Tuesday, December 31, 2013
I will hope, and I will try. I will.
I will love, more than I ever have. I will.
I will forgive, more than I ever thought I could. I will.
When I pray, I will fill my prayers with many more thanks than requests. I will.
I will not apologize for being me. I will not.
I will strive to be in the moment I'm in. I will.
I will be someone worth knowing. I will.
I will give someone another chance, because I've been given many. I will.
I will tell the people that I love, that I love them. I will.
I will choose to do something, every day. I will.
But, when my choice is to do nothing, I will own that decision, and enjoy it. I will.
I will look for a really great place to enjoy the sunset. I'll find it. I will.
I will pull the car over when the moon is just right for it. I will.
I will let starry skies wash away old hurts. I will.
I will keep my mirrors clean, because. I will.
I will not be afraid to tell the truth. I will not.
I will trust myself. I will.
I will trust someone. I will.
I will make a new friend. I will.
I will make a new old friend. I will.
I will understand that I give because it heals me. Because I deserve healing, I will give anyway. In fact, I will give more. I will.
I will be more than words on a screen, typed words on paper. I will.
I will kiss him when he least expects my affection. I will.
I will honor my most cherished memories by not keeping them all to myself. I will.
I will laugh, with myself, at myself, and with others. I will.
I will make some promises worth keeping. I will.
Then, I will keep those promises. I will.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Teen Daughter (while battling auto correct on iPhone): Every time I write POEM, it turns into PORN!
Me (and this is why I need that "delay" feature between brain and voice): The same thing happens to me when I draw.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
With tears in her heart, my daughter told me about a note she found in the Student Council suggestion box. She clearly felt the pain of the anonymous writer. I would probably just embrace and wallow in that anonymously shared pain, but she embraced it and went into action.
She IMMEDIATELY, before even getting home for the night, began researching the policies she must follow to start a sanctioned new group at her high school.
Even though she's a senior, straight, smart, pretty, creative, and has plenty of friends, she has made it her mission to work hard for social change at high school.
Because nobody should have to feel as isolated and unaccepted as one anonymous teenage child who reached out with a note.
(Tweets that night)
Is a Gay-Straight Alliance something people would join? It would be like a judgement-free support group open to anybody who needs a friend.
9:43pm - 21 Aug 13
Me: Read- anon. note in student council suggestion box. Response- start alliance/support group for LGBT teens. Time elapsed- <12hrs. #MyGoodKids
2:34am - 22 Aug 13
*She has procured a faculty sponsor and submitted the proposal to the principal, who must submit it to the Board of Education. Crossing all our fingers and hearts that no (bigoted, hate-based, religious, etc.) opposition will arise and be able to prevent this much-needed project from starting.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Find out who you are before somebody else decides for you. Instincts are not accidental. They are a protective mechanism. They may not always be easy to understand; they may sometimes be wrong. But they should never be ignored. Don't trust any person who agrees with you ALL the time. No matter what is happening, it can always get better, or worse. Sometimes it's up to you. Sometimes it's not. You can practice kindness without allowing others to treat you like a doormat. It is hard to respect others if you don't like and respect yourself first. Don't keep your good works secret. Learn to inspire others without bragging. No one on Earth is perfect, but each has something to teach you, even if the lesson is what NOT to do.
Smile at babies! Maybe there's a Smile Bank in our brains. Your freely given smile may be a crucial investment in a child's future emotional, behavioral, and mental health. Never be too busy to take hold of a hand that reaches for yours. Always say WHO' S THERE, no matter how many times you've heard the same knock-knock jokes. Say thank you to compliments. Don't point out your flaws. You are neither the Most nor Least Important Person in the World- but you are IMPORTANT, and what you do and say and feel MATTER.
Monday, August 12, 2013
He went out on a cookie run before his gig. We each chose one type of cookie. Chunky chocolate chip (me), Oreo (Whodunit), and iced oatmeal (Ponytail).
Later, Ponytail admitted that their fondness for oatmeal cookies has nothing to do with their taste (a taste they know I don't like).
"You don't have the same experience attached to them that we do," she explained.
"When we were little, we would spend lots of time with PawPaw, and he would always share his oatmeal cookies with us while we watched westerns together. Those are very happy memories."
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Used "Navvy" to tell me which 3 exits to take to get my child to a nearby city, and me back home. She did okay.
Sent and received several brief text messages.
Caught up with the small group of fabulous people in my virtual circle of friends (commonly known as "facebooking").
Tried to figure out how Ebay works. Downloaded the app. It didn't help.
Shared these "music" videos with children.
The Adventures of One Eskimo chapter one, music by One Eskimo
The Zombie Song, by Stephanie Mabey
Watched this favorite song video again. Storm, by Adrianne Gonzales
Watched and shared this music video with lyrics: Just Give Me a Reason, by Pink
Sorted my YouTube "watch later" and "favorites" folders into applicable playlists. In order to give #CSpireLies the benefit of the doubt, I have to suppose they have arrived at the only logical conclusion: That I alone possess the power to watch and process an entire 2 to 15 minute YouTube video in the 3 seconds it actually takes other people to click on the video and then place it in the appropriate playlist.
Yes, #CSpireLies believes I watched each video, in its entirety, at a speed only second to the speed of light. They tallied up all the data they believed I had unfairly accessed (with my secret powers), and initiated punitive measures intended to discourage me from further allegiance with the Dark Side. Makes perfect sense. It was really only a matter of time before #CSpireLies figured me out.
No matter how many times the hostages beg #CSpireLies to elaborate, as we vainly attempt to comply like the good little Stockholmers we so desperately want to be, #CSpireLies refuses to provide us with numbers or words that mean anything remotely useable.
The closest to an explanation that #CSpireLies provides is repeating a statement to the effect that "Unlimited" means they will slow down your data speed only if you use "high amounts" of data.
#CSpireLies needs a dictionary. Their definition of unlimited is eerily similar to the definition of pornography (as per Booth on the TV program, Bones): they'll know it when they see it! Happy stalking, #CSpireLies!
If knowledge is power, #CSpireLies is hoarding its kryptonite, depriving us of access to the collective knowledge of this "modern" age, while continuing to extract exorbitant amounts of meaningless "protection" fees.
What if hostages refused to continue paying #CSpireLies for the privilege? What if those same hostages pooled those fees and retained a group of attorneys to initiate a class-action suit against #CSpireLies? What if this movement were already in progress, #CSpireLies?
Times are tough all over, #CSpireLies. As for the downtrodden peasants who "like" you on facebook? Once y'all learn how to read, #CSpireLies, I believe you will find history is absolutely resplendent with examples of just how much peasants love a good villain!
#CSpireLies believes they are not bound by the laws of fair business practice. Let them know that they are.
P.S. And, if anybody reading this knows anyone at #CSpireLies (above the rank of powerless Customer "Service" Representative), for the love of anything that is still holy, please, PLEASE, give them a dictionary.
#CSpireLies text received at 0257:
Your data speed has been reduced until 08/03/2013. Use Wi-Fi when available to avoid reduced data speeds. Thank you for choosing C Spire.
#1. It already IS 08/03/2013. Thank you very much for disturbing my household at 3 o'clock in the morning, #CSpireLies, in order to deliver further proof that there is not one dictionary in the entirety of the #CSpireLies cellular service hostage organization.
#2. What EXACTLY is your problem, #CSpireLies? I use LESS data than anybody I know. Your cryptic harassment remains unacceptable. Furthermore, please STOP CONTACTING ME in the middle of the NIGHT. Perhaps your employees would appreciate the same treatment your customers enjoy. #CSpireLies FOREVER
#3. The new Untrustworthiness Pyramid has been released. #CSpireLies has edged ahead of Westboro Baptist Church founder Fred Pehlps Jr.
#4. Please GO AWAY, inevitable #CSpireLies representative "responding" to my text. #CSpireLies started it. I did NOT. Please refer to previous #s 1 through 3. DO NOT further disturb my family in the middle of the NIGHT with a follow-up text, no matter how well-intended. #CSpireLies FOREVER
*: Thank you for contacting Csprie Wireless, This is *, How may I assist you?
Sent via Personalized Wireless
(Me? I simply re-sent #4. )
I WAS exhausted, and ready for sleep. Now, thanks to #CSpireLies, I'm exhausted, FED UP, and MAD. These bizarre practices of #CSpireLies MUST stop.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
P: R u awake?
P: I woke up with a headache and took some medicine but can't fall asleep
ME: Bad bad migraine. Barely was able to get home.
Is your head a little better?
P: Aw:( a little i guess
ME: Mine is barely any better. Enough to kinda see these letters but keep having to correct everything. It's VERY HOT here, too. (Our central air broke, so they were at a Grand's house)
P: Did u get the fan out of my room?
ME: Must be a weather thing. Bet (blogalias) & (blogalias) have one too
I did, but it's not as fast as it used to be.
P: Is it on 3?
ME: Somebody supposed to look at AC in a while. Yes, but 3 blow like 1 used to. Not hard at all.
My room is cool enough. Have fan facing to my bathroom.
Did you bring the nausea health store med with you?
P: Yeah, i have tylenol-caffeine pills, nausea, and those pain ones
ME: sorry about your headache and un sleepiness.
What make brown?
P: Red and green. Blue and orange. Purple and yellow.
ME: Let me send you a funny link. Fb message ok?
Go read it now!
P: I am!
Girl mannequin child:)
ME: Somebody was in a hurry to get home!
ME: Her goofy face always wins
My "tree" looks like Christmas threw up.
P: Lol. pics or it didn't happen
*( so proud )*
ME: Exactly. Never happened. Gotta burn it before (blogalias) get home
Also the fumes are pretty strong.
P: What'd u do it with?
ME: Because alcohol dries faster than water do.
To blend chalk
With my other fingers
P: Wow, okay. Also, ur shut up in ur room, so yeah the fumes would be strong
ME: Gonna add Mardi gras
P: To ur tree?
ME: Yes. Purple doesn't LIKE the alcohol.
Or the other colors. Purple is a jerk.
I need the name of a very little child to blame this on. Ideas?
P: Which color DOES like the alcohol?
ME: Green and red!
P: (blogalias) (actually, this kid is 4, and he doesn't HAVE one yet)
ME: It didn't make them BLEND, but they are wasted.
P: Hmm... Do they like it TOO much? Maybe, u should keep them away from it
ME: It's a tree-nado!
P: That's even worse than Sharknado
ME: Gonna fb you a pic
P: Wow. That is so bad. Why didn't u just use crayons?
ME: Didn't know where they were/migraine/ how else was I gonna get these awesome chalk fingers?
P: They are in my room by my bed on the old show rack/ bookshelve in front of my window bottom shelve with the paint and colored pencils
ME: This tree-nado is making me dizzy and more nauseated.
It's too late.
ME: I'm an IDEAS man. I depends on others to carry them out
P: Also, it's never too late to fix a mistake. Unless of course ur out of whiteout
ME: Maybe it can be a rainbow-tree-nado! It grows rainbows!
White out is what killed off the typewriters and the dinosaurs.
ME: Maybe I should have used purple drink and sweet tea
Or other actual art supplies...
P: Wow. That would have been a complete mess
ME: The brown ice cream in the freezer!
P: Even dirt stuck on with glue would have been better
ME: That's what I was thinking.
P: Don't waste our ice cream!
ME: I don't know any blind small children. Do you?
Art is never a waste!
Wonder what peroxide does to "art"?
P: Probably nothing good. Unless ur going for a flame sculpture
ME: Wow, foam hand sanitizer really brings out the purple.
P: What exactly are u doing to ur art
ME: This is the kind of "art" that even artists want to censor and destroy.
Um, cleaning it?
P: Lol. Did u try soap and water
ME: Fb pic again
P: It looks like some really creepy skeleton hand
ME: That's what happens when Rainbow Tree-nados go over to the darker side.
Flipped it. Look now
P: The blue side is so much prettier
ME: So far. Evil lol.
(fb pic sent)
P: Nice shadow selfie
ME: Do people take shadow selfies on purpose?
P: Did u?
ME: Not on purpose. Just found that in my phone and cropped it a little.
P: Googling shadow selfies
ME: Galaxy quest. (which I love and was watching for about the 80th time) Rock monster: right outta Power Rangers, am I right?
P: I'm not sure if that text made sense or not
ME: Maybe this will help.
Part 1 (Power Rangers writers meeting):
We gotta think of a new monster. Think think think think. Chair Monster! No, Table Monster!
Part2: What about Fish Aquarium Monster? No. Not believable. Think, everybody! Think like the wind! Ooh, ooh, (looks at bottom of aquarium)
Part 3: (looks AT bottom oF aquarium) ROCK MONSTER! Everybody: Rock Monster is the best idea ever! Let's go to Chucky Cheese to celebrate! Yay!
P: Clap clap clap! Encore
ME: Thank you! Gotta go whack a mole now!
And then they write down everything they see there and pull it out at the next meeting. Because they're fantastic writers!
ME: I believe Girl Mannequin Child should hang a tire swing from the Rainbow-Art-Treenado.
P: Ok. Ho
ME: What did you call me?
P: Stupid phone. *how?
ME: What's a "how"?
P: How would she hang a tire swing from a treenado
ME: With a rope!
P: But treenado!
ME: 1st She has to use the rope as a lasso, 2nd as a ladder, 3rd as a swing attacher mechanism.
(fb message: Isn't that SKEERY?)
P: Whats scary?
ME: Another pic.
In the crust.
P: I know but what on the pic? It's pizza
ME: The last treenado pic looks like a palm tree on fire erupting from a volcano?
It could be a volcado. Hard to tell.
Or an island that ship wrecked people just decide to drown rather than go there.
P: Volcado definitley
ME: It has geiser features, too. But I don't think that's how it's spelled.
I believe I may be in some kind of coma. And the only way out?
Yep. Right through the volcado.
ME: Except I can't swim in lava
P: Lava girl can. From "Shark Boy and Lava Girk" Best. Movie. Ever
ME: Do I freaking LOOK like Mannequin Lava Girl?
DO I??! DO I?? Seriously, do I? I didn't see the movie.
P: It'd be awesome if u were.
It was awesome to me like 8 years ago. It's probably a really sucky movie
ME: I'm so awesome that Treenado wants to go as Torachael for Hallowe'en.
Aren't you sleepy yet?
P: It's got taylor lautner in it. Being awesome and whatnot
No not really. Well, somewhat but i still can't sleep
ME: I'm gonna make a rock monster out of potatoes.
Also, a small potato tree
Is he Lava Girl?
P: That would be a potato monster
No he's sharkboy. Duh! I think George Lopez is the bad guy
ME: Well, no, because it's a COSTUME.
ME: If you're getting same text more than once, it's just C-Spire polluting.
P: I know
ME: My potatoes are going as Rock Monster.
I just don't think Cat or Dog could carry the weight.
Maybe they could go as the garden. No, that's lame
P: Cat might.
He's getting really big
ME: Cat would train the potatoes to be evil and then he could take over the worlds!
P: I think the potatoes would just rebel
ME: Help me make a fin for the Carnado?.
P: U need to rewatch the landshark video
ME: I think when potatoes rebel, they become aug rotten.
Too loud for now. want the link to the only video about dead dogs that made me roffle?
Anyways, to give you an idea of how big a rock is, here's a picture of a rock next to a slightly smaller rock. *(no picture)*
(*That very last bit was inspired by a zfrank1 YouTube video, True Facts about the Aye-Aye.
Sometimes I just can't help myself.)
Saturday, July 27, 2013
I don't know if I should bring the baby tiger tooth back and demand that my food be replaced, or list it on Ebay or Craig's List!
Anybody know how much tiger teeth go for these days??
For Sale: One beautiful baby tiger tooth, good condition (baby tiger not included).
Would look lovely on a necklace for that special Someone (male and/or female)!
Alternatively, it could be ground into powder for aphrodisiac purposes.
Serious inquiries only, please.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
I was just looking for a specific pant. Thanks to Six Degrees of China, I got so much more.
These are real, cut & pasted item descriptions, exactly as found today. (and that's ME talking in the parentheses)
Retro Single-Breasted High Waist Narrow Feet Pants Denim Women's
(You probably think this is a one-strap overall. You're wrong. It's jeans.)
Stylish Flower Decorated Broken Hole Hot Pants Women's Denim Shorts
(Excuse me, miss, do you have anything that will make these darn broken holes look stylish?)
Double-Breasted High Waist Jeans Women's Pencil Pants
(Finally! A pant that will accommodate even the most extremely sagging bosoms!)
(Just when I thought the fun was over, BAM!)
Casual Slimming Fit Flanging Ripped Women's Skinny Jeans
(Damn, girl. Them jeans are FLANGin'!)
(This is NOT a link to naked pictures!)
(I told you it wasn't!)
Korean style white jeans female beggar pants trousers slim style hole points
(There are about a hundred pictures of a skinny girl wearing these pants. I hope proceeds go for homeless relief, and maybe a sandwich for that poor girl.)
Interesting Electronic Remote Control Mouse Toy for Trick/Playing with Cat (Brown)
(Sure, brown cats like it. But is it interesting enough for my much smarter yellow cat?)
Lovely Robotic Hungry Eating Dog Coin Piggy Bank
(Is it a lovely, hungry, bank shaped like a pig that eats dogcoins? Whatever the actual product turns out to be, there's at least one good, free bonus, Haiku in it.)
Silicone Pumping Toilet Stand Holder for Mobile Phone/MP4/iPhone 5/4S/4 - Green
(Looks like a standard bathroom plunger to me. Use it to hold your phone while you use the bathroom, and leave it handy, to make yuck go down when it don't want to.)
Me: Didn't buy a thing. Still the most satisfying online shopping experience EVER.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
(in the minivan a few nights ago)
Daughter #1 (age 17): What are Quakers?
#1: I took an online test about which religion best suits me.
ME (following momentary confusion involving Pilgrims, the Amish, Luddites, and Mennonites; explanation provided entirely with information gleaned from watching Six Feet Under): Mostly, I think they just gather to think good thoughts and sing songs such as C'mon, people, now, smile on your brother. Peace, meditation and, basically, yoga class, but with fewer yoga pants. Except that would be naked yoga class, and that might NOT be such a great thing. Forget about the yoga!
Daughter #2 (age 15, my clone-child): I took that test, too.
ME: JEEsus, Ponytail! You couldn't make a stop at Wicca?! Or even Christian Science! HOW do you go straight to Satanism? You're a freaking VEGETARIAN, for godsake! Whut the HELL?!
WANTED: Violence-free, vegetarian religion that embraces the zombie/vampire/Hogwarts cultures. No mandatory services, outfits, chanting, costumes, or tithing. And we still get to celebrate any and every holiday or occasion that we feel like, even the ones we totally made up.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Monday, July 8, 2013
Whut's Wrong With Me?
Severe, persistent, night time insomnia.
What I do to fix it- try to sleep at night. End up sleeping after the sun comes up, due to sheer exhaustion.
What I did when I found myself feeling sleepy at a "normal" time tonight- texted MOTL*, asking him if he wanted to practice kissing.
What's happening now- it's 2am, and MOTL is snoring like a light bulb next to me, while I watch the same movie for the eightieth time and play solitaire on my laptop, wondering how I got to be so stupid and/or inefficient to even accomplish SLEEPING.
*for those just joining us, MOTL= My One True Love.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
I occasionally receive texts from C Spire, encouraging me to earn points, check out new apps, music, ringtones, phones, plans... My least favorite is the tempting me with "insurance." Their "insurance" is worthless. Knowing these messages are mass-sent, not personalized or monitored, I feel free to ventext about just how much I hate C Spire, using alI the best bad words I know. *[DON'T JUDGE ME!]* Considering the amount of money this company has already taken me (a PREMIER level customer, no less!) for, my ventext therapy has been paid for many times over.
I was watching YouTube videos, waiting for a headache to STOP ALREADY, when I received an atypical text from my cell phone carrier. Unfortunately, I was in no mood to rant. But I can't NOT reply now, because it's traditional, so I replied with the first thing that popped into my head, prolly because of the dysfunctional relationship I enjoy with C Spire, and went back to watching videos until I met Derrick B. The actual texts are pasted below, with commentary by Me, in my head.
C Spire: Due to your high data usage, you should switch to Wi-Fi when available until 07/04/2013 to avoid reduced data speeds. Thank you for choosing C Spire.
Me: Stockholm Syndrome
C Spire: Thanks for using TextCS: the convenient way to receive personalized answers to your service questions. One of our crew members will respond shortly!
Me (in my head!): Sure you will. Silly C Spire, with your silly tricks!
(C Spire) Derrick B: Thank you for contacting Cspire Wireless. This is Derrick, How may I assist you?
Sent via Personalized Wireless
Me (in my head!): WHUT's happening?? I have no idea what you're talking about, Derrick.
(C Spire) Derrick B: I have noticed that you have not responded in awhile Please let me know if you still need assistance.
Sent via Personalized Wireless
Me (in my head!): FIVE MINUTES = awhile?? It took you over an hour to get back to me... What if Derrick is a pretty nice guy that I'm projecting my feelings about his employer onto? I'm glad I didn't go with my usual responses! Wonder if I owe him an apology... It's possible he never saw my text in the first place. There's a list of phone numbers that is generated when that number is texted, and then Derrick texts back in the order in which he feels like it.
(C Spire) Derrick B: ?If you need further assistance, please text us back. Thank you for being a valued C Spire Wireless customer. Please never text and drive.?
Me (in my head!): Why did he say that? Does Derrick think I text and drive?! You don't KNOW ME, Derrick! Also, that's Derrick's question mark, not mine. I can't tell if he's asking me if I'm texting and driving right now, or a request to make a pledge with him now, via text, to never do so.? He prolly DID see that Stockholm comment, and he's trying to get me riled up. You're just messing with me now, huh, DERRICK? If that even IS your real name!
(C Spire) Derrick B: Text CS is a part of the suite of services/features CSpire offers to create a truly unique and personalized wireless experience.
Me (in my head!): Yeah, if by UNIQUE, you mean erratically unpredictable and undependable. Another thing, Derrick and C Spire, what's up with the textmarketing after 9 pm? I believe that's in direct violation of several rules. You'll be hearing from my lawyer, Derrick! Because she's single. (And you might be cute.)
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Have you thought about embracing the trend of rattling your Snake? Today's young snakes are totally into getting safety pin piercings. Then, you, as the Boss of Snake, just attach whatever you want. You can use Snake's attire to coordinate your home's decor (or your jammies!), or you can decorate it for holidays. In your case, you can make it rattle for your convenience!
If you choose to place multiple piercings, you and your snake can wear matching ensembles (see My Snake and Me catalog), and enter contests. It is best to continue using low-temp hot glue guns to attach their hats and wigs.
Once you've committed to this alternative lifestyle, the most important thing to remember is to protect your well-dressed Snake. Other, less-fortunate, snakes will be envious, and may attempt to mug your beloved Snake in order to steal its fashions.
Do not allow Snake to wander alone in the ghetto at night. Teach Snake not to boast about all the additional wardrobe treasures kept at home. Such behavior is known to push more delinquent snakes over to the darker side, and they are likely to be unable to resist temptation.
While I am sure that gangs of un-armed, non-poisonous snakes are far from the top of the lists of most dangerous home invaders , I am equally sure that they are WAY up there on the list of SCARIEST THINGS IN THE ENTIRE WORLD! Little Known Fact: most suicides by cyanide tablet can be directly attributed to this very occurrence.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Poor Little Paula
For everyone who is not ashamed to openly demonstrate support for Paula Dean during her "trying times"
First, Paula has more supporters than you or I EVER dreamed of having. She does not need either of us.
Now, please show us that you also support people who do need it. I'm sure it's there, just not as obvious. If you wouldn't mind, please point it out for us.
Although I treasure all of our rights to free expression, we must also respect the right to the expression of dissent. I am unable to understand the (what I consider to be) misguided support of people who DO NOT NEED US. Because they don't need us!
The realization that so many people openly prioritize this way makes my stomach churn. I wonder if it's just another bad dream, and I feel like throwing up, as I watch and mourn the tangible disappearance of humanity from the human race. I feel we need to apologize to each other, and to God, but I know that even this falls short.
How did we become a society that pledges allegiance to celebrities instead of reaching out to help a few of the legions of the Ignored that God deliberately places in our paths...
Contrary to the way it must look, I don't enjoy being the bad guy. I don't want explanations, and I'm unmoved by excuses. For now, I have watched and read all I need to about Paula.
Because this isn't about Paula; it's about the rest of us, how we don't know how to think, or even feel, for ourselves anymore. We sign up with the celebrity golden idol "underdog" of the moment, letting pack mentality rule us, rather than daring to stand up alone for something, anything at all, that really, really matters.
May God have mercy on us all.
If I were God, I wouldn't...
Thursday, June 27, 2013
We always wondered what would be the straw that broke the Reluctantly Acceptant Camel's back, and it's Terminology. Words. Definitions. Language is how we interact and assign meaning and purpose to our lives. This came as a bit of surprise to us, especially considering the amount of enjoyment we derive from using "words" like acceptant, which is as a fine dark chocolate on our tongues, but may not be an actual word, and is likely responsible for causing others to enjoy no small amount of supreme annoyance when they encounter it... But, this really isn't about us.
Truth versus real-time fiction crafted out of false claims, wishful thinking, and an irrational sense of equality, importance, and entitlement.
Alas, we have grown weary of the couple of generations of (if you go by age) adults who expect the rest of us to blithely pretend alongside them as they play their grown-up version of HOUSE.
We don't care how long you've been "together" or how many babies you have or haven't unleashed on the world. If you're not MARRIED, your Baby Daddy's parents are not your FUCKING inlaws.
Wait. That's exactly what they ARE! They're your "FUCKING" inlaws.
Congratulations. On FUCKING. You must be good.
We can't begin to fathom how proud those fucking inlaws must be, simply knowing their adult child figured out how to have sex. Maybe y'all can "do it" on America's Got Talent. Or try out for So You Think Can Fuck or Fucking With the Stars.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
My Promise to You: I Will Always Be With You
I know there have been times when you felt isolated,
forsaken, and alone.
I know you've been hurt,
And don't trust easily.
Even when you didn't see me,
I was always there with you.
Look carefully at this picture.
That's you, alone,
walking on the beach.
Even when you didn't see me,
I was always there with you.
Look at this one.
There you are,
over your shoulder
at a single set of footprints.
Even when you didn't see me,
I was always there with you.
There you are,
Sitting at water's edge,
Your face in your hands,
Tears mixing with ocean.
Even when you didn't see me,
I was always there with you.
See the doubt and discouragement
plain on your face.
Even when you didn't see me,
I was always there with you.
I witnessed every trouble,
Even when you didn't see me,
I was always there with you.
When you almost gave up,
When you stood resolute.
Even when you didn't see me,
I was always there with you.
When you stayed awake all night,
Too sad or scared to close your eyes.
Even when you didn't see me,
I was always there with you.
My dear, dear Friend,
I PROMISE I was there.
And I can prove it.
Who'd you THINK took all these pictures?!
Friday, June 14, 2013
As the prices of just about EVERYTHING seem to be rising rapidly, more and more people are turning to home gardening to save money. If our bottled water and cigarette crops do well, we might even be able to afford to buy vegetables later this year!
This cake left me feeling lost and confused. And I have always considered myself pretty good at Cake.
I recognized Ewan MacGregor right off. I can't figure out why the Gremlin is holding a weapon.
The extra Darth Vader (or maybe it's Batman?), is he trying to HELP the fallen Battle Droid by adjusting his neck, something he learned as a chiropractor's apprentice, or snap his neck?
There are 3 3CPOs? Or, are those R2D2s? I can tell them apart- I just forget which one is the round, flashy, spinny robot, and which is the Android Bot who walks on two legs like people.
Where is Princess Leah? Oh, yeah, witness protection because of all the bad guys! Probably wearing a princess Leah, giant head COSTUME, and working the Star Wars on Ice circuit.
I will eventually need protection FROM the witness protection program because I am so good at figuring out who's all in the program, and where they're hiding and working under their new identities.
There's an R2D2 in the back left that seems to be representing hard for Heinz Ketchup.
And there's one battle Droid in a Tony the Tiger costume.
Cake has never left me feeling so empty inside...
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Monday, June 10, 2013
It's better to draw a mediocre picture of a candle yourownself than to curse because you don't have a picture of a candle.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
The Terrible Thing That Happened Early This Morning A.K.A. Why I Screamed and jumped out of bed and Ran out of the house, nearly suffering a completely unnecessary fatal heart attack, AND also I reveal WHOSE fault it was.
Where I was: on my own bed.
Who was there: just me
When it was: Saturday, before sunrise
What I was doing: trying to distract myself from a long day of relentless, excruciating pain by watching a Dexter mini-marathon, desperately hoping pain would go away so I could celebrate with my friends Saturday, using laptop to work on birthday card, and waiting for MOTL to get home from gig.
What happened: MOTL got home, took shower and returned. My position and activity were unchanged.
What happened next: MOTL started to crawl onto bed from the foot, suddenly recoiled, looking at a spot behind me and yelled OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT!
What I did: screamed, jumped straight up and out of the bed, heading towards door.
What happened to my laptop, cords, cell phone: I don't know where they landed.
What it was: (apparently, because I did not stick around for the extermination process) a giant millipede.
What it COULD have been: snakes, spiders, scorpions, just about anything at all, except I knew it couldn't be a zombie, unless Flat Stanley is Zombie Flat Stanley now.
How long I hyper-ventilated: it's not exactly the kind of thing you take the trouble to time.
If I wanted to relocate immediately: YES
Why I freaked out again once I had almost calmed down: There will ALWAYS be another [insert undesirable object of your choice].
When I was finally able to go to sleep: Sometime after 7am.
***What I missed out on because of illness [can't blame the millipede. Don't get me wrong, a lot of things were his fault, but not this]: spending my friend's birthday with her***
(Later that Same Day)
Where I was: Exactly the Same Spot on my bed.
Doing: Almost exactly the same thing, sitting up on bed, writing.
Entering the room to scare the shit out of me this time- NOBODY.
What happened anyway: I looked to my left and saw a BIG spider about 6 inches away from me, being very still and dangerous, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.
What I did: moved slowly to my right, keeping spider in my line of vision. Assessed weaponry at hand. Remote controls, cell, paper towels. Chose paper towels because of the disposable factor. Spider got away.
Plan to change to all white bedding and clothing, sleep in shifts, wonder if it's possible to sleep in a skin diving outfit, especially since I'm so hot-natured. Decide to sleep in shifts.
Hope MOTL naps on his commute home so he can grab the first AWAKE shift. Will text him.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Friday, May 31, 2013
You turned my wailing into Dancing; and clothed me with Joy. O Lord my God, I will give Thanks unto thee Forever.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Is it Liar's Day again ALREADY?! (Checks calendar on Smartalec Phone.)
Yep, it's that one cuh-razy day out of the year when everybody pretends their mothers fart rainbows and shit skittles.
I bet you're glad you bought that Official Arson Kit during the pre-Mother's Day Sale Extravaganza. That investment will pay for itself today, and you should consider carrying it around full-time. I am NOT planning to MAKE arson, Silly! Stop dialing 911 RIGHT NOW, or I will take away your cell phone AND give you something to call 911 ABOUT!
Calm down. The fire extinguisher makes it easier to put out the spontaneous pants fires that will be erupting near you all day long. And perhaps ON you.
*The Semi-Mythical History of the Conspiracy to Invent and Commit Mother's Day Upon the American People*
As the popular story goes, William H. Hallmark Jr. is credited with creating a holiday he called Mother's Day as a way to increase sales at his floundering gift shop. This is partially true, but it was in fact William's MOTHER who suggested it as a way to unload some of the thousands of greeting cards made for her by the obsessive compulsive William Jr. over the years. Fingers crossed behind her back (for luck and to cover the teensy untruth), she convinced the original Mama's Boy that she hated to part with the cards, but they might be just the thing to jump-start his business, and it would be a VERY GOOD thing if he could start making enough money to support himself and finally move OUT of her house. The apron strings were pretty darned stretched and frayed by this time, but she figured they were still strong enough to strangle him, if the urge became uncontrollable.
In preparation for the eventual freedom of Empty Nestdom, she told him the following simple bedtime story every single night, from the day he was born until the day he moved out.
Baby birds gotta eat.
Mama birds gotta feed.
Baby birds gotta learn.
Mama birds gotta teach.
Baby birds gotta fly,
Sooner than later,
Or they'll just go SPLAT
when Mama birds push'em out!
*THE END of the bedtime story and the history lesson, but not the end of the blog post*
If your mother is alive, there's a 95+% chance that you will tell her today, in writing, that she was and is the very BEST Mother in the Whole World. If you have children of your own, chances are high that you will be on the receiving end of the same sentiment today, assuming they are old enough to understand how white lies work.
Since it's literally impossible for us ALL to be the best, let's agree that most of us are at least trying, and many of us are doing the best we can with the information and tools we possess.
If you're old enough to be reading this, and YOU suck, it's on you, Pal. Stop blaming your Mama! If you're old enough to JUDGE her, you're old enough to accept responsibility for your own behavior and level of suckiness. I call this the Age of Accountability (or the Age of Accounting, depending on whether you turned out to be a CPA or just a regular old SOB like the rest of us).
It's been scientifically proven that even babies can be AHs, if their AH trait is strong enough. So, if you are one, you'd be one no matter what. Your Mama could've hired Mary freaking Poppins, and you'd still suck.
So take time today to think about how much of an AH you've been your whole life. Think about all those nights your poor old Mama KNEW you'd always be an AH, and could've smothered you in your sleep, but she DIDN'T, did she? No. Because she loved you anyway, Jerk Face! AND because smothering children (even if they were total AHs) was illegal in most states, even back then.
Send her a thoughtful card with a very large, and even more thoughtful, Gift Card enclosed. Apologize for being such an AH for forty odd (VERY odd-WHAT is wrong with you?) years. Pretend you don't remember the worst parts of your childhood. Those are to be saved and identified as fictitious in the books and screenplays you will eventually write, and in whose dedications you will probably (truthfully) acknowledge your own Dear Mama for being your Inspiration. Don't forget to thank her for all the times she didn't smother you in your sleep when she had the chance.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Disclaimer: Dave Barry is NOT my Daddy! But his weekly newspaper column never failed to make me laugh out loud. Laughing out loud was what we had to do before lol-ing was enforced. He taught me that maybe being different and silly could be socially acceptable, and (dare Dave and me say?) fun and entertaining (to me and him, and a handful of other people)!
I spent some time (my entire childhood, in fact), trying to grow up in the extremely rural, waaaaay down Soufth-est (Redneck Ghetto) part of our great country.
In those days, Dave Barry was like a father to me. An absentee father, but a father just the same.
There were certain constants that defined that era of pretend innocence. We were not entirely without luxury, understand, but our one "luxury" was that we always maintained local home delivery of the daily local newspaper.
I use the term "home delivery" lightly. Not because of the word HOME, mind you. It's an undeniable truth that no building daring to house NINE blood-related human beings at one time can run or hide from being called a home.
This was not a city street, subdivision, trailer park, or anything else that might be mistaken for a "neighborhood" such as might sustain the kind of paper routes imagined and portrayed in the many books we would read, but not yet see on television, which, despite having been invented for quite some time, was given and taken away, for religious reasons that escape me now. "Home" was a small, yet crowded, structure, situated smack dab in the middle of fifteen acres of prime Mississippi Pine.
Back to topic, which was, I believe, Luxury.
Let's just agree that there weren't any kids on bicycles slinging papers at porches where WE lived.
Instead, these jobs went to adults, independently contracted newspaper deliverypersons who drove their privately owned, maintained, and insured vehicles to the newspaper factory in the dark, wee hours each morning to obtain their product, which they would then deliver to each of their paid-up customers, usually by the time the sun got all the way up. I'm sorry, but I don't have any further details on what-all else went on in the mysterious, syndicatish world of the newspaper industry in the 1980's.
Delivery is, of course, the word in question. Either our succession of newspaper guys through the years considered the risk of damage to their vehicles too great to consider our satisfaction, or maybe they were too drunk to navigate without the guidance of the mandatory, brightly reflective, painted borders that even the most pitiful paved roads had.
At any rate, unless it was time to demand payment, they all chose NOT to drive down the one-tenth of a mile of carefully maintained (hahaha! I couldn't even TYPE that with a straight face!) driveway composed primarily of indigenous red clay dirt, plus seemingly random, and constantly changing, combinations and amounts of "other."
"Other" included dirt and sand of every natural color, assorted rocks, oyster shells, something called gravel, and bits of our own blood and skin. Gravel was that stuff put down to cushion your falls when you crashed your bicycle. Gravel was the externally scarring shrapnel of childhood. Not even the threat of possible death due to "blood poisoning" made the pain and suffering of cleaning scrapes filled with gravel out of your legs and arms seem worthwhile. We had plenty of that iodine stuff, but our parents were either too poor or too sadistic to buy any of the numbing stuff we'd heard about on the streets (meaning: from library books).
If I had to guess, I'd say most of our net worth was tied up in that driveway. When in need of some fast cash, we would sift through the driveway like stereotypical gold prospectors of another time. A pretty or unusual rock or shell, or even a colorful piece of a broken bottle could get you a quick dime or a quarter, once cleaned and displayed attractively. Daddy was usually good for a little change, and you never knew when Papaw and Mamaw might stop by, either.
Our driveway was bordered by two ditches, non-ironically called The Big Ditch and The Little Ditch. While The Little Ditch spent its time being small and unremarkable, with significant rain, The Big Ditch became our one other luxury: a wading or semi-fishing hole.
Hordes of tadpoles swam around in The Big Ditch like the sperms we would eventually see on educational videos at rural public school. Watching tadpoles never got boring, though. Once you know about tadpoles, it takes a whole lot more than a bunch of nameless, untalented sperms on a screen to impress you.
The superiority of tadpoles was obvious even then. Tadpoles aren't IN a cutthroat race against time and each other to reach some mysterious holy ovum grail and then "fertilize" it!
If they were celebrities, Tadpoles would be Bono and Sperms would be New Kids on the Block, or Wile E. Coyote.
Chapter Two: The Beginning of our collective Blue Period
One year it was so hot in the waaaaay down Soufth that even tears would evaporate before they could reach the ground.
When Mister Sun dried up all the water in The Big Ditch before the tadpoles finished turning all the way into frogs, we were upset and tried desperately to save them. We formed kind of a makeshift Bucket Brigade, filling all the milk jugs, pots, and bowls we could, hauling little red wagons back and forth, hell-bent on saving as many tiny lives as we possibly could.
Sadly, the "foundation" and building materials of The Big Ditch turned out to be just plain regular dirt, and the dry earth quickly absorbed all that water, and THAT's what broke our hearts.
I'm gonna go cry now. Survivors of the Failed Frog Saving Brigade will meet first Friday of each month at my house as usual. See y'all then.
Remember to bring a covered dish, enough Kleenex for yourself, and plenty of hugs and encouragement.I'll have the ice and drinks. We CAN get through this, but not without each other...
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
(sing the title for a more enjoyable experience) I Believe in Miracles- Where ya From, You Sexy Thang?
I finally bought a cheap full-length mirror last week. It's been a while since I was forced to take the full inventory, y'know?
It was labeled DOOR MIRROR, but it didn't come with any way to hang it or anything, so I propped it in the most convenient corner in the bathroom.
And that's when I started to believe in miracles again, because in that mirror, at that angle, I look freaking fantastic! I know it's an illusion, but I don't care. As long as I stand in front of it, I am thinner, taller, and leggier then I've ever been in my life!
I look so good in this mirror that I force others to come to my bathroom so they can see how good I look, too. I'm tempted to have photo sessions in there, and wonder if I should paint the room first.
This mirror makes me look so good that Underwear Model seems like a reasonable career option. It's done more for my self-esteem in a few days than any self-help book ever did.
Unless you are already completely satisfied with your body's proportions, I highly recommend you rush out immediately and purchase the cheapest door mirror at Target like I did. Don't run with it, though. For safety, you should treat all forms of glass like scissors. Except, don't try to use shards of it for arts and crafts or sewing. That would be both just plain stoopid, and financially irresponsible. Unless you land the modeling contract first, you can't afford the Bandaids and Bactine that you'd need. Scissors are TWO DOLLARS. If you don't have any, I recommend you get scissors before buying a mirror, thus removing the temptation to cut your own bangs with mirror shards.
Anyways, don't be surprised if you see some very attractive pictures of me in my new mirror soon!
P.S. THIS is the only disclaimer. The photos will not contain separate disclaimers. If you miss it, it's on you.
Friday, April 26, 2013
In an unexpected turn of events, the President and CEO of the Duck Tape corporation held an impromptu Skype press conference today expressly to deny accusations of conspiracy and involvement with the currently trending recommendation on social media sites to use one of its products for "GREEN" Pest Control.
According to the company, the "non-advertisements" that have flooded social media sites did NOT originate from within Duck Tape's own secretive boardroom meetings as a last ditch effort to influence and boost rapidly falling sales and stock prices.
Despite the vehement denials of involvement, Duck Tape spokespersons admit that the off-label use of its product is easy, economical, and completely eliminates the unpleasant noise made by squishing certain "crunchy" pests, usually millipedes.
They also reminded consumers that Duck Tape is now available in more than fifty colors, any of which can be used as part of one's "green" pest control purposes.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
I Believe I Have a Constitutional Right to NOT Like Fish, and NOT Get Hassled About It. (But I've been wrong before)
I don't understand fish. I don't like fish. I don't want to see them, touch them, learn about them, eat them, or (ever since that fatal field trip) DREAM about them! They are only a little below the rank of Birds, which fall just below the rank of Spiders and Other Bugs, with Snakes still #1, because there's nothing I know that's worth the price of spending time with snakes. Snakes are the twisty bastard children of Medusa and Satan and I prefer not to associate with anybody or anything that much more evil than myself, ThankYouVeryMuch.
I recently discovered that I reallllly don't like giant aquariums with real live people dressed exactly like those little plastic scuba guys that everybody used to have in their aquariums, next to the "treasure" chest, at their houses when I was growing up.
At the aquarium on the field trip, I was captivated by the Scuba guys with the Data (from Star Trek The Next Generation) skin tone, assuming they were fun, GIANT versions of the plastic home fake ones, and then I felt scared and confused when they turned out to be real people. And they were very close. And could probably SEE me through the thick glass, staring at them. And I'm pretty sure they were all serial killers, too, because who the FUCK else would put such an ugly costume on and flap around in front of other people's children, shoving fish into OTHER fish's mouths for a living? Thanks for the nightmares, New Orleans!
FUCK fish. Good night.
***in this random free online pic, can't you just HEAR him singing that Call me, maybe song?
But, he's saying stuff like: Call me, so I can make a REAL skin suit! That last chick was waaay too skinny and I don't wanna be the only one at the party in an open-back suit, so call me, okay?
Don't Judge Me! A.K.A. Why I Take My Cell Phone With Me Everywhere, Even When I'm in the Bath (your reasons and results may differ)
Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!
Everybody remembers this from back in the day, even if you weren't born yet, because of all the kidding about it that still goes on. When Life Alert emergency telephone systems first came about, they were wired in to these things called Phone Jacks that had to be installed by a human TELEPHONE company guy, and had nothing whatsoever to do with call girls or cell phone cloning.
These systems promised safety AND independence to the elderly, and reassured their families with the knowledge that 24 hour emergency help was now just a push button away.
My Grandma was the first person I knew who had one. There was a pendant one, which she took to bed (and was SUPPOSED to wear all the time), and the main one connected to the land line (which, by the way, was just called a phone back then). Speaker phones, answering machines, and touch tone phones were just becoming popular, and only rich people could afford high tech cordless units that were about the size of my arm from elbow to wrist, with an antenna twice as long as the rest of it. Those cordless phones were super cool and you could take them all around the house and even outside! But not if you needed to actually make a call. The signal range didn't reach far in those days. Basically, you had to be just as close to the main wall jack thing as if you were using the mustard yellow wall phone.
Recovering memory: In those days, you had to RENT your phone from the phone company! I think it was kind of a rent-to-own scheme. Those were the good old days of utility company monopolies. Also, whole families used to sit around and play Monopoly a lot, so they wouldn't have to go shoot something to make for dinner. They would sometimes all pretend to NOT be hungry for days on end, for much the same reasons.
Once The Future happened, I believed NO ONE who blamed losing their phone to water damage (via toilet) on a toddler or other pet! I just didn't understand their compulsion to have the phone at all times. Were they carrying on conversations while using the bathroom? What in the world is so important that it can't wait until AFTER you poo?? Are you expecting the current President of the United States to call you for urgent advice? Are you afraid you'll miss that call from the radio show contest you entered? Waiting to hear back about that job you applied for? Unannounced parole officer call? Do you feel toilet time is wasted (no pun intended) unless you're doing at least one other thing and you've already read every book and magazine in your house? Are you so embarrassed by your Angry Birds addiction that you only play it when you're locked in the privacy of your bathroom? If so, is your family beginning to wonder that you may have an actual gastrointestinal disease that you should see a doctor about? Do your farts sometimes smell like fresh fruit, even though you didn't eat any fruit? (Sorry. I just threw that last one in to see if you were still reading!) (No, I DON'T know what your fruity farts say about your health or diet.)
I have an unofficial list of the various most likely ways I will die embarrassingly. One is being electrocuted in the bath because I'm a fan of the really, really, really, realllllly long, hot bath. (True Story: I was once late for something that had been planned way in advance because I took a FOUR HOUR BATH. 4 Hours.) But I don't have a rubber duckie or plastic boats or bath crayons, so I bring books and magazines to read.
I BRING them. But I mostly use them to set my phone, tablet, and laptop on, and also to help keep all the chargers and extension cords organized. I check facebook and my email (Gotta move those pizza ads onto my email folder labeled PIZZA, really.), and I write (because that's what writers do) stuff.
But, the whole time I'm doing all this, I worry. I wonder things like: If I drop my phone in the bath while it's plugged in, would what I assume are emergency safety switches on my extension cords protect me at all, or would I fry instantly? If I drop my phone into the tub, but it's not plugged in, would that be dangerous? What if the end of one of my extension cords falls into the tub, and it's still plugged into the OUTLET, but it's not being utilized by my electronics collection? Fry?
Back to toilet. Tub was a bit of a detour from my original topic, which was Safety.
So, my cell phone is basically my modern Life Alert System. It's doubtful I will suddenly break a hip and have to call an ambulance. But what if I'm in there and I hear a burglar breaking in the house and I need to call 911? These are unlikely scenarios, but not entirely out of the realm of possibility. The only time I ACTUALLY needed (and used) my phone in the bathroom for was to text somebody in the house because there was NO toilet paper in there. None!
And, if you ask me, that's the day the cell phones paid for themselves!
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Hello, Cop. Did you pull me over just to make a new Friend? If so, THAT'S the reason I was speeding!
There's just no way around it- I WILL one day get tazed and/or arrested.
Last time I got pulled over, it was already dark, but I had spotted the cop car waaaaay in advance, "hiding" in plain sight on the side of the road, so I was obviously going the speed limit on my way to work (like I always do anyway, wink-wink), and he got on the road behind me and put his lights all on! For the first time ever, I DIDN'T KNOW FULL WELL why I was being stopped.
He strolled up and asked me if I had been rear-ended? (What kind of question is that?) My answer: No, why? The Cop: You have a broken tail light. Me: I DO? The Cop: Did you back into something? My completely honest answer: Not TODAY...
Apparently the SIDE of one of my tail lights was cracked, the SIDE.
I told him I just woke up and got ready for work, and had no reason to perform a full vehicle inspection prior to getting in.
He invited me to get out and look with him, which, in retrospect, was weird itself, because they usually shout: STAY IN THE VEHICLE, and KEEP YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!
With intent to avoid an unnecessary ticket, tazing, arrest, or other altercation, and put an end to our bizarre interaction (without raising suspicion), I walked around with him and let him point at the right tail light.
We shared one special moment as I acknowledged that he sure was right! Just like he said, some of the light cover was clearly broken off. What a clever boy he was to notice!
I was being soooo uncharacteristically sweet that I would've been instantly lethal to any diabetic vampires that might have happened along.
Then the Cop said I could just put some red tape over it, like he was doing me some kind of favor. Like he thought maybe I was the kind of person who was really gonna go right out and spend money on a whole new car part. I already know about tape. It's been around for literally years, as have red markers. And junk yards. Also, had it been day, he would've noticed that the "broken" light was the most attractive feature on my minivan.
I thanked him (out loud) for drawing my attention to the non-problem, and for letting me in on the secret about the tape, and (not quite as out loud) for causing me to have to drive way over the speed limit the rest of the way to work so I wouldn't be late.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
The Miracle of the Panties *Written by: Anonymous, Whose Parents are Alive AND Literate, and Could Easily Find Their Way to This Site, if Someone Ever Tells Them About the Internets.
WARNING: This is not the GOOD kind of miracle.
I'm not a marksman with a gun or a bow and arrow, and I don't mean to brag, but I have a pretty fair handle on where my vagina is. (No, not LITERALLY, although one could probably purchase such an accessory if one chose to do so, which I do NOT.)
So, HOW is it possible for one's period to end up EVERYWHERE except on the PAD?
Pads are supposed to be technologically advanced now. I don't think they are even available without super-absorbency powers and "wings" for "all around" protection.
Y'all know that AS SEEN ON TV pad, the one you can put on the kitchen counter (with no panty back-up crew of any kind, not even a paper towel in sight), pour a half gallon of Windex on it, pick it up and hold it upside-down, and STILL no blue dye gets ANYWHERE but on the pad? No drips, no dribbles, no muss, no fuss. THAT'S what I want in a pad!
We can send a man to the moon (again, as soon as NASA raises enough money), but we can't send a woman, because it'd be a bitch and a half to rinse blood out of one of those space suits.
Hang on- Maybe it's because it's a Canadian company. Maybe vaginas work differently there.
Dear Canadian Feminine Hygiene Products Manufacturers:
With all due respect, American Vaginas shouldn't have to take classes in order to use your products.
P.S. Don't even bother sending us coupons or samples, unless you want a really strange and gross kind of Boston Tea Party Re-Enactment on your conscience, if you have one.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
The Morning Ponytail Broke Her Neck and Had To Stay Home From School. [A.K.A. The Chain of Events That Eventually Led to the CERVIX versus CERVICAL Spine Discussion]
As soon as I got this urgent text message, I knew Thursday was gonna be a great day.
Ponytail: I was lying in bed, turned my head, and my neck popped or something. Now i feel like i'm gonna throw up but i can't even sit up it hurts so much
I guess "retirement" doesn't apply at home. And Mommy can have a "sick" day only if nobody needs her. I struggled to my feet (through a severe exacerbation of my own back pain), and rushed to assess my child's injury.
My 15 year-old angel's door was locked. Of COURSE it was. This is the very same girl responsible for our former ALWAYS KNOCK, BUT DO NOT LOCK bathroom policy because she fell asleep in the bath TWO nights in a row when she was in kindergarten! (That was the most terrified I've ever been in my life, pounding on a door, knowing my child was in a tub full of water, and NOT responding to my yelling and banging, forcing me to consider whether it might be faster to try to physically break down the door, or look for a tool or key.)
And, now, at 15, she tearfully explained through her bedroom door that it hurt too bad to even TRY to get up to unlock it, so I yelled to ask Whodunit and Sweat Pants where the "key" was.
Answer: Lost. Of COURSE it was lost. Why do I bother asking questions? I was directed to the secret lock-picking kit (small sized bobby pin-who knew? Everybody but ME, apparently).
I picked that lock like a PRO! (PROUD!)
Note to Law Enforcement and/or Confidential Informants: That was the first and only time I have ever, and will ever attempt to pick a lock. Actually, it's none of your business, though, because I'm pretty sure it's legal to pick anything you want in the privacy of your own home. Although, we ARE renting, so we may be in a smudgy gray area that applies solely to our specific renter/landlord agreement, so why don't you just take a few steps back, get your exercise on (y'all DO look like you've been working out! Yum! *insert wolf whistle here!), and stroll down the street to see if the Boss Lady of the Neighborhood got her pool permits properly approved before starting her project and leave innocent people like me alone unless I'm on fire. K? Bye.
Ponytail's room is the hottest room in the house. Any house. I am uncontestedly the hottest person in the world (in the sense that, with the invention or discovery of just the right filters, in one day, I could provide the water supply for an entire small village for a whole week! Not even Mother Teresa could do that, and they made her a SAINT!). Although this could eventually be life-changing and world-saving, these elements have never combined well for me in Real Life.
Ponytail's bed is placed diagonally from the farthest corner, so the foot is nearest the door, and the location of the injury is the hardest place to navigate to in the room. I made it there and gave her a towel to help with tears and tear byproducts (non-offensive word meaning snot).
I assessed for confusion, circulation, sensation and equal movement, as I asked about event/s leading up to this. All my answers were satisfactory, so I assessed her next.
I assisted her to a more neutral, supine position and gently felt her neck.
I did some minor education about the importance of cervical spinal alignment, and gently helped her to sit up, assuring her that her neck was not actually, technically, broken.
Very, very gently, I massaged her neck and explained our treatment plan. She was able to stand and walk to the bathroom without difficulty as I prepared the sofa.
I sacrificed my new heating pad and lumbar pillow (because I didn't know where my special cervical pillow was), and set her up on one of the recliner ends on the sofa.
Set heating pad to lowest setting, which was kind of exciting, since I've never set one to LOW before, and wrapped it around the lumbar pillow and inside a pillow case.
After positioning the patient and providing OTC meds for pain and nausea, I texted the regimen details to her, as well as the details of when more meds could be taken. I returned to bed, realllllly missing my heating pad.
A neck crick can be very painful, but we didn't need to get any doctors involved, so this was a success! I already have the best back and neck books, so we were able to just hermit in for the rest of the day.
See, like I said at the beginning, great day!
Monday, April 8, 2013
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Each weekday, they all put on their state issued, horizontally green striped, pants, and walk out of the gates and into the small community to work, a mutually beneficial relationship to all.
Every Saturday, approved visitors may visit from noon to 3:30, UNLESS there are 5 Saturdays in a month, in which case they just don't get a visit that weekend.
Letters may be exchanged via the USPS, but they may only receive 2 packages a month, one for PERSONALS, and one for CRAFTS.
A routine was developed in order to facilitate the delivery of extra needed supplies and/or correspondence without having to learn how much postage stamps cost and without struggling to coordinate with the "official" monthly package, a chore that seems more suited to the personal assistant of a CEO of a large organization.
The routine seemed simple enough. Place package in empty, white plastic planter near the back door. Then, nest the matching planter inside, effectively shielding the package from Saturday afternoon until the inmate's return to work Monday morning.
Due in small part to an irrational, yet intense, fear of being wrongfully convicted, I arranged to be 90 miles away, with many eyewitnesses to support my alibi, during the initial "drop," all the while assuring the "droppers" that the whole thing is perfectly legal, but they might want to bring bail money, referred to as "cash for shopping, justincase!", because there are many, many bargains to be found, if you look carefully, but, under NO CIRCUMSTANCES are you to slow down, crack open a window, look directly at anyone, and DO NOT GET OUT OF YOUR CAR no matter what, while passing through the World's Smallest Ghetto. No problems or complications were reported to me, so I assumed it was an easy process.
Helpful hint to anyone planning anything more complicated than a Taco Bell run: Arrange to have a getaway driver! They get bad publicity, but they are infinitely more helpful during day to day operations than any heist you'll ever need to pull.
So, after weeks of carefully planning my own drop, Saturday morning found me feverishly scurrying around gathering some items (clothing, a book, a nice pants SUIT, in a separate garment bag, for goodness sakes!), packed tightly into a clear zippered bag (like the ones I save whenever I buy bed-in-a-bag sets).
Remember now that I have never seen the LARGE WHITE PLANTERS that I've been instructed to use. The planters outside at my former home were big and heavy, like with palm trees in them, definitely not anything that could blow away. These are similar to what I expected to find.
There were several pairs of JEANS in my bag.
The first thing I noticed when I cased the joint by driving slowly by were a few overturned, beigey looking, smallish plastic flower pots out back, by some weeds and other assorted junk.
The second thing I noticed was a ludicrous amount of police cars, scattered about randomly, as if you were about to play with all your Hot Wheels cars and dumped them on the floor, but then you got distracted because somebody else pulled out a humongous box of dress-up clothes, including tiaras and heels!
I parked behind a nearby building to get my nerves under control and to re-route my M.O. I considered preparing a plausible explanation for my actions for my eventual arrest, but I was blanking on that.
By that point, I believed everything except the building I was trying to near-filtrate was booby trapped, alarmed, and patrolled by armed, vicious K-9s. And possibly their officers.
In order to transfer some legally obtained, OTC meds to the drop bag, I had to pull out my giant bag of OTC and prescription meds and pour pills into different bottles, because an innate should only have pills in properly labeled bottles, right? Of course, I'm right.
However, not having planned for this, my OTC bottles were full and I couldn't spare all that Tylenol. So, I opened up all my empty and partially filled pill bottles and filled them to capacity with Tylenol, all the while suspecting I was being monitored closely by cameras, dogs, and cops.
I have decided completely against leaving the nice suit. It's started sprinkling already, and the "drop bag" will be outside for 2 nights.
I have also decided that I don't wanna join my sister in prison, even if it is the work release kind, so I drive away in what I hope is a casual, nonchalant manner, even though there's an abrupt dead end and I have to turn around because apparently they don't want you driving past their cops. Or their buildings.
I watch ALL my mirrors carefully to see if I'm being followed yet, and it doesn't look like it. I drive on and see a THRIFT STORE! Yay!
Perhaps I can purchase a non-clear, less permeable bag, whilst I wait out the cops. Surely, they already ran my plates and have decided I'm not a threat to a city/federal building.
I hide out a while at the thrift store. In fact, I stay until I hear the cashier turning customers away, saying they're closed now.
I pay for my things and transfer the clear bag into the giant, black, martial arts (cause I'm part Ninja, y'all! What part? The BEST PART!) nylon bag and return to the scene of my non-crime.
So I park my big blue mini van on the street, in plain sight next to what I can only describe as some kind of broken-off alley junk pile hole where the homeless might seek shelter if there weren't so many cops and questionable characters like me wandering about.
Needless to say, the flower pots were filthy, they wouldn't "nest" properly, and I hurriedly (nonchalantly, of course) re-arranged the contents of the alley, including moving their water hose caddy.
It's one of the ugliest alley holes I've visited and I may bring paint and a graffiti artist with me the next time to spruce it up. And maybe build a small shed. I don't think you can get arrested for community beautification projects.
I swear! ADHD and an irrational fear of wrongful arrest and imprisonment makes simple tasks so much more complicated than necessary.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Remember that catchy country song that goes: Here's a Quarter. Call Someone Who Cares.
If you DO, you're old like me, but that's okay!
I like to modernize the old stuff, though, throw a new spoon into the old juicebox ever now and then. Make the old not only NEW, but relevant to present times.
And so my reversionation of that song goes like this:
Here's a quarter. Do you want it? Because I have absolutely no use for ONE quarter. In 2013.
Monday, April 1, 2013
(This is a delayed posting of the Completely True Story of what happened very late Friday night.)
Not two hours ago, I was trapped in my bathroom with an angry killer bee, and no one, not even Pedro, would come to my aid. My pleas mixed with my tears, falling on the floor, creating more danger. I narrowly escaped death in the form of busting my head open on the floor.
Armed only with buns of steel (You shut up. It's not your story.)and cunning, I frantically cast about, searching for weaponry. WHY is my machete never right there when I need it? I don't know about you, but I have NEVER needed my machete in the garage, which is where it lives, apparently.
I don't know exactly how high these ceilings are, but I do know that I'm just over five feet, especially when barefoot. Killer bees instinctively know this.
Paper towel tubes don't add much to one's reach. I MUST protect my family, I thought out loud. I don't think he suspected that he had just met his equal and that an Epic Battle was about to ensue.
To finish him off, I must first faze or daze him. But, HOW?
I find the sole aerosol product available.
Killer likes the round light in the middle of the room.
So I stand precariously on my chair and aim my Athlete's Foot "Mace" at the killer bee, who chose to spend his last minutes walking around it. He didn't die quickly.
As the air became foggy with the spray, I realize my eyes are not benefiting from the exposure.
At that time, I realize that my plan is going slightly less accordingly with itself than planned. I nearly give up, deciding that all I am doing is treating the killer bee's athlete's feet.
But then I grab the paper towel cardboard again & knock his fazed and dazed ass to the floor, and finish the hit.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Your comment about the seersucker suitage made me realize what a remarkable, positive trend is currently sweeping our great nation.
Isn't it refreshing to see people of all faiths uniting by embracing that hit Mackelmore song?
Now, more than ever, we can drive away from church, temple, synagogue, tabernacle, teepee, or Shriner's gathering, blasting Thrift Shop on our stereos with the tops off and the windows down, and feel pious despite the cuss words (or "smudged over" PROBABLE cuss words, depending on if it's a radio station edit versus mp3 or CD) in the song itself.
Today, while exiting worship services ALL OVER, people who have never interacted with one other, in any way, are beginning to open up and "dialogue" because of this uplifting song!
It's a beautiful sight to behold, and to listen to (unless listen is included in the definition of the word behold- but I didn't bring my dictionary or Bible in the bath with me this time. Do you KNOW how long it takes to dry out books that size?? I wish I didn't.)
Scene 1 Two young people exit, and notice each other for the first time.
Person #1: Hey, isn't that my Grandpa's coat?
Person #2: Maybe. Which thrift store does your Grandma donate his clothes to when she gets sick of them?
Person #1: The Goodwill on Soufth Second Main Street Boulevard by the railroad tracks.
Person #2: You think you could ask her to let YOU know next time she's gonna donate, and then you can offer to take them FOR her, as a FAVOR (wink wink), and let me have a run at them first?
Person #1: That's an awesome idea! (A) It saves Grandma some hassle. (B) By bypassing the Goodwill, you get the stuff for even cheaper. (C) And I get a little pocket to buy Meth! I mean, to buy MORE BIBLES, not Meth! (Stoopid auto correct)
Scene 2 Exchange names and cell phone #s and both Person #1 and Person #2 will be in fantastic moods until they get home and find out their respective Grandpas ate ALL the Easter eggs AND cookies while everybody else was gone.
Scene #3 Grandpa's hearing aids and teeth mysteriously appear on Ebay.
Friday, March 22, 2013
WARNING: This post contains references to personal feminine health and hygiene, vaguely disguised offensive language, as well as possibly technical blasphemy.
WARNING: Reading this post may be hazardous to your opinions about me. However, I believe it all needed to be said.
I further decree that only people who can PROVE they NEVER watch movies or read books with "cuss" words be permitted to judge me!
My good friend, Ex-Smokey the Bear, proofread this post for me and advised me to advise the Judgment Crew to form an orderly, single file line in order to make it easier for the firefighters to put out all the pants ablaze before they can cause any permanent damage. To your butts, not the pants. As far as Ex-Smokey and I know, there's no saving polyester pants once they catch fire.
You should also bring some Bactine, be aware of the location of your nearest burn center, and be prepared to sleep standing up for a while.
WARNING: Yet another post where the WARNINGS are longer than the actual post. Maybe I should just stop with the warnings.
WARNING: THIS WARNING RIGHT HERE IS THE LAST WARNING I INTEND TO POST!
I'm on the air? Now? K.
Long time fan, first time caller.
I've been on hold a while, I'm driving, and my cell phone battery is jusssst about to die on me, so, if it's alright with you, I'll just make a quick statement, ask my question, and then hang up and listen to your answer on the radio.
Periods, God. What.the.(bleep). The only way out of them is 1. Pregnancy, 2. Dangerous medications, 3. Anorexia, 4. Surgery, or 5. Menopause?
Seriously? We live in an era where organ transplantation is not only possible, but successful more often than not, and yet, even though I'm not evil at all, I gotta cramp like I'm passing a mutha-fuhgotten KIDNEY STONE for three days before, and then wash blood stains outta clothes and sometimes sheets, every TWENTY-EIGHT DAYS?
I'll hang up and listen to your response now. I enjoy your show! Have a GREAT Spring Break and Easter!
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
I think pasting this into your browser will take you to the report I saw on fb.
There was a comment about PAYBACK, nothing hateful or vulgar, just people fed up with a particular church's very public expressions of hatred. My reply was (as usual) much too long to post on Facebook. But, y'know how some things just get under your skin and you just gotta TELL Somebody, even if it's your completely empty blog in the middle of the night, but you can't sleep until you have your say, however small it may be? Me, too!
*So, the following is my reply, for anyone who reads fast and/or has some time on their hands.*
It's not PAYBACK. It's humanity's peaceful response to Hate. One side of that street knows a "secret" that the other side doesn't know. You fight Ignorance with Education, Hate by demonstrating Love, and Intolerance with Beano! (Sorry, I couldn't help that!).
I myself suffer from an EXTREME case of Intolerance of individuals and groups that practice and teach Hatred. Somehow, it makes it so much worse that they think they are hiding behind God's robes.
Listen up, Haters: EVERYBODY sees you. You are parading about in your emperor's new clothes, and ALL your naughty bits (Hate, Sins, Lies, Bigotry, Evil thoughts,etc.) are on display for the rest of the Whole World to see.
If I may be so bold as to speak on behalf of the rest of the Whole World for a minute, we don't like you. We don't hate you, but we've had enough of your nonsense, and we want you to go on home now!
Stop by the store on your way home and lay in enough supplies for a few years, in other words, until you die or a cure is found for the contagious disease of hatred that you have spread like Typhoid Mary amongst your flock.
You're gonna need a generator (and a tanker full of diesel or gasoline, depending on what kind of generator you decide on) to power your underground bomb shelter. Bring all your weapons and ammo in, not just your guns.
Bring plenty of MREs, Vienna sausages, and dog food. And cookies, which you should hide from the others. Try to not ever be the fattest one there (don't eat them cookies- I know you'll be tempted!), because everybody knows when the other food runs out, people start sizing each other up, and the fattest is the first one that makes an empty freezer full again.
If you accidentally ARE the fattest, and they start looking at you funny, offer them some cookies, always indicating that it's your very last package of cookies (it isn't!).
While they are distracted by the cookies, make your escape, Fatty! You shoulda already had an escape plan in place. If you didn't plan that far ahead, you are obviously not the brightest speed bump and probably deserve to be eaten. Might as well finish off the cookies by yourself at that point. As they say, you can't take 'em with you. You will require a LOT of A1 steak sauce, so hopefully that's an item they stocked up on.
You know what? On second thought, just try harder to Love Thy Neighbors, ALL of them, not just the ones who give you an AMEN when you ask for it on Sunday.
From what I can recall about the Biblical God I was brought up learning about, y'all are LUCKY HE don't strike people down with lightening, or send you some sorely deserved plagues.
Oh, wait, maybe he did send plagues, but they backfired. Ignorance, Hate, and Bigotry are waaaaay worse than frogs or head lice. Haha, made your head start itching, didn't we?