2012 in True Moments/Stories (that we're not particularly proud of)

I'll go first, since I'm the professional here. 
*Fell asleep WHILE eating a cup of Moollenium Crunch Ice Cream.  Vaguely remember waking up several times, REALIZING what I had done, and then alternating my sleep-attempts to clean up with my (apparently stronger) sleep-attempts to FINISH the ice cream.  I mean, even asleep, I maintain a very strong commitment to NEVER WASTING ICE CREAM.
King-sized bed covered with pecans, chocolate chunks, melted ice cream.  Also caught in the crossfire were: cell phone,TV remote, notebook, NetBook, THREE extension cords, electric blanket, books... Moral of the Story? I don't want to be remembered as the woman whose cause of death was:  Electrocution due to falling asleep while eating Moollenium Crunch ice cream, and simultaneously breaking nearly every electrical (and "other") safety recommendation ever made.

The (original)H.I.T. Squad

*This was previously written due to the discovery that I had developed a new condition (currently un-funded, un-researched, and definitely un-resolved) that I would prolly call Insomnia with Inappropriate Somnalist Characteristics, except that I CAN'T officially name it that because my "smart" phone won't acknowledge or offer spelling suggestions for the second word, which I'm pretty sure is a REAL word, because I'm SLEEPY, not STOOOPID!
Anyway, SAVE IT to read every time you can't sleep!  It will most likely cure your own insomnia FOREVER!
*If only I could solve my own problems as easily and effortlessly as I can fix the problems of the rest of the world*

The (original)H.I.T. Squad

Can't sleep?
Apply to be a charter member of the Heroic Insomniacs Team!
Join the H.I.T. squad tonight, and sleep better...or...not... whatever...no guarantees or anything.
We have LOTS of ideas about what you could or should be doing with all those otherwise WASTED hours! 
Watch pig races!  (Alternately, raise and race pigs yourself! It's fun, probably.)
Search out sad, lonely, even unfortunate-looking, losers on facebook and give them either a ray of hope and sunshine in their lives or at least an interesting cyber-stalker story to tell!
Tweet!  As in, on Twitter.  Does it really matter if no one reads your tweets?  No, it does not.  If a tree tweeted in the forest, it still would have tweeted, right?  (ANSWER: yes, of course! Unless the tree was LYING, and trying to take credit for the noise a BIRD made, which just goes to show you that Trees cannot be trusted!)
Stalk, and then befriend a cop.  Then, introduce me to that new friend and then I'll have a cop friend, just what I've ALWAYS wanted!
(Happy *EVERY HOLIDAY*, Me!)

P.S. We're only tired because 2% of the people in the world are responsible for 99% of its great ideas and awesomeness!

A Dear Juan Letter

Dear Juan,
Thank you so much for taking good care of my Pedro yesterday.  Do you have ANY idea how many times I've had to leave work early to stitch a finger or toe back on that man?!    
I do believe that his first English words (after: I love you, Will you marry me?& Do you know how Green Cards work?) were: Help! Please! I believe I have severed one or more phalanges! Yes, of course he said phalanges, because he's EDUCATED, just accident prone.
With loving friendship,
Enchiladas

Arson should be illegal, and it probably is.

Well, Shell-Frie, YOU don't get to tell ME who I can and canNOT threaten on Facebook! At least, not if you still want that Amateur Arson Kit I'm making you for Christmas. P.S. For anyone who's interested in purchasing one of these kits from me, OR if you are the Police, let me assure y'all that it's not a REAL arson kit, just a novelty type decorative gift with absolutely NO capacity whatSOever of creating a single spark, much less an act of ACTUAL arson, which is both morally wrong AND highly illegal in most parts of the United States, even in the WaaaaayDownSouth! Additionally, even though it's COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY, we include a quite powerful fire extinguisher in every kit! Also included: an assortment of one hundred reminder magnets and post-its to place all around your home. They fit in beautifully with most home decor, and feature the number to 911, so you'll be ready in case you are the type to panic when you need the number! We do NOT provide smoke detectors. That is YOUR own responsibility as a consenting adult. Unless you aren't an adult in the first place. We REFUSE to sell to minors, on principle. On second thought, if you ever experience a REAL fire threat, FIRST grab the nearest post-it or magnet on your way out of your house or tent! Unless you're nekkid, in which case grab the closest thing to cover up with first. If you're single and looking, always wear flattering lingerie to bed, just in case, but particularly if you have a "premonition" that you may need rescuing at any particular time. There are even Fire Fighter Pimp Specialists (no, not THAT kind of pimp) who can somehow manage to obtain the work shift schedules for your local fire department, with quite reasonable fees, or so I've heard. Obviously the best time for these "premonitions" is when your favorite's on the truck! Invest in those real firefighter calendars (local ones). And, should you be planning a move, check the firefighter situation before investing any money on it. I'm too sleepy now to go all back to the beginning and remember why I wrote this. Good day to you all, sirs and madams. And Good NIGHT to Me.

Still Not a teacher

Yet another reason I'm not allowed to be a teacher.  I'm afraid I might lack the impulse control necessary to refrain from telling a particularly annoying child that I saw their ORIGINAL birth certificate in their file, and they were part of a triple birth, sold off separately at a random farmer's market when they were a week old and their real name, as per the receipt/birth certificate, is Discount Lemonrot BoogerStick Nincompooper.

Hotter than Potter

(As usual, it all started on the Facebook...)

Dear Fellow Pot(ter) Heads:
*Please remind me if I'm a muggle or a huckle-puff, or what! I'm DEFINITELY NOT one of those snaky things, and I WILL be needing some decent powers, or I'm not playing!  And also I'd like an all black costume with hidden Spanx slimming materials underneath! And super-cute comfortable boots. 
No!  I changed my mind-INVISIBLE foot protection so I can do the popular barefoot Hot Coals Walk  in super-slow motion and put it on YouTube so everybody in the Whole World will know that I'm the BADDEST B.A. of them all, and then all my enemies will tremble in fear, begging me to spare their lives (and their faces!), and I'll be all: Maybe... What are y'all gonna do for Me and MY Fambly and Friends?  And then I'll base my actions on their responses.
So, considering the preceding information about me, WHAT does that make me in the Potter World? 
*Surprise announcement alert!* *Surprise announcement alert!*
SURPRISE ANNOUNCEMENT that nobody saw coming:  I'm finally ready to give in and join the craze and PLAY the Potter Game, so long as I don't have to read those crazy-long books or watch those movies that last longer than most presidential terms.

FullTime:  I don't know anything about Harry Potter, except what NineToFive posts on FB & Pinterest.

Enchiladas:  Me, too, FullTime! I just thought I'd try the Dark Side for a change!

NineToFive:  You can't PLAY at being a PotterHead. You either ARE or you aren't. I'm sorry, Enchiladas, but you are merely a muggle who happens to have 3 very magical daughters. Be very proud of that.

Enchiladas:  Oh, so just because I want a super awesome costume and a couple of simple powers, I can't be in your CLUB? It's Muddle School all over again!

NineToFive:  lol... you can still be in it. You just have to be a PotterHead.

Enchiladas:  Too little, too late, Chuckles!
I guess I have no other option. I'm making my own "Hotter than Potter" club now! And no one is allowed unless I say so. Our applicants must each pass a grueling obstacle course and an even more grueling psychological exam in order to even be allowed to LOOK at an application for possible membership.
And, here's the best part: OUR club has FIELD TRIPS! Lots and lots of Field Trips! Take that, Harry!
P.S. You can still be in it, NineToFive, because I love you, and I'll be the one grading the tests!

FullTime:  Okay what am I in Potter Speak?

Enchiladas:  I feel obligated to admit (as if it weren't obvious already) that I'm briskly unqualified to answer this, FullTime, but I'm gonna say you're probably a Muggle-Puff like me!  I think those are the BEST!  Plus, Muggle-Puffs together are even much BESTER than Muggle-Puffs alone!

FullTime:  So, What is a Muggle anyway?

Enchiladas:  Briskly= why auto correct put a word I've NEVER USED ON THIS PHONE in place of GROSSLY, I'll never figger out!
However, NineToFive, you're up.  Answer FullTime's question, please, because I can't.

(silence from NineToFive)
(more silence from NineToFive)

Enchiladas:  Oh, well, we'll just concentrate on our Hotter than Potter club instead.
Our Hotter than Potter club is Blood in and Blood out, like I overheard in a movie I wasn't really watching, unless they meant something violent by that phrase instead of just that all members must be old enough to understand by personal experience what "that time of the month" is all about.
And COOKIES are MANDATORY! 
Plus, once a year, on the most un-holy night of the year, as predicted by local weather celebrity Palm Reader, there shall be built an enormous bonfire during which we sacrifice all the pagan raisin cookies we've been given and that we've been saving all year long for just this occasion!  Be careful not to inhale while dancing around the blaze.  The fumes created by burning raisins are known to be the most toxic of all the common dried fruits.

NineToFive:  I'm sorry that I missed most of this conversation yesterday. I was extremely busy at work. It is an endless job here at the Ministry of Magic. But things have slowed down now. Enchiladas, I would LOVE to be in your club. And Im not excluding you from Potter world. I would love for you to be a fellow PotterHead!

Enchiladas:  Great! I'll start working on the Pledge and outfits immediately. Preliminary uniform idea: long or short sleeve Ts, with removable cloaks. The cloak itself has to be easily removable for all those times we will have to pretend to make it disappear!

NineToFive:  We could just get indivisible cloaks.

Enchiladas:  WHY didn't I think of THAT?  Yes!! And I betcha we can buy Justice for All at the same outlet store that sells INDIVISIBLE Cloaks! Welcome! You will receive your Secret Hotter than Potter Alias soon.
*I've been keeping busy avoiding most of the things I'm supposed to be doing in Real Life, but I should be able to check in again soon, IF my electronic devices can handle all the magicalism they are currently being forced to deal with.

NineToFive:  I will be eagerly awaiting my post. I'm very proud to be under consideration for club membership, but I'm not too keen on the name so far.

Enchiladas:  That's only because I haven't TOLD you what YOUR name is yet!  You're gonna £ove it!  The names will be bestowed at the "meeting" (location top-secret, AND undisclosed). Undisclosed means: you will be picked up (at an undisclosed time), blindfolded, and taken to the undisclosed location, where you will be expected to blindfoldedly prepare a feast for existing members.

By the way, Our shirts are probably going to say
HOTTER (in FLAMES on the front)
and
THAN (insert picture of George Ohr)
On the back! (because of copyright laws)

(more time passes uneventfully)

NineToFive:  The nargles are all in a fuss with mistletoe season right around the corner. — with KLaundry.

FullTime:  Do nargles not like Christmas? Muggle-Puffs like Christmas.  A LOT!

KLaundry:  Lol clearly this girl is a muggle if she doesn't know what a nargle is.

NineToFive:  lmao ... she IS a muggle. FullTime, nargles live in mistletoe.

Enchiladas:  There's NO WAY Nargles can build houses out of mistletoe! I took a Botany course at the junior college and the professor (who looked exactly like Colonel Sanders) said even EGGPLANT (which I raised one of almost all by myself, for a grade, nourishing it daily with banana peels from my lunch) makes for better shelter building material than mistletoe does!
Ummm, wait, it wasn't eggplant-it was zucchini. Story still applies, though!

NineToFive:  I'm sure your professor was a muggle.

Enchiladas:  Well, he DID marry a student!

NineToFive:  That just makes him a perve .

Enchiladas:  She was elderly. They both were! It was at the COMMUNITY college!  And it's NOT like he married a different student every YEAR!

Enchiladas:  Hold on a minute, NineToFive,  are you insinuating now that MUGGLES are PERVES??? 

(silence)

Calvin and Hobbes and Anthony and Me

OhEmmGee, Anthony! Here's yet ANOTHER example of how some of us loved you so much, right from the start, that we voluntarily took on full responsibility of your music and literature appreciation studies.
Thusly, we read Calvin and Hobbes and Gary Larson's the Far Side to you instead of Dr. Seuss (even though we love that, too-but you get plenty of that at home and school!). And we began to expose you to the timeless wonders of Bono and U2, REM, OMD, and even the Cure and the Violent Femmes, early enough to arm you with the ability to discover for yourownself that there exists in Art, in all its glorious forms, Inspiration, Calming, Healing, Learning,and JOY...to the WORLD, Anthony, to the WORLD! Including CHILDREN, of which you were one.
And that Full House and the Disney Channel were as unrealistic as the Cosby Show.
You're welcome.
Love always,
Your Third Word

*Shared Memory Session-Join us if you can*
Close your eyes (or whoever's eyes you're using at the moment-we aren't here to judge, at the moment, anyway) and summon forth that picture you have in your mind of Little Anthony (approximate age three to twelve),  sitting on that radioactively blue, EXTRA-shag, carpet in his room, engrossed in the tattered pages of Calvin and Hobbes and The Far Side. 
Feel THAT?  That's Love.  And true Joy.  And that other feeling? That's the Pride.  And that pride comes not from some grandiose belief that he wouldn't have found these treasures on his own, but that, because of Us, he found them In Time.

American Civil War Version 2.0

It's waaaay PAST time for us "Normals" to stand up and speak out (by liking or sharing on Facebook, of course!).
American Civil War Version 2.0 is coming soon, and it ain't gonna be pretty, y'all.  It ain't gonna be pretty at all.
Background (for those Rip Van Winkles among you):
This isn't a new problem, but it is growing exponentially every year.  This conflict is dividing families around dinner tables (meaning: McDonald's and, in the case of this economy's "wealthy" families- the Olive Garden), our nation's very FUTURE, as they ride to and from school in giant government machines made of steel, yellow paint, hard seats, and (now) CONFLICT!  Employees who carpool to work are arriving with their clothes ripped to shreds and their hair all a mess (and it's not because they were doing what some of you are probably thinking they were doing!  Sheesh, America- read a book that isn't about sex for a change!  They STILL exist; you just have to look.).  Drivers are screaming at each other at the longer red lights, begging for a little common courtesy.  When that courtesy is not forthcoming, I've seen NUNS, on their way to teach at the private schools, put their kickstands down and reach right into open car windows and beat those rude AHs senseless with their wooden rulers.  Nuns, people!  Nuns!  THAT's what this country is coming to!  An X-Mas apocalypse like none ANY of you have ever imagined, and some of you have VERY active imaginations (Kudos on that, by the way!).
The origin of this "war" between Normals and the "Others" originates not with Religion, the Christmas holiday itself, nor even with its associated music.  Something just went terribly wrong along the way.  Somebody (henceforth I will be referring to this individual simply as SatanHisOwnSelf, with NO offense intended to anyone whose ACTUAL name happens to be SATANHISOWNSELF; I chose the name randomly, I swear) decided that the easiest way to get society to willingly take religion out of Christmas once and for all would be to drown the citizens via a system of flooding the airways for an ENTIRE MONTH (the month the holiday actually occurs in) with nothing but the music associated with said holiday.  Also, all advertisements would be required to feature the seasonal music. This would surely cause such mass nausea and complaints that the "problem" would solve itself!
But, uht-oh, December (and Christmas with it) came and went.  And, for the most part, the people seemed to LOVE it!
Then SatanHisOwnSelf, in his hideout made entirely of RedHots candies, said to his ownself, somewhat grinchily: Well, crap on a fat-free cracker!  Whut to do, whut to do... And he spent the next eleven months plotting and planning and watching the original How the Grinch Stole Christmas movie over and over for pointers.
So came the next November 1st, and SatanHisOwnSelf brushed his best tooth, put on his best suit and plenty of that Axe spray (because he saw those ads, just like all those teenage boys did, and thought to himself, just like all those teenage boys did: Hey, just because I'm 99.9% pure evil doesn't mean I can't get lucky every now and then, right?) He went to the Annual National Radio Station Format Planning Executives Convention (that's a thing, right?), and gave the Power Point Presentation that he'd worked so hard to prepare.  His execution was flawless, even more flawless than an air-brushed supermodel in the Sports Illustrated Swim Suit issue.  SatanHisOwnSelf received the first standing ovation he'd ever gotten without having to threaten an audience with eternal damnation or the gout.  No one noticed the three single tears that dripped from his burning red eyes, and evaporated immediately due to his natural heat.
That very day, those radio dons mandated that December 1st was no longer early enough; Christmas music should monopolize the airways the very day after Thanksgiving!  This would coincide with the traditional Black Friday Mayhem Sales!  Yes, only GOOD could come from this!  The citizens would be pacified into a sweet Christmasy coma, by force,thus inducing peace and goodwill behavior, and giving cops and crime reporters time to do their own shopping and time to attend their own parties!  Good times were coming, and EVERbody was gonna be happy.
Danged if another year didn't pass on by.  Black Friday started being called RED Friday because of all the blood being spilled during the madness ensuing as shoppers who paid retail for cigarettes and the highest quality cocaine on a daily basis trampled disabled newborn babies to get to the $20 DVRs. 
Appalled at the violence, SatanHisOwnSelf returned to speak again.  Maybe, just maybe, if the Christmas lullabies started the day after Hallowe'en, the pacification would be in its peak effectiveness in time to prevent the now-traditional blood-baths of Red and Black Friday.
As for SatanHisOwnSelf, he has given up entirely on America, and returned to his RedHots Fortress of Cinnamony Deliciousness, where he lives quite peacefully with the one woman in the world who can stand the smell of all that Axe!  They live, laugh, and love, and enjoy Christmas music for exactly ONE week per year, just as Nature intended.
Now that SatanHisOwnSelf has given up, it's up to us Normals to fight this.  Please join me in explaining to celebrities that NO ONE EXCEPT THEIR GRANNY wants to hear THEIR VERSION of ANY of the TRADITIONAL CHRISTMAS SONGS! 
ATTENTION RADIO STATIONS:  We'd rather have NO RADIO AT ALL (literally, even if we have to remove it manually with whatever tools we can find in our purses, glove boxes, and trunks) than hear the same twenty-two songs ALL DAY LONG!  It does NOT count as a DIFFERENT song, just because this time it's Justin Timberlake or Glance Bass!  There are truly some wonderful songs available that could break up the monotony and help lower the suicide rates at this time of year.  You cannot convince me that the music barrage is not partially responsible for that!
So, I'm calling on radio stations to PLEASE, for the love of GOD, stop driving these people to suicide!  Ball's in your court now, Radio.  Let's see how far you'll go to save Lifes.
The whole world is watching.  Your move, sir, your move.

Medieval Pet Training

Some of us are just naturally honest I guess

Son:  It was I.  I'm sorry, Father.  I cannot tell a lie.
God:   Don't you think I KNOW that already!  You put the tails back on all those puppies RIGHT NOW, and I don't mean 5 minutes from now!

Thirty Days of Thanksgiving 2012

I am grateful for:

1    The ability to walk
2    and the ability to talk, and the (admittedly limited) ability to hold my tongue.
3   And the ability to love
4    And the ability to share
5    and the ability to laugh and
6    the ability to sing, or at least the ability to LISTEN with a joyful heart.
7    For the gift of comfort when I need it most.
8    For the dear ones who live on in my most precious memories.
9    For those who stayed when the rest turned away.
10   For those who are willing to share the worst, and in so doing, make the worst better.
11   For glimpses past armor, and disguises adopted in defense, to the vulnerable brothers and sisters sharing this space, this world, because, no matter what else changes, we are STILL each other's keepers. 
12    For every time another saw my pain, and simply...cared.
13    For every time another thought of me, during a moment of prayer.
14    For each and every time I felt a silent thanks when words wouldn't come,
15    and for each and every time another sensed the same from me.
16     For happiness that lingers long after a visit.
17    For learning to face  and trust the woman in the mirror,
18    and for learning to love and forgive her, too.
19     For chocolate, dark and light, in all its glorious forms!
20     For smiles shined on you from a child you've never seen before.
21    For women the world over, great with child.
22    For long, soft kisses that keep us young.
23    For moments of wonder, gazing up at the sky.
24    For seeing ourselves in others, and loving them anyway.
25    For standing against evil, despite our own fears,
26   For being willing to listen when another just needs to be heard.
27    For every time children sleep withOUT tears dried on their cheeks.
28    For every moment my body isn't wracked with pain,
29    For every moment my heart isn't breaking,
30    and for every heartbeat, and every breath that I don't have to struggle to take.

Scientists, Survival, Cockroaches, and Lies

I'm not falling for the "fact" that's been around for years and years about cockroaches being able to survive and thrive in event of nuclear war.  Really, Scientists, really?  Cockroaches have evolved enough to SURVIVE A NUCLEAR BLAST, but they haven't figured out how to survive a gentle smack with a FLIP-FLOP?! Just how gullible do you think people are??
Next time, before you spend all your "research" grant money on booze and floozies, at least have the courtesy to come up with a more plausible fake science project, Scientists.

Who needs Therapy? NOT Me!

Once upon a verrry long time ago, I got all mad at NightTime and I un-friended him on Facebook because I hated his guts and never wanted to have anything to do with him EVER again, EXACTLY like that Taylor Swift song that I hate but, until this very moment, I didn't realize that's WHY I hated that song so much.

*later that same day*

I wasn't mad anymore and, for some reason, I thought NightTime might give-a-care that I had un-friended him so I snuck his phone away from him, sent and accepted a new friend request, then deleted the evidence of the "new" friend and relationship activity (that sounds dirty... And GROSS, Facebook!) so as not to hurt his feelings, and he never, ever, EVER knew anything about it until he reads this later today! 

Salem/Marvin and the TP

Our Jagger hasn't done this yet. I think it's because it's not destructive or NOISY enough for the reputation he's trying to protect. Wants his own badboy reality TV show. We lied and told him the whole house was rigged with hidden cameras for his "show." But we also told him his Xanax was special "celebrity" candy. We had to, because we felt so guilty once we took away his whiskey.

Teach us to Love

Dear God,
Teach us to love others
And laugh at ourselves.
Teach us to serve others,
With unhurried, glad hearts.
Teach us to comfort, and be
as your arms here on earth.
Teach us to make
Kindness as much
A part of us as Breathing.

Officer, will you be my friend?

(As usual, all names, even wrong ones, have been changed, just in case they turn out to be right by accident)

I finally did it!  I succeeded in my plan to friend a cop so I can get out of tickets.  Whew.  And I'm not gonna share with ANY of you, so don't even ASK.

Y'all, I've LITERALLY been plotting this for YEARS, but just wasn't stalker-y enough to pull it off. 

(later that same day, when I woke up and got ready for work)

I think his name might be G-Something, last name possibly P-Something or B-Something...  Darnit.  WHY CAN'T I EVER REMEMBER THE NAMES OF MY new BESTest FRIENDS IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD??

Still not a stalker, though.  It was a purely serendipitous meeting.

You could say it all started when I got my very first speeding ticket at age sixteen, the VERY day after I got my driver's license.  But if you DID, you'd be a filthy lying liar with your pants on fire, because I was SEVENTEEN.

This part is also a True Story.
It really all started when I took care of a law enforcement person in Intensive Care a very looong time ago.  I was absolutely WONDERFUL.  Or, he could have just been happy to be alive.  Either way, he offered to fix any and all tickets for me. For EVER.
For about a year, I drove as if I had diplomatic immunity.  Speed Limit laws DO NOT apply to those of us who enjoy Diplomatic Immunity.  I ENJOY it verymuch.  They were good times.  All drive times were significantly shortened, since I didn't have to make sure I had "ticket money" in the bank every day.  Therefore, I was rarely late for work, etc.
Then, on what I now refer to as The Saddest Day of My Life, I realized that I had not only forgotten the NAME (first AND last), and TITLE of my favorite person (Officer...something or other), but even which branch of law enforcement he was involved in.  I only remember he was a regular looking white guy with (I think) brown hair.  I devoted much time trying to force myself to remember helpful details that might assist me with tracking him (or at least his NAME!) down.
The whole entire time that I remembered his name, I never ONCE got pulled over!  And I admit I was driving much faster than the posted limits.  Carefully, yes, but much, muuuuch faster.
Of course, I immediately experienced a return to my usual pattern of falling for speed traps and missing signs and getting tickets for like 46 in totally non-residential, open, extremely visible, 35 for-NO-good-reason areas.
I MISS that guy soooo much...

Good versus Goof versus Great

A friend's typo in a comment on a funny fb conversation between husband and wife:  You good balls!  (Auto-correct making jokes again!)
Me helping out, as usual:  I Googled this and found a Little Known Fact™ for ya.  I'm sure you've heard the catchy old song many times without knowing that it was originally called (goodness, gracious) GOOD Balls of Fire.  The label insisted on the change before the album was ever recorded, stating simply:  If you're a straight man in America in the fifties with the balls to go around singing about balls, you better be singing about GREAT ones!
Also, prior to the invention of cameras and prostate exams, the proper greeting from a young brave to a respected male elder was: (loosely translated) Good balls to you, to your ancestors, and to your descendants.  (And also, they had to put some ointment on them if the old guys couldn't reach.)
P.S. I used to fill out mad lids with a friend at work and we'd do theme rounds.  Hands-down favorite?  Inserting the word BALLS in every blank.  (I miss my old work friend.)

Oh, deer: stuck in the mud (allegedly)

My children claim this really happened.
Back when they were all still small enough to be picked up and carried around (individually, I'm NOT a body-builder!), we used to ride around in a white Ford Taurus station wagon.
One year, the deer were very populous and visible in our woods and sides of roads.  If you've ever had the misfortune to have one run straight at your car, you can understand the vigilant way you constantly scan for them while driving.  It was always a treat to see a live deer, AND to then NOT hit it with your car.  Being vegetarians, we just liked to look at them, and usually didn't tell any of the hunter/Fambly/neighbors about it until the next day.  I believe our record was seeing FIVE deer at one time.
So, as they tell it, we returned home one dark night and noted deer(s) in the thinly wooded area to the right of the really long driveway.  Of course, humans can see in the dark, too, if they have a flashlight or, in our case, a nice set of bright car headlights.
So the three promptly proceeded to beg and beg and beg until I finally gave in and pointed the headlights at the deer.  The car suffered some sort of unusual multi-system malfunction and just kinda sorta fell OFF the driveway and inTO some powerfully deep mud.  The deer scattered and disappeared, most likely into the quicksand.
After I heroically carried each child to the safety of the driveway, I returned, risking death by mud/quicksand, for the groceries, because near-death experiences while deer-watching makes one unbelievably hungry. 
Then we all trudged homewards in search of non-traditional road-side assistance for our "broken-down" vehicle.
Perhaps it was the Paw-Paw and the uncle who completed the vehicle recovery, or perhaps they were still at it when Pedro arrived home from working at the factory.  In either case, this story cannot be corroborated, and I continue to contend that it NEVER actually happened anyway.

(guest host) Enchiladas Macintosh Objectively Reviews Her Own Newly Released Book

The Mystical Magicology of Marriage in Modern Times by Enchiladas Macintosh
Subtitle(hidden inside the book jacket):  Make Your Marriage Work Forever and EVER, until he Eventually Kills You, and How to Ensure his Conviction Once You're No Longer Around to Testify Personally

It's a story as old as time itself:  True Love that ends up being NOT!  We've all been there, and most of us have managed to escape with our lives.  But SOMEbody has to make the Scott Petersons of the world PAY.   And that Someone is US!

A dear, sweet woman with a bee-fricking-you-T-ful baby girl recently came to us with a dilemma.  After she narrowly avoided an early morning execution/electrocution by her (formerly staunchly reliable, for nearly a decade of daily use) "faulty" hair dryer, her "loving" husband presented her with a brand new one, that SAME DAY, withOUT even being asked.  What to do, what to do?

Our panel of experts respond:
You can't trust "too" thoughtful these days.  On the other hand, you DO need to do something about that hair.  If you return the hair dryer to the store without first testing it, you could be putting a stranger's life in danger, because it will eventually be sold. And we can't yet rule out the remote possibility that this was as purported to be, an innocently kind gesture made by a man with NO current ideations of widower-bachelor-hood.  We recommend that you first meticulously observe the outermost packaging for any signs of tampering.  We actually recommend (and practice!) this step for every single item that appears in your home, unless you bring it in yourself.  Be on the lookout for different sized strips of tape, and more than one layer of tape on any seam.  When you open the box, again assess the situation visually first.  If all components fit neatly and snugly in the box, you can assume it to be fresh from the factory and store, unless there is a woman involved in the plot to get you.  Very few men have the skill or patience necessary to pull off the perfect "factory" re-pack, even if the success of their sinister plans rest heavily upon it.
Your next first step should be to locate the specially grounded bathroom or kitchen outlets, and push the TEST button.  Then, before plugging in any electrical "gifts" for the first time, don your Equipment.  Keep this equipment a secret, because the only way we know of to obtain it is via a complicated ruse that involves coordinating alibis, disguises, and get-a-way cars.  Your friend propositions a lineman, causing him to get out of all his safety gear in a hurry.  You grab the gear and GO, and then your friend runs for the get-a-way car as soon as she hears you honk the horn.  Although the lineman is likely to be a bit angry, he won't be running very fast,  barefoot in his tighty whities, as he will be at this point.  Still, your preparations must include really good disguises and the use of NO NAMES whatsoever.  The car can be "borrowed" OR disguised with water-soluble paint, which we saw in a movie once (no, we can't remember which movie).  First stop: country car wash (water hose back of a house carefully chosen ahead of time).  The paint hue should be chosen for its ability to blend in with the grass or concrete that it will end up on, rather than its aesthetic qualities.
Back to our advice about the dryer.  Where were we?  Ah, yes.  Now that you are appropriately attired for this possibly dangerous mission, you may plug in your appliance.  Good luck, and, should you survive, be sure to write back and let us know how it goes.
ALWAYS make sure SOMEONE knows where you are or where you're SUPPOSED to be!  
Order Digital or Hard Copies of this (predicted to be) wildly popular marriage manual for ALL the women on your gift-giving list. It's a jam-packed Treasure, chock-full of helpful pro-active measures you can take NOW to assure the timely conviction of your spouse when you disappear, or when your body is eventually found.  It is already THE top bridal shower gift of the Twenty Teens!   Some excerpts follow.

Chapter One
The best-laid plans are OURS!

For example, and we CANNOT stress this too much, NEVER waste any of your own blood!  Even the smallest paper cut can be used to plant seeds of (future) suspicion if you smear it in his trunk, preferably on the trunk fabric lining, plus on a crowbar or some other murdery items that nobody ever cleans.  Any new automo-purchases should be immediately suspected as future transport devices for your remains, and should be "marked" as well.  Additionally,if you get any visible blood on anything, you should be diligent about scrubbing it away, for several reasons.  1.  Only a person planning a "frame-up" would be careless enough to leave visible blood around!  And don't worry about leaving even bleach burns in hard to see or get-to areas, even if they were accidental.  Bleach marks are particularly helpful clues because, to the CSI team, it will look like someone (you know who!) was trying hard to get rid of evidence.  2.  If he gets wind about any of this, he may try to do you in JUST to PROOOVE you WRONG and win an argument for once!  LET him win an argument now and then.  Only you will be able to determine the safe win/lose ratio that will sustain your relationship, as well as both of your lives.  However, our book does include several valuable quizzes and calculators you can use to make sure you do it RIGHT.

Chapter Two:  A Look at the Pros and Cons of Various Types of Evidence

1.  Hair 
Hair is by far the most popular evidence used.  It is arguably the easiest to obtain, but it is very circumstantial and, without corroborating evidence, it is highly unlikely to result in a conviction.  If you can manage it without drawing attention, make sure there is always a strand or two of your own hair in his best friend's trunk.  They will both be hard-pressed to come up with an answer to lines of questioning that begin like this:  Sir, what was she doing in your TRUNK?

2.  Nails, finger and toe
Don't throw away those gross clippings he leaves lying around!  Unlike hair, these require careful preparation.  They need to be dirtified and roughened up to appear they were broken off his hands during a struggle.  Don't worry, the book contains detailed instructions for all prep work.  Where nails are concerned, less is better.  I know y'all might be tempted to use a whole bunch of them rather than waste them, but even the most naive investigator knows that it is highly unlikely for anyone to have ALL their nails ripped off in a single struggle.

3.  Blood
NEVER WASTE IT!
As Covered in Chapter One

also elaborated on in Chapter Two:

4.  Fingerprints, his and hers and theirs
Where to leave yours.  (In the tire well in his best friend's trunk!)
How to obtain his in a useable format.  

5. Texts and emails
Creating an electronic "paper trail" to guide the investigation.

Make Your Marriage Work book clubs for women ONLY are springing up all over the country!  Joining one now is the best way to assure your own safety and/or the successful prosecution of your murderer.
We know you love him, and he's probably super hot and a lovely kisser, but he killed you, and we WILL NOT stand for that!

Do y'all remember that time we all went to Greece, or possibly Tennessee?

I recently came across this old picture and posted it on facebook.  It got waaaaay more reaction than I anticipated.  The names of all the people (living or dead), whether pictured, commenting, or referred to, have been changed to protect their reputations, especially since there are accusations of theft, and some of the punctuation is missing (probably stolen).  Also, everybody but me seems to be suffering from ADD.

MisterNiceGuy: LOOOOOVEEE! Where is this? (September 4 at 9:58pm)

NaughtyorNice: Definitely not Greece! (September 4 at 10:01pm )

DayTime: I love how EnchiladasMacintosh is the only one not looking at the camera. (September 5 at 12:16am)

Enchiladas: I was going through my aboriginal phase and I thought the camera would steal my soul if I looked at it. (September 5 at 3:25am)

LongShot: No wonder I can't find most of my pictures. I told TractorTrailer last night that there has been a picture thief at our house. Closing in on the suspect now. (September 5 at 5:50am)

LongShot: And really, y'all do where this is at. Right? (September 5 at 5:51am)

NaughtyorNice: Well, at least this thief is scanning and posting them so all of us can enjoy them! (September 5 at 5:56am)

LongShot: I think there may be several of them, all female. (September 5 at 5:59am)

Enchiladas: I don't HAVE a hard copy of any of the old pictures. I believe NaughtyorNice scanned most of them at my house to make a slide show. You can tell on the "originals" on my computer that many of them are on album pages. I just crop out individual ones sometimes. (September 5 at 6:14am)

LongShot: What slide show? (September 5 at 6:16am)

Enchiladas: I found a folder titled: Uncle Wrigley's pictures, so I think that several different people provided pictures to be scanned, in addition to pictures he kept in his wallet or house. (September 5 at 6:22am)

LongShot: No wonder I can't find that envelope. Or is it one of those big yellow envelopes? I was talking to TractorTrailer about Wrigley's pictures a couple days ago and had not a clue where it was at. (September 5 at 6:31am)

Enchiladas: I DON'T HAVE THE PICTURES! I have a COMPUTER FOLDER full of (now) DIGITAL IMAGES! September 5 at 6:34am)

NaughtyorNice: Sorry I jumped to conclusions!! Glad you have them. Please keep sharing! (September 5 at 6:36am)

LongShot: OK let me understand. You have a folder on your computer marked: "Wrigley's pictures". Now do I have it right? (September 5 at 6:45am)

Enchiladas: Yes! I do not have rows and rows of filing cabinets filled with photographs, stolen or otherwise. (September 5 at 6:52am)

Enchiladas: To further clarify, I believe the pictures were all returned to whoever submitted them for scanning. Bring me like a flash drive or something and you can have digital copies of whatever you want. (September 5 at 7:05am)

Petunia: Where was this taken? (September 5 at 7:24am)

Enchiladas: Petunia, my Mom (LongShot) seems to know, but I can only surmise it is somewhere in Tennessee, since that's the only place we ever went outside of Woolmarket, for family reunions. (September 5 at 7:35am)

Petunia: For the life of me, I can't remember. That would have been around the time this picture was taken by the looks of us :) love you guys. (September 5 at 7:37am)

Starbucks: If I remember right this was in tn at the lookout point that has the battle field things. It looks like a bunch of us kids are mad at the world. (September 5 at 8:01am)

LongShot: Starbucks, yes it is top of Lookout Mountain at Point Park and was taken in 1985, a few months before MinnieMouse had her stroke. (September 5 at 9:35am)

LongShot: Enchiladas, I have that photo copier and am trying to get all my pictures scanned so I can grab the external hard drive I am putting them on and can grab it and run in case of fire or hurricane. Of course that depends on if I can put my hands on it when I need it you can then have copies of all my pictures. Might take years to get it all done. Want to help me sometime? (September 5 at 9:40am)

Sunflower: i totally remember this trip. i talk about it all the time. (September 5 at 12:16pm)

Enchiladas: Sunflower, I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not! (September 5 at 12:21pm)

Sunflower: no way..i really do remember that trip..lookout mountain was so cool..i would love to take my kids one day. i think they would have alot of fun. they had a swing bridge that the boys walked acrossed ...it was so high up it scared most of us but the boys all walked across and made it rock..i will never forget that swinging bridge. (September 5 at 12:24pm)

LongShot: I was one of the best times ever. I also remember the one who could spot every McDonald's on the drive. Do you remember the drive took us way too many hours because we stop for way too many times. We were all awestruck. (September 5 at 12:27pm)

Enchiladas: Please tell me we were "awestruck" because of the majesty of nature and not by how many McDonald'ses there were. (September 5 at 12:34pm)

LongShot: majesty of nature of course! (September 5 at 12:38pm)

LongShot: off the subject, but did you get my text? (September 5 at 12:40pm)

Enchiladas: Who took the picture, do you think? Also, that was a LOT of people in that little Ford Falcon, especially without air conditioning. Remember how we had to take turns holding the smaller children? (September 5 at 12:52pm)

Starbucks: This really brings back a great memory. I do know that Sunflower could spot the golden arch miles in advanced. It was a good thing seat belts were not the law at that time. Our parents would have been put in jail not only no seat belts but way to many in a small car. Good times for sure. (September 5 at 1:08pm)

Enchiladas: I think if we got pulled over, the cops would've made us all get out of the car, just for the whole clown-car effect! And it's hard to write tickets when you're laughing that hard. (September 5 at 1:12pm)

LongShot: I hope I never forget that trip. I'm glad I have pictures to remember it. (September 5 at 1:12pm)

LongShot: Enchiladas, aren't you supposed to be sleeping? (September 5 at 1:13pm)

Enchiladas: Mama, for HEAVEN'S SAKE, I'm almost 40 years old! I don't HAVE a BED-TIME anymore!!! (September 5 at 1:20pm)

LongShot: TheGreat took the picture, she was our tour guide. We went in two vehicles. TheGreat's big car and our station wagon that kept overheating. (September 5 at 3:26pm)

LongShot: Jethro's in the picture, but he rode up with Gruff. (September 5 at 3:26pm)

Enchiladas: I was kinda hoping the car over-heating was not a real memory. It was freaking Ju-LY! (September 5 at 4:00pm)

LongShot: The car ran hot, we were ok. (September 5 at 4:59pm)

GlueStick: Enchiladas, you are looking at NaughtyorNice "LIKE REALLY NAUGHTY OR NICE, A SMILE?" I see that look from Starbucks all the time so nothing has change with that look! (September 5 at 5:48pm)

MoonBeam: Got a good laugh reading these comments. The main thing I remember is BeenThereDoneThat burning a hole in my sleeve slamming some Pop Rocks on me. I think he got in big trouble for that one! (September 6 at 8:28pm)

Petunia: I remember the trip too. I couldn't remember the year. Sunflower and I have talked about it often. Not only could Sunflower spot all the mcdonalds but TheGreat could spot all the wendy's for frostys. She had an internal Wendy's GPS. I remember all of us being lost because of no television; we weren't quite sure what we were supposed to do all day. (September 7 at 1:39pm)

LongShot: The BuriedAlives weren't lost without TV those days. (September 7 at 3:12pm)

Petunia: true it was me and Sunflower :) (September 7 at 3:58pm)

Sunflower: Petunia, do you remember that TheGreat kept telling us that the house we were gonna stay in did not have indoor plumbing..we were so scared of having to go use an out house...we were so happy when we got there and saw a bathroom... TheGreat and MinnieMouse laughed for a long time..but we didnt...ok, i do now:) (September 7 at 4:34pm)

Petunia: I had forgotten about that but i do remember it now. Remember that first breakfast I don't think i have ever seen such a big breakfast even on a breakfast buffet lol.(September 7 at 4:35pm)

Sunflower: yep..i think it was also the first time we had... SUN DROP.. drink, we were so excited about it. it has become real big up here in the past 2 years.. i tried it agin.. yuck, i dont know what we were thinking..haha (September 7 at 4:40pm)

Petunia: lol i remember that. i dont drink pop any more; 1 year sober lol no pop. (September 7 at 5:05pm)

LongShot: Good for you Petunia! RollerSkates is off soda too. I am so proud of y'all. (September 7 at 7:06pm)

RollerSkates: Thanks Sister. Love you all. (September 8 at 3:19pm)

Get lost, Navvy! (I don't need YOU to help ME get lost! I happen to be somewhat of an expert at it, thankyouverymuch.)

I don't know about the rest of you, but I've had enough of the condescending, judgmental, holier-than-thou tone of my phone's Map/Navigator.  Where does she get the nerve to disrespect me like she does?!  What a colossal length of toilet paper stuck on the bottom of a stranger's shoe when they step out of the only port-a-potty at a monster truck rally/mullet festival!  (See what I did there, children?  I WANTED to use a bad word, but I CHOSE not to.)  (Actually, I went back and replaced the bad word I had previously typed.  Still counts, though!) She can't even pronounce simple words like Biloxi, Woolmarket, Gulfport, or Saucier, for Pete's sake (NOT his real name). 
True Story: Navvy hates me SO much that her favorite pastime is waiting until I'm like a mile  into a several mile stretch, concentrating on driving instead of her, and then she FORCE CLOSES, knowing good and well that it'll BE a while before I start missing her, in the form of wondering why she hasn't said anything lately.  Then we have ourselves a good laugh.  Which is another way of saying that I call her every bad word I know, plus I have to make up some on the spot because none of the words I know are QUITE descriptive enough.  Then I pull over and call a friend and ask them to have someone go outside and listen for my car horn.  Using this bizarre version of Marco Polo, I usually arrive in time to lick the leftover frosting off the paper plates before the host throws them away, providing I was already within sound range when Navvy aborted our mission and commandeered my phone to google: how to apply for a restraining order against a human.  I'm convinced "Smart" phones will soon be the downfall of civilization as we know it, and I'll bet you five bucks they use funny YouTube videos posted on their phony Facebook pages to distract us while they take over. 
I staunchly defend my rights as a consumer/driver.  Shouldn't it be up to ME if I want to take a detour, side road, scenic route, or even drive past The Secret Crack House to offer my services as a volunteer, or to see what my extended family is up to these days?  Why does she sound all huffy when she has to recalculate?  Am I keeping her from something better?  Hot date?  Her other job as the worst phone sex operator in the world?  In THIS economy, and with HER attitude, I think she should appreciate that she even HAS a job!  Hey, Navvy:  When we're in the car, I am the BOSS of you.  Go back and read your official Job Description if you don't believe me.
I have to admit that Navvy has inspired me, though.  I've developed an app targeted to people like me, those special people who refuse to waste their brain's gifts on mundane trivia (directions, phone numbers, their kids' birthdays-you get the picture) and tasks that they can delegate to an electronic assistant.
My app is called Hotter/Colder™, and it's very easy to use.  Just make sure someone you know is already where you want to end up, and that their phone's location is findable to yours.  Simply text: TAKE ME TO (their name or number here) to the app, put your phone on speaker and your car in drive!  You can confidently lay your phone down until you get there, something you could NEVER do with Navvy.
Your friendly NEW navigator will respond to your ever-changing global position with helpful hints and affirmations instead of directions, and he'll do this in whatever accent you choose, with Sexy Australian being the default voice.  Specifically, he will say HOTTER or COLDER until you arrive at your destination.  Every once in a while, he'll throw in a sincere sounding compliment about your appearance, taste in music, cooking, or driving skills.  I like to run Navvy in the background to make her jealous of all the attention I'm getting from the new guy.  She HATES that. 
This app is so great that you'll WANT to take the long way, just so you can spend more time with him!  Also, you don't even wanna KNOW how much the fine is for blowing your horn non-stop for twenty minutes, after nine, within city limits.     

(Guest Host) Pretendra: shame on me (in which I discover that I've mis-judged a person based on appearance)

***WARNING***THIS POST IS SERIOUS***
I've spent many years and countless hours interacting with people whose behavior served to reinforce stereotypes projected by their appearance.  A change occurred in me, and new walls went up,  so gradually that I didn't even know it had happened.
When I saw a muscley young white male, covered in tattoos, with an altered level of consciousness, and vital signs strongly indicative of illicit drug use, overdose, and/or withdrawal, I didn't mean to think twice about it.  In my line of work, this whole scenario is pretty common, and I've been proud of myownself for understanding that drug, alcohol, and even nicotine addictions are powerful and often devastating to those who suffer (yes-SUFFER) from them.  
Concerned family members frequented his bedside at every opportunity, and I wondered vaguely if one of them had discovered him unresponsive, how many times they had been through this with him before, and how many times they would be willing to repeat it before giving up on him.
For seven nights I marched back and forth, past the glass doors that separated him from me and the rest of the world, past the doors that proved completely ineffective against condemnation.  He lay there for seven nights, alone, critically ill, in all likelihood frightened and in pain, unable to communicate his feelings or needs, yet I pitied him not one bit.  I did not feel the pangs of empathy or concern that I usually feel, and I continued to make silent assumptions regarding his character.
My own shortcomings allowed me to look at this PERSON, this fellow human being, repeatedly, without SEEING him, without caring.
A great shame filled my heart when I admitted to myself what I'd done... Who or WHAT had I become when I wasn't paying attention?
It makes no difference whether the conclusions I had drawn were correct (they weren't), or that he will never know I had drawn any conclusions about him at all because his care and treatment would not be affected (they weren't).  
Life-altering moments are more common than they seem, but it's up to us individually to summon the courage to go all the way through the glass doors, receptive to the growth and change waiting for us on the other side.         
That young man will never know how big a role he played in rescuing me from ever-increasing apathy, leading me back to the path of universality of the human condition, and giving ME another chance to be a better person. 

bad kitty

Me (from somewhere in the vicinity of the end of my rope):  This cat is CRAZY and BAD.  I'm gonna go out and buy a tazer.  Maybe THAT will get his attention.
Ponytail:  NOOOooo!  Not a tazer!  That would KILL him!
Me:  Oh emm gee, I'm NOT homicidal!  I was talking about a CAT tazer, Ponytail!  Duh.
Ponytail:  There's no such thing as a CAT TAZER, Mommy!
Me:  Okay, then.  We'll just have to get a BABY tazer and PRETEND it's a kitty  tazer!

(P.S. We didn't!)

(Guest Host) Pretendra : For Lack of a Knack for Communication

My "favorite" language misuse is something I read in charts CONSTANTLY.  I've given up trying to convince anyone that they shouldn't write this.  It used to make me laugh; it just makes me sad now.
Patient AROUSES easily.
Patient DIFFICULT to AROUSE.
It is true that an occasional patient may become AROUSED during the course of care and treatment.  This is usually accidental, always ignored, and is NEVER encouraged. 
If one attempts to AROUSE a patient, one is acting inappropriately, immorally, and most likely, illegally!
If one elects to keep at it long enough to determine whether a patient is IMPOSSIBLE to AROUSE, rather than merely DIFFICULT to arouse, one is very dedicated and in need of either psychiatric assistance STAT, or a career change (fluffer comes to mind), and maybe a good lawyer.

Jagger and the ransom

WHY is Jagger practicing using his paws and mouth to manipulate a pencil? I suspect he doesn't want to be dependent on others to write ransom notes for him anymore. In all my life I've never had a pet that made me want to lock up all the kitchen knives.

great ideas

I've been very proud of myself for keeping my phone close to me so that when I wake up with a possibly brilliant idea, or just a dream I want to think about the meaning of, I can jot it down in my notes app and look at it later instead of having to wake all the way up to write (usually illegibly) on paper.
Today I grabbed my phone and HAD to write this because it was really funny to me (WHILE I WAS ASLEEP):
Then I fired up and said to any body listening: That ain't MY peanut M&M margarita!
*note to self:  Maybe not ALL those great ideas you so regretted losing to sleep were actually great. 

P.S. Also Senor Monkey-Muffins.
P.P.S.  Nope. I have NO idea, either.

The NOT-so-wreckLESS Driver

Cat-Sh!t Crazy 2

R:  I'll bet normal famblies never have to scream: Get off the table or I will throw a dog at you! just so they can eat breakfast without the cat.

R:  And THEN, STOP clawing the couch, Jagger! HERE comes Mister Monkey!!!

R:  Now Jagger is over in the shoe rack/pile. Why does he try to put on my shoes? It's like Bo when he used to prance around in his Mama's shoes when I babysat.

J:  Our family isn't normal either. Our cat likes to eat lunch in the high chair.

R:  Maybe we should GET a high chair for Jagger, or at least SOMETHING we can strap him in! I really think it's HIM, and not US, but I'm probably just in denial.

R:  Was he possibly normal when he got here and we broke him? Or is it just that he was conceived and borned in a meth lab... The dog (the real live one, not the tiny stuffed one I flung at the cat!)- his poop don't stink no more! Scooter's like the canine version of Teacher's Pet now.

J:  I think all animals are a little weird. They each have their own little personality.

R:  It's a SHOE BOX, Jagger, and not even a very nice one. WHY.

R:  Next, on Animal Planet: My Cat Might Be a Pervert.

R:  When you notice your cat is looking at you oddly while wearing your shoes and licking himself, it's either time to stop drinking or time to START.

A:  awwww

L:  He's eyeing those comfy wedges... but maybe a whiff of those sneakers is making his whiskers curl.

R:  L, I saw him stick his whole head in that same sneaker and inhale deeply. I just sat in the kitchen finishing my breakfast, watching him, and thinking about the absurdity of it all. He kept squinching his eyes and looking away on account of my phone's camera flash, too.

L:  lol.  Maybe he will start hiding things in your shoes like a squirel storing nuts for later.

Cat-Shit Crazy

Cat-sh!t crazy is exactly like bat shit crazy, except that it's caused by cats that live in your house and you have to give them food and water and empty their litter boxes almost every day.

The Double AH *see first: AH*

Apparently it was an unforgivable offense that I didn't finish scribbling on the two unofficial pieces of paper shoved at me yesterday, neither of which affects individual or company performance or productivity in any way. 

Kelso brought it (rudely) to my attention at the very beginning of the next shift, as if the omission were somehow an act of premeditated, gross misconduct.  My response was essentially:  My bad.  I was taking care of my actual WORK obligations.

And then I heard a set of words one never expects to hear in the American workplace.  THE set of words that earned Kelso the first ever Double AH distinction.

Kelso actually said the words:   You need to make sure all your paperwork is done before you eat or go to the bathroom.

He's like a double AH.  Literally, the anus of a donkey.

Just say Nay to suicide and homicide

Me to Ponytail (upon learning National Suicide Prevention Week was upon us):  Make me something suicide prevention related to wear to Open House at High Skool tonight!
Like maybe a shirt that says: To everyone who has ever considered suicide (or homicide!), but has NOT attempted either: HIGH FIVE!!!

**I didn't get that custom-made shirt or any presents at ALL, even though I refrained from suicide and homicide (except for bugs- I'm sorry, but I've thought long and hard about it, and bugs just DO NOT count!) for an entire YEAR.

AH

From the (sadly) True Work Files

Out of one person's persistently arrogant, dictatorial, anti-social workplace behavior arose a need for a way to (cheerfully) acknowledge the absurdity of the situation in a way that could be utilized in anyone's presence, yet still allow for the vocal expression of one's own exasperation.
Thus, the word (and sound) AH took on new meaning, and Kelso became the very first one.

I bought some hairspray, but not really

DAY 1
My usual brand of bar soap recently featured a promotional miniature can of hairspray taped to it.  YES, I thought loudly to myself, at LAST!  A free gift I can USE!

DAY 2
I probably should start storing first aid and beauty products SEPARATELY.
Also, I shouldn't use EITHER without wearing contacts or glasses.

DAY 3
Please support my cause by signing this petition and passing it on.

Dear Food and Drug Administration:
For obvious safety reasons,  companies should be required to put a warning label with THIS IS NOT HAIRSPRAY in large print on all spray cans that AREN'T.
Thank you,
Coalition of Americans for Safer Hairspray
(Because styling your hair shouldn't be dangerous)

The Upcam Finds His Bliss

Meet my Ukelele Playing Coconut Angel Monkey. 

Jagger versus the Hurricane Water

Jagger frequently climbs into empty showers and tubs.  When we filled the tubs as per standard Hurricane Warning precautions, his curiosity was piqued.

So was OURS.

Watch "Jagger" on YouTube

Jagger initiates preparations for Hurricane Isaac.

Turning Botulism into Profit! (from the facebook files)

Me: When stocking up for hurricane season, dented cans may SEEM like a bargain, but your savings will be negated by your medical bills once your botulism fully develops.
Me (again): If you can't resist a dented can, you can test for safety by feeding the contents FIRST to your least favorite family member or pet, and then watching them closely for symptoms.
(still) Me: Whether they survive or not, you may be able to make home-made Botox to sell door to door in your neighborhood. If you already HAVE a meth lab up and running, this will be surprisingly quick, easy, and profitable. So, I GUESS I need to go back and retract the advice about not buying dented cans.
Hula Hoops: wat are the symptoms n is it fatal?
Me: My only REAL information about botulism came from a Trixie Belden mystery I read when I was younger, and it was EXTREMELY fatal in that particular case. I think.
Hula Hoops: ok well i was jst wondering in case i wanted 2stock up 4 some dinner guests lol
Me (later that same day): I was halfway done with my very first batch of Botox (and oh SO CLOSE to a new career) when Ponytail up and told me this can's extremely boring dent story. So we went ahead and just ate the fake Botox for lunch.

Which is more fun: playing Avoid the FAKE lava or avoiding veryvery REAL fleas? (from the facebook files)

J: (@ohrelatefacts:) If you never jumped around the furniture avoiding the lava on the ground, then you didn't have a childhood.

R: True Story: we played the EXACT same game, except it was less about having fun and more about survival. I guess NOT surviving would have been LESS fun, though. The goal of our "game" was simple: avoid being eaten alive by the fleas that invaded our room because of the secret batch of kittens we smuggled into the closet so they wouldn't have to live outside in one of the old rusty, junked, broken down "parts" cars PawPaw was always using to decorate the property. For some reason, the fleas seemed to respect the boundaries we established, and they stayed off the beds as long as WE stayed off the floor. Weird, but true. As for us, we got really good at the long jump on school field days and, if we'd had encouragement at home, would most likely be Olympic Long Jump Gold Medal holders now, with lucrative commercial product endorsement deals, instead of having lifelong, pathological fears of kittens.

R: P.S. This True Story can be verified by M.

Bear Keeps Watch (from the facebook files)

J: My windows are boarded up and it's screwing with my sleep schedule!

R: Stop pretending your windows are boarded because of the hurricane, J. You know we do that because wood keeps vampires out because they know it can quickly be made into stakes to drive through their hearts.

J: Rme. I wanna see u "quickly" make a stake out of the sheet of wood over my window.

R: I CAN'T, J, but VAMPIRES don't know that, DO they?

J: Well YOU just put it over the internet, so now they DO

R: Oh, no. Now I have to prepare stakes and hang them on the plywood so we'll be ready. Woe is me (for real). Will there ever be an end to this vampire season?

J: U could just keep them inside with ur crossbow. If them AND the vamps are outside, how will u get to them?

R: ATTENTION all VAMPIRES and potential vampires and/or looters: OUR windows are boarded up on BOTH sides of the glass! So, there. And I just remembered that we also have a wooden bear MADE of wooden vampire-slaying stakes that we keep on continuous patrol in and around the house, and we sleep in SHIFTS, too, for obvious safety reasons.

S: lol... I want to live with you guys.

(the following morning)
Bear kept his faithful watch for vampires, looters, and/or vampire-looters while we safely slept.

R: @S. I thought you might want to see Bear and know that he does in fact keep us all safe.

Our cat ain't right. (a photo strip commentary)

#1:  Jagger, what are you doing in the sink?  Get outta there!
#2:  Oh, you're thirsty, huh?  That sink isn't broken and dripping, so good luck with your water fountain delusion.
#3.  Seriously??  You thought you could use your kitty paws to actually TURN ON a faucet so you could get a fresh drink??  You need psych meds, Cowboy, or else I'm still in a Benadryl dream.
#4.  Yeah, that's what I thought.  Now, if you'll accompany me to the kitchen, you'll find your water bowl is in the exact same place it always is.

P.S.  I threw away that MENSA application you started on.  The directions CLEARLY state that it must be filled out legibly and in INK! 

(Guest host) Pretendra: And that's how my other new ex-friend didn't bother to try to not kill me last night.

I don't know about you, but when I'm about to start in on a task that may leave me or my clothing soiled or splattered with anything other than my own sweat or tears, I don appropriate personal protective equipment (officially, if not affectionately, known as P.P.E.).  These articles may include gloves, masks, shoe covers, and/or gowns, depending on the anticipated exposure.  I prefer to err on the side of caution, so I use a whole LOT of it!  By the by, for me, it's more a lifestyle choice than a work-mandate.  I guess I have OSHA to thank for making it both.  It is true that I would live in a Haz-Mat suit if they were both comfortable and affordable.
I might not be the smartest monkey in the zoo, but I do know that if you bathe somebody (that you are not currently the parent, extremely CLOSE relative, or "partner" of) RIGHT, you will need to at least cover your clothes and your hands.
So, after I gather my supplies (gotta do that first because I AM the most warm-blooded monkey around and the cover-ups are SO hot!), I don all my P.P.E. and begin to position the equipment (in this case, a specialty bed) for my convenience (translation: I wanna get outta there as quickly as I can!).  On certain beds, each wheel has a brake that must be individually manipulated in order to move the bed, as well as to "lock" it in position.  Since these wheels rest on floors, and are hardly easy to access, I get on down there.  I discover a grouping of wires of unknown origin or purpose hanging under the bed near the top left wheel.  As the aforementioned bed has been working adequately, I (of course I do-I'm nothing if not predictable) casually move the wires to see just what the heck is going on.
A few sparks and a singed disposable gown sleeve are all it takes to remind me of the obvious folly of taking electrical (literally) matters into my own hands (also literally).
I make a mental note to put in a work order for this equipment before I leave, and to NOT GO NEAR the live wires again, but I must first complete this task I've already started in on.  I assign myself a safety ally by way of notifying a co-worker of the situation, and requesting she check on me if I'm not seen for a while and/or if she smells anything burning, etc.  Task is completed without further incident.
Scene change:  Shift ending.  Ask secretary if maintenance routinely comes in on Sunday or if they only do so if called in for emergency.  I learn that multiple calls were made YESTERDAY concerning this very problem, and then my new EX-friend (I'll refer to him here as "Trip") appears and says: Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you about that!  Yesterday, my SHOES LIT UP! 

And that's just one way to make ex-friends at work, Trip, by not bothering to try not to kill your co-workers.

(surprise)

Wake with a start at one AM. Saturday night!  Suddenly remember I am supposed to be hosting a surprise birthday party RIGHT NOW! 
Crawl quietly out of my cave to count heads (easiest way to tell if you ARE still hosting anything, am I right?).  Four heads, and that's just on the sofa.  Lemme see.  I personally borned one, two, three chilren, so, yep, slumber party in progress.  Dang it-I forgot to get up today (again!) and go pick up food, cake, etc. (kicking myself).  It sure is quiet, though, for a room full of tween-aged party people.  The only sound I hear is Mega Mind (my personal favorite movie) playing softly in the dark. 
I am preparing to take vital signs and do some basic neuro checks when I detect movement.  Good, because it's my DAY OFF! 
I greet each party guest with a hearty, albeit belated, welcome, attempting to casually ascertain whether or not any of them has been fed at all since their arrival (at what time, I have NO idea) at my home, or if I need to make a late-night Taco Bell run for the second night in a row (no trouble at all, really-I love that establishment!  When they say they're open late, they mean it, Wendy's!). 
They've had frozen pizza and S'mores, and there's an uncut, undecorated cake in the microwave for some reason.
They all start getting kinda rowdy, because it's only one, remember?  I know for a fact that three of the four stayed up way past three last night. 
Someone loudly shushes from a bedroom, and I go to see who it is.  Turns out to be a chaperone I didn't know about, a chaperone whose idea it probably was to put them to bed early in the first place. 
I approve getting up for snacks, and we all have a nice visit, sharing personal tales of adventure and madness.  I move the kitchen table and set up Befriendon, Upcam, and some Willow Tree figurines for a birthday card shoot.     
Eventually, the chaperone makes everyone go back to bed, even the hostess with the least-mostest, who isn't one BIT tired because I only just woke up, remember?
In the future, no more chaperones allowed unless they keep to themselves and let the children stay up as late as they want, AND sleep in as late as they want the next morning.
*This is still only the second worst surprise party I ever hosted, number one being the party where the guest of honor never did show up.

Me and my Biggest Fan (literally)

(circa 11 AM)  Me and my Biggest Fan riding around again this morning! 

A big shout-out to Miss Linda for the advice to strap him into the seat-belt this time. I'm usually pretty good at coming up with ideas on my own. I had to reach over and set him back on the passenger seat so many times over the last 48 that I was considering leaving him at home next time.

The seat-belt really turned a chore into a breeze (unintentional pun that I'm choosing to leave in here) (because I can, that's why). However, it was MUCH hotter once I got out of Wall Store, and, of course, I TOTALLY forgot to take my top off before driving (don't worry, I had a swimsuit top on, just like when I was 18 and my Burgundy Oldsmobile didn't have air conditioning except in the winter), so I was in NO MOOD to be inundated with demands for my attention as soon as I walked through the front door. What with Jagger's incessant, narcissistic whining and Scooter's legitimate plight of needing to pee RIGHT NOW, I had to put my own needs on hold for a while. After I petted him and fed him, I had to lock Jagger up in Saren's room again because YESTERDAY he was so much underfoot while I was TRYING to get a bowl to re-heat my gruel up in that he made me bonk my head on the microwave and THEN he refused to go to Time-Out in the corner, and I'm NOT going to physically RESTRAIN him in the corner (ain't nobody got time f'that). First, though, I took Scooter outside to go potty and, while he was taking care of his business, I went back to the van to bring in all my bags. To save time later, I left my biggest fan in the locked van with all the windows UP. I sure hope he's all right when I get up, and that he's ready to ride shotgun again.