From sun up to sun down.
February 22, 2008
I've known Buffy forever. I think we met when we were like 2 years old. I can't remember the exact date, but I do know that the moon was in its 7th house and that Jupiter was aligned with Mars that day or whatever.
It was destiny.
Buffy turns 30 today. I am almost positive that she has done about 29 shots already. And it's not even midnight. See, I can't join in the birthday festivities because someone had to go to work and be responsible. And that only leaves me to watch the brats.
I wonder if they'd notice if I left......................?
I could fill an entire night with the tales from my childhood with my dear Buffy.
Happy 30th Buf'!
February 19, 2008
We are currently enjoying the poltergeist channel. Craig T. Nelson would be so proud.
If I was I was really good Mother I would make the fourthling put his hands on the screen and repeat the words, "They're here!" That is, if he could talk......and if he could follow directions. But for now I will just enjoy the white noise of scrambled television. I wonder if Zelda Rubenstein does house calls anymore? And I wonder what MY television has to say.
February 15, 2008
February 14, 2008
When my brother, Robbie Rat, was about 5 or 6 years of age we had a cat named Peanut. She was our friend. We loved on her, dressed her up, cut her whiskers off numerous times, picked her up by her tail and other fun loving family activities. Typical kid stuff. She tolerated us to a point, then she would attack and run away. We absolutely loved to make her meow. It was the little things that entertained us. Simple folk, we were. When we wanted her to meow, we would squeeze her in the fattest part of her middle until she made this hilarously funny meowing sound. It was like kitty constipation noises. We thought it was pretty damn funny, so we did this often. And before all you animal activists get your panties all in a wad...we didn't hurt her...she liked it. She was a closet sadist. So, deal, ok? So, we'd squeeze and laugh and laugh and squeeze. The sound, if you can imagine it, sounded like, "Uuuuhhhmmmmmmaaaaarrrrrrowwwwwwwwww." Kind of like the sound of a cat makes late at night when talking politics with the neighbor cats and things get heated.
My Aunt had just had her first baby boy, Allen. He was only a couple of weeks old and one night my dear brother was talking to her on the phone about the new baby. Robbie Rat was insistent on hearing the baby talk. My Aunt kept telling him that he was sleeping, but that he would make noises for him over the phone later. This answer wasn't good enough for the rat. He was an expert at extracting noises from creatures that otherwise did not want to make noise. He promptly told her, "Just squeeze him really hard and then he will talk, I promise!"
I will have you know that Robbie is now studying to become a Vet. I bet he squeezes all those cats when no one is looking though.
So tonight we decide to go out to eat my with in laws. We gather up all the brats and start on our merry way. Kyle is in an exceptionally pissy mood, as he always is when he wakes up in the late afternoon. It takes him at least 4 hours to get over his bitchiness. We finally arrive at the restaurant. The fourthling was screaming at the top of his lungs and the halfling was happy as a clam making fart noises in the crook of his arm for the entire car ride. I had a screaming headache. It was then that I realized I couldn't find my purse. I remember having it at the car with me, because I put it on the trunk before I began strapping the fourthling into his car seat. Then I got in the driver seat. And off we went.
Somewhere in between I lost my purse. We started the drive back home, thinking and hoping that I left it inside the house.
Nope. Not there.
The Spaz was excited to see us again. She had to spend a whole 20 minutes alone, you know. That is absolute torture for her.
Not in the driveway either. Or the street.
Now, I am panicking.
Our neighbor walks over and asks if I lost a purse.
He said the neighbor down the street found it.
I went running (well, not really...but I walked really fast) to his house.
Sweet Jeebus! He had the damn thing! I petted it and kissed it. Threw it up in the air in utter delight. First I was happy, then I was angry. Bad purse. Baaaaad purse. You're in deep trouble for scaring me like that. Don't ever do that again!
Evidentially our neighbor found it about 1/4 of a mile from our house.
And yes, I left it on the trunk.
At least it wasn't one of the brats. Or worse....the new laptop!
It started out like any ordinary day would for this NKOTB lovin’ gal. Hangin’ Tough played loudly on the radio as my Mom drove me to school in her crappy Mercury Sable. I was feeling good. Little did I know what the future held for me that horrendous day.
I made it through 1st period alright, then I felt that twinge in my crotch. All girls know it. And all girls FEAR it when it happens. Admit it girls, you've felt the twinge. It is especially worrisome if you are wearing a black and white jumper and ill-prepared for the first day of your period. I quickly eased myself up to the teacher’s desk to ask for permission to go the bathroom. I moved ever so gently as not to erupt the encompassing flow of death that I was sure was coming very soon. I made it to the bathroom, but in my rush to get the heck outta the classroom I realized I forgot to ask the teacher for a pad. I didn't care how urgent the need, I wasn't walking all the way back to ask for one. That would be like death warmed over and social suicide for this quick thinking 7th grader. No, I would have to come up with another plan.
Being of sound mind and body, I rolled up some toilet paper to create a make-shift maxi pad and placed ever so gently in the crotch on my underwear. I smiled at how frugal I was being. Heck, I was so pleased with my little invention I just decided to not even bother asking for a pad for later that day. And that decision is where my trouble started.
Next up was recess. I knew I had to hurry! I tromped my happy ass outside to join in a game of kickball. I was flying high and feeling good. I kicked the ball with the greatest strength I had ever felt run through my body. I ran as fast as my semi-chubby legs would allow me.
As I ran, I felt it. I felt it free itself from my underwear and felt it float onto the ground. I saw it there. Laying on the ground. Just staring at me. I tried to save face and acted surprised as I witnessed what lay in front of me. Sheepishly I shrugged my shoulders as if I didn’t know who put that ungodly thing in the middle of the kick-ball field. Everyone knew it was me. Everyone. I wanted to crumple up and die. I wanted to be anywhere but there. Heck, I would have settled for being that damn piece of toilet paper on the ground reflecting the sun’s fierce glow in all its red glory.
I then decided it would be a good idea to put my foot over it and try to cover it up and hide it. Which I did. But then I couldn’t move. People were yelling at me to run to 2nd base. They were yelling at me to pick up my icky pad. They were laughing and snickering. Those that didn’t see “the incident” as I lovingly refer it to…would soon know about it. Gossip like this would spread like a wildfire on a hot windy California day at my small school. They might as well have put the story on the marquis. Life as I knew it was over. I picked up the toilet paper, wadded it up in my hand and made a beeline for the nearest bathroom.
"Dear God!", I prayed as I ran, "why me? Why now? Life was going so great! I’ll never live this down. Oh, God WHY?!!"
I tried to boost my shattered ego a tad by telling myself that no one noticed…that no one will care…that I just imagined it (all of which were lies and really were not making me feel any better).
But just when I was feeling a little bit better and had calmed down after my frightful accident...... I saw the “stain” on my dress. I knew that this day was far from being over for me and my very unwelcome visiting Aunt Flo.
Oh, God had much bigger plans for me that day. In my 7th grade mind I began to go through the solutions to this problem. I could:
1. Call Mom to come a save me.
2. Tell the Teacher and she will save me.
3. Hide in the bathroom. Forever.
4. Flush myself down the toilet.
5. Find some “White Out” (the liquid pen eraser stuff) and fix this little problem. I’d paint it on the “stain” and all will be good.
I decided in a flash that # 5 is the best solution for me. I sneaked out of the bathroom, down the hallway stairs and around the corner to our classroom. I located my desk and began rummaging for my white out. I knew it was there somewhere. I looked, and looked, and looked again. No amount of rummaging was going to make it appear. I knew my time was limited.
I decided to go with plan B... Erika, my "frienemy" had some in her pencil box…I’ll just borrow hers to fix this little problem. An added bonus was that she sat right next to me.
I located her white out, put her pencil box back where I found it…slithered down the hallway, around the corner and up the stairs to the bathroom again.
I carefully painted the white-out on the stain. Aunt Flo had mostly kept herself contained to the black part of my plaid jumper, but I wanted to cover up the white area that was stained too. I always prided myself on my creativity, and well....this was art!
Much to my surprise the white-out DID cover my stain. If it only would cover up the social downfall I was about to encounter. Outside the bathroom door, I heard voices. I panicked and decided to throw the white-out in the garbage. I even made sure to cover it up with paper towels so no one would see it there. Don’t ask me why I threw it away, but it seemed like a great solution at the time. I didn’t want to be caught with it. What would people assume?!
Recess was now over and all my classmates were lining up to make their way back to the classroom. I hung my head, and joined in the ranks. My best friend, Buffy, heartily dared anyone to say anything to me. I guess they listened because I never heard one snicker after that. No one ever talked about my kickball “incident” again. At least they didn't discuss it while I was around.
It was now 6th period and the day was almost over. I see that Erika is searching for something in her pencil box. I silently pray that it is not the white-out. Because I knew it was safely hidden under paper towels in the girls bathroom. Thank God I had covered it up with paper towels. How smart I was to be so stealthy! Her shrill voice rung out for all to hear, “Mrs. Thompson! I can’t find my white out! I KNOW it was in here ’cause I used it this morning! I think someone STOLE it.”
I kept my big mouth shut. And I think my heart stopped beating for at least 10 minutes.
Originally I posted this story on a website called The Pioneer Woman
for a Wii giveaway. I didn't win, of course. Go figure. I tweaked it a bit before I posted it for your reading pleasure. And yes, this really did happen. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. Be inspired and tell the world about your most embarrassing moment!
I know where my Romeo is. He is sound asleep and snoring sweet serenades of love to me from our bedroom. Ever the prepared lover that he is... I had a Valentines card waiting for me this morning. I'm sure he read every word in the store and found the absolute perfect card to express his undying love to me. It's really not important that I heard him sneak out at 1:30 AM to go to Walmart. And that I had to remind him that tomorrow was V-Day. To him, it's just another Hallmark holiday. But he humors me, and for that I love him. Here is what the card said on the outside:
"Because you're my wife I want to fill your life with tender touches and passionate kisses."
On the inside it read:
"To give you true understanding and always find new things about you to love...to save special time for just us two--our private escape from the rush of the world....and always, I want to delight you, intrigue you, and love you with all my heart and soul. Happy Valentines Day Love Always."
Now, as I read the above song and verse I had a good chuckle. Ok, I laughed out loud many times. You see, my dear husband is a man's man. He usually buys me funny cards that express his sick sense of humor. It wasn't the card that made me laugh, it was that it was so not like him to buy something so.....emotional. He was standing next to me enjoying the look on my face as I read and laughed.
He could have just left the card as is, but no.....
Not my husband.
It he wasn't putting his foot in his mouth, well, he wouldn't know what to do with it.
He said that as he picked around the Valentine card section (with several other men doing the same thing....at 1:30 in the morning) he found a frilly one, read a few words, exclaimed outloud for all to hear,"Well, that sounds queer enough!" and left.
Ah, such a romantic he is.
God, I love him.
February 13, 2008
"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."
Or I could type something like, "All Starbucks and no Maxwell House makes Hope a poor girl. All Starbucks and no Maxwell House makes Hope a poor girl."
No one would really know the difference anyway. Unless they decided to get all nosey and look at my computer screen. But, I'd just throw my latte on their lap and call it a day.
February 11, 2008
My Father, God love him, used to scream at us, "You're moving as slow as molasses on a cold Vermont Morning!" I never really stopped to think about just how slow molasses moves on a cold Vermont morning until I had kids. I swore I would never use this diddly of parental frustration, but I find myself using it all. the. time.
But what I can tell you is that I can completely vouch for the fact that the halfling moves much slower than molasses. He is more like frozen molasses. Ice age molasses. Prehistoric amberized molasses.
Typical anal person I am, I like things done NOW. Fast and furious. Piddling pisses me off. The halfling is an expert piddler. He can find something in a room of nothingness to piddle around with and waste time. I like to think that it is his wildly creative imagination at work, or at least that is the mantra I repeat to myself over and over and over again. And over again.
February 9, 2008
I especially love getting packages from another country. Today, it was from Japan. Something about seeing Japanese writing makes me smile. It's so, like..."foreign" to me. ;)
Plus, I think it makes me look cool to the mail lady. I know she walked away thinking how cultured and international I am.
She was so jealous, I could see it.
She wishes she had packages from Japan delivered to her door.
So, I signed the international waiver thingy, told the mail lady to beat it like Micheal Jackson, and hollered to the brats to come see what we got in the mail from Japan.
The halfling could barely contain his excitement. He kept asking, "It came all the way from Japan? Like where they write Japanese?!!!!" I assured him that yes, they do write in Japanese in Japan, or the last I heard they did.
The fourthling was more interested in the box and newspapers. Typical uncultured child he is.
So, lookie what we got.