I wasn't always like this...

Boycott

2009-09-10T08:39:00.004-05:00

I love the Beatles, but the song "I Am the Walrus" must be stricken from my musical library. Why? Because the line "I Am the Eggman" is all that ever runs through my head when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror before I step into the shower, and I'm sick of it.

I suddenly find myself to be round. Things just don't appear to be in the correct places anymore and I'm padded in places where I never used to be. Add all this to the top of my freakishly skinny legs, well you get the picture... unfortunately.

Getting old sucks.

Prius Commercials

2009-09-08T06:46:00.005-05:00

I am a Prius commercial junkie. I am fascinated by them, what creativity! I wondered how they managed to make those ads since it looks like a million people were used to create the scenery, was it special effects? I found the answer here:

I'm so impressed.

Hurricane Jimena?

2009-09-01T08:51:00.008-05:00

I would like to know who, exactly, at the U.S. National Weather Service was in charge of picking the name Jimena for the current storm menacing Mexico.

I've heard it pronounced seventeen trillion times today on the morning news shows, but damn if I can recall precisely how to say it. Part of the problem, I think, is that this:

keeps popping in my head every time and blocks my thought process.

*sigh...

Call me old fashioned, but I hope Keanah, Mauriona, Pommu, Rohannie or Ytalia don't soon follow, I shudder to think what my mind would conjure for those.

Brilliant

2009-07-26T08:38:00.005-05:00

okay, I'm starting this post with a plea. I can tell you right now that the idea I'm about to espouse is sound, solid and quite practical. However, I don't know the first thing about working politics.

For that reason, I'm going to prevail upon stronger minds than my own and beg Paula Light (you can find her on facebook, beg her to take up the cause!) or my darling friend Chris to take up the slack and get this pig pushed through.

You see, I can't stand stupid drivers. I encounter them daily, and frankly, I'm sick of it.

I propose that morons should be excluded from the road.

Now, it seems to me the best way to accomplish this is to nip their wings in the bud, down at the DMV itself. Of course, the DMV is going to have to step it up a little bit too, but I'm sure that with the proper guidance and enforcement we can all enjoy an idiot-free driving lifestyle.

I think that we should devise an IQ test to be taken along side the actual driving test itself. Standardized tests are all the rage, you can't even log into facebook without 65 requests for you to take one or another, especially stuff like finding out what kind of SuperHero or cocktail you are, so I say we go for this like starving children.

We establish a median and if the general populace doesn't reach it, it's the bike path for them.

Not only will this assuage my sensibilities, it will reduce global warming significantly as well. Judging by their driving skills, those 'tards apparently haven't a fucking clue where their (they're-edited for my "fan" post publishing) going anyhow. Just imagine , all those exhaust emissions wiped out! No more sitting behind the jerk who forgets to watch the light for the left turn arrow and remembers just as it is turning yellow! No longer will we suffer the traffic jam caused by the poor confused housewife who can't figure out a merging lane! No more dumb asses who can't grasp the concept of placing their entire vehicle inside the turning lane! Quicker commutes, less congestion, fewer road repairs... the list goes on and on.

It's a win win.

Someone get this on the ballet.

Grandkids

2009-07-24T08:14:00.003-05:00

I don't think I ever introduced Sean! This is him with Lily and Colin Jr.

My daughter just keeps giving me cuties!

Everyone is Loved

2009-07-10T10:12:00.004-05:00

You all remember my goofball granddaughter, Ryann...

She is 8 years old. Ryann is a sensitive girl, her feelings and emotions run very deep. She is the kid crying her eyes out at weddings, or screaming a warning at the characters on television when a scary movie is on.

She loved, LOVED Billy Mays.

Last night, the Discovery Channel held a tribute to PitchMen star Billy Mays, who died June 28, 2009.

Ryann watched it in its entirety...

Poor baby!

MJ BS

2009-06-26T04:33:00.004-05:00

Michael Jackson died. Farrah, too.

This means I won't be able to watch TV for at least a week.

The tributes. The anthologies. The horrifying displays of human grief and suffering over the loss, mass crowds gathered in vigils, young devastated fans snotting all over themselves...

I'm not a cynic, I'm just fed up with the media.

It was barely a year ago that they were swarming both of these people trying to get the money shot of the fallen icons, MJ's disgrace and Farrah's alleged mental breakdown. Vultures they were, and innuendo and suspect flowed like water, conjecture was the rule and sensationalism sold advertising. The public couldn't get enough dirt, and the shit talkers couldn't sling it fast enough.

Now they've passed and all of a sudden, there is reverence and appreciation being slimed through the airwaves. Look! We even have pictures!

Ghouls! Fuck this. The hypocrisy is nauseating and offends me.

Both of these people were just that, people. They had certain gifts, gifts we were allowed to share but they also had traits just like you and me, they were human, they made mistakes, they didn't handle every little thing in the moment. Is there anyone who doesn't reflect on the events of the day and wonder if they couldn't have handled something a little better?

I will be sad for the passing, for the loved ones that are left to suffer the loss, but I refuse to participate in the global hysteria over the departure. They lived, they died. Jesus.

In my mind, decency will come from respecting their death and finally leaving both of them alone... Unfortunately, it isn't likely that will happen.

Mannish

2009-06-23T07:44:00.004-05:00

So I got this car...

It's sweet.

I have a midlife crisis every time I drive it, I can't help but accelerate as if I'm Steve McQueen and once I'm flying I don't wanna stop.

Now, you all realize that I'm old, right? I am. I have no business driving a muscle car fast, or even slow for that matter. The laws of hotness dictate that I should not be anywhere near that vehicle, but fuck those laws.

In my mind's eye, I'm a goddess behind the wheel. I drive with the windows down and feel the wind in my hair. I usually have a Marlboro burning in my left hand, while the right is perched jaunitly at twelve o'clock on the steering wheel, a semi-apathetic expression plastered on my face for all to see, and see they do, I mean come on! It's a Challenger. I only wear my coolest outfits, and my seat is tipped back ever so slightly... It's a vision, really.

Music is important in a sweet ride like this, sometimes its STP's Wicked Garden, other times it might be Johnny Cash or Dr. Dre. So few choices...

I cruise my stupid suburbia feeling all that, assuring myself that there's nothing better than a hot girl in a hot car...

Reality? There's a really tired looking semi-deaf old lady with utterly no fashion sense and bad hair terrorizing the neighborhood in a big car.

Keep your fucking kids inside.

Caught In The Act

2009-06-14T09:19:00.007-05:00

So Lily turned 2 years old...True to the cliche, she proved she can't be trusted now...

Yes, that's her swiping a box of chocolates off of the counter...

As you can see, she's clearly ashamed of herself.

But when you can be this pretty with chocolate all over your face, who is going to really hold her accountable?

Roots

2009-06-14T08:59:00.004-05:00

So I planted a little garden....

Chrissy and I are convinced that all of our girls have ginormous boobs from the chemicals in the food chain and we're sick of it.

Well, she is anyway (because it didn't work on her). Me? I just hate going to the grocery store.

I Don't Remember It That Way At All

2009-06-05T06:53:00.001-05:00

I would like to declare that the events I'm about to describe are from other sources, namely my traitorous daughter, Tracy, and my ever supportive spouse, Jeff, and I want to go on record as saying that none of this is as I personally remember it. They are known to exaggerate the truth, especially at my expense, and although I was present for the entire alleged scene that took place, I was less than willfully participatory, and would like to claim bullshit. So there.

I have to get steroid epidurals in my spine every six or seven weeks. It sucks, it hurts, as in "Catch that fucker that hit me with a baseball bat!" but then after a day or so, I feel great. Reborn. No pain. It's so worth it.

Jeff had the same spine surgery I had. Yes, I know, I'm a horrible person for not telling you all this during my year long hiatus. He swam into the side of our pool two years ago and crushed his vertebra. Consequently, he has to get the same shots I do. On this particular day, we scheduled to receive our procedures together, one after the other, and we asked Tracy to deliver us both there and back, Jeff promising her that the show she would see would be worth the trip.

We get these shots administered at the surgery center and undergo some kind of wonderful sedation and a baffling drug called Versed... I think.

What I actually can remember from a first person account is being wheeled to the surgery room discussing a book I was reading with the doc, and then waking up in my bed- at home - a little groggy, a little confused, and oh-SO-hungry.

What I'm told actually took place is I was wheeled into the operating room, discussed my book, and then proceeded to scream at my doctor like a crazy person because the fire needle he was shoving into my spine was certainly liquefying my vertebra and everything around it. Ever the caring individual that he is, he upped my pain medication instantly via the IV, which is the humane thing to do, thus shutting my mouth.

Enter my daughter Tracy. Obviously, some time elapsed between screaming at the doc and Tracy sitting at my bedside in the recovery room. A significant amount of time, time I do not recall...

According to other people, I was put into recovery, dressed back into my other clothes, ate a packet of Lorna Doone cookies, and started drinking a cup of coffee. Tracy was brought in from the waiting room to sit with me, and as she entered, the nurses asked her to make sure I didn't spill the steaming hot cup of coffee I was holding all over myself, because it appeared I was dozing off.

"Hi Mom, how are you feeling?" Tracy asked, as she picked up an empty cookie wrapper and threw it into the garbage can.

"Hi Trace, how are you?"

Tracy giggles, "I'm fine silly, you are the one that's lying in a hospital bed."

"I know. Tracy honey, I'm so hungry. I don't understand it, usually they give me cookies in here."

Tracy looks at me sideways, "Uh mom? Do you want some cookies?"

"Yes! You're such a good daughter, do you have some?"

"No...But I think I can get some for you" she laughed, and walked over to the nurses station. "She wants to know if she can have some more cookies, do you have an extra pack?" The nurses graciously hand her another six pack of Lorna Doones, God's perfect food.

"Here Mom, I found you some cookies! Give me that cup of coffee Mom, you're spilling it all over the place." She took my cup and placed it on the bedside table.

"Oh thank you Tracy", I said, as I stuffed the cookies, one after another into my mouth whole until they were gone, crumbs sticking to my mouth, chin, and sheets. "I just love these."

"I see that. Do you want another sip of your coffee Mom?"

"Yes! Thank you!" I said gratefully, and took a sip. "This is good coffee Tracy. I sure wish I had some cookies with it, I'm starving. They usually give me the best cookies in here, Lorna Doones."

Tracy stared at me.

After a moment of stunned silence, she said "Mom, do you want some cookies?"

"Oh yes! That would be wonderful."

Tracy approached the nurses station, "You know, she really loves those cookies, any chance I can get her another pack?" This time, the nurse had to go to a storage closet and retrieve a new box, which she wisely placed upon the counter and told Tracy, "Help yourself honey."

As Tracy was returning to my bed, Jeff was wheeled into the recovery room adjacent to mine, a thin curtain separating us, and once Jeff was given his beverage and cookies, it was opened so that we could see each other.

"Hi Honey" said Jeff.

"Hi Jeffee, how are yo- HEY! You stole my cookies!"

"I didn't steal your cookies woman! These are MY cookies!"

"Tracy, Jeff stole my cookies! They usually give me cookies in here!"

"Oh my God mom, are you serious?"

"Yes! Look at him, he's stuffing his face with my cookies!"

"I am not you crazy wife."

"Are too."

"Mom. Really. Jeff didn't steal your cookies! I gave you cookies Mom."

"Oh yeah? Then where are they?"

"You ate them Mom, a couple of tim- oh nevermind. Do you want some cookies Mom?"

"Oh, that would be nice Tracy, thank you." I glanced over at Jeffee, "I can't believe you."

Tracy yells, "Mom, stop! He didn't steal your cookies!"

After twenty or so more minutes of this, we were deemed to be well enough to go home. Tracy pulled the car around and the nurses helped me and Jeff in, me in the backseat.

"Oh wow, I'm really tired" I said, "And hungry too, hey, do you think we could go through the drive-thru at McDonalds?"

Tracy laughed, "Sure Mom, what do you want?"

"Uh, well, I'm starving, I want two breakfast burritos and an Egg McMuffin. They usually give me cookies in there, but didn't this time for some reason."

"They didn't Mom?" asked Tracy, "That sucks."

"I know. Lorna Doones, I just love those."

We drove home, and I ate my food on the way. All of it. In a ten minute drive.

Tracy put me to bed, and about an hour later, I woke up.

Now this part I remember... I came out to the living room to find Jeff and Tracy sitting there watching television. "Hi Mom," said Tracy, "Feeling better?"

"I am honey, thank you. I'm starving though, I don't understand it. Usually when we get our shots there they give us those wonderful Lorna Doone cookies in recovery, but they didn't have any this time or something."

"They gave me some" said Jeff.

"No fair! I can't believe that, why would they give him some and not me?"

"Oh my God Mom."

"See Tracy?" said Jeff, "I told you it would be worth the trip."

Why Neighbors Suck

2008-06-28T12:03:00.006-05:00

The amazing

Chia Deck

And if you act now, we'll include this Chia Awning, absolutely FREE!

Redneck Tarp not available in most areas.

'Mornin Sunshine

2008-06-02T06:00:00.003-05:00

6:50 a.m.

"Nanna, time to wake up for school honey..." I said, as I scooped her into a big cuddle and kissed her forehead.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and and said, "...mmm, 'mornin' mom."

We hugged for a sec and I kissed her neck like I used to do when she was a baby, "I love you Anna. Thank you for always being such a good girl, you've made being a momma so nice."

She stretched, smiled, and said, "Oh mom, it was easy."

I think today will be a good day.

Signs You're Not Right In The Head Jeffee

2008-05-18T09:40:00.000-05:00

"C'mon, let's cuddle and coo!", he says, as he meanders towards the bedroom shaking his ass and making pigeon noises, "cooooo-coooo"...

Ahhh, that man of mine.

Love Is

2008-05-16T07:56:00.005-05:00

There's been a violent death in our family, and we've lost a very unique, quirky, colorful and generous man.

Death is always a difficult thing to deal with, an unexpected and suffering death is quite another story.

But that isn't what this post is about.

This is about the love that shines in the wake of tragedy.

I am always awed by genuine caring, it is shocking in its sincerity and never fails to force me into reality. You know? It's so easy to get caught in your own thoughts and emotions, and to dwell in the dark recesses of your mind when life is unfair. It taints you into cynicism and sometimes it is so hard to see any sort of light, but then you'll witness true heart and it somehow gives you hope. Hope is everything.

Today's post is one of love. It is a thank you to my children, all of them, both mine and Chrissy's, and the strays that have adopted us as their own.

As a parent, you can't always tell on a daily basis if you're doing a good enough job of raising your children. When crisis strikes a family, it's an incredible thing to experience gracious and selfless love from others, when it comes from children, it is amazing in its beauty.

We returned home from a cold, wet, grueling and horrific day filled with details the mind cannot comprehend in real time. We returned home to teenagers and young adults who had gone grocery shopping, made a buffet of quality food set with plates and accouterments, purchased with their own pooled funds. They cooked, they cleaned, they set up, they built a fire and readied the house for an onslaught of tired, stunned and grieving people, and they did it of their own volition. They took on the responsibility of forethought and practical details, attending to the needs of people filled with sorrow, and pitched in to help in a very real and thoughtful way.

I can try to express my feelings in more detail, but there aren't words for the pride and love I feel for them.

Kids, I am awed by your worth and contribution.

Another PSA

2008-05-13T11:51:00.006-05:00

OK, first of all WARNING: I ripped this from a site with highly questionable content.

THERE IS A LOT OF PORN ON IT.

Second, the embed feature is fairly new for them, so the odds that it will work correctly can be reproduced in your own home by flipping a quarter.

Third, and this is important, if the odds of some nasty slut doing something nasty with her ass or some other sluts' ass are frightening enough for you that you have even a modicum of trepidation, then don't click this video.

You see, I posted this yesterday and it worked fine on my computer. My daughter went next door to her house to show her husband and the afore mentioned nasty slut with the ass problem popped up instead of the very aggravated black woman I intended to show. If the preview is of anything other than a woman FULLY CLOTHED and highly disgusted, then the fucking embed isn't working properly and you should just move along. Unless your into nasty slut ass problems, then be my guest. Whatever.

Proceed at your own discretion.

Now, as I so urgently need to share:

I have a new hero, I just love this woman.

You go girl.

Erm... If it IS the nasty ass slut, then the "You go girl" thing, albeit rather funny, doesn't apply.

The Birth of a Fire God

2008-04-28T09:32:00.007-05:00

How many of you remember that my father set a tree in my back yard on fire a couple of years ago?

Yeah, he did... Sprayed it with all kinds of flammable liquids and then every time I turned my back, he threw a match on it.

Then, last summer, my son in law's father came over, got drunk, and then chopped that tree in half with a chain saw.

I don't really understand what it is that comes over men when they are in my back yard.

Well, I stared at that "tree" for a whole year.

I wasn't going to stare at it in that state any longer, so, I did this:

Don't you just love yard art?

Andy Always Makes Me Think Dirty Thoughts

2008-04-26T07:56:00.000-05:00

My Darling Friend Andy Martello

Got a paying gig doing this commercial:

And ladies? All I can think is, if his hands are that good with plates....

YAY!!!

2008-04-18T18:00:00.001-05:00

Ok, Here's her testing performance...

SHE PASSED!

What a doll!

Anna Skating

2008-04-17T07:51:00.007-05:00

Anna is practicing for a test this Friday. If she passes it, she will be at the Preliminary Level and if she passes that, she'll be allowed to apply to be an "ice sweeper" (which means she'd be one of those little girls that gets to run out on the ice and pick up all the toys and flowers people throw at skaters after their performance) at Quicken Loans Arena during the U S Figure Skating Championships being held in January next year. It makes me crazy to watch her at practice because she tends to be sloppy... Put the kid in a pressure situation like a competition or test though, and she brings her A-game every time. Anyway, this was taken at 6:30 this morning and you can at least see her progress. I'll video her this weekend and post her actual performance so you can see the difference.

She's such a cutie.

Ok, I just opened my blog and watched this thing. I don't know who all those other skaters are that pop up at the end. I'm an idiot with html, and I'm sure there's a way to edit my video to not have all that stuff come up, but yanno what? I don't care. Don't watch them if you don't want to see them. What ever.

...and obviously, I'll never have a career as a photographer.

A Call To Arms

2008-04-09T06:41:00.004-05:00

I haven't truly ranted on here in a while. That is about to change.

*Warning: Poor language and obvious rambling will likely ensue from this point on.*

Ok. I admit that I watch television. I'm not proud of that! Who the hell is? I am an American Idol junkie, that god damned program is like crack, and don't even get me started on Top Chef, Hell's Kitchen, The Dog Whisperer (and I don't even like dogs) or Big Bang. Fuck you, sue me.

Being an admitted television viewer, I feel qualified in stating my opinion that television commercials have become an anomaly that I haven't a clue what to do with.

When I was a younger soul, I watched television as well. Commercials were just as annoying then as they are now, but my youth prevented me from furthering my middle aged ass spread. That's right, I never stayed still long enough to actually watch them, I was more apt to get up and go pee or grab some cookies or something. Not now! It's an effort to haul myself out of the recliner. This means I'm forced to view this pandering bullshit on a fairly regular basis, like every 7 fucking minutes.

Commercials used to have a point. Some mousy housewife would come on screen wearing a linen dress and a frilly apron and tout the healthy benefits of a Swanson Frozen Dinner and its convenient foil tray, or a dusty, weathered cowboy would inform us of the smooth pleasure of a Marlboro Cigarette.

Things have changed quite a bit. Now we have Target making obscure references to products flashed on the screen between Dali-ish visuals and a cover of some classic song that has been "updated" to a mere shell of its former self, or a mostly naked chick creaming her panties over a chocolate square the size of a quarter from Ghirardelli, or a crack whore having an audible orgasm while using her shampoo. How about the sexually repressed bastard who breaks into song because he sits on a stupid sofa in a La-Z-boy furniture store? "I'm in love with this woooooooooman!" Don't they realize that there are impressionable people in the world? Did they stop to consider that from now until eternity, Jeffee will forever sing the same fucking song to me every time he sits down? I want to hit that man in the face with a shovel for causing me this grief. Know what Jeff does every time he thinks he's done something spectacular? He screams "Wizzzzzard!" Fuck you Alltel.

I'm sick of this abuse. I want the powers that be to suffer, as I have. I want each and every one of you to start a grassroots protest! I want these bastards punished!

The last straw, the commercial that has sent me over the edge belongs to AT&T's Go Phone. I was minding my own business, sitting there, staring at the TV while I tried desperately to tune out the commercial interlude that was abusing me, when I was was rudely interrupted by Meatloaf. MEATLOAF!

WHY?

What genius thought having Meatloaf and his son dramatize a re-worked version of Paradise By The Dashboard Lights would inspire someone to go buy their phone? Are these people insane? First of all, if you were to take a poll asking women to make a list of the most unattractive males on the planet, Meatloaf would place somewhere between Larry King and Dennis Rodman. Second, anyone who had a nerdy little sister lived the very real torture of hearing that god forsaken song played no less than 400 times a day, no shit. And finally, IT'S MEATLOAF!

Gah! I can't stand it!

Who is in charge here? Who do I complain to? The Attorney General's office has no department that handles these types of complaints. The FCC thinks I'm crazy. The church doesn't care, and AT&T doesn't answer their fucking phone, worse, the computer generated voice on their automated line is almost as horrific as the commercial itself - a body can only take so much after exposure.

We MUST put an end to this type of abuse! Isn't there a congressman out there willing to champion this cause? Can we get a filibuster?

Fuck me.

Y'All Are Crazy

2008-04-01T07:00:00.004-05:00

Hi there everyone!

I've just returned from Florida. Most of my kids have spent the winter in Naples and I was missing them. Easter Sunday was also Lily's first birthday and you KNOW I couldn't miss that so, Anna and I packed up and hit the road.

Now, the road between Cleveland and Naples, although very scenic, is 1200 miles of very long and brutal, trust me, this I know. My route was quite direct, I-71 to I-75 due South.

I happened to notice a few things...

*A four-star rated hotel in Kentucky is a relative designation.

*Tennessee is quite possibly one of the most beautiful states in the Union. Seriously, it really is.

*I'm pretty sure Tennessee is the world capital of Carnival people. I can't be positive and I have no proof, but I swear to God, the three gas stations I visited there had Carnies running all over the place. At one in particular, The Fat Lady, The Tattoo Lady, The Bearded Lady and The Lizard Boy all came out as I was going in. They all climbed into an El Camino. I didn't stick around to find out why.

*Once you cross the invisible yet very real boundary line just South of Knoxville, you will encounter a phenomenon unseen in the North; ordinary, everyday people who truly believe they are NASCAR drivers, who otherwise possess not a single NASCAR driver skill.

*The ENTIRE state of Georgia is filled with the aforementioned people. In fact, I am positive that Atlanta is merely an acronym for All Traffic Lanes Allow NASCAR Training Asswipes, and if you've ever had the misfortune to be stuck driving through that fine city on a weekday between the hours of 8:00 a.m. and 11:00 p.m., you obviously know exactly what I mean. You see, traffic comes to a complete stop for no apparent reason, and when you do finally get to move a foot and a half, some hot Southern boy will yank a quick left followed by a quick right in what he believes to be an expertly executed lane shift that leaves a sane person shaking their head in complete and utter wonder. And then you get to sit there for another ten minutes until some other fine Southern boy does the same shit. I managed to make it from the very top of Atlanta to the bottom in under two hours, which based on the information I managed to glean from a very patient bartender just after the experience, was a monumental feat.

*In Georgia, while you are traveling at 85+ miles per hour it is perfectly acceptable for some women to "veer" out of their own fucking lanes and encroach into yours on a rather sharp curve with no shoulder.

*In Georgia, the sun can be shining, the winds calm, the roadways empty of all orange construction barrels, no vehicle accidents anywhere to be seen, no state troopers aiming radar guns, no lane interchanges and no bloody naked people standing on the side of the road, and traffic will still come to a complete stop suddenly. For no fucking reason whatsoever.

*Gainsville, Florida has a McDonald's with what has to be the worst staff of all time. I'm no expert on this, as I've never actually worked in a McDonald's, but I think that 25 minutes in the drive-thru is a fairly good indicator of this opinion.

*Southerners are for the most part polite to an extreme. I'm never quite sure how to respond to all the "Yes Ma'am" and "Thank you, all y'all", "Good Mornin'!" and "After you, Ma'am"s I encountered. I'm from Ohio, Northern Ohio. We don't make eye contact with people, much less speak to them simply because they are there. When I stumble out of my hotel room at 5:30 in the morning in my pajamas in search of coffee, I am seriously startled and rather dismayed at having to respond to niceties with other humans. Jesus, I haven't even had coffee yet!

*I'm not sure I'm spelling the "y'all" thing correctly. Is there a dictionary for that language? I'm guessing it's correct because I saw a water tower painted with "Come Back Y'all!"

*I hate Naples. In fact, You will have to bind me, gag me, blindfold me, drug me and drag me back there in a coma, and even then, I'll figure out a way to delay my arrival.

In theory, this trip was a great idea. In reality, save for seeing the kiddos and getting a mini-tan, it wasn't such a good one. I DID manage to find some freakin' awesome peanut butter fudge though, so it wasn't a complete loss.

Gotta love fudge.

Did You Know?

2008-03-14T05:32:00.004-05:00

I got a job cooking. I'm dead tired when I get home, this old chick isn't as wirey as she used to be...

My darling Anna knew exactly what I needed, "A hot Jacuzzi Tub Mom", so she promptly went and started one for me. Anna's into everything girly, so simply getting into the bath was out of the question. No, she needed me to have a "spa experience" replete with candles, fluffy towels, ridiculously over sized sponges, and soothing music - which I might add is completely subjective as it appears that soothing music to her involves ocean sounds and some chick moaning "ahhh-AHH-ahhh" over and over again, and absolutely nothing from my Beatles library.

Anyway, I have to admit that soaking does a body good, but something seemed to be missing.

Aroma.

So I added a drop or two of cucumber melon scented body wash to the bath water.

BIG mistake!

I had no idea that crap was Mr. Bubble in disguise, in about two and a half minutes I was frantically directing Anna to dump armloads of bubbles into the stationary tub while she laughed at me. Who the hell knew?

Just goes to show ya, you're never too old to learn.

My Mother Was A Genius

2008-03-01T08:54:00.004-05:00

Anna got her new ice skates yesterday, eight hundred dollar ice skates. They are really a marvel, solid, heavy, expertly crafted...

They're laying in the middle of the floor.

So, I asked my little darling to please pick them up, along with her coat, her hat, her skating dress, and her pair of old skates as well, and to remove these items from the center of the family room so that I don't inadvertently slice a toe off in the middle of the night.

All of this conversation got me thinking. I can remember when I skated and how I would long for the winter months so I could hit the ice that formed on our pond. Then I remembered something else...

My mom and her crazy means.

You see, we had moved from the city of Cleveland into a farm community in the middle of nowhere. The previous owners of our little farm house were, shall we say, color challenged. They had NO EYE for color, none. We had every freaking color in the rainbow in that house, on wallpaper, doors, walls, cabinets, tile and especially on carpeting. My mother on the other hand is one of those people who can put together a color pallet that looks like something Martha Stewart created. She is somewhat of an expert at arranging furniture, adding interesting patterns to a room and decorating a house with flair and class. Our knotty pine-panelled living room with deep Royal Blue carpeting was so abysmal to her that she could barely stand to enter the room and absolutely couldn't do so without offering an audible and detailed bitching about how hideous it was. My father, by contrast, could live in a cardboard box decorated with crayon drawings by three year olds and think it a palace with "incredible native artwork".

All of my mother's complaining fell upon deaf ears, after all, we had just purchased a farm. Money was tight, there were three kids to feed, and refurbishing the place was really low on the list of priorities, especially when the abhorrent blue carpet was in excellent condition.

I can almost see the light bulb that went off in my mother's head...

Where the hell am I going with all of this, and what the hell do ice skates have to do with anything?

One bright summer day, my mom let my brother Andy, my sister Sharon and I pull out our ice skates and use them. That's right, it seems the synthetic fibered, excellent condition, awful Royal Blue carpet was an awesome substitute for a frozen pond. We skated like three crazed Olympians all over the living room. Naturally, the ridges in our toe picks caught the looped ends of fiber and tore them free from the matting, but that was nothing a pair of scissors couldn't cure. By the end of the day, that carpet had more sculpting to it than anything ever produced by Monsanto Labs, and my mother was in the best mood of her entire adult life.

Mom was ecstatic.

Now, I didn't realize it until today, but what she did was essentially throw the three of us under the bus to get new carpeting. Dad had a mini heart attack, and I'm sure my mom claimed we were rotten kids who did this while she was dutifully attending the yard or some other crap, but within a week or so, we had luxurious white plush carpeting, and since the carpet was being replaced, they may as well tear the disgusting knotty pine down as well, and the furniture was never going to match the new stuff, so.....

I just have to giggle at her, I realize now where I get it.

Jeffee Gets Inspired

2008-01-28T08:01:00.000-05:00

Jeffee throws open the kitchen door and yells, "Honey, quick! Kim! COME HERE, QUICK! You aren't going to believe this," he says breathlessly, "It's a freakin' miracle!"

The man sounds like he's just seen an UFO or something, so I stop what I'm doing and run to the door. I'm greeted by a cold blast of wind and the sight of Jeffee, immensely proud and ready to burst from the great news he has to share. He's holding something and the look on his face is signaling my Spidey Sense to kick in. It's not that I'm suspicious, it's that not even a week ago while we were spending the weekend at my sister's house, he faked me out with an injury just so he could force me to catch a whiff of a monster shit he took in a hallway bathroom. "What is it Jeff?" I ask, not trusting him an inch.

"Look at THIS!" He says.

"Uh huh" I say, "I see you've found a log."

"A log! It's not a log!" He says, "It's... it's, well, it's cool as shit! Look at it Kim! It's a log - IN a log!"

Sure enough, it is.

"That's great honey, really."

"You know what I'm gonna do, don't you?" He asks me.

"I don't dare guess..."

"Gah! I'm gonna put it on eBay! It's like a Jesus log, only there isn't any Jesus or anything in it, but, LOOK at it! Oh! I have to go show it to Eric!" He says, as he runs toward our son in law's house. "He's not going to believe this!"

"I know I can't..." I say to no one, as I slowly close the door, shaking my head.

Writers' Strike

2007-12-30T12:12:00.000-05:00

There's nothing but reruns on television. Nothing but.

So, I decided to jump on the bandwagon.

THIS story is a rerun. So is THIS one. Enjoy.

Happy New Year Everyone!

My Cup Runneth Over, All Over

2007-12-20T07:16:00.000-05:00

You know, I try. I really do.

It is an effort for me to haul myself out of doors to do anything that involves mingling with humanity. Not that I have some sort of agoraphobic problem with being outside or something, no, that's not it. It is simply the PEOPLE I am forced to encounter, interact with, bump into or even see.

God knows I am not a fashion icon, not even close, but for crying out loud I have the presence of mind not to go to the grocery store in my light blue and dirty cloud pajamas and a hairdo that hasn't seen a comb in four days. I just don't do it.

Conversely, I have a very hard time purchasing anything from a man with more makeup on than I do. I mean, come on! At least learn to apply the shit to achieve a more natural look so I can trust your judgement, even I can accomplish that!

I had to get a prescription filled at the drugstore yesterday. Ordinarily, this isn't an event that would inspire a blog post, right? Ordinarily.

It must have something to do with the time of year, the stress associated with the holiday season, the worries about fiscal responsibility, the prospect of your smelly cousins sitting around at Grandma's house, or some such thing that turns what I hope would be a very polite elderly gentleman into a fucking dickwad who cuts in front of you while you are in a line fifteen deep and then has the balls to look you in the eye and say, "They didn't call your name, I was listening" as if he's known you your entire life and has the right by virtue of his greasy white hair to address you in the first place.

As I was saying, it must be the time of year, because I didn't flip out, I didn't grab his arm and shake his rickety bones and holler "THEY DID TOO YOU OLD FART!" No, I simply smiled at the man and nodded my head to the cashier.

See? I am full of Christmas Spirit.

Kim of the Dead

2007-12-17T11:16:00.000-05:00

Hello?

It's me!! Kim, back from the dead. No not really, I didn't die for real I just wanted to for a little while, but I'm allowed to go out and have a cocktail or four again and all of a sudden? Life's not so bad...

First of all, THANK YOU to all of you for all of the nice, warm, loving thoughts you've expressed in here, and the private emails as well. I wasn't allowed to do much of anything during my recovery and one of the worst things was being banned from my computer. I've been in physical therapy for a couple of weeks now, so the doc has given me a green light for the keyboard again. Being away was terribly hard for me, know that, but Jeffee IS a caretaking NAZI and it simply was impossible.

Ok. You know I love to post pictures, so here you are:

TA-DA!!!! My Neck!

I'm actually kinda thrilled about this scar, as it eliminates the big problem of what to be for Halloween. I'm just going to add a couple of bolts sticking out of each side and maybe some green face paint. I am still terribly stiff and cannot turn my head very much so acting like Frankenstein won't really be a stretch for me. Alright then.

Sitting around on my fat ass all this time was torture. I am not known for such things as patience, idle time, or long bouts of television viewing. As a diversion, I started crocheting again. I made four blankets, three scarves and two hats. This is Lily in one:

And in another:

And then the chunky little thing learned to crawl and didn't give a crap about hats or blankets.

Anna had another skating competition and won another medal:

And is skating this weekend at The Q during halftime for the Lake Erie Monsters Hockey game.

Sarah turned eighteen and then promptly pissed off the entire family:

Krissteen sent me these pretty flowers:

And Chris and DB sent us this picture of Jeffee and I while we were visiting them in Hawaii two years ago:

I've done almost all of my Christmas shopping, thank God, and even managed to plan a menu for Christmas day. We're asking each kid to cook something to take the pressure off of me, but that's scary all by itself and I'm not so sure this was such a good idea.

Poor Jeffee has weathered the storm that is Kim bored, recuperating, and on pain meds. He doesn't come straight home from work these days...

I haven't had a fucking cigarette in two months (takes a huge bow).

All in all, things are going well and it feels good to be back among the living.

Thanks for hanging in there with me everyone, you know I love you for it.

Talk at ya soon...

Mom's Ok

2007-11-02T01:04:00.000-05:00

Hi All, Mom is ok!

She had an awesome Doc, Dr. Ahn

Who performed this procedure on her for four hours:

http://www.spine-health.com/dir/anteriorcervicalcorpectomy.html

This is right after surgery & recovery (she's gonna kill me for this):

And this was yesterday:

As you can see, she's feeling better. She came home tonight, but went straight to bed. I'm sure you'll all hear from her soon!

Welcome home mama!

Hiatis

2007-10-24T00:00:00.000-05:00

Hi Everyone.

I wanted to take a brief moment to let you all know that I will be away for a while.

I'll be having a surgical procedure done to fix a very painful condition in my back in the next couple of days. I have degenerative bone disease and arthritis and have managed the discomfort and symptoms for a few years. Unfortunately, my cervical spine has become affected and I have three bulging discs, one of which has compressed a nerve root to my right arm and rendered it almost useless, and another which is now pressing on the spinal cord itself, causing indescribable pain.

It is hard for me to type, so I will keep this short. I know that your thoughts are with me, I know you all so well that I can take that liberty, you have all said that to me so many times I actually feel guilty even telling you about this. I want each and every single one of you to know that your words, thoughts, wishes and kindnesses have meant the world to me and that I appreciate you. Thank you for that.

I'm sure one of my daughters or one of my friends will hijack my blog and apprise you of my condition in the coming weeks. Until then, or until I can get back here myself, thank you for your friendship, for your humor, and for your presence.

Love, Kim

Colorblinded

2007-10-12T11:55:00.000-05:00

Jeffee spent the last few days outside. He's been putting away lawn furniture, covering the pool, cutting the grass & pruning shrubs, and getting the yard ready for winter. Consequently, he got a sunburn and his forehead is peeling something awful.

"Hey, hon, do you have any sort of girly face cream or somethin'? I look like I have leprosy and I have a big meeting at work today, I wanna try to hide some of this shit." He says, rubbing his forehead.

"Yeah, sure, it's in the bathroom, help yourself."

"Where in the bathroom?"

"On the ledge, you'll see it, it's right out in the open."

Grumbling, Jeffee makes his way to the back of the house muttering something about "women".

Now, I know this man. This is the same man who could be standing right in front of a basket full of folded towels and ask me if we have any clean. I decide that it might be a good idea to go check on him...

"Jeffee, what are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm putting face cream on, just like I said! "

"Uh, no you aren't."

"YES I am, leave me alone woman, I'm late!" He says, as he furiously rubs a tub full of goop on his face.

"Darling, I hate to tell you this, but you're rubbing hair sculpting creme into your face." And God help me, but I can't stop giggling at him.

"What! goddamn it Kim! Why the hell do you women have to have such colorful shit? How the hell are you supposed to know what the hell is what?"

"We usually read the label."

"This wouldn't happen if men were in charge!" He yells, "A guys' stuff would just say FACE CREAM, or HAIR SHIT, no wonder your all crazy."

No wonder.

NEWS ALERT

2007-10-09T13:27:00.000-05:00

Hi everyone, it's me, Sarah..

I've hijacked my mother's blog to bring you a little update. Sadly, it's not about me (although I am doing very well.. I have a full time job, I'm moving into my own apartment in 30 days and as you can see, I'm still super gorgeous!)

Anyway, this is about my poor sick Merr. It was about nine days ago, while she was apparently "making out with Jeff" (eew) and caught his flu. He's fully recovered, but my mom has the worst immune system known to man, so of course, her symptoms have worsened and rendered her completely miserable.

So for the past week and a half, Merr has been slinking around her house in pajamas patterned with bowling monkeys, muttering things to me like "you're sort of like the devil, except you try to use your powers for good, which is admirable", and she has paid absolutely no attention to the mess of hair on top of her head.

I know you all love my mom. She is beautiful, regardless of the condition of her appearance..

So if you see her, please do not call the police on her. She won't let me take her picture, but this is exactly what she looks like right now:

My poor Merr.

To all my adoring fans, my birthday is November 7, and gifts are always welcome. hugs and kisses!! xoxoxoxoxo

Jeffee's Hip

2007-10-08T08:38:00.000-05:00

When you've been in a long term relationship, you understand certain things.

You come to realize that the brilliant, well spoken, responsible man you fell in love with is actually menusha.

That's right, menusha.

Don't bother looking that word up, as I did. It isn't real per se, it exists only in theory, one based solely in Jeffee world. That theory is this; if Jeff uses a word that isn't a real word -maybe close to a real word but not actually real- and I call him on it, he claims I'm nuts and then fabricates a definition and swears it is slang...

"These announcers make me sick."

"I know! Could they be in favor of the Yankees more? All this menusha, I can't believe it."

"What?"

"What, they're disgusting."

"No, back up, you said what? Menusha?"

"Yeah, it's menusha."

"What the hell is menusha?"

"You know, it's menusha, bullshit. It's slang. You haven't heard that yet?
Men -new -sha, Everyone is saying it."

"Everyone who?"

"I don't know, it's real damn it."

"Uh huh. How exactly do you spell that Jeffee?"

"I would say... m -e -n -u -s -h -u -a, NO... wait, m -e -n -u -sha, yeah, sha. MENUSHA. Look it up."

"How about I look up d-o-r-k instead?"

"You're killin me..."

To Hell With Yard Art...

2007-10-03T07:09:00.001-05:00

I've got ROOF art.

It's the new trend.

Krissteen, Andy, & Guacamole

2007-09-30T08:16:00.000-05:00

Finally!

After 4 years, I finally met Krissteen! I was so happy, so relieved, I cried! Yes! Me! Cried! God, I make myself sick.

It is such an odd thing to meet people in the flesh after having established a relationship over a long period of time on the net. I'm never sure how it's going to go, but I'm happy to say that after only a moment of timidness, we fell right into place and cut up like we usually do. Jeffee and Chris's husband Kevin got along great and in no time, were like twins separated at birth. I knew they'd like each other and I was right. They pretty much stuck together like glue the remainder of the weekend...

I also got a chance to meet my darling friend Andy Martello!

Now Andy's been talking about having a wife forever. I've never actually believed him, as nobody (me) has actually seen her before (Except for Bud) so I refer to her as an "Alleged Wife". I'm happy to report that April is real and she's cute!

Andy took us to a couple of locals' spots for drinks and conversation. The first of which was a psychedelic Denny's-ish place with a fire pit and sofas, with cocktail waitresses running around in ball gowns. Chris and Kevin were very inspired by it all...

So we had to get out of there before they got out of hand. They are mountain folk after all....

So we were all off to the Sahara...

Now this is where the story gets a little interesting.

Andy thought it would be nice to go to a funky little bar, and I mean little, and I also mean funky, located in the Sahara casino. He deliberately picked it out for its kitsch (apparently, girls donate their bras for free drinks) and intimacy. We were all dying to launch into some quality conversation in a local that would afford us the ability to group up and yap. I must say, that had conditions been right, it would have been the perfect spot. However...

Such was not the case.

Little did Andy know, the bar was "protected" by a gargoyle. We found this out because I happened to notice that this:

Was on the television screen and made the mistake of saying out loud, "What the FUCK is on the TV?" This prompted the gargoyle

To turn it's hideous head and say, "It's wrestling. I just love watching men wrestle." Which, of course, made me laugh out loud. Apparently, this is an invitation to all gargoyles to come to your table and slurringly inform you about their lives. Who knew?

In no time, we learned that "it" had four houses and that a Guatemalan was in one of them. Only I didn't hear "Guatemalan", I heard "Guacamole" (I blame the slurring) and interrupted it to ask, "What they hell did you just say? You had guacamole sitting around in your house? What?" Which prompted it's ire. Apparently, guacamole is a filthy word in gargoyle speak. This pissed it off so much, it started stomping imaginary cockroaches all around our table, at least twenty of them. Although we were deeply grateful for its efforts, we were none the less a bit gun shy of the gargoyle, it was a gargoyle after all. Sensing our distress, the gargoyle's human friend (who also doubled as our waitress) tried to intervene.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the intervention was really just a ruse to try to get down my pants. This infuriated the gargoyle and in retaliation, it tried to get down first Andy's pants, then sensing no progress there, proceeded to aggressively try to get down April's. The human friend offered to take our picture, so we let her, and

Just before April knocked the gargoyle out for trying to touch her boobs, we wisely decided it was time to leave. We escaped to the casino's main bar and all sucked down hard shots to try and erase the lingering funk we all seemed to feel. The gargoyle wandered past several times, but thanks to Jeffee and his remarkable ability to imitate a P.A. System, we averted eye contact with it.

While leaving, we noticed some peculiar things about Las Vegas. First, it seems everyone is compelled to do this:

Leave a footprint on the ceilings and support beams of every single parking garage in the city. Jeffee added his. For whatever reason.

Also, it seems they need a sign for everything...

Although why anyone would need to use that much caution moving their vehicle I'll never understand. I guess they have a lot of forgetful people there.

A million and more events took place, but I don't have photographic proof, except for this:

Oh yeah, it's Papa Smurf...

It was a great trip, we had a great time, and we can't wait to go back. Huge thanks to Andy, April, Krissteen and Kevin, we love you guys.

On My Way Babe.

2007-09-20T07:43:00.000-05:00

I'm about three hours from leaving for the airport. Vegas Baby, here I come...

Krissteen? Andy? I hope you guys have your drinkin' pants on. Oh lord...

What WON'T I be doing in Vegas?

That's right, I'm not a fan.

Call me crazy, but whenever I see this:

I only see this:

And I have enough bad dreams as it is.

Talk to you all next week!

I'm Over You

2007-09-19T08:16:00.000-05:00

Dear Johnny,

We're through. Over. Done.

I've loved you for a long time. Stuck with you through thick and thin,

suffered your many incarnations

and defended you in the face of those who would torment me for my undying devotion,

but no more.

Oh yeah, sure, I was on the bandwagon when you came out with this

I mean, who doesn't wanna fuck a pirate? But somehow along the way, you forgot that you were playing a character. Dude, you've lost it.

I swear to God, if I hear you do another single interview and use that fake British accent, I'll vomit. YOU ARE NOT BRITISH IN REAL LIFE, OR FRENCH! Simply fucking a Frenchie does not make you one by proxy. You're making me sick.

Hurry up and play a role featuring a manly lumberjack or something so I can fantasize about you again. This is ridiculous.

At Last

2007-09-16T08:55:00.000-05:00

Those of you who have been with me for some time are aware that I have a crazy friend named Krissteen.

Actually, her real name is Christine, but I've been calling her the hilljack version for so long now that it's just a force of habit to spell it phonetically.

Krissteen and I met a thousand years ago in a Pogo chat room. Now, I'm not saying that she's rude, raunchy, and quick witted, but for some reason, she and I hit it off almost immediately, exchanged email addresses, IM info, and quickly became friends.

Over the course of the last four years, she and I have talked to each other in one form of computer related medium or other almost daily, well, except for the days that I fell off the face of the Earth and she hounded me until I acknowledged her. We've never met, but we know absolutely everything there is to know about each other. Her kids know who I am by name, and mine know her. Our husbands know each other, even though they've never even so much as typed a single letter of the alphabet to the other.

This, my friends, is friendship.

Five days from now, I will meet my dear redneck friend Krissteen in Las Vegas. She and her husband Skeeter, er - I mean Kevin, will be flying in the day after I arrive and will spend three days staring at me and Jeff. That is, if we manage to find each other. They're staying at some fucked up hotel "off the strip" (in Reno, I think) but she assures me that they have secured a rental car and know the city well.

I'm anxious! I'm excited! I'm scared to death! What if she meets me in person and realizes that I'm only interesting in writing? Huh? What then? Luckily, there's plenty of free alcohol in Vegas and I can get her good and drunk and create an illusion of interest. That husband of hers might be a problem though, Krissteen tells me he's really good with free beers. Thankfully, I'll have Jeffee with me to create a diversion.

As I explained to Krissteen and Skeet yesterday in a chat room, Jeffee had that surgery last week to remove his appendix. Well, they shaved his belly. That's right, shaved the sucker down.
(You all remember this, I'm sure)

Consequently, that rather large portion of his anatomy is sort of "highlighted" by the absence of hair on an otherwise extremely hairy body. Think 40 Year Old Virgin and you'll get the picture. Toss in the fact that the man didn't remove his shirt all summer and he's whiter than a polar bear... Yeah. Well, one of Jeffee's favorite things to do in Vegas is strip down to a pair of shorts and drink beer by the pool. Do you think the man will be self conscious? Do you think he'll feel a single moment of trepidation about struttin' his stuff poolside? Hell no! He'll likely pimp-walk his ass all the way to the swim up bar. Gah. Friends? This will not be pretty.

To make this experience even more remarkable for Krissteen & Skeet, the one, the only,

DAD

will be joining us. That's right, MY DAD and his new wife Patti took off yesterday for a month long road trip across the United States and will be hooking up with us in Vegas on Thursday!

Are you people seeing this?

Oh, Lord. Someone get the number of a good bail bondsman.

I'm hoping to also meet another of my wonderful friends, Andy Martello. I've sent a message letting him know of our impending arrival, I hope he's available!

Anyone else in the area? ffs.

Vegas Baby, believe me, we're about to prove that what happens there really ought to stay there.

Right On

2007-09-11T15:34:00.000-05:00

You all know this...

I was sitting here minding my own business and playing Luxor on my computer while Jeffee watched CNN Headline News, when the Head On commercial came on, which of course, was immediately followed by the Active On commercial, which of course, prompted Jeffee to say to me...

"You know what they need to come out with next, don't you?"

"What's that Jeffee?"

"Hard On, apply directly to the penis, Hard On, apply directly to the penis. Will you get me some of that hon?"

"Uh huh, sure honey, right after I get you "Gag On, apply directly to an idiot."

NEED

2007-09-11T06:40:00.000-05:00

Ever notice how much clarity you gain when you're medicated?

I seem to become very contemplative on a level that I don't exercise with any regularity. For instance, I was feeling rather blessed for a moment by all the conveniences I enjoy readily at hand in my every day life, and considered how different my existence would be if I suddenly didn't have them anymore. I will share with you now my very deep thoughts...

In no particular order, these are items that I feel I need.

Plastic Food Wrap. This stuff is incredible. I cook as if I have my own personal army, we're talking POUNDS of stuff like meat, potatoes, parsley. And although it is true that I have a very large family, inevitably I must deal with leftovers. I will also add that if you pull off a very large sheet of the stuff and give it to the cat, it provides wild entertainment. For both the cat and yourself.

Disposable Razors. Which I believe is a misnomer, as it seems nobody in my house realizes that they are allowed to be thrown in the garbage. Regardless, they provide a valuable service during the warm season and I am certain that any person who has ever witnessed winter fur thanks the universe for this creation.

Caller ID. "We've been calling you for months." heh-heh, "Sorry Mr. Bill Collector, I never received your call."

Tampons. 'Nuff said. Midol? Ditto.

Irons. Although I am not personally acquainted with this item, I do appreciate a crisply ironed shirt on a man. Jeffee uses the dry cleaner at his work every now and then and oh boy, do I love how it looks on him.

Spaghetti-O's. Surely its creation was inspired by God. The world's most perfect food hot or cold.

Pixie Sticks. You know, those huge plastic colossal sized tubes filled with powdered candy? Yeah, those. Nothing will cause my grand kids to squeal with glee while simultaneously causing their mothers to audibly groan in misery more than a nice purple Pixie Stick. *note - give these away at the grand kid's own home, never your own.

Orkin Pest Control. To kill the ants caused by learning to give the grand kids the fucking Pixie Sticks at their own house.

Fluffy Socks. I love me some fluffy socks. Ever since I ripped the carpet out of the house in a moment of inspired insanity a few months ago, I've noticed that my house gets rather dusty. Using the dust mop is a pain in the ass. Fluffy socks not only keep everyone's feet warm, they do double service with the dust bunnies. Encourage your kids to run in all directions at once.

That's all I've managed to feel grateful for this morning. I'll let you know if I think of anything else. Feel free to leave your most appreciated item in comments, I'm sure we all want you to share.

What's That?

2007-09-09T06:39:00.000-05:00

Scene: Two fat asses laying in bed, both are miserable, one on Percocet, one on Darvocet. One is half deaf, the other mumbles.

"Oh my God, I feel like ass."

"What?"

"I said, I feel like ass."

"My ass? I'm all the way over here, it's your fat ass taking up the bed, not mine."

"I SAID, I FEEL LIKE ASS! Ya deaf hag."

"What do you need a bag for?"

(large guy groans) "Oh nevermind, go to sleep."

(miserable woman struggles to find a comfortable position) "Ugh, damn it, this sucks."

"Yeah, we're pathetic."

"I can make some later! I need a nap right now!"

"What?"

"Didn't you just ask me for some spaghetti?"

"No! I said WE'RE PATHETIC!"

...And in the midst of abject misery, we found a way to laugh.

Crap As Usual

2007-09-07T03:22:00.000-05:00

Just when I think I'm ready to settle into a normal routine.

Just when the kids are FINALLY back to school and not up my ass.

Just when I feel the DESIRE to write all about the stuff I've been thinking about for two months and not flake out on my commitment to blog regularly...

I tell ya, I have some fucked up Karma.

Jeffee will be waking up in about half an hour. He has chronic appendicitis and is having the wretched organ removed today. I'm supposed to go with him, be a good wifey and hold his hand and be the smiling face he sees when he wakes up, but I won't be doing that.

No, my Dad will be the first face he sees instead. Why?

I have a massive ear infection. It started about two months ago and I've been to the doc three times and have taken medicine (which was horrid) but to no avail, so now I'm jacked up on Darvocet and have what feels like a cauliflower for an ear. If this new med doesn't work they are talking about surgical bullshit, and Kimmie doesn't like surgical bullshit. Or doctors. Or medicine.

Ugh.

My poor Jeffee.

When he told his boss, Andy what was going on here he laughed, "No offense Jeff, but I just had a funny visual of you and Kim lying in bed passing pain medication back and forth to each other."
...I suppose there IS a silver lining in all of this after all.

Ok then, so you know, as soon as the burning, searing, stabbing pain radiating in my brain stops, I'll write something funny.

Love ya.

Baby Talk

2007-08-30T11:41:00.001-05:00

Hi Guys, it's me, Lily.

Hey, thanks for all the positive energy you all sent me, I was so happy I cut a tooth. Oh, yeah, and I seem to have developed a "hearty" appetite as well, dude, is there anything better than a jar of bananas first thing in the morning, hmmm? I think not. I have to eat a little extra these days because I've figured out that these leg things I have can make me crawl and there is all sorts of stuff just beyond my reach that I really want to eat, but to tell you the truth I don't like that crawling crap I like standing up with the furniture better, I think I might try to walk instead. Mom says I'm too little for that sort of thing, but my grandma told me that I can do anything I want to...

Anyway, I've asked you all here because my grandma took a couple of pictures of me and her and my ma are arguing over which one is better... See, grandma wants to use one of them for her Christmas cards this year. So, I thought maybe I'd get your opinion. Do you like picture number 1 or picture number 2? Personally, I think picture 1 is the best tasting... oops, did I say that out loud?

Let me know and I'll let my ma know. Nice talking to you guys, grandma says you're the best and being the chubby girl I am, I won't settle for anything less. Kisses!

Honey, I'm Home

2007-08-29T11:01:00.000-05:00

Hi Everyone, Long time no..... yeah, you know.

My Dad got married this past weekend! It was a beautiful, heartfelt and emotional day for our family. His new wife Patti, is a very special woman with an incredible ability to overlook my father's quirks and idiosyncratic nature and is actually able to find joy and humor in his behavior. She is OBVIOUSLY a much better woman than I... And my Dad, well... What can I say? I was immensely proud of him. There was a portion of the ceremony that touched my heart deeply. It was during his vows and while he spoke his promises to Patti that I learned something profound about the way I feel about my father. I know I love and trust my father, I've always known that, but I also believe him. I tend to be a skeptical person and catch myself often second guessing other people, looking for an angle or motive or comparing what they have to say with what I know to be true or otherwise. I became aware that with my father I don't do that, I believe what he has to say with abandon. I feel as though this makes me a very lucky individual, indeed.

My father has three brothers, Frank, Robert and Eddie. I've seen Robert and Ed fairly regularly over the years, but Uncle Frank moved to Missouri some years ago and we almost never heard from him, I'm talking YEARS between calls or visits. In fact, the last time I saw him I only had three children! To my great surprise, Uncle Frank attended the wedding. He was the very first person I encountered that day and the flood of emotion that overtook me was remarkable. As children, my brother and sister and I used to spend a lot of time at my Uncle Frank's house, I had forgotten just how fond of him I had been.

We sat together during the reception and caught up on each other's lives and at the end of our gathering, had made plans for Uncle Frank and Uncle Robert to come to our house two days later.

As promised, both of them and my Aunt Judy came over for a cookout and as an added bonus, so did my Dad and Patti. At first, the atmosphere was rather tense. This was the first time these three brothers had been together in almost fifteen years! I was very aware of their body language, their nervous laughter, and the fact that this was all taking place at my house. It seemed only prudent to break out the alcohol, so I did.

To my great relief, after about an hour the three brothers were competing for the floor, bickering in an easy manner and teaming up with each other against one another in good natured teasing. The conversations centered around their childhood, their years as young parents and the time they used to spend together racing cars, building dreams, raising families and starting careers, and the wonderment of how they had all changed. In that short period of time, they had returned to being brothers.

I felt privileged to be a part of this reunion. It was an awesome experience to witness their effort to find one another again, to drop their preconceived ideas about who they were and what they were like and to discover what they had become. In the end, I think they were each pleasantly surprised and relieved to find the easy comfort of each other's company and I have hope that they will continue to stay in touch.

It's funny how people who have made an impression on your life continue to do so long after you believe that there is nothing left to a relationship. I had virtually given up thinking about my Uncle Frank, and yet after only a few hours I cannot wait to see him again. It's that kind of indelible mark that fosters my actions and behaviors with my children, grandchildren and loved ones.

No matter how old you are, you continue to learn something new every day.

I've had an incredible summer and have taken my hiatus from blogging to rejuvenate my spirit. I haven't felt much like writing, or reading for that matter, and I make no apologies for it. Sometimes I think I just need to step away from my regular life and live in the moment, and sometimes I can't wait to tell everything I know. I can't promise I'll be as regular about posting as I used to be, but I do promise to share when the mood strikes. Those of you that care, thank you.

...And OH! Do I have some stories to share.

Kim has left the building....

2007-07-12T16:44:00.000-05:00

Pssttt... This is Christine, aka Krissteen. I am writing this for Kim since she is busier than a one armed paper hanger.

As usual, she is extremely busy with life. Kids, Family, Work, Etc. and she hasn't had time to update anyone on how things are going so I have graciously offered my hand and Kim grabbed it.

In a nutshell, here is what is happening...

Lily is doing ok, as far as she can tell. (She was back in the hospital but is back home now)
Kim had "the most fabulous fucking time on the islands" (her words exactly). She did get some great pictures that she will be sharing as soon as hell stops busting her ass.

The time spent in Marblehead was equally wondrous as her time on the islands. Her family was there to help her celebrate her *cough* 45th Birthday and unfortunately she can only remember approximately 60% of what happened there due to her high alcohol intake. (I am sure that she had a little blood left in her alcohol stream). Of course she got awesome pictures that she will be sharing once "the world stops breaking my balls with a sledgehammer" (again, her words exactly).
Unfortunately, not everything in her life right now is wondrous. Her Grandma is in ICU and even though she isn't too terribly happy about it, Kim is there with her.
Jeffee called her today to let her know that he won yet another fucking trip to Las Vegas. She doesn't have the details as of yet but will brag, er um, talk about how Jeffee beat some poor young sales guy in sales yet again and drained the poor kids dreams of ever getting out of Ohio and making it to the great and wondrous Sin City! (Who doesn't love Vegas?)
Apparently Kim is the inventor of a new diet, who would have ever imagined eh? From what I am told about this rare diet, it consists of Captain Morgan & Ginger Ale. Amazingly Kim has lost 10lbs while on this fabulous diet and seems to think that she looks better than she has in at least 5 years and that she isn't looking a day over 44.75 years old.
The suntan you ask? Well, again from what I hear, Kim is sporting quite the tan these days. "Top Notch with minimal tan lines" is what she told me but I have a feeling that there has got to be a tan line in there somewhere and I will send Jeffee on a mission to find said tan line... no matter where he must search.

Well, I think that about sums up where and what Kim is up to. If she doesn't reply to your comments it's because she isn't there but will get back to everyone just as soon as she can.

Kim sends her love and best wishes to all her friends out there in Bloggerville.

Fine!

2007-06-27T05:43:00.000-05:00

See? I'm posting!

Shhhesh.

I don't have a thing in the world to say! I hate when that happens. Rather than bore the universe with mindless drivel, I just sort of disappear until something pops into my head, which as I said, hasn't happened. I'm just a larger blond chick walking around with no thoughts.

Lily is doing great, thank you all so very much for asking. She continues to eat non stop and is attempting to break the fat baby record, I think.

I've got a bitchin' tan thanks to the glorious weather we've been experiencing here in Ohio. A privacy fence and plenty of nude sunbathing has helped a great deal as well.

I'm leaving for the islands (Lake Erie islands, Put -In -Bay to be exact) on Friday with Chrissy and Tracy for a weekend of crazy fun, then will spend another week or so in Marblehead with my brother Jason and his family. My birthday (July 7) and my brother Andy (July 8) and my sister Sharon (July 1) are all next week and we're having a week long party, so all you folks between Ohio and Canada, you've been warned. Heh~

In short, I'm loving the summer and am doing fine. I love you all for worrying, it continues to amaze me and foster the sense that you're family.

As soon as I have something worthy of writing, you'll find it in here...

Kisses everyone, get outside and play!

I'm Begging

2007-06-12T05:38:00.000-05:00

OK Cleveland...

Especially the media...

All you local news stations, you know who you are. I'm begging you, PLEASE don't embarrass and humiliate us this week.

I know it's your nature to do street interviews, and I understand their worth, I'm just asking you to be selective. We're in the national spotlight here, PLEASE avoid those women who have never seen the inside of a beauty salon. Although everyone knows the merits of the Flowbee, we don't need to broadcast that a good portion of our population is intimately acquainted.

Also, if you wouldn't mind, I'd really appreciate it if you would try just a tad harder to find someone who actually speaks as if they've been to school, someone who can not only say the word enunciate, but actually knows what it means, too?

We have a great opportunity to change the perception of the the rest of the country here, lots of out of town guests staying in our hotels who will likely watch a news broadcast or two, try not to blow it? And while you're at it, whoever it is that is in charge of selecting the "special interest" stories, could you please choose something that isn't humiliating? Please? Certainly, there are people in this city that do something interesting, something that isn't linked with the word "bizarre".

C'mon guys, it's only for a few days.

Thanks.

GO CAVS!

Pssst....

2007-06-06T18:10:00.000-05:00

Hey You...Yeah you...

It's me, Lily. Look, I'm bustin' outta this joint, see? They've been doin' all kinds of crap to me and I'm sick of it. Look at my flippin' arm! It's not right! I'm cute! I'm seriously nice, I even let my ma sleep at night and I'm only two months old! Sure, yeah, I'm fat. But hey! Fat is good. Nobody likes a skinny woman, at least that's what my grandma keeps whispering in my ear.

I'm out of this nasty hospital but I have to go to another one, a place called the Cleveland Clinic. I've never been there before, but grandma tells me kings have been there so I'm thinkin' it can't be all that bad.

The good news is I'm feeling a lot better. I still don't know what the heck happened to me and nobody else does either I guess, but at least I'm not screaming in pain any longer and I don't have a fever. That fever sucked, I lost my appetite and everything, and I can't have that now can I? Of course, there's these nasty antibiotics, and all kinds of poking and prodding but all things considered...

Anyway, I just wanted to thank all you nice people out there for all the nice stuff you said to my grandma. She told me all about it. Look, I'm so happy I could drool! Yeah, I do a lot of that.

Thanks again everyone. Grandma will keep you posted. Bye!

An Update on Lily

2007-06-05T07:37:00.001-05:00

Hi Everyone,

Lily is responding well to antibiotics and fluids. She is still sick and so very tired, but out of danger.

There are still no definitive results, but she is stable.

I will update you as soon as we know more.

Thank you all so very much for your warm thoughts and care. I tried to stop in at all of your sites late last night to thank you in person, but was unable to access everybody. Please know that your words and thoughts are much appreciated.

I'll be in touch soon.

I Need You Guys...

2007-06-04T08:25:00.000-05:00

I'm asking all of you with practice to help me out. As you know, I'm not the most spiritual of people and I hate to be a hypocrite...

I've been away again, and there is a good reason. Little Lily was admitted to the hospital late last night. Preliminary tests show a severe blood infection of undisclosed origin, but they suspect it is kidney related.

I'm on my way there now. Those of you who pray, please do.

Love to all.

The Freakin' Green Elf Shorts

2007-05-30T09:33:00.000-05:00

Ahhhh.... Remember this?

It's time to play again!

YES! They live!

Once again, the Freakin' Green Elf Shorts have come up for grabs! YES! They CAN be YOURS!

Go to MJ's site, INFOMANIAC and enter your witty caption for your chance to win!

MJ has also posted a bit of blogging history! In what can only be described as entirely too much time on her hands, MJ has compiled a comprehensive "family tree" of sorts (although from the looks of it, there's been some inbreeding...), complete with photographic evidence and a bit more information than my stomach can handle. Be sure to check it out here:

http://theinfomaniac.blogspot.com/2007/05/definitive-history-of-freakin-green-elf.html

And learn all about the previous winners and their varied personal hygiene! Good stuff my friends, good stuff.

Much thanks to MJ for taking the time to keep me posted on the progress of this project, and to Andi for its creation in the first place.

Hurry now, GO!

Camping Is All Fun And Games Until The Beer Runs Out

2007-05-29T09:42:00.000-05:00

Hi everyone!

I hope you all enjoyed your three day weekend. We sure did!

We went to my sister Sharon and her husband Randy's campground and had a blast.

Tracy and Eric and Eric's Dad came with us,

and we brought a couple of our boys, Andy and Tony, as well as Nate, who is Chrissy's son.

The first day was spent setting up tents, putting away our stuff and fishing. Tony and Nate both caught a good sized bass,

And Andy did too, but he wouldn't touch it. Later in the day, Nate also caught a black water snake while it was devouring a dead fish. The kid just reached into the lake and picked it up! I was impressed.

The following morning, I cooked breakfast over an open fire, three pounds of bacon, three dozen eggs and raisin toast.

We then built a new fire pit for my sister with some bricks we brought with us that we had laying around, cooked steaks on it, cleaned up and then attended a concert in the park. They hired a southern rock band to perform and every redneck within twenty miles came to pay homage.

We packed up a cooler and drove Randy's truck to the pavilion and tied up Tracy's dog Mickey to guard it.

As you can see, you can't trust the rednecks to leave your beer alone, and Mickey was on high alert. I believe that was his night vision eye.

After a couple of shots of liquor and a couple of brews, we were ready to mingle with the crowd.

Big Mistake.

There isn't any sort of seating arrangement made at this place, just a bunch of 12 foot picnic tables lined up all over. All of them were occupied with one or two couples, so we just took over the end of one. We watched the crowd assembled for a little while, laughing at the incredible dance moves being performed by the locals. Just then, the band struck up Mustang Sally and every fat woman in the park bounced onto the dance floor and did their best pole dancer impression. It was great entertainment.

As we were sitting there, a guy started making conversation with Jeffee. He thought it would be a great idea to cook ribs over a converted barrel and sell them at the pavilion when there was an event. Jeffee told him he worked for Sysco and that if he ever wanted to order a large quantity, to give him a call. At about this time, I noticed that a rather large burly woman who had just performed an amazing combo hair flip and bulbous pelvis thrust leave the dance floor and sit next to a skinny guy about three feet away from us. She kept giving us filthy looks, especially when I was talking to this guy about ribs. I assumed, correctly, that the guy I was talking to was her husband, so I went over to her to explain that we were simply having an innocent conversation about food while she was "dancing". In a split second, the rib guy was sitting next to me and said, "Oh, I see you met my wife. Yeah, this is my wife, and that-" as he pointed to the skinny guy next to her, "-is her boyfriend, the damn fucker who is staying with us."

Assuming, incorrectly, that he was just fucking with me, I giggled a little. The "wife" looked at me and said, "What the hell's so funny?" This caused me to laugh out loud. I looked at my daughter Tracy and yelled, "I need a shot of something!"

So, she handed me a bottle of Captain Morgan. I pulled hard, wiped my mouth and answered her, "You. I find YOU funny." Her husband slapped his knee and said "Ha! See? It ain't natural, I told you!"

I wisely removed myself from their presence, but it seems the damage was done. The wife informed everyone that she was going to kick my ass, which made me, Tracy, and everyone else in our group laugh even more. I picked up my camera and told her to smile, but she wouldn't. She didn't kick my ass either. I did see her the next morning though, as she, her husband and her boyfriend all emerged from their trailer. I waved, but she didn't wave back. *sigh. It's so hard to make new friends these days.

On the bright side, drinking the Captain caused Tracy, Jeffee and I to all bond,

And I even managed to make Eric's dad smile (against his will).

Then we ran out of beer so we went back to the campsite.

Since there wasn't any beer left, we went to bed. The following morning, we had breakfast, went to grab a beer but there wasn't any, so we all decided to go home. Camping just isn't camping without the necessary supplies.

All things considered, it was a great weekend. Thanks sis and Randy, we had a blast as usual.

Ciao

2007-05-26T10:33:00.000-05:00

Hi everyone, we're off to my sister's for a bit of camping and fun.

Have a safe Memorial Day weekend!

Gettin' A Little on the Side...

2007-05-23T09:55:00.000-05:00

Me & Krissteen (I am Kimmee) startid a new blawg.

It is full of advise fore the less fortchewnit. Welp, it aint full of nuthin yet, but it will be sum day. Y'all ken go thare iffin yew wanna. It is hear:

http://askkimandkriss.blogspot.com

Dont bee cummin in if yew aint got no funnee bone in ya, cuz we aint yer kind. If yew leaf me sum nastee messige, I will onlee laff. Sew will Krissteen. Pritty shore Skeet will to. But not Kooter, he dont reed much.

Ok than, bi.

Gotta Love the Turtles

2007-05-18T06:34:00.000-05:00

When I was younger, we lived in a community just south of the one I live in now. Only three of my children were born at that time, the youngest, my son Franky, was only four years old.

The home was located on a short little dead end street with maybe thirty or so homes lining it's sides. There lived a microcosm of humanity that included mostly elderly residents, young couples experiencing their first years as married people, and young, unmarried, aspiring professionals who had bought their first house. There were only two other families with young children; a mother with two girls that lived directly across from us, and six doors down from them, a very private couple with only one child; a son named Scotty who was the same age as Frank.

Scotty was a pale and thin child, a sheltered little boy who was painfully shy and who seemed to me to be bizarrely well behaved. In fact, we had lived there almost four months before we realized he even existed. His parents had experienced a difficult time conceiving him and his mother sort of developed a form of traumatic stress disorder, convinced that his life was tenuous at best, fatal injury lurked around every corner lest the boy be out of her sight for even a moment. Convincing this mom to let her kid play at our house on occasion took some time, but eventually she relented and a friendship was borne.

My son, on the other hand, was a veritable lumberjack. Franky was tall for his age and had a healthy appetite as well. His predilection for testing the limitations of the human body was boundless. When he was three years old, he was convinced he could fly. Day after day brought about new experiences in motherhood for me, things like incredulity, bewilderment and dumbfounded disbelief.

Gone were the days of peacefulness and serenity, my life was a cacophony of noise produced from battery operated fire engines and machine guns, sounds that were punctuated by shrieks of gleeful boyness as Franky demonstrated a limitless imagination and what resembled a superhuman ability to scale vertical objects. When I found the child atop a stand-alone refrigerator prepared to launch into a reenactment of the Wright Brothers' historic first flight, I began to wonder if there might not be something a bit different about my boy. Years later, he would be diagnosed as ADHD, but given that this was more than twenty years ago, not much information about this condition was known, at least by the likes of me.

By the age of four he had broken an arm and his big toe, and in addition had received five separate visits to the emergency room for stitches to his head, and two visits for stitches under his chin; two because THE DAY he got his first set out, he busted it open again. I tried explaining to the doctors that the boy was holding an ice cream cone in one hand and a juice box in the other and didn't want to risk losing either one when he tripped so he simply fell flat on his face instead, but given his somewhat frequent appearances they felt it best to call in a social worker. After a humiliating interview, I was cleared of suspicious behaviors and took my son home where he promptly declared war on his dresser and jumped off of the top of it in an impressive display of conquering superiority, until it fell on him and sprained his wrist.

I took him to a different care center for treatment...

Not surprisingly, I was a bit intimidated as a young mother meeting new people with this rambunctious child. Although he was very sweet, he was prone to impulsive behavior. To say I had to keep an eye on him is an understatement, but, as we all know, keeping an eye on all of your children all of the time and still running a habitable household is impossible and every now and then, your children will surprise you...

So it came to be that one day, I experienced a very embarrassing moment.

As I said, we lived on a dead end street, and Scotty lived several houses away from ours. The boys would meet on the sidewalk halfway between our homes and play Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine whose front yard they would play in, and then would run back to their respective homes to "dress" for their play session.

You see, Franky and Scotty both had a rabid love for the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. As you know, it is important for little boys to wear a costume like the super hero they are emulating, and Scotty's parents had purchased an authentic Turtles costume for their son. Franky, however, was not so lucky. When you are poor - as we were back then- it is important to use your imagination to create a likeness just as good. Franky took to this task like a pro. He used an old black knee sock with eye holes cut out of it for his mask and tied it over his eyes. He cut a cardboard box into the shape of a turtle shell, colored it green and strapped it on his back with bootlaces. He wore his karate uniform night and day, begged for pizza, and if he could have, he'd have used every granule of eye shadow I possessed to turn his skin green. The boys spent hour upon hour practicing Ninja poses and choreographing elaborate "fights"; the days' progress demonstrated to me after questions like "Hey Mom! Wanna check out my moves?" But, something was missing... Pretending to have weapons is hard, so it was only natural for Franky to invent some, to be MacGyver with stuff lying around the house.

One particular sunny day, it was Scotty's turn to play in our yard. The weather was perfect and it seemed that every neighbor on our street was outside enjoying it, tending their yards and washing their cars. I felt reasonably secure that the boys were being good and playing nicely, secure that there were so many people outside also keeping an eye on their antics. I can still remember smiling to myself and feeling grateful that my son had such a mild mannered friend to play with, that my boy was having the kind of fun that all little boys crave. I wanted to go out and observe this innocent moment in boyhood and enjoy it first hand, so I finished washing my dishes, poured a cup of coffee and made my way to the front porch.

I settled myself and looked about, waving to the neighbors who all seemed to notice me all at once; "My, they're awfully friendly today" I thought to myself; smiley, friendly neighbors, what could be nicer than that? I brushed away some sort of beige powder from the steps and set my coffee cup down beside me, and then I saw my son. There, running up and down the sidewalk was Franky, furiously twirling something above his head in one hand and holding something else in front of himself in the other.

"Nunchucks." I thought to myself, "How cute! He made himself a pair of nunchucks!" I marveled at his ingenuity, but then he got a bit closer. As he approached, I noticed that they were gleaming white. I wondered what on Earth the child had used, they not only seemed to have a string attached, they were relatively weighted enough on the other end to actually perform like the real thing would, then with horror, realized that my son had outdone himself.

Franky had tied two tampons together. He also made a spare set and looped them through the sash at his waist, and God bless his generous heart, he'd done the same for Scotty. There they were, two Turtle-clad four year olds running up and down the street twirling tampons at each other, stopping only long enough to flash their Turtle Coms, previously known as my compact powder containers, and to say hello to every neighbor on the street and demonstrate their "moves".

Ohhhh, the pride and joys of motherhood...

Happy Mother's Day

2007-05-13T08:25:00.000-05:00

Dear Family,

I just wanted to answer all of you at one time.

Each of you have asked me what I plan to do for Mother's Day and I thought a pictorial would be helpful.

You see, It is MY day today. Being such, I just wanted to let you all know that this:

Is a broom and dustpan. You use them to sweep the floor! Yes! It's true, the floors are not magic and do not just clean themselves! I just wanted you to know that I won't be using them today.

These:

Are dirty dishes in a dirty sink. The kitchen sink. The kitchen sink I cleaned yesterday and that was empty of debris before I went to bed. I won't be doing anything with these things either.

This:

Is dirty laundry. Nothing of mine is in there and I saved my towel from yesterday, so I won't be needing any of this stuff. I sure hope you all bothered to put away the folded clothing I handed you yesterday and didn't just throw it back into the dirty clothes piles because you were "busy"! That would suck! Since this malodorous heap is located in the basement, I am pretty sure I won't be visiting it today as I've declared the downstairs portion of our house off limits - to me.

This:

Is the underside of our sink! I know you've never seen it before, so I'll assume you have no idea what all that stuff is. They are called "cleaning products"! You use them to clean stuff! There's a whole industry devoted to manufacturing these items to ease the plight of mother's everywhere. I love these things, but I am suddenly allergic to them today. Feel free to try them out!

Oh, now this... This you all know very well! It's the stove of course.

The same stove that is usually covered with two or three pans steaming away with all of your favorite comfort foods, I love the stove just as much as you do! Unfortunately, I do not plan on utilizing it today.

No, no, I thought I would start my day here:

With a cup of coffee and the newspaper.

I know you hate it when I wear my pj's outside because your friends might drive past and see me and that would be terribly embarrassing for you, but I don't plan on getting dressed today, it is my day after all, and I really like wearing my bedclothes outside so when I finish reading the paper, I'll be here:

Likely enjoying my second cup of coffee. Text all of your friends and warn them to avert their eyes, I'm sure they'll understand.

This:

Is our liquor cabinet, padlocked for your protection. I plan to visit it later today while enjoying this:

The backyard oasis that Jeffee and I have spent the last two weeks building. Remember when I asked you if you'd like to help? LOL! What on Earth was I thinking? Anyway, it's all finished and I'll be sitting there today. All day.

Being the mom that I am, I will overlook your aversion to things that might cause you to sweat and understand that you are silly kids and I'll love you anyway. I'll also allow you to sit in my sanctuary with me even though you didn't help make it. That's what mother's do. Besides, you guys make me giggle.

Happy Mother's Day everyone, I hope you have as nice a day as the one I have planned! And to my children, let me just say...

I love you guys. You're the best kids I've ever had.

Good Moms

2007-05-10T07:29:00.000-05:00

I know my daughters are good mothers. They think up stuff that never occurred to me when I was their age, things that make their children giggle and fill them with blissful happiness, things that make them feel important and cherished. It's a beautiful thing to witness.

Two of my grandchildren have winter birthdays six weeks apart. Kimmy's son, Colin, and Tracy's daughter, Ryann are both six and a half. They are in the same kindergarten class, different from each other as night and day, and the best of friends.

My girls decided to have a 6 1/2 birthday party for them yesterday at my house. How cool is that?
Anna was thrilled to have a reason to wear a dress...

And everybody showed up in a festive mood, including fat little Lily...

And the party was on...

Since the theme was one-half day, the girls really put a lot of energy into coming up with creative ways to enhance the idea...

And since we were celebrating a "birthday", the kids even got presents!

The party was a huge success and the kids loved it.

There's just never a dull moment around here...

Roots

2007-05-03T06:58:00.000-05:00

Okay, NOW? I've heard the old man say everything.

Jeff and I played hooky yesterday.

We started the morning at the eye doctor and discovered that we're both old folks who need bifocals. That's right, bifocals. We picked out our respective old-person-who-needs-glasses-and-would-still-like-to-look-semi-hot frames, paid an obscene amount of money to cover what our "insurance" didn't, and then we went to the Cleveland Museum of Art to see the Monet in Normandy exhibit.

There was a placard next to one of the paintings detailing the Normandy region, which featured a map of Europe in the 1800's. As we were looking at it, Jeffee pointed out the proximity of Slovakia and Czechoslovakia to Hungary. He and I had a disagreement earlier in the day about my lineage. You see, my entire life my parents told me that my mother is Hungarian and my father is Czech. As children, we knew with utter certainty that we were Hunky-Checks, a dysphemism that closely resembled our actual surname, and this FACT had been drilled into us by our father. We had no idea why, but it seemed it was imperative that we understand there was a phenomenal difference between Slovaks and Czechs, and it was made clear that us Czechs should be goddamn proud that there was! " That's right baby, You're CZECHoslovakian! Don't you forget it either!"

And we didn't.

So, there I am arguing with Jeff in the art museum.. "I think I know what the fuck I am." I say to my man, the big dumb guy.

"Obviously, you don't," he says to me. "Your dad and I just had this conversation two days ago by the fire pit. He said you're a Slovak. He said SLOVAK blondie, S-L-O-V-A-K. As in, from Slovakia, right there on the map, see?" As he points it out to me in front of God and everyone, you know, 'cause it's hard to see SLOVAKIA written on a wall in 72 pt. type.

"I know where it is you dolt! And that's really wonderful Jeffee, but I'm telling you, I'm not Slovak, I'm Czech!"

Jeff smirks and shakes his head, "Ho-ho, ohhhhhh-kay blonde girl, whatever you say..." and he walks away from me chuckling to himself.

My brother, Andy, and my father came over last night for dinner and to play cribbage. During the course of the game, I smiled lovingly at my dad and said, "Daddy? Could you please tell my husband-who-thinks-he-knows-everything-but-doesn't, that we are in fact, Czech and not Slovak?"

"What the fuck are you talking about Kimmy? Are you nuts? You're a Slovak. SLOVAK."

Incredulous, my brother and I stare at him as if fire just shot out of his ass and he grew another head.

"What!" My brother exclaimed, "Are you kidding me? Are you high Dad? We're not Slovak! We're Czech!"

"You're full of shit Andy, and you too, Kim! You twits are half Hungarian and half Slovak. All your life."

Jeff slaps the table and triumphantly declares, "Ha! I TOLD you! SLOVAK!" Then mutters, "...Call ME a dumb ass, you crazy blonde bitch..." under his breath.

"Oh shut up Jeff! Dad! You are full of shit! Our whole life you drilled into our heads that we were Czech!" I look to my brother for support, "Andy, am I lying? Didn't he?"

"Yeah he did! Dad, you're losing it!" he laughs, and confirms for me that I didn't imagine this bit of ancestral history.

Jeff and my dad start laughing at Andy and I, "You kids are stupid! Where in the hell did you ever get that idea? I never told you that you were Czech!"

"Dad! We were little kids! How in the hell could we have invented being Czech? Remember laughing at "Hunky-Check?" Why on Earth would we have called ourselves that and thought it were so funny if we weren't fucking Czechs?"

"I don't know, who knows what you kids were smoking, you're all goofy twits."

"Oh my God! Dad!" Andy says, "I'll bet you right now we could call Sharon and ask her what we are and she'll say Czech!"

"No she won't, your sister is the only one of you three who isn't crazy."

"Yes she will!" Andy and I both say in unison. Andy reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, "I'll bet you five bucks that she will, no, ten! Ten bucks says she'll say Czech!"

"Fine! Ten bucks! Call Sharon you little ass!"

So we do.

"Hey Sharon, it's me..." my brother says, "I'm going to put you on speaker for a minute because we have something to ask you."

"You guys are drunk, right?" she says.

"No!" We laugh, "We just have something important to ask you. OK, Sharon? What are we?"

"Retarded?" She guesses.

"No!" We giggle, "We're half Hungarian and half what?" Andy and I look expectantly at each other as Dad and Jeff look at each other with pure smugness on their faces.

"Czechoslovakian" she says, "Hunky-Checks. What the hell is wrong with you? You know that!"

Andy and I high five each other and laugh out loud, whooping with victory and congratulating Sharon on a job well done, while Dad and Jeff start to protest loudly, "Awww, Fuck! No! " They moan, "You're not Czech, you're a Slovak! You kids are all fucked up..."

Sharon tries to make sense of this exchange but can't. We explain it to her and she confirms everything Andy and I said and offers that our father is insane. We thank her and end our conversation supremely satisfied.

"Dude." Jeff says to my Dad who is fishing a ten spot out of his pocket, "We're going to have to change your name."

"What the hell for Jeff?"

"Because!" He says, "Your kids..."

"I know, they're all fucked up."

"I know! From now on we're going to have to call you 'Poppie', which in Slovak means 'Man With Stupid Children', you know, to keep things accurate."

We all laugh. "Fuckin' A, Poppie" Dad says, "Man With Stupid Children. It has a ring to it..."

Wouldn't It Be Nice?

2007-05-02T08:01:00.000-05:00

Wouldn't it be great to be a kid again? Not permanently, sha! That would suck, all that parental guidance and crap, uh, no thanks - I'm talking about for a day, or an hour or something.

Just think about it...

You'd be oblivious enough not to care whether your socks matched or not ...

You have no qualms hamming it up when you have to retrieve your sister's purse from Grandma's house...

You could play chicken without fear of severe back trauma (your own or the poor soul you're sitting on)...

You're deliriously happy jumping on the bed to wake your dad up...

You wouldn't care if there were a picture in existence of you doing this...

A gift of pudding inspires you to idiocy...

You could scream "Hi Mom!" over and over until someone took your picture...

...And feel proud about it.

Your drawings could be anatomically correct...

...And everyone would think it's cute.

'Hands-Free' is a thrill...

...And worthy of practice.

Messing around with the store display window becomes a legend among your peers...

And screaming your head off when you are hungry/wet/tired causes people to love you.

Remember this stuff?

Ahhh, to be a kid again.

SPAM, It's Not Just For Lunch Anymore

2007-04-30T06:46:00.000-05:00

I have so many childhood memories. I know that isn't all that unique, except perhaps that in my case, I recall them in great detail. This is a blessing for me, because I tend to write about them in here so I'm never really short on material. But, it's been a bit of a curse for my family more often than not, the reason I remember all of this shit is because there was a chord which ran through it that struck odd.

It's no secret that my parents are strange people. Not psycho strange like poor Augusten Burroughs, just not your average Ward and June Cleaver. Oh, we could have been a sit-com family, have no doubt about that, but ours would have leaned more towards the Aadam's Family rather than the Brady's.

Actually, I can vividly recall watching the Aadam's Family and wondering to myself what was so 'creepy and kooky' about them, they seemed kind of normal to me except that they wore much fancier clothing. It took about six viewings for me to 'get it', but even then, I kept thinking, "They really should do a better job of making them strange."

One consistent difference between us and my friends' families was food.

My mother's mom, Grammy, is undeniably one of the best cooks to ever claim Hungarian lineage and likely second only to her mother, Great Gram. These women had a knack for whipping up feasts out of seemingly nothing and in record time. Peasant food in nature, everything stemmed from bones. In fact, the entire extended family held onto bones for her until she could pick them up, then she would concoct meals that not only stuck to your ribs, but stuck in your memory as well as the finest you ever ate. Everything homemade from scratch and done the old world way, fresh ingredients from her own garden, herbs she grew herself, and liberal use of the ubiquitous 'drippings can' that lived next to the stove. People, if it isn't cooked in real fat, there is no flavor! Anyone who ever dined at Grammy's had a little chub on them, the sure sign of greatness.

My father's mother, had a flair for cooking too, only hers was the opposite end of the spectrum. In fact, when I was really young, Grandma lived in the upstairs apartment of our house and the whole neighborhood could smell what she was making, and not in a good way either. No matter what it was, it resembled road kill and tasted like it too. She was always very skinny and we rarely went there for meals.

My own mother falls exactly between these two extremes. My mom can cook, she just chooses not to all that much. When we were young, she used to churn out fried chicken and spaghetti, all normal stuff, but she also had a rebellious streak in her. It's my belief that she didn't want to identify with her stodgy old relatives and be a slave to the kitchen, but she had that creative Hungarian in her, the part that needs to dream up new ways of doing things. Unfortunately, she didn't use bones as a foundation, she used canned hams, Vienna sausage, bologna and SPAM.

Fucking SPAM. To this day, I gag at the thought of the stuff. My mother? She LOVES it. Loves it! In fact, I'll bet you ten bucks if you went to her house right now, her pantry would have at least five cans, stacked with care and centrally located for a quick grab.

Mom had lots of clever ways to cook the shit, but her favorite is and always will be, fried in butter and served on bread with mayo.

I used to balk at this after school "treat", even at a young age I readily recognized that it was indiscernible "meat". Meat has texture and little fibers. SPAM does not. It didn't seem natural to me that meat would have gelatin all over it, and that smell! Ugh! Seriously, I'm gagging on the recall.

I got a telephone call the other day. It was from my mother. She was excited and a little bit breathless, either an indicator that she was really happy about something or more likely, she had "discovered something amazing" and needed to share.

Now, we've teased my mother for years about what she finds fascinating. Experience has taught us that "discovering" the use of hairspray to kill bugs or chlorine bleach to dissolve floor tile glue is usually more the threshold of her scientific limits than say, a cure for cancer. We're always first, skeptical. This has irritated her over the years, so now she has other people tell us of her discoveries.

"Kim! Phyllis has something to tell you. I don't know what it is, but here-" as I hear her cover the mouthpiece with her hand and yell, -'Phyllis! Get the phone, it's Kim!' and then she returns to our conversation, "I don't, I have no idea what she wants to say. Here's Phyllis."

Yeah. I'm buyin' this.

"Hello Kim, it's Phyllis. Your mother and I were outside today spray painting the trellis and she came in a little while ago and washed up so she could cook lunch but she couldn't get all the paint off of her hands so they were green. There's paint all over her, under her nails, you know how that goes, right? So anyway, your mom came in and made SPAM sandwiches for us and do you know? The grease from the SPAM got on our hands so, we wiped them off and Kim! The paint came off! The SPAM grease removes paint!"

Phyllis was suddenly silent, waiting for my incredulous response.

"Your lunch removed paint?" I asked.

"Yes! Isn't that amazing? We were so surprised, what a cool benefit of eating lunch! Anyway, we - er - I- just thought you'd be interested in knowing that. Here's your mother."

"Kim? It's Mom. Did Phyllis tell you what she needed to say?"

"Yes Mom, she did."

"Oh? She wouldn't tell me what it was. What did she tell you?"

"That you've been using the SPAM again."

My mother giggles, "Kimberly, you're such a food snob."

"Uh, no Mom, I just like my food to be real food."

"I'm not going to debate this with you again. Did she tell you about the paint?"

"Yes mother, she did. You must be so proud..."

"I know! Isn't it amazing? OK honey, I have to get back to work. You have a good day, I love you."

I've decided to take this to the next level. I signed my mother up today. As of right this minute, my mother is now an official member of The SPAM Fanclub. The moment I opened the site, I knew she'd love it. (Click on the pool people, they say and do stuff.)

Help me friends, everyone please take a moment to congratulate my Mom. In my heart of hearts, I know she'll be happy here.

You Don't Say

2007-04-28T07:53:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was my grand son Frank's fifth birthday! He's very excited to be five.

This is what it looks like when the kids come over for a party:

Scary, eh? Be glad I don't show you the bathrooms.

Sarah got her teeth mended, but it's a temporary fix while the porcelain replacements are being fashioned. Still, it's a decent repair job...Now if they could just make her not weird.

The new baby grand daughter, Lili, is fat.

Fat is beautiful...

Banana's been sick for a week

And I've just caught whatever the hell it is.

Jeffee survived the sleep clinic and he'll be wearing a mask to help him breathe at night so for now, the danger of waking up to a dead husband who suffocated himself with no help from me, is alleviated.

I'm up to twelve votes in the Blogger's Choice Awards! That makes Dooce only about 350 ahead of me. Pffft. I think I've got a good chance at this, I just know that Dooce person is shaking in thier shoes, right? If you're so inclined, you can vote for me by clicking the link button in my sidebar at the top of the page any time between now and June 2nd.

That's it from me today, I don't feel good. Talk to you all on Monday. Bye!

Everyone Appreciates Good Cock

2007-04-25T08:37:00.000-05:00

There are moments in life when the gods see fit to allow you to get even with someone in splendid fashion. It doesn't happen often, but when it does? Ah, such days are good days.

You see, this past weekend was my son in law Eric's birthday. Jeffee had to go to the sleep clinic overnight Friday, so we planned to celebrate with Eric and Tracy on Saturday once he was home. We said we'd cook him whatever he wanted and then build a big fire in the new fire pit Jeff and I built and just chill out. (See gratuitous photo below - I just wanna show off my building skills)

So, since it was Friday, Jeffee and I went out for a little dinner alone together, and then we packed him off to University Hospitals in the hope that he would return home able to sleep through the night from now on without suffocating to death.

Tracy and Eric went out to dinner together somewhere as well.

I went to bed around eleven o'clock, alone. Mind you, it's been a really long time since I've slept alone. Although I love the solitude, I'm a jumpy bitch with really good hearing and a good imagination. It took some getting used to, and after what seemed an eternity, I finally fell asleep. Alone. IN MY OWN BED.

So there I was, blissfully dreaming about Johnny Depp weeding my garden, when I was suddenly scared wide awake.

Drunk ass Eric and Tracy decided to come to my house at two in the morning. Further, Eric thought it would be fun to jump onto my bed, stick his face less than two inches in front of mine- grinning like a fucking retard, and shout "Kim! Kim! Wake up KIM! It's PARTY time!"

Okay, let me just be clear. I fell asleep knowing I was alone. Alone in my bed, alone in my house, but most importantly, I WAS ASLEEP!

I didn't mean to, but my one and only reflex was to punch, and punch I did. I punched Eric right in the face.

"Aw, man Kim! Why'd ya punch me in the head on my birthday?"

Once my heart returned from my throat to my chest where it belonged, I jumped out of bed, apologized to Eric for punching him in the face, and then punched him again, "What the living hell is the matter with you? You can't wake up old ladies like that you idiot! My God, You're a DICK!"

After much discussion, Eric admitted he had it coming. "You're still going to cook me a birthday dinner though, right Kim?" I assured him I would, and then I made the two drunkards a martini shaker full of hooch and sent them next door to their own home, and then went back to sleep.

I had told Eric he could have anything he wanted for his birthday dinner, and true to his male genes, he requested a meatloaf. Me? I opt for lobsters, but hey, whatever.

As I was making his loaf of meat, I kept reflecting on the alcohol inspired nocturnal visit my "grown" children bestowed upon me... And suddenly, I had a vision.

This is what it was.

That's right, I made Eric a Dickloaf.

I've told these kids a thousand times not to mess with me...

Beefy dick, it's what's for dinner.

Who Da Man?

2007-04-20T07:01:00.000-05:00

A Dad Story...

You know? I really don't even know where to begin with this one...

As you know, my father has been coming to my house for dinner almost daily for the last four years. He comes for dinner, but stays until ten or eleven to play cards with Jeff and I. Last year we played Hearts, we played Casino all of last summer, and all of this winter, it's been Cribbage. I say "all" because we don't just play a simple game or two, we play marathons and if Dad has a relatively light schedule the following day we hold ultra marathons, sessions that loosen the tongue and breed familiarity.

There is incredibly diverse conversation that takes place during these games. We'll run the gamut of politics, sex, relationships, science, history and existential thought on any given night. Unfortunately, none of the three of us has any business expounding on any of these subjects and every one of us knows it, so it becomes a sort of dysfunctional melding of the minds. One thing leads to another and topics fly around like ping pong balls. Most of the time, we laugh like fools and revel in the level of absurdity our discussions tend to take.

For instance...

I had noticed that my father had a slight abrasion on his upper lip. I asked him, "Dad? What happened to your lip?" A normal person would either say, "Gee, I don't know" or, "I must have nicked it when I was shaving" but not my dad. No, he gets a sheepish look on his face and tells us "Well... You see, Patty and I? When we neck we seriously neck, I mean when we go at it..."

"That's great Dad, but what happened to your lip?"

"Shut up you twit! I'm getting to that, do you really want to know or are you just being a twit?"

"I don't think so, yeah, I'm pretty sure at this point I don't wanna know Dad."

"Damn it Kimmy Ann, shut up and listen! So anyway, as I said, when we start going at it, it's serious. And long! We kiss for hours."

"Uh huh." When will I ever learn not to ask my father a question?

"Yeah, so poor Patty! Afterward, her face is all bright pink and swollen from my beard with her skin all fucked up and chaffed, it's terrible, so I have been trying to shave extra close. I must have scraped my lip a little bit, I don't know."

"Couldn't you have just said "I shaved too close"? Was it really necessary to tell me all the necking stuff?"

"Oh, you know what Kimmy? You're full of shit. You asked a question and I gave you an honest answer. What the fuck is your problem?" He then turns to Jeff for support, "You know Jeff, I give you credit, I don't know how you put up with her, a person can't get a fucking sentence in with this woman."

To which Jeff replies, "I hear ya man." And then they high-five each other.

The male high-five is a powerful thing, especially when used to signify unity between two oppressed souls.

"Oh yeah, right Jeff! I'm sure you wanted to hear this crap!"

"Damn right! Anytime I hear of a brother gettin' a little action, I'm all ears. You go old man." And they high-five each other again.

I roll my eyes at these two and offer, "Well Dad, if it's as bad as all that, why don't you try waxing?"

This causes both my father and Jeff to spray their drinks and then erupt into loud, cackling, whooping cries of insanity - mine.

"Are you fucking nuts? Waxing? Ha ha! JEFF! Did you hear that shit?"

"Dude! I did! That's not right."

"Are you A-fucking crazy Kimmy Ann?"

Jeff pipes in, "Yeah, are you? Do you have any idea how painful that would be?" He then turns to my dad, "Ya ever pluck a fucking nose hair?" He then grimaces and contorts, flopping around in his chair to offer a visual demonstration of what plucking a nose hair might feel like, which prompts my father to ape the whole thing and jump around in his own seat. So there I am with two grown men writhing at the table like a couple of Baptist's touched by "The Spirit".

Bristling from having my mental state assaulted for offering up a perfectly reasonable solution, I endeavor to defend myself. "You idiots, plucking a nose hair has nothing at all to do with waxing!. It isn't as painful because it isn't the same kind of tissue!"

Not done comparing the level of pain one might experience, Jeff offers, "Dude! I think I'd almost rather get kicked in the balls! Hell, I'd even kick myself in the balls!"

"That's no shit!" says my dad. "Kimmy, you're talking out your ass. I'm not going to wax my face! Who in their right mind would do that? You'd have to let your fucking beard grow out for days and deal with the itching and then the agony of the ripping of it off... I love Patty and everything, but I'm a man! There has to be a line."

This said to me from the man who sandpapered his own legs to exfoliate before applying self bronzer.

"That's right old man!" says Jeff, "You da man! There will be no waxing in my house or yours!" As they high-five each other again.

Exasperated with them both I say, "You assholes." Sometimes, the simplest statements are the most profound .

United in the knowledge that I was a clueless female, Jeff and Dad began to kibitz between themselves as the card game continued, which I opted not to pay attention to. Instead, I mulled their statements over for a couple of minutes and then grabbed the telephone.

"Hello, Patty? Hi, it's me, Kim. I need to explain something to you and get your honest opinion."

Dad nervously looks at Jeff.

"You see Patty, Dad was just explaining to me and Jeff about how battered your face gets when you two are going at it like a couple of teenagers necking."

"He told you what?" She asks me.

"He said that you two neck for hours and his beard tears your face up and you get all pink and puffy and look horrible. A real sight, pitiful."

"I never said that! Patty!" he screams, "I never said that!"

I giggle, "Yes he did, anyway, back to your problem. So Dad was sitting here moaning abo-"

"I wasn't moaning! Jeff! Was I moaning?"

"-about how terrible he feels that he inflicts all this trauma all over your face, so I offered to him that perhaps he should go get his beard waxed. What do you think about this?"

"What do I think about this?" she says to me. "I'll tell you what I think about this..."

I'm giggling uncontrollably because I know my father's sphincter is just about the size of a Spaghetti-O right now. He's sitting next to me slowly shaking his head in comprehension of exactly how much trouble he's going to be in for discussing his sex life with her future daughter and son in law.

"Oh, wait Patty, let me put you on speaker." I click over, "OK, go ahead."

"Hi Patty honey..." says my Dad.

"Andy?"

"Yes Patty?"

"What the hell are you doing?"

In less than 2.4 seconds, my father transforms into a four year old who just got caught shaving the cat.

"Aw, gee Patty, it's not like that. I was telling them how-"

"ANDY. We're going to talk about this later, but for right now, I think it would be a FABULOUS idea if you waxed your face. Actually, I don't know why I didn't think of it."

I like Patty. She gets it. Is there anything better than when a woman picks up on how important it is to make a man squirm?

At this point, my father is in shock. "What Patty? What are you saying?"

I burst out in righteous laughter, "Ha ha old man! See? Not so big and brave now are ya? Go on Dad, tell Patty about being a man and drawing the line. You too Jeff, explain to Patty about being men."

They both look at each other and seem to have lost their voices.

Very calmly Patty says, "Andy? Why don't you go ahead and take me off speaker now." A couple of minutes goes by and all we can hear is my father mumbling stuff like "uh huh, OK, BUT!... OK, uh huh." He ends the conversation and quietly returns to the table but doesn't make any eye contact with either Jeff or I. The silence continues for about forty seconds and then I break it, "So Dad... You gettin' your face waxed?"

Dad doesn't look at me, he just slowly nods his head "yes".

Jeff looks at me, "You are an evil woman."

Evil? Or Brilliant? You be the judge.

Advice You Never Asked For

2007-04-18T12:24:00.000-05:00

Our family gathered at my Grandma's house almost every weekend in the summer. Great-Grandma, a feisty five foot tall 80 year old Hungarian dynamo, was busy in the kitchen cooking up a storm with Gram and all of the Aunts, children busied themselves with deconstructing my grandparent's basement, and all the men gathered to discuss the state of the nation.

My family was for the most part, staunchly Republican but it was the Sixties and times were changing. My Uncle Joe was a confirmed college Hippie who spent his summer break hitchhiking across Europe with his then girlfriend Gayle and a backpack, and in the eyes of my other Uncles, was "a commie loving idealistic punk"- Naturally, us kids loved him.

Within an hour or so of political viewpoints bounced around, tempers flared and the men would argue; Uncle Steve stabbed the air with his stogie to emphasize his point and recruited the support of his opinions from Grandpa and the latest edition of the John Birch Society's American Opinion, while Uncle Joe defended his ideology with statistics and documented research and a healthy sense of rebellion and reform.

More often than not, tensions rose to disruptive levels and the women needed to step in and diffuse the situation. Everyone would agree to disagree and the matter of politics would be tabled, at least until after dinner.

Given these very verbose and passionate discourses, we children were left to believe that even within the confines of your own family, people just didn't know how to get along with each other. The other glaring observation was that if you firmly believed in what you had to say you should say it, however, someone out there is bound to disagree with you and whether you like it or not, they will likely do so publicly. If you have balls, you can stick to your beliefs, if not, you're in for a fight and usually end up on the wrong end of the whipping stick.

I still believe that today, and although what I have to say is not popular belief, I'm gonna risk airing my balls...

I've been doing the parenting thing for a long time now, kind of in waves. I muddled through as best I could with the first set of children, relying on my sense of right and wrong and drawing on my own parents' example as a guide to child rearing. As they grew,I read books dealing with "professional" opinions on the matter and ended up feeling confused and inadequate. Being a good mother no longer seemed as basic and casual a condition for me as it had been for my mother or grandmother. I no longer felt comfortable relying on my instincts, it seemed that our society had realigned the rules. Instead of simply cooking balanced meals and kissing boo-boos or reading bedtime stories cuddled up on the sofa and playing in the yard, it was now necessary to monitor your child's level of happiness and achievement. It was important to worry about how your child felt about things, it was imperative that your child should excel, that not providing everything they needed to mark achievement might threaten your child's' perception as an integral part of the family dynamic, and after all, perception is reality, right?

Suddenly, my pathetic eighth grade educational achievement was coming back to bite me. If only I had gotten an education, perhaps I would be a better mother! If only I had taken child rearing classes, perhaps my child would have hope to attend an Ivy League school! What if everything I was doing was irreparably damaging my children's psyche? I was disconsolate, I felt doomed to failure before I even tried and had little hope or belief that I was doing an adequate job, yet despite my shortcomings, I managed to raise three children with beautiful hearts, an incredible sense of humor and a healthy grasp of reality.

By the time the next wave of children came along, I began to feel a resentment towards the supposed "professionals" and the preaching done to preserve the emotional integrity of children. From where I sit, our children are sorely lacking in integrity and I for one, am sick of it.

I was raised in a household that had definitive boundaries regarding a child's status and limitations within the family unit. I may have tested those lines on a regular basis, but to my parents credit, the lines stood firm and time and time again, we respected them. There is an element of comfort that comes with a disciplined home life, a sense of order and a strong relationship between you and your place.

In my youth, parents were the law, and not just my own parents, all parents. A mother was a mother to all and you respected her. A father would see to it that you followed the parameters of right and wrong, whether you were his kid or not, step over the line and one way or another, he would let you know.

This seemed a ubiquitous condition of childhood to me. I didn't know anyone who would contest the unmitigated authority of an adult to their face, and this fact was reinforced in every home I stepped into as a child, you respected your elders because you were a kid and they weren't, simple as that.

We've come a long way apart from that way of thinking.

I can't help but think it's been to the detriment of our society as a whole.

Certainly, some authority needs to be questioned, there are abhorrent behaviors present in every faction of society and they must be dealt with, but on the whole? Is it really productive to question simply for the sake of questioning? When, or more importantly how, did it become acceptable for parents to raise self centered children with needs paramount to others? Why is it important for your child to feel entitled to everything?

The moral fiber of our children has been compromised by so many factors it makes ones' head dizzy to try to comprehend. I'm certainly NOT the poster child for morality, but I'm not blind, deaf or retarded either. I live in a glass house and a thousand stones could rightfully be thrown at my abode, but I've maintained a line or two regarding what is acceptable behavior and what isn't and I've fought hard to ensure that my children know what they are. Unfortunately, the truth is that I've only been successful with a fraction of my own children. Those that get it do, those that haven't are still suffering the effects. I'm in no way Mother of the Year, but I'll never give up trying to be. I've made an enormous amount of mistakes, but I've the presence of mind to try to fix them. My children are far from perfect, but they continue to have every opportunity to try to reach it, and that includes honest feedback from me regarding what is good about them and what sucks.

I read an advice column the other day about parenting. A grandmother wrote to this "professional" asking what should be done about her four year old grandchild who was biting other children. With honest to God hope that for once, practical, sage advice would be dispensed, I eagerly began to read what plan of action should be used to curb this abhorrent behavior.

"At your grandson's age, he first needs an explanation of how painful and unkind biting can be; and he needs reminders and encouragement to "use his words." If he does bite, the immediate consequence should be a timeout."

I'm sorry. I truly am. For those of you who follow the cushy-lovey-dovey method of parenting, I respectfully submit to you my opinion that you are full of shit. Have you ever really talked to a four year old?

Have you ever been bitten? It hurts! It hurts like hell! If you ask me, short of being burned, it's the most painful thing you can experience.

My kid bit someone, her sister. She bit her on the back because she took her Troll Doll away from her and wouldn't give it back. Know what I did? I grabbed the wretched child and screamed in her face, "You think it's okay to bite someone? Let's see how YOU like it!" and I bit her! Yeah, the kid cried! Yes, she knew I was pissed off, and YES, I hurt her! I didn't feel good about it, she was my child! But it was necessary to teach that kid right then in no uncertain terms, that there is a line between what is acceptable conflict resolution and what isn't. Know what? She never bit anyone else again the rest of her life. She's twenty five years old now. I asked her about this trauma from her past, I wanted to know if I scarred the child with my tactic. She said that had I not done that to her, she wouldn't have truly known how horrible her actions had been. She said that I made her a better person and she thanked me.

It's a really nice idea to be your children's friend, but not at the expense of being their parent. Being their parent is a JOB, and one that not enough people understand. It isn't about making nice with little Johnny, it's dirty and it's hard and it can be downright shitty, but it's your responsibility to teach these creatures how to stand on their own two feet and treat other people with respect. What are you teaching your children? Is it really a life lesson to put a kid in time out for doing something that inflicts pain on someone else? What the hell are you saying? If, as an adult, you walk out on the street and bite the first person you see, is someone going to calmly come up to you and say "You really should use your words, biting is unacceptable, now you need to go to time out". HELL NO! They're either going to punch you in the gut and call you an asshole, or the cops are going to throw your ass in jail for assault, then you'll be sued by the person you bit! When did it become wrong to teach a kid reality?

I worry about the future. I fear for these over indulged, over stimulated, over compared, over tested, over categorized and under disciplined children. What the hell is going on?

All you loony toons out there, I am not advocating child abuse, but it is my firm belief that a well timed smack up the backside of a kids head can do wonders, and if they have a smart mouth? There's soap for that. It isn't society's job to raise our kids, and God knows our school teachers have enough to do. If you are a parent, then be one.

Children committing violence? It shouldn't be this way.

...And with this post, I suspect I've shot to hell any chance of winning the BCA for best parenting blog, but such is life.

Shameful, I'm Simply Shameless...

2007-04-18T08:59:00.000-05:00

...Seems my friends have offered me up for deliberation once again! Many thanks to Momma, 3T, MP, and Thordora for their votes, I love you guys too.

If you are so inclined, you may go here to vote for my blog, and revel in the knowledge that you have my eternal thanks. If not, that's cool too, just know that my self esteem is riding on your decision. Voting continues through June 2, and my site is listed as "my10kidfamily.blogspot.com".
Gah! This is almost too much pressure.

Allow Me To Introduce You...

2007-04-16T06:50:00.000-05:00

"What the hell is Tuaca?" -Or something close to that was asked of me.

Given that I have a big heart and am a flagrant know-it-all, I've opted to share my vast liquor knowledge with everyone.

Friends? THIS is Tuaca...

And if you go HERE, you'll learn all the fascinating things you can do with it, although my own experience with this substance is to drink it on ice and get laid, but that's just me, you can do what you want. Be advised that it's 80 proof, so don't wear anything complicated.

The Webtender has a couple of nice recipes for those of you who need to mix it up, and a rather nice review as well.

I love the stuff straight, a perfect sipping drink with a hefty punch that doesn't give me a hangover, trust me, you'll love it.

Signs

2007-04-14T13:09:00.000-05:00

When you live in the greater Cleveland area, you become accustomed to certain things. Your professional sports teams are a prick tease and there is seldom a happy ending (See? I should simply say "NEVER a happy ending", but the Cav's are working on placement right now and I don't wanna jinx it) and you still get your hopes up each and every season, anyone interviewed by a newscrew will be missing a couple of front teeth, your receiver will only pick up shitty radio, and your favorite restaurant will have a life expectancy of one year, especially if it's downtown.

Given these realities, one would think that the people of Cleveland would be jaded; but I am here to tell you that is not so.

See, we can have this:

In April, yet hope springs eternal for us Cuyahoga County residents. In fact, right now it is a balmy forty two degrees outside, sweltering! That, my friends, is springtime right there. In fact, some chick at the bank was so optimistic that she was attired in canvas ballet flats, Bermuda shorts, a hibiscus print tote and a fleece jacket; she was optimistic, not crazy.

I try hard to find the same optimism even with the ubiquitous grey sky and melting snow piles. I went out in my yard this morning to breathe in the crisp air and survey the damage from last weekend's storm and found this:

Sure, my flowers may be lying flat on the ground, but they're still there offering up a touch of color even after being burried under three feet of snow for a week. If they can perservere, surely so can I.

I've booked a couple of rooms at a hotel for the weekend and am taking the kids and a bottle of Tuaca to go swimming and play. The sun might not be out and my own pool might be filled with black sludge, but in the chlorinated atrium of the Holidome in Westlake, I'll feel the season and smile.

Talk to you all on Monday.

Very Fucking Funny

2007-04-09T06:57:00.000-05:00

I tell people all the time about lake effect snow. Most folks just look at me like I'm insane when I talk about rogue squalls and snow bands capable of dumping feet of snow in a matter of hours, their blank expressions conveying such things as doubt and most annoyingly, an acceptance for what some believe to be my tendency to exaggerate at times.

Yeah? Well dig this.

Last week I was running outside in my yard like a lunatic barefoot and in pigtails. It was eighty degrees, I was in shorts and a tank top, and I was covered in glorious dirt from weeding bed lines and planting lilacs and peony's. To further celebrate my own personal "Ode to Spring", I grilled Halibut on the patio. Jeffee pulled out all of the yard furniture that had been practically mouldering in the garage all winter and even erected that pretty canopy the kids got me for Mother's Day last year. After months of dismal grey and shit snow, the trees were blooming and the daffodils and hyacinths were perfuming the yard and swaying in the breeze; Life - once again - was good.

THIS is what I experienced this weekend.

That pretty canopy? Yeah, it's dead.

The flowers? Buried.

The grill? I can't find it.

Still think I'm exaggerating? Prone to creative license?

I'm not. I've told you all before, Mother Nature is not only schizophrenic, she hates Ohio, and she's on the rag.

Bitch.

Why

2007-03-30T06:00:00.000-05:00

Why do I have the urge to chop the heads off of the morning news crews? Is it normal to despise these people this much? Where do they find these freaks anyway? And, what the hell do they drink at five a.m. to get that freaking peppy? I'm drinking the coffee, yet for some reason, I am not all smiles nor do I feel carefree enough to use words like "co-inky-dink" out loud. You know what I think? I think they need to grab a couple of well seasoned moms to do a news show. Give the public a dose of reality first thing in the morning! Let's set the bar at a reasonable level. Real people don't have a face full of makeup and a eight ounces of hairspray on their heads before the sun rises.

I hereby volunteer myself for reality broadcasting. You know how to reach me.

Whatever

2007-03-29T07:29:00.000-05:00

Jeffee's throwing a fucking fit.

He said it isn't fair that Lili is getting all the attention.

He feels I've slighted him and his special circumstance, so without further ado, please allow me to introduce "Michey", born last Sunday, weighing in at ten pounds and loved by men everywhere...

We're all so proud.

And We Will Call Her...

2007-03-26T06:57:00.000-05:00

I am not above playing dirty. I admit it.

Several months ago, my daughter Kimmy and I discussed baby names. At that time we had tossed around several that were contenders, all simple old fashioned names like Molly, Janie, Emma and such, but the name I was partial to was Lily. I almost named Anna Lily but she just didn't look like one, I still loved the name though and had my heart set on a little bundle of pink being known by it.

Throughout Kimmy's pregnancy, I referred to her belly as "Lily", and all of the items I purchased for her layette were gift wrapped and tagged "For Lily". Never mind that it's the parents' right to choose a baby's name, isn't this about me?

Kimmy and Colin refused to pick a name, so for the last two days I invented one whenever speaking to them; "So how is Baby Jane Doe?" I asked, and sent emails with "Baby Jane Doe Pics" in the subject line. I called them every hour, on the hour, asking for a name and of course, they had to mess with me and tell me possibilities like "Gertrude" and "Hortense". They are rotten children.

At my wits end, I sent Jeffee to the hospital to meet his new granddaughter -armed. That's right, I had him stop by the florist to pick up a bouquet of Calla Lillies festooned in baby's breath and pink ribbons. I explained to the owner of the shop what my dilemma was, namely that from one grandma to the other, surely she understood the importance of this bouquet and would she please make sure it was not only grand, but completely irresistible? And would she please insert a card in it that simply said "Do the right thing"? I will not be trifled with.

I am happy to announce that my clever coercions worked like a charm!

Allow me to introduce Liliana Marie, Lili for short, the most beautiful grand baby on Earth...

With a beautiful name to match.

It's A Baby!

2007-03-23T16:48:00.000-05:00

She's HERE!

8 lbs, 2 oz. 20" long...

I'm in love.

I Know Victoria's Secret

2007-03-22T09:30:00.000-05:00

My wonderful friend Junebug, over at Wasted Days Wasted Nights, nominated me for this oh-so-wonderful award!

And in the spirit of providing something for everyone to think about, I thought I'd share the following with you...

I know the secret. I came upon it by accident, innocently actually.

It started simply enough, it was my anniversary and I was lounging around the hotel room with Jeffee in a new little number pictured over there.

Now, I'm not sure if it was the Dom Perignon we were drinking, or the way the moonlight was filtering in through our windows, but my man said, "Mmmmm, I like when you wear that stuff." I thanked him, of course, and told him that I was glad he liked it, and I meant it too. Any woman who has shelled out fifty bucks for less fabric than an infant sleeper has a few certain expectations in mind, namely to capture their lovers' attention, to look and feel sexy, and to get the payoff. I had accomplished the first couple listed.. and the last was looking pretty good.

"I wish you would wear those clothes more often. Don't get me wrong, flannel is... uh.. great, but you know, I like that lacy stuff more. It makes you look young."

"What do you mean by that?" Fuck!, What? Do I look old in my usual Harley tee-shirt and sweats?

Blindsided by his usual male idiocy, he quickly corrected himself, "Er, uh, I mean, it makes you look beautiful. Like a super model." That's more like it, I think to myself, there's hope for the man yet.

"You know..." I offer, "I'd be willing to wear lingerie a lot more often if you were to buy some now and then instead of always leaving it to me to shell out the big bucks."

"Big bucks? How much could that possible cost?" he asks.

"Try $52.99 pal, this netting isn't cheap."

I can see Jeffee's brain working, he's thinking, "fifty two and change? Impossible!" he then says to me, "Well, what about all that stuff you have in your dresser at home? You must have thirty outfits in there, why don't you ever wear any of it?

"What!" How could he ask me such a stupid question? "Because! You've already seen me in it!" Jesus, doesn't he know anything?

"So?" he says.

"So? I can't wear any of that again! That's like wearing the same dress to the Academy Awards, it simply isn't done!"

"Why the hell not?"

"I don't know, I don't make the rules!" Jesus, who did he think I was?

"Well, that's just stupid" he says, "You could wear that every night for a week and I'd still like it."

I stared at the man slack jawed and feeling stupid, "You're serious?" I ask him, "I mean it, are you telling me the truth?"

"Hell yeah I'm tellin' the truth! You're hot!"

I couldn't believe this. "Are you telling me that men don't care if women wear the same lingerie over and over again?"

"Yep."

"So, I could just rotate the stuff in my drawer, and you'd be happy?"

"Damn straight, Skippy."

"No shit," I say, "Wow. Are you alone in this way of thinking?"

"HELL no!"

"You're shitting me..." This just defied everything I thought I knew about lingerie! We women are brainwashed into believing that you have to have new stuff in order to register the desired effect of shock and awe, that reusing the same stuff over and over is dull and uneventful. WRONG! We're dead wrong! Apparently, Victoria's big fucking secret is that men don't care if you don't buy new shit! They're just happy to see you looking slutty, whether it's in one garment or a variety!

"Nope, you just go ahead and feel free to wear that every night for a month." Then he screws up his face like Jim Carey in Dumb and Dumber and says, "I like it... I like it a lot".

Hah! Victoria, you wallet gouging bitch, the secret's out.

In return for my award, and in keeping with the rules, it is now my job to nominate five other bloggers that inspire thought. This is a risky endeavor for me to undertake because odds are, my nominees won't see this post, but hey, it's all good. My picks are:

Paula at Ultrablog, because her blog is like a buffet; it looks wonderful, there's an enormous variety and enough stuff to make you read until you wanna puke - plus - she's funnier than hell.

Nino the Mindboggler at Patriside. If only everyone could write like this man... It's impossible not to mull over his thoughts, go ahead, go see for yourself.

Jay at Kill The Goat. FFS! Do I really need to supply a reason? She's nuts! She's amazing! She's anatomically correct!

Lois Lane at Home Fires. She's just someone you wanna sit down and split a six pack with and spill your guts to. Always a good read.

Ole Blue at Ole Blue The Heretic. Always a mixed bag, sometimes funny, sometimes serious, sometimes just Ole Blue.

Okay you guys, pilfer the button at the top of the page, put it on your blog and write something that will make people think; then nominate five bloggers in your post and spread the love.

Sarah Barra

2007-03-18T09:42:00.000-05:00

Aw, I hate posts like this.

You all know my daughter Sarah. She's one of a kind, this kid.

Sarah has had some pretty traumatic things happen to her in her short lifetime and through it all, she has managed to preserve her very unique sense of humor. In fact, of all of my children, none make me laugh more than she does.

Sarah has a myriad of talent; a beautiful singing voice, enviable artistic ability, and a genuine knack for writing. She is a pretty girl and she knows it, but in my opinion, her finest attribute is her ability to simply roll with life. She has the ability to stand outside of her circumstances and see situations for what they are and appreciate all facets of emotion and reaction as it happens, and once it does, you won't find a more empathetic and loving heart willing to jump in and do whatever is necessary to help.

Sarah also enjoys acting, her favorite role is playing the part of Diva, making outrageous claims of future fame and fortune, all which she says will be achieved by her "unbelievable good looks and sparkling personality"... and all said with a wry little smile on her face which she manages to keep in check until finally, she erupts into self deprecating one liners and giggles. She's teasing and joking, doing what she does best - being silly and making people laugh.

Out of the blue on Friday, Sarah called me.

"Mom? I have decided to write a blog for you." She tells me, "I'm going to e mail it. Your readers are probably wondering what I've been up to, so I thought I'd help you out."

I laugh a little and shake my head, "Sarah honey, what makes you think my readers are sitting around wondering about you?"

"Mom! Of course they are? Who could blame them? I'm special."

"You're special alright..."

"Mom!" she cries, "Not "special" special, Special. You know, like Angelina Jolie."

This makes me laugh out loud. "Sarah. You're nuts."

"Mom! You need to come to terms with my fame."

"Sarah, you are not famous honey."

"I will be! God! Why can't I get anyone in this family to simply recognize that? I swear, you people are impossible!"

"So let me get this straight... You have written a post for me to put on my blog- from you - about you, and you've done it to appease the curiosity of my readers, do I have that right?"

"Yes. It's about time you put something interesting on there, and what could be more interesting than me?"

"Uh huh, okay darling. Send it to me and I'll read it."

"Okay, but you really don't need to, it's perfect you know..."

I laugh again and hang up with my child.

A few moments later, I called her.

"Sarah? You do realize that if I post this "blog" you wrote, my readers are going to shred you like an Enron memo, right?"

"What are you talking about! Why on Earth would they do that? They love me!"

I laugh again, "Oh you silly girl. Look, we get your humor. We understand you, but nobody else does. We love you Sarah and understand your "specialness"."

"What are you saying!" she laughs, "Everyone "gets" me!"

"Okay daughter, I'll post it... You better hope you're right..."

Sarah laughs again and says, "You worry about the silliest things mommy, I love you. Oh, I have to go, I need a manicure - you never know when some big Hollywood producer is going to knock on the door and need me to star in a movie, I need to look my best."

So here, my friends, is the email I got from Sarah, exactly as I received it. I took the liberty of "inserting" the pictures (as I was directed) underneath her instructions, they actually came in a separate file...

Hey Merr,
It's Sarah. I miss you. I'm taking it upon myself to write an update for all "your" fans, (come on mom, lets be serious here. We both know they're really here in hopes you'll put up another adorable picture of me).. I know that ever since i moved out you've stopped writing about me because it's just too painful to think about me being gone now, so I'm going to do it for you. And for the hundreds of readers that have missed me too.
Okay, here we go.

Sarah: The Definition of Awesome
-an update

It all started in May of 1981, when my mom gave birth to her first child, or as i like to call her, the first blunder on the road to me. She named it Kimmy. From what I've gathered from pictures and home videos, Kimmy was an alright kid. But something was missing. The next year, in August, my mom decided to try her luck again and popped out my sister Tracy. Unfortunately for my mom, Tracy was weird and talked to walls. So my mom once again tested her fortuity and had another baby. In September of '84 my brother Franky was born. Franky was a cute baby. I know this because sometimes i get my baby pictures confused with him, and as we all can assume, i was a very heavenly baby. Yet something was still missing. My parents yearned for a child that met every expectation they had.
Alas, a couple years later, on a beautiful November 7th evening, the miracle that is me was born. As my mom lay in that hospital bed and looked over my angelic little body, seeing each perfect feature i had been blessed with, she was overjoyed. My parents had finally created the flawless baby they always wanted. The hospital staff burst into song, joining hands and dancing around the room in bliss. The other expectant mothers in the maternity ward waddled into the room and thanked my parents for bringing me into this world. I'm pretty sure they even gave my parents medals to congratulate them on their masterpiece.

(put first picture here)

Looking back, I'm pleased to say that I've lived up to conjecture. Anyone with eyes can see that my looks are unprecedented, as is my charm.

I moved out of my mom's house and am proud to announce that I'm living completely on my own in the back of the the extension my dad added to his house, for free. I'm about to get a job at a gym. My job title will be "receptionist", but the real service i will be providing is inspiration to the members. I plan on standing around all day so the guys working out will have motivation to get in shape so they can ask me out. It's hard work, but somebody has to do it.

(second picture goes here)

Nathan and i broke up, we're still friends though. I love him, he's a great person. He's in college now at Bowling Green, and doing pretty well from what he tells me. As far as I know his hand is still gradually improving.

This is him in college

(put the picture here that says natecollege)

Not much of a difference from when he was living with us...

(put the picture here that says natemerr)

My best friend Casey, Delphine's boyfriend (the one on the left) joined the marines on the fifth of this month.. He's in boot camp right now in South Carolina. He'll be gone for the next 13 weeks and then coming home for ten days to get married to Delphine, or something. And then the two of them are going to live together wherever they decide to station Casey.
(put the picture here that says prom074)

My little sister Bonnie aka "BonBon" aka "Getoutofmyroomdude" lives with me. She's doing alright i suppose. She constantly has her friends over, who eat all our food and make messes everywhere. She's dating this new kid named Steve, who, as far as i can tell, is deaf. He doesn't talk and doesn't answer you when you try to talk to him. I guess that's what Bonnie needs seeing as she NEVER stops talking anyway.
Bon and I are getting along for the most part. We just try to stay out of each other's way, and we have moments of pure sisterhood when we join forces to ask my dad for money. It's pretty cute.

(put the picture here that says bonnies)

All in all, i seem to be doing well lately. If you want to send me some money, or presents, that's always welcome. Ask my mom for her mailing address and she'll forward any gift that she receives. Feel free to save any of the pictures I've included of myself as the background on your desktop!
(put the picture here that says sarah2)

Love Always, Sarah <3

As you can imagine, between laughing at Sarah's bizarre sense of humor and the invented persona of "super model in training" oh, and "next Hollywood sensation", I also felt compelled to call her one last time and ask her if she seriously wanted me to post this crap.

"Crap? Mom! Are you kidding me? Did you not see those pictures?"

"I saw the pictures you little 'tard, you are too funny."

"Funny! Mom! Are you serious?"

"Oh honey, you do make me laugh... You are just slightly conceited, don't you think?"

"Mom!"

"I have to go Sarah, I'll talk to you later."

About three minutes later, I received this e mail:

Dear Merr,
You hung up on me before I got a chance to fully explain myself. I'm not "conceited", I'm honest. Do you want me to lie? If you want me to lie to people mom, i could have written a blog saying "Oh, I'm Sarah I'm not beautiful. Everybody doesn't love me". Did i do that? No. Because i have morals.
People are going to read that, and look at my pictures and think to themselves, "Wow. This girl really does have it going on. I sure am glad she didn't lie and say she sucked. I sure am glad she gave us these hot pictures to print out and put in my cubicle at work. I SURE AM GLAD SHE WAS HONEST".

So please keep that in mind. I love you.
Love, Sarah

I called her again...

"Sarah? You've lost your mind, right?"

"Mom! WHAT are you talking about?" she laughed, "I seriously don't know what you're talking about..."

"Sarah, you have heard of Karma, right?"

"Pffft, Karma shmarma, what's that got to do with anything anyway?"

"Honey, pretty girls who run around yapping about how pretty they are... Well, let's just say it makes most people sick, even if they are only joking around - which I KNOW you are doing, but honey, not everyone else does. You might cause people to wish terrible things for you, you know..."

"Oh Mom, who in their right mind would wish anything bad on me? People love me!"

I laugh again, "Well, I do. I love you Sarah Barra, I'll talk to you later."

Ryann and Anna wanted to ice skate last night, so Tracy volunteered to take them. Sarah wanted to join in on the fun, so she went too. At 9:30 p.m., my telephone rang, It was Tracy.

"Mom! Sarah just fell on the ice and broke her two front teeth! Which hospital do you want to meet me at?"

We drove to Rainbow Babies and Children's Hospital and there, I found my silly little girl, miserable, hurt and crying.

"Oh My Goth Mom! Look ath me! My theeth!" she sobbed, "They are brokthen! Mommy, I'm tho hurth!"

Sure enough, both teeth were snapped almost to the gum line. In addition, her jaw was swollen and completely bruised and large lump had formed on her chin.

"How on Earth did you manage to do this to yourself Sarah? Why didn't you use your hands to break your fall?"

She laughed and said, "Mommy, Ith all happenth tho quikthly, I didnth have thme tho do anything to thop it!... Oh my Goth, I thownd tho thupid!"

The next couple of hours were an emotional roller coaster, Sarah ran the gamut, crying one second then laughing uproariously at herself the next. "Thith ith juth greath", she cried, "I hathe karma!"

Poor baby. I guess Karma doesn't understand tongue in cheek humor, eh?

Every Picture Tells a Story...

2007-03-15T07:17:00.000-05:00

I used to have a really great telephone set. It rang loudly, had multiple receivers and the sound quality-both projected and received- was excellent.

Unfortunately, we have a lot of teen aged girls and I could never find one when I needed it. Worse, most times when I actually did locate a handset, it was either outside in the rain or buried under a sofa or blanket -dead; either Danny was singing one girl to sleep, or Pheeny was telling one an emotional heart wrenching tale until the wee hours of the morning. I have deduced that teen aged girls are simply allergic to charger units.

Sick to death of having to go to Chrissy's house to make a call, I went out and purchased a wall unit and threw the portables in the garbage. I reasoned that at least whenever I had an actual need to use the telephone, rare as it might be, I would know where the fucking thing was. To further demonstrate my displeasure with my offspring, I also threw away the twisty cord that came with the unit and purchased one so short that stepping away from the wall was virtually impossible. Virtually, because one of the wretched creatures proved me wrong by utilizing a running start and ripping the damn thing off the wall. Fortunately, her conversation was interrupted by a cacophony of noise from all of the crap that was stuffed in and around it when it fell and the oh-so-wonderful consequence of a disconnect. Thank you. Don't fuck with mama.

Relativity has a funny way of forcing you to reconsider your actions. As nice as it was to have ready access to the telephone, the reality was that it was entirely inconvenient to have to actually get up to go answer it when it rang. I missed my portables.

Faced with the choice of not being able to find a phone or knowing where it was and having to get up to answer it because nobody else in the house knows how to do that, I opted to give everyone another chance. I went to Target and bought a three-unit telephone.

It sucks. They don't make portables that work anymore. Either I can't hear, or the person I am talking to can't hear me. Most often, I can't discern who the hell is on the other end and as not a single person I know bothers to identify themselves with a proper greeting, it usually takes me a minute or two to figure out who I'm having a conversation with.

I got a phone call yesterday.

"Great news!" the caller told me, "I've just lost my mucus plug! Isn't that wonderful?"

Such things usually stimulate my gag reflex and not just because there is a phone to my ear, "Oh, wow..." I said, trying to hide my confusion, telemarketers have been ingenious lately and I wasn't about to fall for another trick. "That is great news...Who is this?"

"It's Kimmy!"

This suddenly made sense, my daughter Kimmy is nine months pregnant. "Oh wow! That IS great news!" I cried, "Thank God! Where are you? Are you in a tunnel or something?"

"No mom! I'm at home, why would I be in a tunnel?"

"Never mind. So, are you in labor yet?"

"No," she said, "I'm fine, just excited. I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow so I'll know more then. I just wanted you to know that we're really close now!"

"Well that's great! I just made a big pot of soup honey, why don't you and Colin and the kids come over and have some."

"Okay, see you in a minute." she said. A few moments later Kimmy waddled in with her little family.

Jeffee has been very busy the last couple of months and hasn't seen Kimmy in quite a while. I've told him how enormous she has gotten, but he assumed I was exaggerating, so it was something of a surprise when she came through the door.

"Oh my lord Kimmy! You're huge!" he said.

"Gee, thanks Jeffee..." she replied, "Nice to see you too."

Embarrassed, he immediately walked over and embraced her, which prompted everyone else in the room to laugh at the spectacle.

"What's so funny?" he asked, only nobody could answer him. "What!" he demanded.

There are times when a lengthy explanation is in order...

And then there are those times when a picture is worth a thousand words.

Another Saturday Night...

2007-03-13T08:28:00.000-05:00

My dad's birthday is coming up so to surprise him, his new girlfriend Patty has been planning a get together for weeks. She didn't want him to suspect anything, so she opted to hold his party a week early.

The plan was for everyone to meet at my house and then we would all take a limo to one of the finest restaurants in Ohio, Gavi's.

Andy and Sharon and Randy all arrived early and we all got dressed up and waited... and waited... Luckily, I had a full bar.

It has been very difficult keeping this from my dad, he's a curious kind of guy, and he's at my house almost every day for dinner. He tried to pry a bunch of information out of Jeff and I about our weekend plans, but we blew him off and made up a bunch of garbage about getting together with friends. Duh, like we have friends who want to get together with us or something. Anyway, we told him he was on his own and left it at that. When the limo arrived at our house, dad adamantly tried to convince Patty that we were not at home, only to find a house full of his children. He was very surprised!

We left for the restaurant, but unfortunately, our table wasn't ready so we were forced to drive around in the limo and drink a couple of bottles of Freemark Abbey.
It was really rough.

This is my brother Andy, who insists on being called Drew.

He fell on a fork when he was 2 1/2 years old and it went into his eye and killed it. We're all sick of his shiny eye in pictures so he very graciously accommodated us with this lid from a Miller Lite bottle... He wore that into the restaurant. Who says we can't go to classy places?

Finally, the restaurant called us on our cell phone and we made our way back. The owners wisely stuck us in a private room and within minutes, we had it to ourselves. The food is unbelievable, authentic Tuscan cooked to perfection with an enviable wine list, honestly, it really is one of the best restaurants I've ever been to and we go there whenever there is a special occasion. As you can imagine, the combination of alcohol and comfort with our surroundings sort of paved the way for a very lighthearted and jovial mood. We were all chatting and laughing when Dad asked for everyone's attention, he had something to tell us.

With that, we all quieted and Dad proceeded to address us all. "Thank you for this wonderful evening" he said, "I love everyone here, and I'd like to take this opportunity to tell you all something very important." He moved his chair back and reached into his pocket. He then got down on one knee and faced Patty, "Patty, I love you," he said, as he opened his hand to reveal a jewel box and then added, "Would you please marry me?"

We all sat there stunned, including Patty! Nobody saw this coming! "Yes!" she said, as we all cheered and cried "Oh my God! He's just proposed!"

Jeff ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon (we have been having a lot of that lately...) and we toasted our new family addition.

Congratulations to my Dad and Patty!

Wedding details soon...

Toilet Fodder

2007-03-09T09:49:00.000-05:00

I've talked about my granddaughter Ryann a lot in here.

There's a reason for it, she's just a little bit nutty.

Ryann has this thing about pooping, she really likes to do it. In fact, she's proud of it, frequently "saving" the evidence to show to her dad - much to his chagrin - and actually creates color commentary during the entire process, a sort of play-by-play rendering of the event. "There's the dipping sauce..." she'll say, as she tinkles a little bit in the toilet, and then with a mighty grunt and telltale "plop" she'll add, "and there's the chicken, oooooh, the chicken."

Tracy has tried to reason with the girl, explaining the difference between what is considered polite conversation and private, and we all kind of ignore her strange sense of humor for the most part, I mean, nobody really wants to draw attention to quirky behaviors in kids, especially bathroom funk, but it's hard not to laugh at the child. Ryann loves to make people laugh, so you can imagine how irritating it is to her when people seemingly disregard what she thinks is hilarious material.

So, she has gotten creative...

Now, I'll warn you in advance, the following pictures are not for the squeamish. All you proper, sensitive types- just move along now. You've been warned.

OK, so Ryann's getting ready to leave for school. As usual, Ryann's in the bathroom telling the universe about the progress of her crap, and as is also usual, everyone is ignoring it. She finishes her business, then goes directly to her room. A few minutes later, she returns to the bathroom, does something quickly in it, turns off the light and shuts the door and tells her mother, "OK, I'm ready to go!"

Tracy gets her off to the school bus and then goes to the bathroom to see what the heck the kid had been doing in there.

This is what she found...

You may be thinking, "Awww, that's so cute, she left a little love note on the toilet for her mom..." and that is exactly what Tracy thought too... Until she looked down and saw the whole scene

Now I ask you, who the hell thinks like that?

So... How'd She Do In Kent?

2007-03-05T08:46:00.000-05:00

Two more skating events...

Two more Gold Medals!

Congratulations Anna!

A Giggle Today

2007-03-01T13:35:00.000-05:00

Anna and I were cuddled together on the sofa last night. She's a little nervous about this weekend's skating competition at Kent State University and whenever Anna is a little jittery, she experiences a heightened sensitivity to every little problem she faces.

Anna worries over the same things all of us do, "Am I good enough?, What if? Is this right for me?" We talked and talked and she grew tired, which in her case, makes her weepy. Finally, after we were able to recognize that it was simply fears that were trying to creep in, we dispelled them all and moved onto other topics.

"Mom? Do you really think I'll make it to the Olympics?"

"Oh Anna, I'm certain of it! You can do anything you set your mind to, plus you're a brilliant skater! If you want to be an Olympian, I don't think anyone or anything could stop you."

"Thanks mom. But,what about when I 'm a teenager?"

"What do you mean? You'll BE a teenager in the Olympics silly, you'll be 15 years old."

"Mom! But what about Bonnie and Sarah?"

"What about them?" I asked, clearly I wasn't following her line of thought.

"Ugh! They're horrible! I don't want to be a rotten teenager like them!"

I laughed, finally understanding where this was leading, "Anna, you goofball, you are you, they are who they are, you won't be anything like them. Plus, you have something very unique about you - you skate. You'll have a lot to do at that age, you won't have time to be a rotten teenager."

Anna's eyes started to well up again and she threw her arms around my neck, "But how do you know? What if it happens to me? What if I forget what a wonderful mom you are and get all nasty and hateful like them? Oh God, I don't want to be like they are!"

"Anna honey, I love you. Some parents actually like their teen aged kids, can you imagine that? So you see, you don't have to be like your sisters, you will be you. Not all teenagers are rotten honey, some are actually nice."

"They are? Really? Well, I've never met one!"

I didn't have the heart to tell her that I hadn't either, guess we'll just both wait and see...

Much love to my darling friend LadyBug Crossing for nominating me ONCE AGAIN for a Perfect Post Award, hosted by Petroville and Suburban Turmoil. Stop in and see all the winners for this month! Thank you my friend, very much.

Ryann Explains It All

2007-02-23T12:20:00.000-05:00

Have you seen the commercial for that prescription sleep aid that has a dude sitting at the table in his kitchen where some guy in an old fashioned hard helmet diving suit is doing something in the background (cooking I think), and President Lincoln and some woodland creature are talking to him and explaining that they miss him and his dreams?

Well, my granddaughter Ryann, who is five years old, was watching American Idol with us last night when that commercial came on. "Oh! I just HATE that commercial!" she said, as she slammed a fist on the arm of the recliner, "Why do they have to keep showing that to everyone?" She was completely irritated.

"Why do you hate that commercial Ryann?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because it's stupid! I hate that president guy."

"Why?"

"Because he has a stupid name!"

"President Lincoln?"

"Yes! Abe "The Man" Lincoln! It's so stupid! Why is he "The Man"? He's ugly!"

"Ryann, his name is A-bra-ham honey, Abraham."

"Hahaha! You said bra! His name is bra?"

"No, you meatball, his name is Abraham, not Abe The Man."

"Oh. Well, why is he so ugly?"

"I don't know honey. He's dead you know..."

"Dead? Well, that must be why he's so ugly."

"I knew there must be a good reason Ryann."

"Yep there is, there always is Monga."

The Look of Love

2007-02-20T23:32:00.000-05:00

Ever notice that there are things you will do that make perfect sense when you are really tired, that once you reflect upon them in the light of day seem strange, even if you are the one who perpetrated the deed?

I hate when that happens.

In my own defense, I must clarify all of this with a disclaimer. You see, I'm in love. Women tend to do stupid things in the name of love, it is our nature. Just ask Britney.

Jeff has obstructive sleep apnea. He's going to have to go under the knife to fix it, poor guy. You see, due to his unfortunate condition, I am left to suffer the consequences of it. Yeah, sure, he literally chokes himself awake from not breathing. Pffft. I have to live the very real condition of never getting a good night's sleep because Shrek is busy gagging and gasping for air. In addition, his fucking legs and feet never stop moving because nature saw fit to equip these spastic bastards with a fail safe to ensure they don't suffocate by keeping their extremities busy. But as Golfwidow would say, I digress.

You see, I felt a pang of empathy for my man. He was lying there all semi-peaceful between gasping fits, so I began to rub his head in a very soft and loving manner, soothing and calming his mind to help him relax enough to breathe slowly and enjoy a moment or two of unencumbered rest. As I gazed upon his face, I fixated on his closed eyes, the same eyes I fell in love with over a decade ago. Even in sleep, the sweet beauty they hold was plainly evident. I felt myself warm over with a flood of emotion. There, right before me was the man that I love. I continued to stroke his face, his hair, his cheeks, carefully brushing his brow with my thumb and visualizing those pretty eyes.

Well, for some reason, simply looking at his sleeping face wasn't quite enough. I had tears in my eyes from all the gooey love I felt. For just one moment, a mere fraction of a second, I needed to see his iris, his pupil, to see him look upon me with the warmth and love I feel every time his eyes meet mine. So, I did what any rational woman would do, I carefully lifted his eyelid and forced him to look at me.

Now, you may be surprised at this, but for some reason all he could say to me was, "What! What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy woman?" Which is hardly the verbiage I was looking for.

"I just wanted to see your eyes for a minute" I said, with a ton of emotion, remember, I was overcome by love.

"Leave my fucking eyes alone! Have you lost your mind? I'm sleeping for Christ's sake! What's next? Jesus! Did the bleach from your hair seep into your brain?"

Men. They just don't understand anything.

Male Reason

2007-02-19T12:50:00.000-05:00

We're eating breakfast and listening to music, idly looking out the window and remarking about how much snow we got over the past week, when my man looks at me and says, "I'm goin' ice huntin' today."

I notice he's all puffed up with testosterone and has a very self satisfied look on his face. I have no doubt that whatever the fuck ice hunting is, it's a throwback to prehistoric times, something to do with foraging or protecting the cave.

"Ice hunting huh?" I'm thinkin' this can't be good.

"Yep."

I look outside to see what on Earth might constitute ice hunting.

"All those icicles out there? They're good as gone."

"Oh, you're going to go knock them down are ya? I get it, "ice hunting", cute."

"Yeah, I'm gonna use my axe."

"An axe you say... Uh huh. Yeah. Now Jeffee, is that a good idea? Don't you mean hatchet?"

"Nope, axe. I want my long handled axe."

"So, you're going to go outside in three feet of snow and start waving an axe at the roof, do I have that right?"

"Yes, that way I can reach everything without having to jump or use a ladder."

"Uh huh. So, you're gonna swipe at the icicles and knock them down?"

"Yeah, and I'm gonna break up those ice dams in the gutters too."

"With the axe. Yeah, 'cuz that's gonna work out well. You're going to just start flailing away at shit, right?"

"Yep."

I look at him, hard. I start to tell him that it's going to warm up today, that the odds of screwing up and damaging the new roof that cost ten grand last summer are fairly high, and that his footing in deep snow is less than optimal, but he simply looks back at me and says, "I'm a man."

And that my friends, is the difference between men and women.

Happy Valentine's Day

2007-02-13T22:11:00.000-05:00

All my darling crushes out there, you KNOW I love ya...

Big hugs and kisses and a little skin to all.

Happy Valentine's Day!

My first wedding anniversary is Friday, so I'm leaving today and I'll be gone until Monday. Jeffee and I are off to Niagara Falls in Canada to have some fun (we're doin' it) and togetherness (massages, candlelit dinners, Dom Perignon, spa visits and a whole new Victoria's Secret wardrobe to model) to celebrate our first year as married people - uh, er, married to each other I mean. Have a happy holiday and a great weekend. Talk to you all next week!

"Gee Honey, You Smell Pretty..."

2007-02-08T09:55:00.000-05:00

"That's because I got fucked by flowers honey."

Mom, Don't read this.

Today is my mother's birthday. I can't see her in person today because every single free moment I might have has been sadistically occupied by Anna and ice skating. Anyone know what it's like to sit in an empty ice arena at six a.m.? I do! I do!

Anyway, I had to send mom something to remind her that I'm a great daughter. I have a lot of siblings and I haven't been paying enough attention to my mom lately. I know those fuckers will play suck up and get her fabulous gifts, something I suck at, so I had to step up to the plate. I tossed around the idea of sending a male stripper over to sing and dance for her and her friend Phyllis, knowing the prospect of some guy all dolled up in leather and a banana hammock gyrating two feet from her face would be altogether hilarious, but then I imagined the ensuing heart attacks that would take place and opted to go with something safer. So, last night before I went to bed, I ordered her some flowers.

Anyone order flowers lately? Could someone please tell me HOW THE FUCK that lovely bouquet pictured above could possibly cost eighty five bucks? Huh? How? Has the floral industry been taken over by the mob? Is there some terrorist faction in control here? Am I surreptitiously funding some third world military? Did these people have to hire folks with a PhD to go pick these suckers in some remote rain forest someplace far away? Is that why they cost me an entire day's pay? Are flowers the new diamonds? What the hell happened here?

God damn it! I love to get fucked, but I hate it dry in the ass.

Know What?

2007-02-04T09:18:00.000-05:00

Know how I know it's going to be a great day?
It's Glorious Super Bowl Sunday!!!!

Ok, that might be a couple too many exclamation points, but damn it! It's Super Bowl Sunday! That's like church for heathens! I'll be invoking God and Jesus all day long!

I'd like to see Payton confirm his abilities, but to tell the truth, I really don't care who wins. My brother was supposed to place a bet on the game for me a couple of weeks ago when he was in Vegas, but did he? NOoooooooooo, he didn't, and the bookies here are nuts with the juice, so no bet today, unless of course my sister calls me...

Anyway, I'm in a great mood. As you all know, I LOVE football. I will not think about the fact that I will have to wait months to see another game (Pro Bowl doesn't really count) because that is just sad. Instead, I will focus on the positive, the commercials, the hype, the pregame, the game, the post game, the food... Yes. It will be a good day.

Know how I know it's winter? It's fucking cold outside, only 2 degrees Fahrenheit, so the newspaper will have to stay in the box, Kim doesn't do cold. Know how warm it will get out there today?

6.

Know how I know my husband feels safe around me?

I woke up really early, Anna fell asleep in my bed with me last night so Jeff slept in the guest room and didn't wake me up seventy five times snoring, so I like him a whole bunch today. We had coffee together while he reviewed his sales reports. After a while, I asked him if he'd like to play cribbage. Know what he said to me?

"Ok, but in a minute, go scrub a floor or something."

He's lucky I'm in a good mood.

Everyone is invited over for ribs and beer, but take your shoes off, I just cleaned the floor.

It's Free, Damn It.

2007-01-31T09:07:00.000-05:00

This post is for all you married people out there, or those in long term relationships.

I don't think people who are merely dating will quite grasp the significance of what I'm going to tell you, because I think that in order to truly appreciate the fine art of deliberately irritating someone, you need to be in constant proximity to them. Like fine wine, you need to exist and age together for a long period of time, to commingle your idiosyncratic differences just enough to drive the other person insane, in a loving way of course.

See, my large Republican husband is a bit of a citified snob. Don't get me wrong, he isn't stuck up or pretentious about most things, in fact, anyone who digs in my archives or has read me for any length of time knows that Jeffee is a redneck at heart. But, there are these certain little things that for some ridiculous self imposed reason, he finds necessary to uphold appearances on, things like the cleanliness of our trucks, the height of the grass, and God forbid his hair should grow longer than 1/2 of an inch.

The sole other issue that bothers this man is luggage. Specifically, my tendency to shun it.

We go to my sister Sharon's house with some regularity, usually every few weeks or so to spend the weekend and play cards or watch football. She lives about an hour away in the middle of nowhere with cattle and chickens. Although her home is located on a golf course and is very stately, her town is completely backwoods heaven, boasting facilities like a drive-thru liquor store, tractor repair shop and a grain exchange. Nobody puts on airs, people don't care if you necessarily match your clothing, and El Camino's rule the road.

Now, if I'm taking off from home to go visit my sister and chill out, it seems only natural to me that all I need to do is throw a change of clothes and a toothbrush in a bag and I'm good to go. I'm not going to the Four Seasons or some ritzy resort, I'm going to Sharon and Randy's house, Queen and King of beer and fart jokes. So, could someone please explain to me why it is that this:

Sends Jeffee over the edge? He loses his fucking mind, and I love it.

"Aw, Jesus Christ! What the fuck! Here!" He says, as he hands me a duffel bag, "Use this instead of that fucking grocery bag, you god damned hillbilly! Why do you insist on using a grocery bag, huh? Why do you think I bought you this?" He says, as he shakes the duffel in my face.

"Oh, thanks honey, but I'm already packed up, see?" I say, as I hold my blue plastic bag up just under his nose.

"Come on Kim! Use the duffel, Jesus Christ, just use the duffel!" He pleads.

I look at him with my usual bewildered expression and shake my head, "Honey," I say, as I put my duck boots on and grab my blue bag, "This bag is fine, see? Everything fits in it perfectly, and besides, this makes me feel like I'm saving the planet and it's free, now let's go!"

He mutters something unintelligible to me regarding familial inbreeding and chewing tobacco and swears that he won't carry my bag into Sharon's house for me, then he catches sight of a second bag filled with odds and ends and gifts for my sister.

"It's a matching set" I tell him...

Heh, it's the little things in life my friends, that make marriage such a wonderful institution.

You'd Brag Too

2007-01-29T08:25:00.000-05:00

Can we say....

Proud Mother?

Yes! We can! Know why?

Because Anna was in two more competitions...

And won two more gold medals.

Ahhh, yeah, that's my baby.

Get Tin Muh Belly!

2007-01-26T23:24:00.000-05:00

There are a few things in the world you really never want to hear.

"Oh my, your baby has a really large head, it's a good thing this is your second!" from your obstetrician has got to be right up there at the top of the list.

This is the news that my very pregnant eldest daughter imparted upon me at seven this morning as we sat in a crowded gymnasium eating Krispy Kremes and drinking tepid apple juice with our elementary school aged children. Feigning supreme enjoyment for their benefit at the insanity that is known as Donuts at Dawn- a celebration of children, parents and carbohydrates drenched in sugar, dreamed up by a bunch of PTA moms who like this kind of shit- I listened intently to what Kimmy was telling me.

Kimmy handed me an ultrasound photograph of my future granddaughter, who I'm hoping she names Lily, "The baby is already five pounds! She has little fat rolls on her legs!" she told me happily, "There, look! See that? That's her fat little leg!"

I looked at the photograph in wonder, "Kimmy darling," I said, "You're not due for another two months honey, that kid is going to be huge..."

"I know!" she exclaimed, as she ripped off a quarter of her donut and stuffed it in her mouth, "Isn't that funny?"

Funny isn't exactly the word that comes to mind for me. I have visions of an anesthesiologist frantically trying to insert an epidural line into my child's' back while she writhes in agony, as I stare him down with murder in my eyes, daring him to make even one false move and hurt her. Yeah, I'm a mom like that, I'll be a wreck as I stand in the delivery room and watch as the enormous Amazon girl she is carrying tries to come into the world to get a whiff of a Happy Meal and milkshake for real.

"I've reached the 200 mark" she tells me.

"200? 200 what?" I asked.

"200 Pounds! I've been dreading it, I swore I wasn't going to reach it, but I did! I'm 206 pounds! There's no stopping me now! I'm going for a record!" She beamed, as she sent her kindergartener back to the refreshment line to replenish her donut stock.

"I was wondering mom, would you mind making me some stew? And, maybe a lemon pie?"

Oh daughter, what are you thinking...

Up Yours Dad

2007-01-24T07:36:00.000-05:00

There is a ritual that takes place in our home on an almost daily basis, almost because it is relative to when school is in session. My very large republican husband determined years ago that in order to portray a dutiful and sincere interest in our children's lives, he would randomly query some individual at the dinner table as to what they had learned in school that day.

The kids long ago figured out that in order to get the big guy off their back and be afforded the luxury of eating their dinner while still warm; they had better be prepared to answer this question in an interesting and timely manner with loads of conviction. The poor unfortunate child who might respond with "Nothing" or "I don't know..." would not only garner disapproving and reproachful lecturing about the importance of paying attention in school, the kid would be on the hot seat for at least fifteen minutes while the family patriarch drove the point home.

Boy Scouts have nothing on my kids in regard to being prepared, and they've taken it upon themselves to ensure that no child is left behind with helpful coaching and advice taught to even the youngest grandchild in the family, a form of wisdom passed down through the ranks of children to ensure peace and harmony and a hot dinner for all. "If Grandpa Jeff asks you what you learned today, tell him two plus five is seven! Don't forget! Two plus five is seven!" My children look out for each other.

So it happened that last evening as we all sat down to enjoy a hearty repast, that Tony was selected to share his thoughts first.

"What did you learn at school today Tony?" the large one asked.

"Well, I'm glad you asked that Dad..." he replied.

"Really... Well then, let's hear it." said Jeff

"Ok. Well, in science I learned that fifteen Earths would fit in Uranus."

Of course, the only thing anyone in the room heard was, "Fifteen Earths would fit in Your Anus".

Stunned, Jeff sputtered and said, "Excuse ME?"

"Yep! Cool, huh?" said Tony, with a beatific smile plastered upon his little face, immensely pleased to have stunned his father with this important factoid and thrilled to have caused the uproarious laughter of everyone older than him at the table. It took only a few seconds until Tony himself was overcome by belly hugging laughter, although he didn't have a clue why he was doing so...

"That's very interesting Tony," said Jeff, "Do you know why that is so funny?"

"NOPE! I have no flippin' idea, but I like it! Science rocks!"

Rock on my boy.

Ahhhhhhh, Sooooooooooo.

2007-01-06T11:03:00.000-05:00

No, I'm not Asian. I see that I have not blogged in like a thousand days or something...

I'm still here, still alive and blah blah blah, I just don't have anything to say.

I don't want to be one of those bloggers that just puts out journalistic diarrhea simply to have a post, you know, stuff like "today I bought a bag of apples and then decided a lovely cheddar would be nice, so I bought that too." Yeah, fuck that... Except for this post, because, you know, I have to catch you all up on stuff.

Truth is, I'm kind of burned out on the whole blogging thing so I've taken a break.

This "break" has afforded me time to do a whole shitload of other things. Jeff and I ripped out all the carpeting in our house and discovered we have the most gorgeous hardwood floors! Presently, we're ripping out tackboards and staples and preparing the surface for goob stuff to make it shiny.

I have been "accidentally" making tiles in my hideous bathroom "fall" out. Jeff doesn't see the value in spending money to reattach the ugly specimens back into place since we've determined that we are going to eventually redo that room anyway, so it will be a battle of wills to see if it gets the makeover sooner or later. I'm banking on sooner, as I predict another six or seven tiles will be falling off the wall again today.

Jeff and I both quit smoking. It is not a friendly atmosphere in this home right now. We're both like junkies hoping some errant smoker will walk in the door so we can shake them down for cigarettes. It's not pretty.

This creepy weather has us all freaked out. It's January sixth and it has snowed once. Maybe twice. I went to the doctor yesterday in a tee shirt and a jean jacket. This is not normal! I'll tell you, all this weird weather has me seriously reconsidering my plan to retire in Maui. What are the odds it will still exist by the time I can afford to move? Huh? Global warming! Shit! Oceans rising and coastlines disappearing... It's disheartening I tell you. I want to live on the beach. How am I supposed to figure out where the fucking beach is going to be at this rate? Oklahoma? Kansas? Good lord, please don't tell me Arkansas. Oops, sorry. That would be a rant...

Uh, where was I? Oh, yes. Updating.

Sarah has determined that she doesn't need to further her education because she is destined to be rich and famous. She informs us that this is only natural because "I'm beautiful! No really! Beautiful, look at me!" as she strikes a pose, then goes on to explain that "I'm going to hire a camera crew to just follow me around. I'll just go up to people and say 'Hey! I'm Sarah! Look! I'm beautiful!' and then the camera will pan over to the people and we'll catch their expressions as the see me. It will be a super hit! Everyone will love it!" Yeah. Well, the kid is pretty and stuff, but so is Bonnie:

And you don't hear her running around demanding to be told so. I don't feel as optimistic about Sarah's career choice as she does, so we let her go to Pittsburgh to check out an art school. Keep your fingers crossed. Or, perhaps there's a nice rich boy out there that would want to marry her? She's high maintenance and requires a lot of mirror time...

Anna just returned home from Florida. She goes for two weeks every winter break. It is SO unfair to see her all suntanned and perky...

Andy and Tony are as cute as ever, truly the nicest boys on the planet, I'm so lucky to have them.

Franky has a girlfriend that he is very serious about, finally! He's making a huge effort to get his life on track and to settle into some sort of domestic routine with her in his own house. It's interesting to watch him stake out his claim and set his parameters. I'm so hopeful that he will succeed in this, as the kid eats as much as three grown men and I'm sick of feeding him.

Tracy has told us that she is on the verge of marriage! I'm so excited. Hopefully, he'll knock her up and give me another grandkid. I just love the babies...

Kimmy is as big as a house. She's pregnant yanno. From the looks of it, she will be reduced to nothing but belly in a matter of hours. We found out that she is having a GIRL! Her husbang was the only one to see the ultra sound results. He pretended that he let slip that the child was a boy, much to everyone's amazement as we were all convinced that she was carrying a girl (she's freaking huge and sick all the time, only girls can do that to a mother). I gave Kimmy a Christmas present early and it was a bag full of little blue blankets and sleepers... Colin wisely figured he better tell the truth, lest their new little girl be adorned in all manner of bluish garb for the first year or so of her life. Kimmy is thrilled, as are all of us. She called me at ten this morning to ask if I would cook some spaghetti and meatballs and chocolate pie. She even volunteered to bring over the meat. The girl is going to explode, I swear it.

Jeffee and my Dad are both crazy. That's all I'm going to say about them.

Ok then, that covers just about everything. I'll be in touch, I promise, just as soon as I can think of something to say. Love ya!

Really.

2006-12-06T11:37:00.000-05:00

How many of you believe in angels? What about cosmic force? How 'bout dumb luck?

We have two heating sources in our home, both are gas appliances. One is a forced air furnace which services the majority of our living space, the other is a boiler unit which supplies heat via radiators to our basement and an addition on our home that includes a rather large family room.

We remodeled our basement a couple of years ago to include three bedrooms, a play room, a laundry area, a huge glamour bath and two separate storage areas. Being the neurotic worry wart I tend to be, it was imperative to me that high tech smoke alarms be installed in these areas. I'm a realist, I know damn well my teenagers will try cigarettes and burn candles no matter what I say to them. The alarms I chose were a combination smoke and CO detectors, and they are hard wired into our home with additional battery back up - just in case.

Yesterday found me sitting in my basement on my computer for a great majority of the day, I've been away from my blog world for a long time and had much in the way of catching up to do, plus my instant message friends were all online and a couple of close blogging buddies that I exchange rapid emails with were playing with me at the same time. In terms of feeling noticed and in demand, it was a good day.

Around five o'clock, I began to notice an increasingly painful headache. I attributed it to residual effects of my illness and the medications I'm forced to ingest, and ignored it as long as I could. At the same time, my email server took a shit and nothing was getting through. I attempted to try to solve the problem, but my head was killing me and I was beginning to feel a little light headed. Ultimately, it proved to be too much and I opted to go upstairs and lie on my bed for a spell to try and push the pain back a bit.

I fell asleep almost before my head hit the pillow. Half an hour later, I awoke to my children frantically shaking me awake.

"Mom! The alarms are all going off! It keeps saying "Danger! Carbon Monoxide!" What does that mean?"

It took forever to clear my head and formulate a thought. With great effort, I hauled myself out of bed and went to the top of the basement steps, the cacophony of noise did nothing to help my clarity, and the rising sense of dread I felt in my belly only heightened the urge I had to vomit. What the hell was going on?

"Mom! What should we do?" My kids asked me.

At that moment, Jeff walked through the door. "What the hell is going on in here?" He asked, and within seconds, we were both running through the house and shutting off alarms.

I called our local fire department and they arrived in minutes. After an hour or so, it was determined that something had malfunctioned in the flue to the boiler heater and our home had essentially been filled with poisonous gas.

Had those alarms not been installed, we would have been dead before midnight.

Freaky, huh?

It is funny to watch how people react when a crisis hits. Some panic, some remain calm, others fall victim to their fear in the form of great annoyance. I have almost every conceivable reaction played out in my house by the members of my family. Sarah is emotional and cries. Bonnie is a bad ass with an attitude, ready to kick ass wherever she needs to. Jeff hates anything that disrupts his normal routine and visibly chaffs, Andy and Tony almost worry themselves to death, and Anna never fails to make me laugh.

"Uh, Mom? This just doesn't feel right. I can see you have your hands full, so, uh... I'm just going to go next door? To Tracy's house? I'll be over there if you need me." And in less than forty seconds and clad in only a robe and boots, the child was outta there. She couldn't have been in Tracy's house for more then a minute when the phone rang, "Yeah, well, I'm safe at Tracy's house mom. So now, tell me... What exactly is this Carbon Monoxidizing stuff anyway?"

"Anna, I'm a little busy right now honey..." I said.

"Really..." She said, sounding for all the world like a bemused aristocrat. "Well, okay then, but I'm calling back." And she promptly hung up on me.

Once the fire department was here, the phone rang again. "Okay then mom, so what's the deal with the fire department?"

"They are checking every room to measure the carbon monoxide levels honey, it's ok, we're going to take care of this, you don't need to worry." I told her.

"Really." She said. Not asked, said. "What is that stuff?" So, I explained it as best I could to a ten year old.

"I see. Yeah, ok. Uh, I'm just going to hang out over here mom. This just isn't my problem." and once again, the child hung up on me.

I laughed and shook my head.

A short time later, the telephone rang once again. "Yeah, mom? It's me again. I can see there isn't going to be any dinner any time soon, so I'm just going to go to Kimmy's house and eat. Don't worry, I already called her and someone's coming to pick me up. I'll get back to you in a little while, Love you." Click.

This child will survive in this world, of that I have no fear. Not only did she have enough self preservation to get the hell out of Dodge when the shit hit the fan, she managed to arrange a home cooked dinner and transportation to it.

Sometimes, the job you are doing with your children is shown to you in living color, and sometimes, it's all the encouragement in the world you ever need.

Slow Lane

2006-12-05T07:38:00.000-05:00

There are things a body will notice when one is stalled by illness. Sometimes, sitting back and taking stock is a good thing, sometimes it isn't. When it is imposed upon you and you reconcile your mind to just lying back and watching life from the bleachers for a while, it can be almost cathartic. You tend to notice things.

For instance:

It becomes utterly obvious that nobody in your house knows how to run an appliance without help. Some people might take this as an indication of how useful you are, but I can't seem to get past how frighteningly retarded my family might be.

The laundry fairy that has taken care of my family's needs for years has either been replaced by a slacker or has launched a boycott of some sort. I know this because everyone in my house has asked me "where are the towels?" with great agitation and I've been forced to laugh and laugh and laugh.

The dish fairy must be hanging out with the laundry fucker because he's doing a really half assed job lately. It used to be around here that a person could go to bed with a sink full of crap and wake up to a miraculously clean and tidy kitchen and never have to fear washing their own spoon or bowl so they could have cereal in the morning. Now, a person might wake up to the same mess they left! It's sick.

If you make yourself a box of Stouffer's Mac & Beef and happen to throw the carton it came in on the floor after you've opened it, it's likely to remain there.

If you squeeze the toothpaste at the top, wrangle and twist it into an obstructed shape and allow the gooping mess to congeal on the outside and pick up pieces of lint and hair, it's going to look just like that the next time you reach for it.

Somebody in this house is the incontestable Booger King. I've known this for a long time, but now everybody does, the evidence is all over our home just waiting for some unsuspecting passerby to inadvertently place their hand where the King has once been. Don't cry to me about it! I've dealt with the reality already, it's time for everyone to come to terms with this. Asking me "Who? What? Why?" is futile. I've already asked those same things. Personally, I'm waiting for the drug store to start selling home DNA kits so I can solve the mystery once and for all. Until then, keep your theories to yourselves.

Football is the world's greatest sport. When the guys who pick the teams throw in amazing eye candy to boot, it is almost a religious experience. I thank God for Tom Brady, Jake Delhomme (but only with his helmet on) Carson Palmer, Jeremy Shockey, Brian Urlacher, Kurt Warner, Jake Plummer, Jason Taylor, Champ Bailey, Adam Vinatieri, Tiki Barber, and OMG, David Givens' arms ... Oh, the list goes on and on. I love it. Ya think it's just coincidence that football is played on Sunday? Pffft, not I.

Cleveland is destined to NEVER have a cohesive football team. End of story. STOP bitching about it and accept it people! Think San Diego Chargers, you can always rely on them to win and they almost always cover the spread! Oh yes.

Time Warner Cable SUCKS sucks sucks sucks sucks sucks my ass.

Some medication is shit. Some are really great.

Cats are stupid on Nyquil, but it's funnier than hell to witness. What? It was an accident!

My friend Krissteen in Colorado has been telling me for years that people in Ohio hate children. I now believe her. Just this week we had a woman in Lorain leave her infant in a laundry basket placed in the back seat of a truck parked in her garage for the whole weekend while she went off on a romantic getaway with her boyfriend, another cunt was arrested for putting her baby in the microwave and cooking it to death, and an Akron fucktard was arrested for kidnapping and sexually assaulting a five year old girl. And that was in just the last couple of days. I hate the local news. Isn't this shit supposed to be happening in Arkansas?

Pajamas are my friend. So is cake.

Jeffee is a wonderful husband and I'm lucky to have him. Jeff is an irritating and moody ogre.

I have the greatest readers in all of blog history. You guys stick with me through thick and thin and come around whenever I do. It's awesome.

I'm a fat ass.

I don't really care.

I'm full of shit, I do care, but I don't care enough to go to the gym. Oh! Wait! I CAN'T go to the gym because I'm sick! Hahahahahha! Life is good sometimes.

I think everyone should just chill. It's great.

Hey There!

2006-12-03T10:57:00.000-05:00

I've survived! I'll be on steroids for a couple of months, but I'm fine. Lookin' forward to that manly hair and deeper voice, but hey, at least I'm still breathing.

Ok then!

I can't drive because the medicine has turned me into a shaking, quaking mess and I'm still too tired to go anywhere, so we've been playing cribbage and other card games like fiends. There is nothing quite like playing card games with my father and Jeff.

My darling Jeffee is an impressionable sort of guy. He is plagued by the ability to imitate almost anyone. Currently, his reverence has fallen to the feet of Borat. This means that I have fed Borat, fucked Borat, yelled at Borat and told Borat to shut the fuck up for weeks now. Borat sucks at cards but doesn't care and high fives the Italian immigrant my father has become. That's right, my Czechoslovakian father has adopted an Italian personae named Guido to coincide with the incarnation of Borat/Jeff, you know, to keep things balanced.

Did I happen to mention that pericarditis is a painful condition, exacerbated profoundly by the act of laughing? I've been laughing a lot and as I clutch my chest and grimace, I'm told to "Laugh with pain yes? Is nice, I like!" by Borat and "Ayyy, You gonna spilla the vino, yeah? Whatsa matta you, huh?" by Guido. Mind you, these two keep this shit up the entire evening and get into arguments in character. I almost hate them both, but it's funnier than shit. Should the opportunity arise to video them without them realizing it, I'll attempt to post it so you may all see for yourselves why I claim, "I wasn't always like this..."

There are forces out there people, that make a girl who and what she is.

The Freakin' Elf Shorts are up for grabs again, go visit Steve & Carly at
Kelly Smunts for your chance at Elf Shorts fame.

Thanks for all the well wishing, and as always, I love you all.

+ / -

2006-11-24T01:51:00.000-05:00

The Pros and Cons of being ill on a holiday:

Con: People keep bitching at you to sit down.
Pro: You get to sit down.

Pro: You can fart in front of everyone anytime you want to and blame the medication.
Con: Medication makes you stupid.

Con: You look older and sick.
Pro: You are sick and don't have to dress up.

Pro: NO CLEANUP!
Con: There is no con for this.

Con: You can't drink anything worth drinking.
Pro: There is no pro for this.

Pro: You are once again forced to quit smoking.
Con: Others aren't.

Pro: You can't clean the house before everyone comes over.
Con: Everyone knows you are actually a slob - but your floors are miraculously clean.

Con: You can't do all the cooking.
Pro: Your grown daughters show up at seven in the morning to stuff two turkeys, peel twenty five pounds of potatoes, bake ten pounds of sweet potatoes, and make giblet stock and gravy under your supervision and you now have taught them something useful.

Con: You are suddenly "grandma in a chair".
Pro: Grandkids like chairs.

Pro: You spend the day high.
Con: You're high because it hurts.

Thanksgiving went off without a hitch even though I'm less than healthy right now. Thanks to everyone for the well wishes. I'm ok, just sidelined a bit. I'm on different steroids this time so I'm not completely crazy, only slightly. I can't really do anything yet, but hope to soon. Keep your fingers crossed that the meds take and I don't get tossed into the hospital - that would suck. I spent the day counting all my blessings, which are many and wonderful, and watching what the last twenty five years of my life have given me, which is a lot. I'm hoping you all had the opportunity to do the same. Jeff's a Nazi husband and I had to sneak out of bed to post this. I'll not be back for a day or two yet, but know that I love you all. Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Talk to you soon.

Sorry Guys

2006-11-22T19:18:00.000-05:00

Sorry. Pericarditis hit me again. I'll be back in a few days.

Trewdat

2006-11-13T08:08:00.000-05:00

Yeah, that's my lame attempt at ghetto, spelled phonetically and in hilljack. I'm just that fuckin' good.

Gah! I'm a foul mouthed woman.

A couple of weeks ago, someone asked me a personal question. I ignored it, as I'm want to do at times, but I didn't forget it. It takes me a while to wrap myself around stuff like this, I have a little bit of difficulty admitting that I might be a bit odd, a minor flaw as far as I'm concerned, but eventually my need to spill my guts wins out (read=something to blog about) and I come around to the truth and answers.

I did a post some weeks ago about shapes and my preference for squares which prompted this comment:

Freudian Slip said...
Hey um...you are so "square"! Out of curiosity, do you also tend to have a need for order with other things? Do you find your decorating to always be symmetric?

I've thought long and hard about this question. Do I?

As usual, there is no clear answer to this, as I will demonstrate.

On the surface, it may appear that I tend to follow a pattern of symmetry, at least to me, but Jeff assures me I am full of shit. He says I am quirky and things are only symmetrical in my head. You decide.

The first example I'll cite will not be proven with photos, as I'm deeply shamed and honestly could never live with the universe actually seeing my worst problem. You see, I am a firm believer in the concept of junk drawers. Junk drawers keep me sane. I love them. I have a junk drawer in every room of the house, and if a large space isn't actually a room (like my linen closet) I'll set aside a portion of it to sort of conform to the idea of a junk-drawer-shelf-space-area.

The reason for this is simple. I hate to sort things and I live with pigs. I also cannot stand to see clutter nor do I enjoy fighting with people I love (except Jeff and my dad) so the most peaceful solution is to throw their crap into a closed area. Drawers are great for this purpose. I have three in my kitchen, one in my family room, one in my living room, three in my bathroom, four in my basement, one in my hallway, a shelf in the linen, pantry, guest bathroom, and coat closets, and an entire nightstand in my bedroom to offer as proof. My family does not realize that their well being and general state of health is dependent upon this method of storage. To the untrained eye, this may seem disorganized, but ask me where something is and I will be able to go directly to it. It will be in a junk drawer, an abominable mess at that, but beautifully hidden away from view and chock full of whatever it is you might need.

As you know, Jeff is a republican and has an irritating need for organization. He is forever going around and moving shit. I could kill him for this. One of my biggest frustrations is when he gets a wild hair up his ass and organizes my kitchen. I am a flamboyant cook and move very quickly. I know where everything is, until that fucker comes in and changes everything around. Drives me absolutely crazy...

Where was I? Oh yes, decorating.

Okay, so the whole junk drawer thing is explained. Naturally, in order to fulfill my need for storage and also pacify my need for clutter free living space, placement of certain containers/cabinets/potential storage furniture is important, as in order for a junk-space to be practical, easy access to it is critical. Nobody wants to actually have to think about where they are throwing something, nor have to go through too much effort to reach it.

Exhibit A: Grandchildren.

Sure, they aren't actually decor, but they are messy and sleep over a lot. I totally blame Jeff for this one, as he knows I can sleep through anything and he can't, so the kids end up in bed with me. My bedroom is a shithole, for real. It's the last remaining room of the house that we've made absolutely no improvements to so a lot of crap ends up in there if it is too large to throw in a drawer. Kids don't like to be in drawers and they'll sleep as long as they have something soft to lay on. In Jeff's world, this is a great picture because all he has to do is shut the door and all the mess and noise associated with this photo goes away.

Exhibit B: My Office

Actually, that is a picture of only one corner of it. I can't post the rest of that room because it is a freaking mess. I like that corner because Johnny Depp takes up almost the whole wall. Yeah, those are file cabinets over there on the left, but only Jeff actually uses them. I hate files. This room used to be really nice, but then a teenager inhabited it for about a year (which is why there is spackle all over the walls - the kid was allergic to paper and wrote everything she ever thought about on the wall) and then it flooded and we had to rip all the carpet out. It's a little stinky, but it suits my needs just fine. Besides, it's a fucking basement, who cares if it's decorated?

Exhibit C: My Yard

This is a flower bed I built this summer. It's kind of symmetrical, isn't it?

Exhibit D: My Windows

As you can see, I have a lot of knick-knacks and things I sort of collect, all of which have lots of meaning to me. I don't have any kind of display cases or anything, but I do have a lot of window ledges. I like to put crap on them. Each pane is sort of a diorama, and since every ledge has something on it, it is symmetrical in my world.

This is my favorite pane...

...I have a thing for rocks and grab one or two whenever I go someplace on vacation. Utah, Arizona, Hawaii, Aruba, Florida, Kelly's Island... Lots of locales. They are scattered all over my house. I also brought home those Tiki guys from Hawaii and needed to put them someplace, these rocks just sort of fit the theme.

Exhibit E: Living Room

Okay, I have this problem with furniture being up against the wall. I hate it. Consequently, most of our shit is at an angle and sort of floating in the room with a couple of exceptions, but only if there simply isn't any other placement.

I also hate furniture that comes in sets, you know, match exactly. I'm eclectic, I like to mishmash everything but as I said, Jeff's republican. He's also rather large and lives here too, so I have to appease him now and then on stuff and he likes all the chairs to match and really goes crazy if patterns don't. That's why there are two of the same chairs in this room.

Now, you see here?

Notice the palm-like thingies on either side of the fireplace screen? If this doesn't prove that I am symmetrical in decorating, I don't know what does.

Okay then.

This is an old radio cabinet that some crazy fuck who lives across the street from my sister was throwing away! I of course, had to bring it home. I love other people's garbage, PLUS- There's all kinds of storage in it! Anyway, notice that there are pictures on EACH side of the lamp and a plant on each side of the cabinet? That's SYMMETRY! See that stupid painting of boots? I was walking through a furniture store about ten years ago and saw that hanging on the wall. I laughed out loud at it because it's just about the dumbest painting I've ever seen, I mean, who in their right mind paints a picture of cowboy boots? I just had to buy it.

Exhibit F: Family Room

Well, even though I don't like stuff to match, these sofas were the softest most comfortable freaking things I ever sat on, so I bought them. They are angled in the middle of the room and Jeff's monster recliner is a totally different style and color and the tables don't match, so it's ok. The ottomans open up for storage and there is a weird little closet in one corner that I can throw shit in. I like this room because the builders had the good sense to put ledges beneath those windows up top and I can put crap on them, and this bar has more storage behind it than any other container in the house.

And Finally, Exhibit G: Kitchen

Well, there isn't really anything in this room to support my arguments one way or the other. The room is hideous and we haven't done anything to it except rip the nasty orange paneling that was on the walls off and paint it yellow.

I'm in denial of this room and it's fucking turquoise blue three compartment sink and blame the apparent crack head or brain damaged person that designed it. With the sole exception of the three excellent junk drawers it holds, this room sucks and I cannot take credit or blame for what it looks like. It has been slated for demolition for five years now, but I haven't gotten around to it yet, although I do have dreams of attacking it with a sledge hammer. It's just nasty,the floors are clean though. Oh, that's Sarah in the picture. She doesn't like to be photgraphed in the morning.

So there you have it. I think I have tons of symmetry and order, no matter WHAT Jeff says. You be the judge.

Results...

2006-11-11T23:03:00.000-05:00

What a day!

Anna had her ice skating competition today with an organization known in the skating world as Rising Stars. This was Anna's first ever opportunity to compete. She has been working hard for this day, practice$ three day$ a week at two different arena$ and ha$ put in hour$ upon hour$ in preparation.

Anna had two events she was entered into, the first was compulsory moves at 9:00a.m. and the second a freestyle skate program at 2:30 p.m.

You can imagine the pressure!

We did a good job of preparing Anna for a realistic outcome. As it neared time for her to skate her first program, we assured her that we didn't care what the outcome was, we simply wanted her to go out on the ice and have fun, like she always had and just enjoy the moment. Nobody skates in their first competition and medals, it simply doesn't happen.

Unless you are Anna!

In which case you not only medal, YOU WIN THE GOLD!

We were blown away! Her coaches were blown away! Anna won by unanimous decision, every judge voted her first place. I'm telling you, if they could bottle the high I had somebody would be filthy rich.

With her first event over with and sporting a nice medal, we set about finding something to do for four hours until her second event. Anna was very proud of herself but she wasn't crazed. She kept her composure and acted like a true lady, gracious, thankful and sweet. I, on the other hand, was a disgusting spectacle telling anyone who would listen about my kid, only to be told, "No shit lady, we were there." We wisely left the arena and ran around for a couple of hours.

At last, it was time for Anna to skate her freestyle program. Her group had much older girls skating against her in this event, but Anna was unruffled. Once again, we had a talk about keeping the expectations low as this event was much more subjective. The girls have required moves, but there are so many elements that make the freestyle competition different. It is an expression of their personality and a real test of their endurance, it is also done to music and their timing is critical. Given the fact that Anna had never competed in anything even remotely like this with so many factors that determine the outcome, we didn't want her to be disappointed with her performance if she didn't win anything.

Of course, we were wasting our breath, because not only did the child go out there and skate a beautifully orchestrated program, she did it flawlessly and with absolute rhythm...

And WON THE GOLD AGAIN!

She skated PERFECTLY twice!

Proud doesn't begin to describe how I feel. My little Banana blew everyone away, including me.

Her very first competition and she walks away with TWO GOLD MEDALS!

TWO BABY! TWO!

Oh God! I think I'm having my fifth heart attack today! But it's okay! I feel great!

Thanks to all who wished her well, Anna read the blog and was all smiley. You guys are the greatest friends, honestly.

Congratulations my darling daughter! I'm so proud of you!

Oh, I so need to go now...

Banana!

2006-11-10T10:39:00.000-05:00

See this kid?

Tomorrow is the big day! Anna will participate in the very first ice skating competition of her career!

She's completely calm, not a care in the world, I am a wreck.

I'll be back on Sunday with all the news!

Imagined Pressure

2006-11-09T07:43:00.000-05:00

Blogging can be so strange.

I love how I get to interact with people and talk about my friends in Japan, Switzerland, France, Alaska, Hawaii and everywhere in between, that part is great, but some of the stuff associated with the medium kind of freaks me out.

Everyone knows I'm allergic to code. Having to mess around with my template in any way, shape or form fosters the same sensation in the pit of my belly that an impending visit to the gyno does, I don't like it but I know I have to do it so I do.

There is also the guilt I feel when I can't think of anything to write about, actual guilt, which is completely retarded. Why should I feel guilty? I was having a conversation about this yesterday with Iggy. Thank God for Dead Guys. He pulled me out of my funk and I feel better, but that nagging twinge of panic is always in the recesses of my mind, poking my consciousness and saying "Hey loser, you are only moments away from bankrupt." I hate my conscience.

I have a bunch of crap over there in my sidebar that gives me stats on everything in the world I'd ever want to know about my blog. Most of it is like reading Farsi for me, I don't understand the data completely, so I draw irrational conclusions based on my mood at the time. It's a coin toss at any given moment what the outcome feels like.

Right now, I'm a Slithering Reptile in the TTLB Ecosystem. Yesterday, I was a Flappy Bird. I recall being a Marauding Marsupial once and an Adorable Rodent a couple of times. It is so odd to morph so often.

I was bored at four this morning, so I Googled my blog. Blogshares always pops up when I do that, so I followed the link in and read what they had to say. There is something so strange about having your blog, something that comes from your head, traded like a tangible item. I looked at the pretty graphs and wondered who it is that keeps this stuff going. There are people I don't know hoping I'll get off my dumb ass and bring this pig back to the glory it had once when my "shares" traded at remarkable prices. This only makes me feel more guilty, so to whoever you are out there, sorry, but I don't get it. If I did, I'd make a concerted effort to help you out a bit. I mean, is there some guy sitting somewhere looking at my performance who finally says "Jesus, would it kill you to actually write something? Oh, fuck you! Your stats are in the toilet! I've had it with you, I'm dumping this shit" and then trades me off? It's disconcerting to think I'm getting dumped by men I don't even know! I hope there isn't any kind of real money or self esteem being traded along with my performance, that would make me nuts.

Site Meter remains my primary toy. I can't get enough of it. I spend more time picking through the information it harvests than I do anything else that wastes my time. I can't help it, I love finding out who has been here, how long they hung out, and what brought them in. The results from searches are my favorite. I love to click on them and see what their query was, what combination of words led them to me? Real gems like "came in his pants" or "stomp his balls", "shit stains", "fist in my mouth", "suck and fuck", and the all time favorite, "meaning of milf". Looking at my stats, I believe there are a lot of disappointed horny people out there. I click on "Who's on?" and feel a little like Miss Nancy from Romper Room looking in the magic mirror; "I see Badaunt, I see Ms. Mac, Sheri, Bud, and Ellen"... This makes me think about the Blogshares people and wonder what I could do to help them out, you know, how I can take this data and use it to their advantage, but then I start to feel all fuzzy in the brain and have to stop that shit immediately.

My blogroll makes me smile though. Every name on it represents a person I have a fondness for, someone I have felt a connection to and consider a friend. I don't get to everyone on it nearly often enough, but hopefully they know I love them for what they make me feel and think. It's this aspect of blogging that keeps me in the medium.

I cannot imagine not doing this. It's sort of like trying to remember what it was like before I had a microwave or a dishwasher. I have become so accustomed to the routine of checking my email and reading comments first thing in the morning that if I were to suddenly not do so any longer, I don't know what I'd do instead. It's kind of like a crack habit. This just heightens my paranoid emotions and makes me feel strange.

Like I said, blogging freaks me out a little bit.

Pissy Today

2006-11-08T08:21:00.000-05:00

I think I might be unusual.

Shut up Phil.

I don't care about celebrities. I hate Hollywood hype. I hate the stuff that feeds their ego like Inside Hollywood, Entertainment Tonight, People Magazine, US Weekly, and all the rest of that crap.

I do not watch the Emmys, the Oscars, the MTV Music Awards, the CMA's or any other awards "programs" because I don't think they deserve an award. When they start airing programs that award researchers, teachers, nurses and hospice workers, maybe I'll tune in.

Hell, I barely watch television and have only been in a movie theater twice in the last eight years. I'll watch a movie, but it has to be at home where I can fart, drink a beer or seven and get up and move around so I don't explode.

The whole glam-star thing is lost on me. I honestly don't care who is fucking who, where they shop, what they eat, how they feel about orphans or where they go on vacation. It's hard for me to respect the opinions of anyone willing to inject fat into their lips to look more seductive. If looking like you got hit in the mouth with a shovel is sexy, I'm willing to be a dog. Further, I'm willing to hit them with the shovel and save them lots of money, because I'm generous like that.

I don't read fashion magazines and can't figure out why anyone else does. I really tried to a couple of times, but I couldn't find anything in there to actually read. As far as I can tell, it's just a big collection of advertisements for stuff I never buy, like designer clothing and expensive makeup. Who wears that stuff anyhow? I don't personally know anyone who owns a $2000.00 purse and $600.00 pair of shoes because they matched their $800.00 sweater perfectly, nor do I know anybody who is willing to pay $47.00 for a lipstick. We're simple folk here in Ohio.

It annoys me to no end that when I open my internet and look to see what the headlines are, I'm presented with updates on Britney's breakup, Reese's breakup, Faith's freakout, and Madonna's woes. How is this "news"? Why am I supposed to care? I don't.

I suppose I'll pay the penalty for not staying abreast of all of this shit. One day I'll be sitting around playing Trivial Pursuit 2000 Edition with Jeff and won't be able to answer a single Movies or Television question correctly and have to concede that he is the master, a hated and dreadful concession, and then I'll have to listen to him gloat "Ha! See? All that bitching you did about how I like to watch Hollywood Access? IN YOUR FACE!" and I'll walk around sulking for three days and hate his guts...

Fuck it, I can live with that.