen mothers. I would have planned on telling him how mommy and daddy never regretted having him and how much we love him. I didn't realize then, that if I was doing everything as well as I could, I wouldn't need to tell him those things.
He would already know.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

! HAI ! Grasshopper. . .

I have been waiting to chronicle this just in case it turned out to be "word of the week" for Little. As it turns out, Little is not opposed to speaking and learning new words. He simply feels that his efforts would be most beneficial if he started his bilingual studies early. For those who are not up on their Japanese, "Hai" is Japanese for "Yes" in it's simplest form. It is also Little-ese for yes.

Do you want some Cocoa (juice)?

!! HAI !!

Do you want to go nigh' nigh'?

!! HAI !!

Should we go get Big?

!! HAI !!

The best part about this is that it's never just
"hai. . . *shrug*"
or
mumblemumble.hai.mumblemumble.

It's ALWAYS a staccato

!! HAI !!

shouted in a throaty voice with the force of a Jr. Mr. Miyagi. His muscles tensed throughout his body; hands outstretched with fingers splayed in earnest, hoping that I am capable of understanding him.

I've picked up "Japanese For Dummies" for a bit of light reading. I'll update you when he starts saying Domo Arigato.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Ticks

No, not the cute, make you laugh personality quirks that some people have. I'm talking about the nasty, straight from the devil, blood sucking bastards that are related to my arch-nemesis the spider and are apparently "in season" right now. I may throw up.

About 2 weeks ago, I saw a tick on Hiro. It was right on the inside of his ear, and was still small. We had been to a very wooded area in the park a few days prior, so I managed to keep my cool and called dh to inform him that he would need to do a removal/disposal when he got home. No problemo. Tick is removed , burned mercilessly and disposed of.

Yesterday I was sitting on the couch on the computer until dh got home for lunch. I had been sitting there for about an hour and had seen a small round dot on the carpet about the size of a dime. Our chairs are cheap and have the small round wood pieces that cover where the DIY screws go in the arms and Little keeps pulling them out and leaving them laying around. I naturally assume that is all that this is and leave it laying there. Dh comes home and starts to set his computer up on the floor next to me (I can't be bothered to move) and asks what "this" is tossing it up and down in his hand. I give him the aforementioned information when he suddenly exclaims "It's an Effing TICK!!!!"!

I scream- despite not touching it, being near it or really even looking at it now that I know it is a tick. I keep screaming and tell him to kill it. He does and it's very bloody and revolting. YUCK. I know ticks can live on hosts for a few days, so I tell myself it is probably from the other day when we were in the woods and must have fallen off one of the dogs.

Dh calls me from work today:

dh- guess what

me- what?

dh- I don't want to freak you out or anything.

me- yes because when you start stories like that it really settles me down

dh- well, I just found a tick on my back, right above my belt.


Needless to say this did not go well. I know they are "in season" but DAMN!!! We don't even live in a heavily wooded area and we are freaking crawling with them. Now I am flipping out thinking maybe one of them laid eggs on the dogs or something and we have an infestation- even though their beds are white as is my carpet (well, it was white once. . . many moons ago). I told dh that if I get a tick on me, to just sedate me. Straight up, get some morphine or something in a syringe and shoot my ass with it, then get the tick out. Either that or he will have to call in reinforcements to hold me down. And then pay for therapy when I become a mute from the trauma.

Though, I'm sure in his mind, it would be better to just leave me that way.

Monday, May 12, 2008

Monkey monkey monkey monkey monkey monkey YOU!

It's destined to go down in Izzard history along with "cake or death" and Mrs. Badcrumble. The show was amazing. He was amazing. It's been three days and I'm still giggling to myself over it. Oxen, dinosaurs, hieroglyphics, God and Jesus, Noah, dyslexic scrabble, and of course the "title" of Darwin's book "Monkey Monkey Monkey Monkey Monkey Monkey YOU!"

Dressed to the nines in a fantabulous pair of jeans and a jacket that resembled a circus ring master's, Eddie Izzard gave Cincy a taste of that charm, charisma and craziness that makes up his act. He can talk shit the whole time and you'll think it's the funniest damn thing you've ever heard- that's where the charm and charisma come in.


He was lovely after the show when a kajillion people stayed behind to get photos and autographs- myself included. I of course acted like a cool kid which means I completely lost my cool and made an ass of myself. Still, he signed my program and posed for a picture with me, my sister and my mom. It's really wonderful that I got to see him in person.

When I first discovered his act, it was ~ 2003-2004 ish and I watched his Dress to Kill on HBO on demand. I thought he was hilarious and tried to get as much of his material as I could and shared it with my friends and family. Soon, despite his excessive use of the f-bomb (again, in a charming British way which makes it all ok) and the fact that he is a man dressed as a woman, I had my own little circle of friends and family that were completely hooked.
Back then he would only do gigs in NY or LA or other Californian places. I even went so far as to see if he toured regularly in Europe, b/c if he did and we were going to pan a trip to Europe, I wanted them to coincide. Not happening.

So I gave up and was content to listen to his CD's in the car and then in 2007, watch him every Tuesday on the Riches.
I know my friends who are not in that weird obsessive group that I started, think that, well, that I'm weird and obsessive about this. And to a point I am. I don't go to concerts- I love music, but prefer when I can hear it on my own and sing along without anyone else hearing my awfulness. I do love the theatre, but rarely get to go as my "d"h hates it.

I *love* good comedy. It makes me laugh on an adult level- well, sometimes even on an immature childish level. I love people who are funny, they make this world a better place by making people laugh when it seems there is not a single reason in the world to do so and I'll be weird and obsessive over that anytime.


My sister and I anxiously awaiting our turn, though some might say we were blocking his exit by standing in front of his bus. I plead the fifth.

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Me, Eddie, my sis and my mom

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Tuesday, May 6, 2008

The Omen

There is a house up the street that has been for rent for a while. Recently, a family moved in there that has a preteen daughter and a 3 year old boy. Being the homebody/cold-o-phobe that I am, we hadn't "met" them until the weather started to turn warm. The boy turned up in our yard one afternoon asking to play with Big who was outside already. His name is Parker David Somethingorother. He insists on being called "Parker David Somethingorother". It's Somethingorother b/c he has this nails-on-a-chalkboard type voice that draaaaaaaaaws out words to where they are indecipherable to human ears and I can't make out WTF he is saying.
Example:

Caaaaaaaaaaaaanheheheeeecomeoutandplaaaaaaayandplayriiiightnowwifvemeeeeeeeeeeeee?

It's delightful, in a very not so delightful way. Anyway. Big and Parker David Somethingorother (we'll call him PDS for space purposes) get along all right b/c let's face it, if it's got a pulse and can talk, Big will play with it. So after the initial introduction, dh briefly meets PDS's mom as she comes to collect him from our backyard. He says something stupid about our dogs still being in training as the excuse for why PDS can't come in the house- really our house is just a sty and I have C.H.A.O.S. (Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome ~flylady) so now this mom thinks our dogs are vicious maneaters and PDS is terrified of them. Dh can be such a ditz sometimes. The next day we meet dad for about 2 seconds when he asks if he can borrow a cup of butter. That's it, just wanted a cup of butter, then trots back down to his house while we supervise PDS and Big's Transformer War going on over our backyard hill.

So this kid is EVERYWHERE. The other day, I pulled out of the driveway- he was standing in the side yard, watching me leave. I look out in the backyard and he's sitting in our yard. Just. . . sitting. I looked out the sliding glass door one morning to find his face smushed up against it wanting to know if Big could come out and play.

Today, PDS rings the doorbell at nap time. Don't even get me started. I was tempted to drop Little off at his house and let this kids parents deal with a sleep deprived demon in human form, but thought the better of since he would probably just follow PDS back to our house and I'd be stuck with both of them. PDS would like to know if Big can come out and play. No he's at school, he won't be home for another 4 hours, but I'll let him know you called. PDS's response "UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMM, I I I I will jus' wait wight heaw".

Here being my front porch. Where are this kids parents? I had to inform him that it would be a long time before Big got back and waiting on my very hot front porch would not be much fun. He should go home and wait. Unfazed, he said ok and kept standing on the front porch until I told him I had to go get the now screaming Little and bade him goodbye.

Later, he appeared behind me inside my garage (I'm cleaning it out, our garbage men will be thrilled). Same set of questions, same answers, but with a twist thrown in. As he's leaving (by "leaving" I mean going to wait in the front yard instead of up my bum in my garage) he informs me that I'm pretty. I said thank you and gave him a smile as it's been days since my hormonal bitchy ass has heard the words "You" and "pretty" together. Then he informed me that I needed to buy Big another police car Transformer so that he (PDS) can play with it.

I knew not to get too excited about that pretty thing, he was just buttering me up for his own self-serving purposes. BAH. This time, it's a police car Transformer, next time. . . perhaps my soul. If he moves it up to beautiful, he just might get it.