Big Bird

I woke up this morning with a stabbing pain in my side.

I've been up for a little while and it's not as bad. So it's not appendicitis, nor a loop of intestine spontaneously falling into my pelvis. Nor a sideways prolapsed uterus. Just a little gas, perhaps a muscle strain? It's fine now-I can run up and down the stairs standing up straight now, not hunched over like Igor.

My mind is reeling with the amount of things that need to get done today. Most of it involves driving all over the place and picking shit up (and my oldest daughter,from her Dad's house, not wanting to stick her in the same category as shit) But I won't bore you any more.

We went to the Bronx Zoo, on our way to the Jersey Shore on Friday. Brian in a not unkind manner pointed out to me that somehow, I plan all of our family zoo trips on the hottest day of the year. It was 94 degrees. It was probably 100 degrees the time I dragged him to the Memphis Zoo. Actually, now that I think of it, it was probably close to 90 the last time that I was at the Bronx Zoo. A unanimous vote was passed to restrict all zoo trips to Autumn. It was really fucking hot. Happily, we did not collapse nor lose our tempers. The zoo was Ok as far as it is a zoo, and it involves animals in cages, which is pretty sad. Here is a picture of a lovely vulture:



September 2nd is International Vulture Awareness Day, in case you didn't know.

Right next to this very lovely vulture was an Andean Condor. I wish I got a picture. I passed by it, then did a double take. The bird was a really big fucking bird. It's the only way to describe it. Brian and I rechristened it the Holy Shit Bird after watching another group of people walk by, do a double take and I wouldn't be surprised if they too said, "Holy shit! Look at that big fucking bird!" The poor condor, facing away from us, in the coolest shade of his cage, probably rolled his eyes and shook his head. He probably gets that all the time.

Like I said, it's a REALLY big bird. It could probably carry off a grown man.
If you go to the Bronx Zoo, check it out in the Birds of Prey section. Then we can talk about how we both saw the really big fucking bird. Yeah.. Ok.

Back for 2 Seconds Because I'm Being Watched

Shout Hooray! It's July and I came back!

I'm only doing the tiniest of blurbs here today. Just as I decided to start writing, V decided to wake up and watch me. To prevent any blow-ups on my part, I'm going to hand over the computer to this little imp from Hell. I can't do many things while being watched. Of course that threw any hopes of an acting career out the window...I'll be back here tomorrow. Much earlier in the morning and BY MYSELF. (pointed look at V here) So stop by. I'll tell you all about the beginning of my summer vacation, my battle with the blank page, sacrilegious thoughts in church, my newly discovered hatred for dog owners and a really big ass bird.
Until then.

I know I'm supposed to be on blog vacation, but this one was too good to pass up. I should be asleep right now. It's 6:28 AM. I went to bed at 12:45 after a 16 hour shift. I told Horst that I would wake up at 5:50 to bring him to the bus for 6:20. I am up at 5:55. I grab my coat, my coffee and go downstairs to his apartment to find that he already fucking left. His cellphone is not receiving phone calls. I am now sitting on my couch. Awake for the day as I am the type of person who can't go back to bed once they are up. I am seething in anger. I don't understand. I told him I'd do it. I even told him that I would leave the phone by my bed so that if he felt I was running late he would call. I did that. Even if I got up and we left at 6:10AM-we'd still have time to make the bus-it's an easy 4 minute drive to the bus station at this time of the morning ON A SUNDAY.

For the record, there is no way in hell that I am going to get in my car and try to pick him up as he walks down to the bus. Once he leaves the block and I can't see him to call him back, the fucker's on his own. I know what happened too. He waited until 5:45, and then decided I wasn't coming down and took off. It'd be easier to just call me AS PLANNED right? He is most likely not going to make his bus if he waited until 5:45 to start walking. that means he will wait at the bus station for the 7:20 bus.

Good riddance is what I say. I hope a crazy bum decides to befriend him and talk his ear off for the entire wait.

Is this some kind of Father's day retribution? Is he giggling to himself as he walks to the bus station? "Got that bitch this time for all the time she put me through hell." I bet he knows that I'll never go back to bed and am now facing a day of exhaustion.

But if I mention this to him, he will claim to be completely ignorant of the fact that this is kind of a dick thing to do. Then he will bring it up at least several times a day for the next week. Each mention of it will cost me another 2 minutes of my life.

Happy Father's Day. I have always loved this one

Holiday

I'm not going fishing, although that is something I'd like to do sometime.

I'm actually going to take a bit of a blog/Facebook break for the rest of this month. I need to focus my attention on writing that story and getting through the last leg of the June children's events. Then I have to put together a summer routine for myself and my minions that will keep us all from destroying each other until blessed September comes and I can ship them off again for 6 hours a day.

I'll be popping in on Facebook once a day because it is one of my main sources of communication with the outside world. I'll still check my emails too.

If I think of anything interesting or funny, I'll be sure to write it down. When July comes, hopefully I will have lots of things to write about.

Until then..

Talent Show Reject

Well, I was not expecting to even get an honorable mention for that writing contest. But the rejection letter still sucked. I'm going to have a very appropriate 5 minutes to sulk, and then I'll go work on my story because that is what I hear people do in these situations.

G is a funny child. For unknown reasons, she walked around all weekend stating that she loves violent movies and assassins. When I jokingly said that we should take the body of the squirrel, that knocked our power out by jumping into the transformer at 6AM, and nail his body to the tree in the yard as a warning to all other neighborhood squirrels, she loudly and enthusiastically supported the idea. Then yesterday she comes home from school with a certificate rewarding her for "random acts of kindness". I said, "You mean random acts of violence G, this can't be right!" She punched me.

In other news, I slept horribly and my neck hurts on one side. It being the day/night of the big talent show, the kids decided to wake up at 4:30 am. I have mentioned at least twice, both here and on Facebook about my difficulty in getting those fuckers out of bed. If anyone tells the two of them to break a leg, I shall have to say, "Don't tempt me."

The Yoghurt Post

Ugh, I had zombie dreams again last night. Of the horrific sort involving my children getting bitten. I woke myself up and lay in bed terrified for a while before I could drift off again.

A few weeks back I mentioned that I made yoghurt again. A few friends asked me to show them how. Here it is.

You need

Milk-I will either use whole milk or 2%-make sure it's not that ultra-pastureized shit. Make sure that if you use whole milk, your yoghurt starter is whole milk too. Likewise with the 2%. Here's what I used yesterday:



Next you will need powdered milk-this is an optional thickener-I like really thick, Greek style yoghurt. Any kind will do.

You will also need a yoghurt starter. New England Cheese Company has some really nice starter powders that you can order. I will be getting around to that soon. In a pinch, use a plain yoghurt that is to your liking. Just like I said, make sure that the fat content matches the milk. I used this:



Ok, rest of the supply list:

2 quart mason jars
a small cooler
liquid and dry measuring cups
2 large pots
A sink full of cold water
Either a kettle or a pan of hot water (if you use the cooler method)

A candy thermometer. You can use any type of cooking thermometer-I use this kind as I am cheap.





As far as the other things, you can use any container to hold the yoghurt, but you also need a way to maintain the temperature to allow the bacteria in the yoghurt to multiply. I use a small cooler full of warm water to do so. Again-New England Cheese Company has some nice gadgets too. In warmer weather you can even just wrap a bowl in a towel.

To start, put 1/3 cup of the yoghurt in a cup or small bowl, mix with some of the milk that you are using to thin it out.

Put 4 cups of the milk in a saucepan. Whisk in 2 or 3 tablespoons of powdered milk, if using. Heat the milk until it is just bubbling in the middle. Do not boil, just a few bubbles in the middle of the pan will do.



Now put the pan in the sink of cold water-adding ice helps too. You want to use your thermometer and cool the milk to 110-115 degrees:



Next-you whisk in the yoghurt/milk mixture. Then add it to your container.
I use the mason jars-I usually boil them to sterilize them, but as long as the containers are REALLY clean, you should be Ok.



Then I add hot water to the cooler, using the hot water from the jar sterilizing and the cold water from the sink to make the water in the cooler about 110-115 degrees-use your thermometer again. Then you add the jars



And put it where it will remain undisturbed for a long time. Some say 3 hours, I usually go 12 hours.

My last step is to line a colander with coffee filters and set it in a large container. I then allow the yoghurt to drain overnight


And here is the finished product:



And I'm done-Have the loveliest of days.

A Catch Up

I was busy yesterday. I am getting a lot of writing done. It's crazy hard, but I am plugging away.

A few things to share:
I have noticed, from watching Game of Thrones and then going online to read about the actors, that most men look better in boiled leather, long hair and a film of grime. Put street clothes on them and their attractiveness score plunges. God forbid something happens to B, I'll have to start picking up guys at a Renaissance fair. I guess I could dress up a as a camp whore.

I have a client that always says to me that he's the bomb. I respond by telling him that my Nana used to call farts bombs. Yesterday, in an attempt to make a down in the dumps G feel better, I told her that I thought she was the bomb and that I didn't mean I thought she was a fart. I don't think it helped.

Plans are underway to get a new Ipod for B as a birthday gift. His old one is kaputt and we have been sharing. I have been finding it increasingly difficult to hide my 80's music addiction.

A varmint ate most of my tomatoes, brussel sprouts and kale. I have fantasies of the suspected groundhog scurrying along, trailing the M80 I had just shoved up his ass. I smile when I imagine the bang.

My friend sent me this site a person put together of all the creative ways they displayed their Elf on the shelf for their kid. Most of you have seen my photo of Steve, our family elf:



When I showed the kids the picture, they yelled at me for not getting video of Steve getting the knife out of the drawer. I was considering putting some pictures of Steve with white powder in his lap and on his nose and doing naughty things to a Ken doll, but that may be going too far.


There is my list for things to do today: Look up coming Renaissance Fairs, purchase a self help book about talking to daughters, a new Ipod for B, a Ken doll and some fireworks.

Dear Old Dad

There's nothing like getting up to a quiet house and then having your peace broken by a loud coffee slurper/gulper. Such is my life and one of the crosses I must bear.
Speaking of crosses to bear, Horst turned 72 on May 30th. We celebrated yesterday because of his work schedule. Every year I make him German style porkchops and macaroni and potato salad. I always wonder how authentically German this food is, but since the Germans in my family refer to it as such, I'll take their word for it. I also made a German chocolate cake from scratch (it came out really good) and bought him a 6 pack of German beer. B and I joke that my Dad would eat a plate of feces as long as it was German. But I shouldn't tease.

In honor of my Dad turning a spry 72. I'd like to put a picture up of his superb housecleaning abilities



You're right-it's an old fucking diaper. Clean of course. My Dad lives in the basement and his bathroom is also the laundry room. As you can imagine, it gets pretty linty from time to time. The top of the trash can can get pretty bad. Horst's answer? Instead of just wiping the top of the can, he puts a goddamn rag on top to prevent it from getting dirty.

Is it me?
It's not me, right?

Ok off to a busy day of laundry, work and 1600 words to write.

Lyd is blasting Elton John top volume on her Ipod-off to intervene
Pray for me

Drowning Kittens

I had a terribly productive day yesterday. I got my car inspected, took several walks, wrote about 1000 words in addition to a blog post, cleaned my bathroom and made granola. I also had a very busy night at work.

Because I dropped the car off early, the kids had to make their way to school on foot. It twas a long treacherous journey of .8 miles. A circuitous route flanked on all sides by the terror of tidy lawns, pretty flowers and an assortment of song birds. The possibility of a small rain shower made the children's journey even more forbidding.

Seriously, based on their reactions when I informed them that we were walking to school, you would have thought that I had just asked them to take a small kitten and drown it in the toilet.

This got me to thinking about being in a position in life of having to tell a lot of people what to do. Between my kids, my dad and work, it's quite often. I have a general rule I always follow. This is, I never ever ask anyone to do anything that I myself haven't done before or would do myself. Usually, if it's a pretty heinous thing that requires doing (my job involves heinous unmentionables at times) I usually end up doing it. I feel it's fair.

There are many times when I will ask someone to do a menial task and their reaction is the same as the kid's reaction yesterday. My new mantra at these moments is to say, "I am asking you to do _______, not beat a bag of puppies to death with a baseball bat. Please do it.
It is astounding how little people are willing to do when asked. It's sad really.

Happily, walking to school was nice. I regret not doing it more this year. I will be taking advantage of these last weeks of school to walk with them. They'll get over it and used to it I'm sure. Perhaps they might even start to enjoy it. Especially if I give them the option-

You're walking or the kitten gets it.

Anyone out there has a kitten they want to lend me until the 14th?

Special Olympics Weekend

It twas Special Olympics weekend here. Lyd competes in it. She stays overnight and I have to go back and forth to the event at least 3 times between going to see her and bringing clients for work. Here are some highlights.


Lyd got a gold medal for the 25 meter walk.

Which leads to a funny story. She wanted to skip swim this week because she had to rest up for Special Olympics. My response was, "Lyd for fuck's sake, you are walking 25 meters one time and tossing a softball three feet. Get your damn suit on." Rest up my foot.




G met Mrs Rhode Island. That woman had poise I tell you! Watching her navigate a dirt road with thousand's of young disabled adults all wanting to hug her, wearing high heels and nary a hair out of place. It was impressive. Her smile never faltered.




And last of all, I present the Mighty V. When the zombies invaded Special Olympics he joined a group of other young children. They stockpiled the best shooting sticks and hijacked a random golf cart. Here you can see Von escaping on the back of the golf cart with the fair maiden he rescued, firing away at the ravenous horde.

It was a fun weekend.

Alarm

It ridiculous really.

I have one of those LL Bean moon beam alarm clocks. To wake you up, it flashes a gentle pulsing light. This works pretty well, except for those days when I am very tired. All that happens is suddenly, I'm completely blinded in my dreams and I stagger around not being able to see shit. It's very bizarre.

If you do not get up and turn the clock off, the gentle pulsing light is then accompanied by an very loud buzzing. That always works for me. My family however, is a whole other matter.

Those losers cannot be awakened by anything except the sound of me screaming in their ear or maybe a car bomb. Actually, Lydia gets up with her alarm because I pay her to. Like I said, ridiculous.

This morning I had to get up early to take my Dad to work and forgot to turn off the alarm. B and V were both sleeping in the bed when the alarm began to go off. Of course, I have to dash up the stairs to switch it off. It's always a somewhat contradictory scene. The chaos of the wildly buzzing and flashing alarm clock compared to the serene faces of my husband and son as they slept on in bliss. Honestly, that alarm is crazy and yet, nothing..You could probably light off a firecracker in there and get no response.

"Bastards." I muttered under my breath as I turned it off

Annoying

Ok, so I'm trying to add this damn link to my blog page and it is not happening. i can't figure it out and it's driving me nuts so here it is.

I will be spending most of my time for the next month trying to write a novel or as I would rather call it, "A Really Long Story" with Nanowrimo summer camp. I am also helping out with fundraising, so if you have some spare change please feel free to help out. I will put the link at the bottom of my posts until I figure out how to add it to the damn page.

My posts will be mostly garden and bee updates and whatever random silly thing that the kids say or do or I think of. I have a 50,000 word goal so they will be short but I hope almost daily.

Here is my fundraising link:



Thanks Gang!

Oh, That Boy

I was going to write this long winded post about torturing my children yesterday as we drove to the movie theater to see "Dark Shadows". I had bought some songs from the Xanadu soundtrack and played the music at top volume, singing loudly and dancing expressively while driving. I figured that since I had to blow all that money on tickets and popcorn, I might as well make the kids work for it by enduring a 15 minute ride with me, Olivia and the Electric Light Orchestra.

While straightening the house before writing, I found some of Von's school work that I decided to share instead. Here it is with a translation to follow:

It says:
"Last night I was watching Lego explosive diarrhea and I slapped my head on the table"

I need to ask him what the hell "Lego explosive diarrhea" is.

I don't think that his teacher realized what he actually wrote. If you look at the upper left corner-he got a good job sticker.
Actually, his teacher probably did read it, she is just the type to not get angry at a child writing about explosive diarrhea because hey, it's just diarrhea.
I love her.

I think that I will laugh about this paper forever. It's a keeper.

Of Orthodontics and the Apocalypse aka. I Should Have Gotten Those Damn Braces 5 Years Ago.

Let's face it. This blog is a receptacle for the really stupid things that go through my head. Bet you can't wait to read this latest one.

I need braces for my teeth. I need them pretty bad. My teeth have always been a very sensitive issue for me. Sensitive meaning that if someone were to comment about the condition of my teeth, it is very likely that someone will get hit with something. Very hard. So, I had the consultation and estimates done. It's looking like I would be wearing them for about 18-24 months and will get them off sometime around my 40th birthday.

I am hesitating however. It's not because of the cost, the way it will look, or the impending discomfort.
It's the apocalypse.
Think about it. How much will it suck for me, if I get the damn braces and the end of the world happens? Of course I wouldn't be one of the lucky first ones to get vaporized, crushed or devoured by the ravenous zombie hordes. I'd be the luckless asshole left, scraping to stay alive with braces stuck on her teeth for the rest of her Goddamn life. Yeah yeah I know, I can just take them off with pliers or something, but then the fucking teeth will get even more crooked having been shifted in the first place.

It's ridiculous I know. I don't stay up late in the night worrying and thinking post-apocalyptic thoughts about my family, civilization crumbling, lack of food and clean water, etc. I worry about how I will get the braces off.

I have the same problem with birth control implants. I decided against the IUD one in favor of the one that gets stuck in the arm. The actual reason being that if the end comes, I'd rather cut it out of my arm than go digging around you know where when it has to come out. (For the record, I have never once denied having serious mental issues)

Just yesterday I saw the news online about the guy eating the other guys face off in Miami. The attacker growled at a person that was screaming for him to get off the poor victim. He continued to chew on the man's face even after being shot. It seems that the South has a special kind of crazy person or it's the beginning of the end. I may bump up the date of getting the braces in the hope of beating this break down of civilization scenario.

Or I think I may have to try really hard to keep my orthodontist alive if the end comes.

Irony

It is a long long weekend. Last day thank God. I am gearing up for NaNoWriMo summer camp where I take a month to write a novel with online support. My daily posts are to get me into the habit of writing every day. I dropped the ball yesterday. I only have my family to blame. They are terrific scapegoats.
A few things:

Saturday night I was watching TV with a client at work. We came across the new version of Sherlock Holmes on BBC. I have always wanted to watch the show. I watched as the fellow who was obviously Sherlock, get in a rooftop confrontation ending with **SPOILER ALERT** one man shooting himself in the mouth and Sherlock taking a nosedive off of the building. I frantically called a friend, who reassured me that Sherlock was faking his death and that there will be a season 3. It's funny, I always want to know what happens at the end of a movie and will make people tell me. I will flip ahead at some point with every book I read. But I gotta say I was a little disappointed finding out the big finale this time. I watched the first episode of season 1 and am now officially hooked.
Von wanted to watch it with me yesterday morning. I said no because there was too much violence. He said,"I love violence!" I said there were dead people. He said,"I love dead people!" I said it was boring because all it was about was a bunch of adults talking. He said, "Oh..Ok" and went back to his video game.

Moving on.
I never wrote about the moment in which I truly understood the meaning of irony. It was always one of those things where I thought I might understand it, but I never used the word for fear of getting it wrong. I know that Alanis Morrisette did. I overheard someone talking about how the things she sung about in that song weren't all that ironic. They said that rain on your wedding day isn't ironic unless you had your wedding in Arizona just to avoid the rain and it ends up raining. I got it, but I just didn't feel it. Irony was a word to be feared for me and avoided because I hate looking/sounding like a dumb ass. (Yeah yeah yeah-how ironic, I sound like a dumb ass just writing about how I don't like to sound like a dumb-ass).

I made plans to go to a different coffee place with a friend. We had been meeting at Starbucks and decided on a change of pace for the next time we met. I thought of suggesting one place that I usually go to. It is my friends business and I love supporting her. I decided against it because there was an acquaintance of mine that frequents that place. I used to meet a different friend there and the acquaintance would show up and hang out with me and my friend and talk..a lot. And always show up when we met. And talk..a lot. I decided to suggest a different place solely to avoid this person.
Imagine my surprise when I looked up from my cup to see who else, but the person standing across the room and smiling at me.
And that's how I got to really understand irony down to the tips of my toes.


The children are up. Gardening, BJ's with Horst and work beckon. Better get on with it

Busy Day

It's been an interesting, busy and productive day. Having forgotten my wallet and making this discovery in the parking lot of the grocery store I was able to come home and write a quick one.

Interesting-yesterday I gave one of my older daughters service providers a piece of my mind. First thing this morning, one of my clients parents called me to give a piece of their mind. Karma I say.

I never can grow foxglove to my liking, the plants are always small and stunted (not enough sun) Walking the dog yesterday I found that some seeds from my plants must have washed down the driveway to my neighbors yard and behold:

Friggin beautiful

I found a very large spider in my beehive yesterday, I suspect getting fat off of my bees (and she is most likely pregnant) I caught her, she spent the night for my kids to enjoy, and she is now relocated to my deck outside where many a jumping spider likes to hide in the crevices. I wish this picture wasn't so blurry but you can see how she is looking right at the camera with a "What the fuck are you looking at" look:

Here is a better one-she was really fat

And we had a very nice dragonfly come to visit

And I'm off
Have a lovely weekend

Package

My father has this magical way of killing me just a tiny bit every day. He does the same thing to my husband. I suspect that the same thing happens when my brother comes to visit or vice versa. I have a perfect example from today.

Setting the scene:

Imagine a quiet suburban post office. Cloudy skies and birds chirping.
A disheveled woman with a crazed desperate look in her eye stumbles out the front door slides along the side of a silver Honda, fumbles open the door and collapses into the drivers seat. She picks up her cell phone and dials.

C: Hey, it's me, do you have 3 minutes to spare?
B(at work): Yeah I guess so, what's up.
C: I need to yell for the next 3 minutes
B:OK
C: So, remember fucking last week I had to take Horst to the motherfucking store to get the gift for H? Remember as we were ALMOST AT THE FUCKING STORE he turns to me and says, "Oh, do you have the address for M?" And I say, "No, I don't have the address for M because I wasn't going to fucking buy anything and ship it from the store." So he goes to the fucking store and buys the bulkiest items imaginable and when we get home from the store he is like a goddamn deer in the headlights and says to me,"Uh, what should I do with the bag?" (of purchased, unwrapped gifts). I say, just put it in the basement closet, I'll take care of it. The following week, I get my stuff together to send, t-shirts and A FLAT BOOK. I go to the motherfucking store and purchase a card, wrapping paper and wrap everything up in the motherfucking car and bring it to the motherfucking post office. Do you know what I discover? I have to send everything in 2 packages because his things are fucking bulky, Horst says in the store, "I gotta get something for the little one, can't send a present for one and not the little one. He says this OVER and OVER for the entire ride to and from the store. So this present for the little one (being my niece, P) is a fucking cube. Who sends a fucking cube in the mail!! I'm standing in line after figuring everything out and stuffing the packages all the while getting more and more pissed off, seriously B, smoke was coming out of my motherfucking ears. I was hugging the freaking packages, rocking and muttering curse words to myself. I don't know if the post mistress knew whether to ring me up or call the men in the fucking white coats. And you know what the worst thing of all is?
B:What.
C:I can't fucking say anything to him about it because he will obsess on it for the next 4 days and keep bringing it up, (imitating my Dad's voice)"Just wanted to let you know.."He kills you a little bit each day.
B: (laughing)I know, right!
C: Honestly, Horst is destroying my brain cells, I'll be dead by 50. They should house him at Guantanimo or whatever, have the terrorist live with him. They won't last 3 days, they will be screaming, "I confess, I'll tell you where the fucking bomb is just take him away. I can win the war on terror. Horst and Kids Bop CD's. Screw water boarding. I have to do all the thinking and planning for him. I'm going to put the address book in the car and do you know what's going to happen? Do you? He's going to turn to me as we are driving to the goddamn store next time and he'll show me that look he brought the fucking address this time. (I scream quietly into the phone) Ok I'm done, I feel better now.
B:Ok Love you
C:Love you too.

Because of his schedule change I've been spending way too much time with Horst. I think I will start to add vodka to my stress relief regimen in conjunction with the Bach Rescue Remedy.

A Silly

It's been a somber, melancholic sort of day for me today. Reading Joan Didion's latest while getting an oil change at the dealership and then having the guy come out and say that not only do I need 2 new filters of some sort, but a whole new tire because I had 3 screws stuck in the old one will put anyone in that sort of mental state.

But then I had this really quiet moment a few hours later that turned into a hard to suppress the giggles moment. I went to get my eyeglasses adjusted. It was only me and the counter guy there. He was in an adjacent room, adjusting. I was very thankful that I was not one of those people who had uncontrollable flatulence because it would be really embarrassing at the time to say the least. For me and the counter guy, who would have to pretend that he didn't hear anything, while I would have had to pretend that I didn't rip one.

Let's all take a moment now, those of us out there with full sphincter control, to be truly thankful. And also let us have a quiet moment of empathy for those who do not.

Then you have my permission to giggle

40 Days and 40 Nights

I really love hanging out with my kids for the most part. Lyd is somewhat of a sullen teenager so her sense of humor is gone right now, but V and G have me laughing all the time. Sometimes when they aren't making me laugh, I want to dump them off on the side of the interstate and speed off whooping with joy, but as my dear friend Kevin (not saggy balls Costner) always loves to remind me, "Well, you should have left your legs closed."

Indeed I should have, but here they are and I won't be dropping them off on the interstate any time soon. Or selling them to the gypsies. It's just one of my creative visalizations. I use them a lot. I use threats too, but that never works, because the kids think they're funny. Just today on the way to school, Von said that he had a cramp. My reply was that his ass was going to cramp when I was done with him. Gretel said, in admiration, "Wow Mom, you're really good at threats."

Sometimes I am fearful of my kids because I worry that they will repeat what I say to them and around them and get into big trouble with their Dad, or the general public. Take this Sunday for example.

We were at V's CCD class presentation. It was the final one of the year. Already I was a nervous wreck because I have a very difficult time being around Church people. They kind of freak me out. It's different when you are in a pew and don't have to talk to anyone. I had already made a scene by accidently spilling coffee on G's neck. She ran to the bathroom in tears, mortified. I followed nervously giggling (I'm a terrible nervous giggler-it really pisses people off).
V had to talk about the story of Noah's Ark. Suddenly I was a deer in the headlights. You see, V is more impulsive and inappropriate than his sisters. He also likes to get me. At the kindergarten Christmas breakfast last year, he yelled out to me across the room the joke I had recently taught him-
"Hey Mom! What's brown and sounds like a bell?"
"DUNG!"
I was totally asking for it, it's really funny now, but I was pretty damn embarrassed.

So back to the presentation. V was presenting the story of Noah. I was terrified. This is because last year, I came out with my best one liner yet. The kids and I speak of it still.
G was playing with a wooden Noah's ark in the kitchen doorway as I was trying to bring dinner out to the dining room. I told G that if she didn't get that Noah's ark out of my way, her ass was going to hurt for 40 days and 40 nights.
The kids and I still laugh about it.

So there I was, petrified that my son, who was all hyped up at performing in front of people, was going to come out with, "My Mom told my sister..!" You get the point.
Luckily, this did not happen, I was safe and sound. But I know what that boy is capable of.
But I'm very happy to report that it will be highly unlikely that that boy would ever repeat these embarrassing things I say to the public anyways. I am prepared now weapons of my own.

I caught him doing a naked butt slapping dance Sunday night. He made up a fantastic song that goes with it that I will not write here, because he was very embarrassed at being caught. I also have a great set of pictures and video of him at the age of 4 in a black ballet leotard and a fushcia tutu.
On the eve of this years talent show and and every public appearance forever after, I will be sure to remind him that if he embarrasses me, Mom will be doing a show of her own.

Quick note

Quick note today to keep myself in the habit. The past few days have been a bit of a whirlwind. I have to go clean my house before my better half murders me.

I was so tired last night I passed out in bed fully clothed without brushing my teeth. What's worse is that I chewed a couple of Pepto Bismal tablets before crashing. This mornings vigorous toothbrushing was accompanied by wads of black spit that looked to be straight out of a horror movie, my tongue resembled that of a plague victims.

Have a lovely day

Kevin

Kevin Costner has always bothered me in some way that I could never quite put my finger on.

I was at work yesterday watching TV with a co-worker. (We were working as well. We were scrubbing the door jams in the living room with toothbrushes, OK?) A commercial for the new show "The Hatfields and McCoys" It stars Kevin Costner, obviously. Then it hit me.

Just look at his face in that picture..Can you see it? It has bothered me for years and now it's as obvious as the nose on my face.

That is the face of a man with sagging testicles. Mid-thigh, extra skin.


I will never be able to un-see it.

Of Large Marge and Organ Donation

This is hands down, my favorite movie scene of all time. Sometimes when my kids are misbehaving, I will start to reenact this scene. All I have to do is say the first two lines and the kids will usually scream and run away. It's fun.

I wish that in times of extreme stress I could make my face contort like hers in the end. If I could choose a superhero power, it would be to just make my face do that. I would live my life serene as a buddha. There is also the added bonus of scaring away muggers and robbers (or just getting shot). I could make small children cry whenever I felt like it. A girl can dream.

And a public service announcement.
There is a book called "The Undead" by Dick Teresi. I read the review in The Times book review. He talks about the possibility and probability that brain dead people could feel pain. When surgeons harvest organs they don't usually use anesthesia unless the family requests. Being an organ donor, this scared the living shit out of me.

I mentioned this to my husband. I asked him to make absolute sure that the surgeons use anesthesia on me before they cut me open. This may be a good conversation to have with your family if you're an organ donor.

And something sentimental.

Gretel is performing this weekend with her Ballet theatre. I dropped her off for rehearsal yesterday morning at the theatre. As we walked in, several older girls exclaimed, "Gretchen! we're glad you're here!" After I kissed her goodbye, I heard another girl complementing her outfit. Gretchen being only 8 must have been on cloud nine.
There is a nice camraderie among those girls and it was so nice to see Gretel be a real part of something that I always felt I didn't really have as a kid.

It felt really good to see her happy like that. I also hoped that my own mother got to have a moment like that sometime during my or my brother's childhood because it's a really awesome feeling.

Busy weekend of work,baking,gardening and ballet I guess.

Life Is Good for My Mentally Ill Dog

My dog Gus has an anxiety problem. Many things have come together to create such a beast. Being a boxer/lab mix and the runt of the litter doesn't help. Living in a household of insane children and adults who yell contribute. Not to mention the dog gets attacked regularly by the overly aggressive cat. She is a mere 7 pounds to his 75, yet rules the roost with an iron fist. We don't fuck with the cat..or else.

I took the dog to the vet last week because he had large bald areas on his side. The vet, after watching Gus piddle every time he looked at him, decided that Gus has anxiety issues and that he is licking himself bald. My vet is awesome. He is an acupuncturist/herbalist and not out to screw anyone financially. He's been the family vet for years. So he recommended Bach's Rescue Remedy for the dog's anxiety and Nettle tincture for his skin/coat. He gave me a long winded explanation involving Chinese medicine. I don't remember any of it but I totally buy it.

When our old cat was sick (she was 14+) we took her to a different vet, who wanted a million dollars to test her in every which way. It was ridiculous. I later took her to my vet (at the time he didn't have as many office hours because of school). He put her on a bland diet and some herbs to help her and she lived the last several months of her life in comfort. At a significantly lower price. Yes, I put a dollar amount on what I am willing to do with my pets. That's for another time perhaps.

Back to the point. I put Gus on the Rescue Remedy and the results are telling. He is calmer and more focused. I like him a lot better. We are also taking care to not be so loud with him. We are far kinder now that the perspective has changed from "He's an annoying asshole of a dog" to "He's sick in the head, be nice."

Things have been good for the Ol' Gus-Buster.

Last night I took him for a walk. There were a lot of other dogs around and he was going nuts, pulling and whining. I wanted to throttle him with his choke collar. I did not. I kept calm and tried to maintain control. I did so by imagining myself running into the asshole who came up with that MYTH about pet ownership being good for one's health. How one can actually lower their blood pressure by spending time with an animal. I imagined what I would do to said expert. It wasn't pretty and the end result involved me wearing his entrails as a necklace.

I went home and took some Rescue Remedy. Looks like both me and the dog need it.

Old Quote

I made this up in reference to a co-worker 2 or 3 years ago. I like it

In life, one must tolerate, placate, accommodate and do everything short of fellatiate, some really screwed up people.

I'm not sure if fellatiate is an actual word, but I'm going to stick with it.

I'd like to try and put an end to putting up with people's dumb crap and ridiculous hang-ups in my personal/professional life. We'll see.

I've also decided that if I want to see a movie-I'm going to go right out and see it ASAP instead of farting around and not going. By the time that I actually get the motivation to make the effort and go, the movie is no longer in theaters and I fume quietly until it comes out on DVD. This mostly happens with those less mainstream movies that are usually at the smaller theaters. I should be going to them more often anyways. I always like to support the little guys.

I'm rambling about this because I really like the movies. I think that just like books and music they are very important..

Blah blah blah..

Oh yeah and I got new glasses!

I like them.

The Zombie Dreams Part Deux

**warning-this post kind of sucks**

Back to that dream the other day. In fact back to that topics I mentioned about worrying whether or not the things I let my children watch is inappropriate.

When I was little, I had no parental filter that stopped me from watching things that would freak me out. One of my first movie memories is staying awake to watch Food Of The Gods at the drive in. I think that my parents intention was for me to fall asleep before that movie. Never worked out that way. Then they never stopped me or left the theatre either. Not that I probably would. Then again, I probably wouldn't bring my kids to a movie like that because I know they would stay awake. Here are some of the movies that stood out for me from the ages of 5-9 (my younger ones ages): Food of the Gods, Heavy Metal, American Pop, Dawn of the Dead, The Blob, Conan the Barbarian,Jaws, John Carpenter's The Thing and Escape From New York. Looking back, I was way way too young for these movies, for the sex, the violence and the bad things that happened to little kids in some of them. I really didn't need to see or know of any of that. Childhood is frightening and dark enough.

One of the movies that really terrified me was Dawn of The Dead. The whole idea of something of that sort happening to everyday people scared the living shit out of me. I though about it. I planned for the zombie apocalypse by the age of 12 in my head. I had the zombie nightmares. Up until the age of 32, those nightmares would have me waking up in a cold sweat, shaking. I would be disturbed for the rest of the day. I still watched zombie movies if one happened to be playing. I read some stories that involved zombies and that apocalypse and they would terrify me. Not scare me in the fun way where you laugh after and feel a bit exhilarated. Terrify me in the awake at 3 in the morning thinking of your mortality, deep dark pit of the soul terrifying. I never really told people because it was a little embarrassing.

The remake of Dawn of the Dead came out a few years back and I decided it was time. I watched that movie over and over until it had little effect on me. I read World War Z and the Walking Dead comics. I still had the dreams. I described the one from the other day. Better dreams would have the sound of zombies moaning off to the side. Worse ones would be running from them. Thankfully I was never eaten in a dream and neither where the kids.

I was surprised and very happy the day that I heard a Colson Whitehead interview for his zombie apocalypse book, "Zone One" where he mentioned that he also had the zombie dreams. That made me happy.

Wow I'm really waxing on about this. I've been working on this silly post for 2 days now. In that time,I further polluted my offsprings minds by going to see The Avengers with them again and signed up for NaNoWriMo summer camp. For the month of June I will write a novel. I have the idea and about 5-6000 words already written and I am about to step WAY WAY WAY out of my comfort zone. It's a bit stressful but with the help of some of my dog's Rescue Remedy maybe I won't get a zombie dream. Perhaps the tsunami one instead.

A Little Tired Today

I worked until midnight. I got up at 5:50 AM to take my Dad to the bus stop so he could go to work. I have a busy day ahead. I am not feeling too inspired this morning but feel like I've got to put something down.

I am an avid reader to say the least. If I was as productive with my writing as I am with my reading, I would have written several novels since Jan 1st of this year. But I am actually working on that. These little posts are small daily exercises for me.

So as a kind of Mother's Day gift, here is a list of all the books I have read so far this year. They are all quite good. The ones with the ** mark are really really good. I do not waste time reading books that I don't enjoy. If it doesn't hook me, it goes back to the library. I don't have the time to waste anymore on crappy books.

The Night Circus
Monsters of Men
A Monster Calls**
Steampunk!**
Nocturnes
The Infernals
Death Comes to Pemberley
Stay Awake
Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children
Good Omens**
The Hunger Games
Catching Fire
Bird by Bird**
Mockingjay
Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk**
On Writing
Gods Behaving Badly
The Graveyard Book
Willpower**
Room
Lamb-the Story of Biff, Christ's Childhood Friend**
The Wind Through The Keyhole*******

I'm sure everyone can look up the authors (Gimme a break-it is 7AM on a Sunday after all)

I am almost finished with "That's Disgusting"

I hope you find something you like-Happy Mother's Day!

Long Day

I don't like Saturdays. It has been my long work day for the past 11 years. In 2001, I began to work in a group home. I came from working a Mon-Fri 8-4 gig at a day program from disabled adults. In order to go to school, I gave up my weekends entirely. 11 years later, I still give up a major portion of my weekend so that my husband and I can be on opposite shifts. I do not like the stress of worrying about having to miss work for sick children,snow days and doctor appointments.

But it means that I work 16 hours on a Saturday, when the rest of the world is having fun. Most of my time off is used for Saturday activities that I normally can't do. I'm used to the long day and most times I do get to sit for a bit during my shift. I gotta say though, on most Friday night and early Saturday mornings, I think to myself that this long shift is getting really old.

Off to work and whatever horrors lay in store for me.

The Zombie Dreams

I had a zombie dream last night. I was trapped in a farmhouse with a group of people that included my oldest daughter ,several clients from work and a mix of strangers. Several of the strangers had been bitten and we were waiting to brain them once they passed. At one point, we were planning on escaping the farm house to search for help on large inflatable Spongebob SquarePants wagons. This was deemed too dangerous, but before this was decided, I took my 2 clients aside and tried to explain to them that they had to be quiet, not pull any fire alarms and to run away if I was getting eaten. They only stared at me and I was frustrated.

There was a pervert who kept trying to screw with my daughter. He was also bitten and I felt justified in all of my attempts to kill him. Unfortunately all of the screwdrivers and bats that I had found in the house were made of foam rubber. The last scene before I woke up, I was running through the house making sure that the last wave of people who died from bites were kept from rising again in the obvious way. I wove among chairs on which lay bodies of assorted sizes wrapped in sheets. I then looked out the window and saw a family running from an enormous horde of zombies. A mother, a father, and several small children. Two border collies ran alongside them and looked as if they were herding the group. Everyone in the house moved away from the windows and kept quiet as the zombies caught up with a small person (I couldn't tell if it was a smaller man or a child) and began to devour him. That's when the alarm clock began to ring.

I have had zombie dreams since I was a little kid and saw Dawn of the Dead. I was way way way too young. More on this later. The house is waking up and there's work to be done.

Big Green Bowl

When I was about seven years old, give or take a year, I saw this crazy cheesy movie called the Sword and The Sorcerer. The next day I was at my cousin Jean's house and I told her about the movie. I no longer remember what happens in the movie, except that it was violent and some man turns into a monster. My cousin, who was 50 years older than me , with grown children of her own, said to me, "I would rather have my children watch sex than violence.". I never forgot that. (Duh..obviously)

I took V, who is 7 and L who is 17, to see the Avengers Tuesday. The movie oozed and dripped awesomeness. It was amazing. However, there were parts when I looked over at Von and he seemed to be quivering with fear. When I asked him if he was Ok, he would smile and nod enthusiastically. He loved every second. Even the parts that scared him. Sometimes I worry a little, that I allow my kids to watch too much violence. I think about the comment my cousin made so long ago that stuck with me. So far, my kids haven't asked about sex or have watched anything that has people having sex in it. I guess it is something to ponder seriously at some later date. But it's funny, how I would rather my kids watch a movie with explosions and people dying, then a movie with sex. I remember one time I took the kids to see Coraline. During the final climax of the movie, all three kids were clinging to me and begging me to take them home because it was too scary . I told them to shut their eyes, I paid thirty bucks and we were staying to the end. Funny thing was, once the movie was all finished and we were back in the sunshine, they said they loved the movie, made me get them the book from the library and it became a 2 week obsession. I don't know what my point is, except that maybe I have raised my kids to like scary things, and I should just stop worrying about it and stop trying to justify my parental choices. I think it's because I feel a tiny bit guilty. But the kids seem fine and if they grow up to be delinquents, I'll take the blame.

So, moving on. G was sick with the stomach flu on Tuesday and missed the movie fun. It means that I have to go see The Avengers again, which is fine by me. I just hope that no one else gets sick in the house. Talking to other parents, I have discovered that once you have children one of the greatest fears aside from the big ones, is everyone getting the stomach bug. It ripped through our house in february, starting with V and ending with me. Luckily L did not get it and flew off to Hawaii for the week. I held my breath until I dropped her off to her Dad, praying that she wouldn't get it and have it ruin her trip. The vomit fairy was good to me in that regard.

We have a special puke bowl in our house in a festive green color. I recently decided that everyone should have a festive vomit bowl and plan on giving them out as housewarming gifts. A lot of superstition revolves around this bowl for me. I worry that if I stick it back under the bed too soon, someone else will get stricken. So for now, it sits on a chair beside my daughters bed until I deem it safe to put it away. I hope I didn't just jinx myself.

I Feel Really Awkward Asking, But At Least I'm Not Asking for Money

It has been awhile and I've been struggling to write. A lot of it has to do with my procrastination problem. Then I just run out of time as I am busy. I am raising 3 kids, one of whom has a disability, I run a household, work just about full time and it is the start of beekeeping and gardening season. Sometimes I feel like I don't have anything worth saying, especially if I don't have anything funny to say. I find that I waste most of my frre time. I go on the computer religiously every morning at 6:30 AM. On the computer, I do nothing worthwhile. I go on Facebook and Twitter. I troll about on blogs. I could be writing.

I actually have several stories, pretty entertaining ones that have been clattering around in my brain for some time. I finally submitted one to a contest and I am awaiting the results (keep in mind, I do not expect an award, even an honorable mention.) I get satisfaction from simply being finished and putting it somewhere. The problem is, I now permit myself to be lazy and do nothing but troll about as I mentioned before.
I get down on myself when I attempt to write on here as well. I, like every other person in the world, adores attention to some degree. I worry that I am wasting my time here because no one reads this. But I guess I am missing the point. I should be writing for the sake of writing and not for the attention I think I would get. I like to write and do it because I want to. I am now finished with my self affirmations.

I often have friends tell me that I read my blog and they find my posts on Facebook very funny. I like that. I never function well unless I know that someone will give me shit about not doing something. I don't like to get shit, so it is a big motivator. I will be attempting to write every morning instead of wasting time trolling (I like that word, have you noticed). So, if you read my postings and like to and notice that I am slacking, please do me an enormous favor call me or write me and give me shit about it. It's the best way for me to get things done. My husband can attest to that.
Thanks
PS Maurice Sendak died yesterday. I am so sad about that.

It All Comes Out in the Wash

I have noticed that in the Spring, it seems that children in school are subjected to many little competitions. This is fine and good. I have never been a parent to support the idea of everyone on the team getting a trophy. I realize in life that there will be winners and losers, but I gotta tell you, it really sucks to be the parent of a child who often lucks out. Especially if that child is a sore loser. Lately, I will walk into the school yard and see the look on one of my kid's face and for a brief moment, I'm sure that someone forced them to drown a kitten for extra credit. Of course, it's only because they lost at some sort of contest. The teacher then dismisses them to me, and I get to deal with the fallout. My kids pout and cry like champs. If there was an Olympic competition for that, my children could get the Gold.

I had a double whammy yesterday. It was the vocabulary parade.
Each student makes a hat that depicts a word. Each grade is divided into nouns, verbs, adverbs etc.. My daughter won for her class in Kindergarten and this she clings to every year. For third grade, she wore her lovely hat that said "Dancing" (verb) and trooped into the school buoyed by hope. My son had made a wonderful hat with a velociraptor on top (noun). Oh, it's worth mentioning that the day before, he was the one crying at the end of the day because he didn't get a chance to read his poem to the class.

Six hours later I walked into the schoolyard and my daughter ran up and punched me in the kidney. I feared the worst. She didn't get anything and to make matters worse, her best friend got a certificate. My son's teacher, a very wise woman who, put an end to prizes and winners after the shark drawing contest debacle in which she and I agreed that she would join me on that distant Oprah show as the teacher who squashed V's artistic potential and spirit. V was Ok this day, thankfully.
G was crushed because she didn't win a Newport Creamery gift card. She goes there at least twice a month on my dime. I should be the one crushed. G said that the new principal must not have liked her hat. After quickly looking around to make sure there were no other children or adults in earshot, I replied, "Fuck the principal, he wouldn't know a good thing if it hit him in the face." This didn't make her feel better. I showed her a headline on my Onion newspaper that I found hilarious which said, "Owl's are assholes." But that didn't help either.

Report cards also came out. G got a few 2's and 1 unsatisfactory, but all in all it was a very very good report card. She was upset because her brother is one of those irritating people that is above average in all academics and he never has to work at it. His report card was phenomenal, but I did not mention this in front of G. She told me that all of her friends get really good grades (to which I wanted to reply, "Fuck your friends!" but I didn't) A conversation about real happiness lying in never comparing yourself to other people fell on deaf ears. I resigned myself to a night of constant reassurance.

But it worked itself out. We went to a book party for V and G's comic book club. It's a lovely program that is run by this very nice guy who teaches children how to write and draw comics. For free. And you don't have to stay if you don't want to. The guy, whose name is Walker is a saint in my book. If you know of him, you should do something nice, like buy him lunch or throw money at him.

When the actual comic books were handed out, (Walker and co did a fantastic job of compiling all of the kids comics into 2 little paperback books) G's characters were on the front cover of one of the books and V's was on the other. I breathed a sigh of relief. My kids were overjoyed. They spent the rest of the night smiling. They said they would rather have those comics than a Creamery gift card or a certificate.

Today I went to G's publishing party at school. This is where all of the children in class share the stories that they wrote. G was distraught because she came back from assembly to find her crocodile Squinky pencil topper was missing. By the time I left the party, she was sobbing and begged me to take her home. I wiped off her tears and told her to get herself together. Then I left, the look on her face was what I can imagine would be the same look on her face if I had just told her that I was leaving to go home and drown some kittens.

C'mon Universe, help me out. You got 2 hours..

38 Candles

I had expectations this past Sunday morning. Big surprise party with all of my friends, a black Trans-Am in the driveway with a big bow on it. Doing it with some random, hot, pink guy on a cloud without having to worry about getting pregnant or herpes....No, no really I had much much more modest expectations. A hand-made card. That would have been great. Well into my first cup of coffee, as the morning dead began to shamble into the kitchen, it occurred to me that the unthinkable was happening. Suddenly It was me and Molly standing at the bottom of those stairs alone and in utter disbelief:

Well, my Dad didn't. He came through with a very nice card that he took the bus across town to get. As he handed it to me and I began to cry, I'm sure I could hear Brian think, "Oh shit!"

But it's Ok, this incident is a small opportunity to rack up some really big guilt trips. I have learned this subtle art over the years. It has to be subtle as my husbands guilt trips are short lived and become extreme irritation if I lay it on too thick.

The kids on the other hand, are young and too little to put a crimp in my day if they are moody. This make them subject to the snide guilt trip comments. "Since you didn't even make me a card for my birthday, you should clean up after your messes as a present to me!" This usually is followed by the "I am under appreciated and I bet those children working in the Asian sweatshops for 20 hours a day still got their mothers a birthday card when they went for their bi-annual home visits" tirade that usually lasts for about 10 minutes or more.

I will milk it for as long as possible,but carefully, because I know that feeling sorry for myself is bad for my complexion.

**I also just wanted to mention, that everything is fine, when I start to find the humor in a situation, that is usually an indication that I am getting over it. There is no need to ask my better half about it if you know him because that could get me in trouble**

Backwards Bucket List

Ok, I have decided that I am going to scrap the idea of writing about all of my friends this week or whatever. I may leave someone out and end up hurting feelings. So I will just write whatever comes to mind and leave it at that. It's very early right now, I have a house full of sleeping people and my oldest daughter (the very early riser) is in Hawaii with her dad (the bitch). I am taking advantage of this moment as my husband will be home sick from work and home all weekend. Whenever there are people around me, all of my wit and verve that I can put into writing shrivels up and I am reduced to this:

I went to see the newest Harry Potter movie, "The Woman in Black" with my friend Kevin the other day. Kevin has been one of my best friends for a really fucking long time. 20+years. I can honestly say that when I am with him that I laugh harder and more often than any other time. Great big belly laughs that makes your stomach hurt but keep you going for days.

Kevin and I have what I consider a "reverse bucket list". Over the years, we have accumulated instances where we really wished that we did or said something because it would have been really really funny and awesome. Of course we were too chicken shit. I have 2 examples for you that you may like.

About 20 years ago, Kev and I were at the Denny's in Fall River. I had purple hair and Kevin had green. We were being quietly heckled by 2 women in a nearby booth. They were making comments about our hair color and Kevin's piercings. At one point, Kevin left the table and the women got a little louder in their comments. I guess I began to shoot them dirty looks. One woman said to the other, "It looks like she's getting mad." The other woman replied, "I don't care, I have a gun in my car." When Kevin returned, I told him what the woman said. We then discussed how great it would be to stand up and scream, "OH MY GOD THAT WOMAN HAS A GUN EVERYONE UNDER THE TABLES!!!". Of course we didn't. I wish we had.

One other incident was about 3 or 4 years ago. Kevin was babysitting my son, Von . On my way to a meeting for work I was passed through the big intersection in the seedy part of town. I noticed a woman in short shorts, frizzy hair and lots of make-up, trying to pick up a bum at a phone booth. I was excited! A hooker in the neighborhood! I live on the edge of the area where the hookers hang out. They usually do not come to my part of town, but will if the cops start busting their usual haunts. She was quite a spectacle. A thousand light years from "Pretty Woman" but there was no mistaking. On the way home I noticed her still hanging out. I rushed home and told Kevin to take Von and jump in the car because we had to go see the hooker up the street. While we were driving up we discussed how fun it would be to bring a camera and 10 bucks and have Von pose with the hooker. We could put it in his baby book as "Von's first hooker". Of course we didn't. Von had no interest in looking at the whore as we drove past, he had fallen asleep.

Kevin and I refer to these times as the list of "If only we had the balls to do that"

I was reminded of this when we saw that movie the other night. As Daniel Radcliffe open the door to the room where there was obviously a ghost, I so wanted to yell out in a British accent, "Don't go in the room, Harry!" or "Run away Harry!" Instead I whispered this to Kevin because I was too chicken shit.

I also regret not giving a loud whoop when Liam Neeson cried, "RELEASE THE KRACKEN!" when Kevin and I saw the remake of "Clash of the Titans".

I was out with my friend "J" (on a side note if I only put people's names here if they give me permission although with Heth and Kevin, I just took the liberty), the other week and she told me the story of her shitty, verbally abusive boss. She said that she wanted to quit and did not need the reference. After some discussion, we came up with the idea that she should get an ad from the personals from some S&M person, copy that, fax it to her boss with a note stating that she was quitting and had found a replacement for him. The ad we found said:

I'm such a freak

I like c*ck in my mouth and ass. I will host

I suggested blowing up the add and putting underneath something about the above person being good at whatever new computer program is popular and that salary is negotiable. I fully encouraged, no begged her to do that. I am meeting her later today. I really hope she did..

As I grow older, there are more and more things that I wished that I did when the moment presented itself. Not just funny inappropriate things, other more normal things too. I'm finding that the more times I do something that I want to do or always wished I could do, the happier I am. It's not to hard really, the hardest part I have found is getting up that initial motivation or in many cases, the courage to make that effort. Once you make that push, the rest is cake.

While Kevin and I were watching "The Woman in Black" there was a group of people a few rows back being really loud. Not the making a few funny comments here and there loud. More of the having a loud, long conversation while using their stupid cellphones. I thought that I could sit there, and suffer and maybe complain to Kevin in whispers about their rude behavior. I then realized that most people are rude because other people are too afraid to speak up.

I called out, "Shut up!" and they did.

It's a start.

A Poem and Haiku for Heather Jean

So, I ate a lot of my kid's Valentine's candy from school and I am now on a sugar high. So before it wears off, I want to share something that I remembered just now. I was looking for the Valentine from my daughter's current crush, pretended to actually find it and then started pretending to read; "Dearest Gretel, you are the most beautiful girl in the world, Love ____." (I'm withholding the boys name in case of stalkers and whatnot). I was suddenly reminded of a poem that my friend Heather and I spontaneously made up a long long time ago. In honor of Valentine's day, I'd like to share it with the one or two people who actually read this:

A Love Poem

by Cindy and Heather

(copyright 1988)

Oh your hair is like gossamer silk,

your skin is the pale color of milk

Your eyes make me think sweet words of love,

your voice, the cooing of a dove

Your mind is like a fine tuned tuba,

Oh please would you take me to Aruba.

From your feet come the aroma of banana,

Oh please let us go to the Copa Cabana

Your hands are as strong as an ox, I see them and want to eat bagels with lox

Your ears, like a labrador retrievers

Your teeth, like those of Bucky, the beaver

Your lips, like earthworms locked in the sweetest concubine

and from your breath comes the stench of swine.

Your eyes, the color of dog doo

Oh baby, I love you!

Heth and I came up with some pretty sick haikus one time. We came out of a show and some guy gave us a flier for a band called, "Hot Buttered Anus", (We were going to see Underdog at Club Hell, we were NOT at some crazy sex party, just for the record) We came up with the haikus on the drive to Heth's house. we laughed so hard I had to pull the car over.

Here is my haiku. If Heth remembers hers she should tell me and I will place it here.

Hot buttered anus

Glistening and puckering

Calling me to lunch.

It's really sick but you have to admit it's really funny.

I love Heather. We have been friends since we were 13. Almost a quarter century. I love that we can still come up with these sorts of things out of nowhere. She is very talented and I always copy her style. If you see me in something that looks terrific, Heather was probably wearing it first. Heather also has great hair, but denies it. Heather has many many other amazing attributes, but I have run out of time to write and must hand over the computer to my sugar addled offspring.

I'm thinking that perhaps in the next day or so, I'll write about some more of my friends, because they are pretty dang awesome.