November 29, 2005

Mean Kids

I'm mad at myself for all those times in school when I heard someone being made fun of or picked on and did nothing about it. It always made me feel uncomfortable but I didn't ever say so. I felt like if I didn't add to the bullying, or laugh along with the bully, I wasn't doing anything wrong. But I was. Of course I always felt bad for the victim, but at the same time glad that I wasn't the one being made fun of. I wish I could go back to every one of those instances and have the guts to stand up for that person regardless of the consequences. I tell my kids that when it feels like the whole room is laughing at you, there is at least one person that is feeling your pain, but doesn't have the nerve to draw any of the fire their way.

Sports Nuts

I stayed up way too late last night on the phone with a couple of sports nuts. You two know who you are! Lots of talk about football. And not the kind that I like to participate in... such as who has the cutest quarterback, or which team's uniforms have the prettiest colors. No, these two - you know what??? I'm just going to rat them out right now: It was the Follow That Star Crew, FTS and TSB. So I just put the phone on speaker, laid it down and made a vain attempt to figure out how to put pictures from my digital camera on the computer. Almost worked, but then I couldn't find the camera. My important mission last night was to show you pictures of my cat, Cowboy George and how someone turned him pink.

So I had no time to write anything original, but I did read something interesting yesterday that has to do with football. Maybe I could learn a little and be able to converse intelligently on the subject someday. Nah, not likely...

Football Fans Help This Guy:
Doug is tired of the same old, same old from football commentators. I suggested he start a list and he can present it to those sports talkin' dudes. In order not to get on Doug's nerves, I propose that each phrase can only be used only once per season. I'm betting he's going to need a pretty long list.

November 27, 2005

There's a Saying for This... It's Something Like "What Goes Around Comes Around" or maybe "You'll Get What's Coming to You" Help Me Out, People

My friend and I used to exchange postcards with shocking messages written on the back. It was an attempt to embarrass and amuse each other, and maybe entertain some postal employees en route. I lived in an apartment complex in Houston at the time, ohh... around 20 years ago. The mail carrier neither knew nor cared who I was, and possibly would not have been shocked by anything my friend and I had written. Doubtful anyone on my end even took the time to read the backs of our postcards. But my friend lived in a very small town, where her business was everyone's business. I know. I used to live there. Gossip spread faster than Poopie's fire. I wonder sometimes if the town druggist was hurt that my friend didn't fill her prescriptions in his pharmacy to clear up certain "conditions". Or if the banker wondered why she didn’t come to him for a loan to pay off her drug or gambling debts. The postmaster had to kind of wonder why she would correspond with the likes of me.

Many years later I thought it would be funny to send my husband a postcard that advertised a movie about a porn star. The suggestive message I wrote didn't seem quite as funny when the neighbor from the next street brought it to our door and told us it had been delivered to her by mistake. It became very difficult to look her in the eye at every little league game, football game and PTA meeting after that.

November 25, 2005

The Incredible (Expanding Waistline) Hulk

One time I went on a special diet to be able to get back into my favorite slinky silk dress for a friend's wedding. Thanks to raw broccoli, broiled chicken, and control-top pantyhose the dress not only fit me again, I looked pretty darn good! But then I ate so much at the reception that I began to feel like I was going to rip out every seam! I had wedding cake, groom's cake, little sausages, baby quiches, all kinds of salty nuts, cheese, and more! I pictured myself like that comic-book hero transforming into The Hulk. One more piece of wedding cake and my favorite dress would soon be hanging off me in shreds, just exactly like The Hulk! Except The Hulk didn't wear a dress. And I didn't turn green. And I wasn't mad. But apart from those few differences, it was exactly like that.

November 24, 2005

Probably Shoulda Trained For This

We have a family tradition for Thanksgiving, that might seem a little unusual to some folks. Well, it can't be that unusual as approximately 23,000 other Dallas area residents do this with us. We get up early every year on Thankgiving morning and run in the Dallas YMCA Turkey Trot. Being our sixth year to participate, you would think that I would have trained for this. Well I did, sort of. Just not in the way that would have prevented me from stiffening up on the ride home and requiring a forklift to get me out of the car. The Trot offers two courses: a 3-mile fun run/walk (which my husband and daughter participate in), and an 8-mile course for serious runners and people who want a little bigger challenge. Oh yeah, and my son and me.

A lot of runners have certain rituals that they do before any race. Some pray, some jog to warm up, some stretch. My son and I have one that is slightly different, but still a ritual. It has become a tradition for me to ask him as many as 14,000 times "Are you sure you wouldn't rather run the 3-mile course this year?" This questioning ritual can begin as early as June. Mitch has his part down, and he never seems to tire of it. His response is always, "Mom, we run the 8-mile course, it's what we do."

Each year is a little different, as far as our performance and running time goes. The first one I was very nervous because I had never run that far in my life, and honestly didn't know if I could. One year, my son got some sort of cramp or knee pain within the first mile or two, (probably beat up from a football game) and we walked a lot of the way. There were a few years that I wanted to set a personal record, and Mitch coached me the whole way, pushing and nagging encouraging me. This year after massive weight gain and (did I mention?) too little training... I was back to being iffy about the distance, and doing a lot of walking.

But here is what remains constant, no matter what the weather, or our physical condition: I enjoy every moment of it. Because there is nothing like having "alone time" with one of your kids. To have that kind of time together, uninterrupted, undistracted, undivided attention is (as the credit card commercials say) PRICELESS. I can envision us some day (not too soon, sweetie, I'm talking years) taking turns pushing my grandbaby in a jogging stroller on Thanksgiving morning.

There were two very important elements missing in this, our sixth year. First and most important was my darling daughter. She had been invited to Thanksgiving in Oklahoma by her best friend. In fact, the first thing Mitch said when we picked him up from his apartment was, "Where's the Rat?" So sweetie, when you read this, you were missed. A lot. Second big thing missing was our annual trip to The Black Eyed Pea for lunch. Lots of reasons, one was that Mitch had a pretty hectic schedule of events to attend with his adorable girlfriend, and Mallory was out of town, and we just didn't want to spend the money.

I wish you all a very Happy Thanksgiving, unless you're in another country, then I wish you a very nice and wonderful day.

P.S. Eating out is definitely back on next year, no matter what. I burned my finger pulling the stuffing out of the microwave. Yes, I know it's called STOVE TOP, but screw Martha Stewart and her made from scratch stuff, I took the easy way out.

November 23, 2005

It's ONLY a Lizard! (Um, Yeah, But So Was Godzilla!)

I don't think I will ever forget the day that my daughter came up to me, clutching the back of her pants just below her right hip. She said "Mom, is this a stick? Can you get it out for me?"

We were at my uncle's place. He has a bunch of land and we were all helping him with various chores. Mallory was probably about eight years old and we had given her, and my son the task of stacking firewood. Now, this isn't the even, pretty, and neat firewood like what you see stacked out in front of Albertson's, this was wood from various trees that my uncle, brother, and husband had cut, so the logs were odd shapes and sizes with twigs all around. This was wilderness firewood, people, not city logs.

My daughter had on these stretchy, wide-legged pants and felt something itchy on her leg. She kept focused on her chore of hauling the wood, until she felt the itch again. She thought that somehow one of these small branches had wound up in her trousers. She asked her brother to look. Both kids had been cautioned to watch for snakes, so when he realized this "stick" was on the inside of her pants, he made a decision that mom should be the one to remove it. Maybe because he was being considerate, and figured I needed something to do. Maybe it was because he knew what would happen, and wanted to have a little fun. Not sure what his reason was, but watch for comments as he usually reads my blog. Anyway, he sent her up the hill to me. Why not their dad? Because he was on the roof helping to construct a huge metal building with my uncle. So up the hill to the house she goes where I am working on something in the kitchen (don't laugh) with my aunt.

Mallory beckoned me to come out and help her with something as she stood just outside the screen door. Still very calm, not knowing that her chicken-shit poo mother was about to have a major screaming breakdown and turn the whole peaceful setting into terror and chaos for everyone nearby.

Now remember, she is clutching the stick from the outside of her pants. Has it wrapped up in a wad and pulled away from her skin. When innocent, unsuspecting mother takes hold of this from the outside, then begins to pull the waistband down to reach in with the other hand to grab it, the stupid stick moved. Instantly my heart stopped, and simultaneously I screamed loud enough to be heard for miles. No longer calm, my daughter bolts to run away from me and this stick. Except I still had a death grip on her pants. She did a belly dive onto the gravel path in front of the house. But do you think that would stop her? No, she scrambled, literally crawling out of her pants and ran down the hill - her screams echoing mine. We still didn't even know what we were screaming about, neither one of us. For some reason (nosy) my husband and uncle are yelling from 20+ feet in the air, on the iron beams of this building repeatedly shouting, "WHAT IS IT?" "WHAT'S HAPPENING?" My son was looking up at them thinking he was going to witness his dad learn to fly, that's how quickly he seemed to want off that building. Now add Auntie's yelling to try to calm everyone down: "It's a lizard! It's just a lizard!" Just a lizard, my ass! This thing was a freaking MONSTER.

Watching Mallory run down the hill in nothing but a shirt, cowboy boots and some Barbie panties wasn't funny at the time, but is now. (sorry, girl but it is) She spent the rest of that weekend with rubber bands cuffed around the legs of her pants at the ankles. And I considered doing the same!

Ever Notice....

If you hear a good song and jump up and start dancing around the room, the dog will look at you like she's in love, but the cat will walk away in disgust.

November 21, 2005

Sometimes You Feel Like A Nut, Sometimes You Don't

I HATE when I get in these crying jags where I cry during some crappy sappy re-run of a stupid sit-com - of all things!

I HATE when I cry for no apparent reason.

I HATE when I make an ass of myself.

I HATE it when I get brave enough to finally come out of my shell around someone, but then I come TOO far out and reveal too much about myself. It’s so embarrassing, I mean... it’s too late to jump back in the shell, I've already seen the look on their face: shock, horror, or disbelief. And NO... They didn’t see me naked!

November 20, 2005

The Old "I Don't Have Much To Say So I'll Add A Big Picture And Increase The Font Size" Trick

Sometimes I re-live the magic of the day that I was dubbed "Mother Dork". Much the same way that I imagine Miss America fondly remembers the night she received her crown. My daughter bestowed this honorable title upon me when she noticed how ridiculous I look in the car belting out "I’m On the Top of the World" along with my Carpenter’s tape. And ssshhh, don’t tell, but I’m also a huge Barry Manilow fan.

November 19, 2005

Really Random Stuff That Has No Common Theme, So Don't Give Me Any Grief, People

I have several "draft" posts that I cannot seem to finish. Maybe some of you can relate. Funny thing is, the one I've been working on the longest is about procrastination. I'm not joking! So here are some random paragraphs that I've written in the past. Please don't think any one paragraph has anything to do with another. (Especially you, FTS & Jules.)
Sometimes I really want to do a cartwheel. I just don't know how. And I have tried to learn many different times in my life. I'm guessing that the ratio of arm strength to butt size is the reason why I can't. OK, if not a cartwheel, at least one of those cool high jumps in the air where you click your heels together on one side. What commercial was that from? Oh, shoot, I can't remember. Great! Now I won't be able to sleep tonight wondering.
A lady near me in the line at the bakery ordered a muffin and three butters. The snotty girl behind the counter told her, "Well, I'll have to charge you for two of them". I didn't like the way she said that. And it seemed to embarrass the customer, even though she replied that it was OK. You know what? She can have my butter. Butter for everyone, it's on me, people! I have ordered fourteen thousand muffins from that place over the years and never once asked for butter. What is the big deal if she wants three?

Ranting and raving can have some benefits. One time I tried to break up a fight between my two children. I started out calmly questioning their inability to get along, and then proceeded to become a screaming lunatic. Later, from my bedroom, I could hear them having a civil conversation. Sure, they were probably discussing my psychotic behavior, but at least they finally agreed on something.
I hate it when I won't change something that I don't like about myself. I know that some things I just have to accept, like my big feet. But there are things I could change, but don't. If I say I really want to change, but then won't make the effort I am really lying to myself. That's not very smart telling myself a lie; I'll get caught every time!
I wonder sometimes if I am making a positive difference in anyone's life. There are so many people in my life that have helped me with their kindness, wisdom and experience and I don't even know if some of them realize it. The thing is; how do I return the favor to them? They are the ones that already have it all together and are so wonderful. What could I possibly have to offer them?

I just KNOW that I would make a really great wealthy person. I only need to win the lottery to prove that I am right.

November 18, 2005


Oh I KNOW the reason we all have to have that word verification for comments. But am I the only person who rarely gets it right on the first try??? But what ticks me off, dangit, is I DON'T WANT A NEW WORD! I want to know what I did wrong on the one I messed up on!

November 17, 2005

Richard Simmons, Help Me, Please!

I'm very disappointed about my expanding girth. I've been eating way too much and gaining a ton of weight lately. My floor is littered with dropped items that I am too fat to bend over to pick up, but that are too heavy to pick up with my toes. It is becoming more difficult to button up my jeans and still breathe. Pretty soon I’m going to have to make a choice. And most of the people I know would rather have me stop breathing than have me walk around with my pants undone.

I Can't Think of a Title For This Post, So Sue Me

Have you ever known someone that has always intimidated you, and then one day you decide, "hey, they’re no better than me, I can face that person" ? Soon after I transferred to another location within my company, I looked across the employee cafeteria and noticed my old boss and his boss. After I finished my meal, I made a special trip to their table to say hello and chat and show them how confident and secure I had become. Smiling at my reflection later in the restroom mirror I had to cut my self-congratulatory thoughts short when I discovered the huge chunk of roast beef imbedded in my front teeth.

Ever notice how difficult it can be to tell someone that they have something embarrassing going on like maybe food on their face? If you ever see me with a booger hanging out of my nose, or the tampon string showing from under my bathing suit, I want to be told and I want to be told fast! I don’t care how uncomfortable it is for you! Don’t waste precious time trying to figure out how to put it delicately. Because when I do eventually discover this offensive thing, I am going to spend a great deal of time trying to calculate how long it could have been that way, and recalling every single person I may have come in contact with since. You'll want your name to be at the recent end of that timeline!

November 15, 2005

Remembering Quality Time With The Family - Ah, Those Were The Days!

One evening about 11 or 12 years ago the whole family went out to dinner with my in-laws to a lovely Italian restaurant. Being the unfit mother that I am, totally engrossed in the adult conversation I didn't immediately notice what my toddler daughter was doing with her macaroni and cheese. When I did finally look over, I saw that she was putting both hands into her dish and luxuriously spreading the cheese all over her face and up and down each arm. "It's lotion", she explained. I asked her to look around at the other diners and let me know if she saw anyone else applying food to their skin. She paused with elbows lifted and hands part way to her face, scanned the room, shrugged and said "nope", then went right back to her cheese bath.

When the kids were younger, my husband and I would occasionally take them to play tennis at night on a lighted court. One night, (for some dumb reason) when we finished, we decided to walk on a nearby "nature trail" that wound down through the woods. Oh boy, the kids were about to learn that mom is afraid of the dark. My husband and son walked first on the trail to break through all those annoying spider webs. My daughter endured a whole mile of my fingernails gouging into her upper arms as I flung her little body from one side to the other putting it between me and every scary sound I heard. I guess fear is highly contagious because I noticed that she imitated every gasp and stifled scream an instant after mine! Attempting to reassure her, my husband pointed to a sign that read something like "stay on the trail because of the wildlife." He said we were "safe" on the trail. In her most "Ohmigosh, that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" voice, she asked, "Well, can the ANIMALS read that sign?"

From the "Wish You Coulda Been There" files:
My son (during a driving lesson): "Stop screaming, mother!"
Me: "I always scream when my life flashes before my eyes!"
My son: "Well it makes me nervous!"

November 14, 2005

Friends Don't Let Friends Blog Drunk

This morning I turned on my computer to delete the previous post, but decided to first check my email. Good thing I did. MADB (Mothers Against Drunk Bloggers) had written to me and asked me to keep it up there. They want to link to it as an example of just what can happen when you place a drunk in front of a keyboard. Or is it place a keyboard in front of a drunk? Either way, I like to help all I can. Maybe that will count as community service.

I would like to apologize to anyone that I left comments for in the past 24 hours. I honestly cannot remember every blog I visited, and everything I said. But that's why they have that little trash can icon. Feel free to delete any comments you find from me. Actually, I'm begging you to delete any comments you find from me! I owe someone a personal apology, if only I knew who that was. I left one rambling comment somewhere, that from what I remember may have had enough words in it to qualify for this NaNo contest I keep hearing about. Well, the word count ranked way up there, but I doubt if the quality of the comment did.

Apologies out of the way, I'm sure you've all forgiven and forgotten, right? So now, I will keep you waiting no longer and answer the questions that came up from my previous post:

Saw 2 was icky. So why did I go see it? Like I said, bad things happen to bad people. It was payback for tricking my daughter earlier in the day: I asked Mallory to go to the mall with me - I just failed to mention it was an antique mall. After what I consider to be a very brief time there, she mentioned something about how it was sucking the life out of her (or words to that effect). My daughter slumped down onto a $900 antique chair, and an antique elderly lady walking past tried to buy the shoes from her feet. The woman lost interest when I told her the girl goes with.

Matthew: I'm not sure how much Seth and Ro take this particular show on the road. It is my understanding that they also have a lot of individual endeavors. Ro has art exhibits, and will soon be featured on PBS. Seth is currently working on the score to some movie. Too cool!

Jules, I am pretty sure that Seth has chosen me to be his publicist. I just have to finish going over the paperwork. I was so excited when Seth pointed me out and I saw a gentleman heading my way with the contract. All that legal mumbo jumbo is hard to decipher, though - something about a restraining order and 1,000 feet, I don't know. Obviously I am going to have to do a little more research so I can do a really good job at this.

FTS: I thought you weren't going. Dang, I shouldn't have told you what I'd be wearing, you'd have never known that was me standing on the chair.

And finally, Poopie. I know you know the definition for the word "tad", I'm betting you want my definition of it... like in ounces, or glasses, or bottles? Don't know why for sure, but I am suddenly fond of that word. I just like it. I'm betting Old Hoss would know the exact meaning. Hoss? Help me out here? Please?

November 13, 2005

I'm Here To Tell Ya....

Hey, ya know what? I believe in that saying: "Bad things happen to bad people." And so I'm here to tell you... Oh shoot I forget...but it was a lot of things - about moi.

FIRST: I knew that FTS's cat was a female. I also knew that she was a drunken... uhh... cat, and that this would be really difficult for her would never be seen with US, so I purposely swiped the wrong kitty. Also, I wanted to see if FTS was paying any attention. This is a typical screening process I put all my future husbands blog buddies through to see if they adore me are really reading my posts. Lest you all think I am an abuser of poor, innocent animals, I think you should know that I am not. I spent a better part of the evening picking off the whipped-cream that dried after my daughter slopped some on Cowboy George's head. I mean, try as he might, how's a cat supposed to reach THAT with his tongue? And obviously, our dog was too big a CHICKEN to help him out with his predicament.

At one time this evening, the post had a purpose... some meaning... perhaps something very profound. Given the fact that I have been forced to see "SAW 2" with my daughter, and then consumed a tad (I love that word) too much wine... I have forgotten what I originally intended to say.

But hey, in case you've been a reader since the time I admitted to Peeing In the Wetsuit, I have given it a lot of thought. Even consulted an expert. Trust me, this guy lives in the Cayman Islands and goes diving on his lunch break, so if ANYBODY knows, he does!

Oh, wait! I finally remembered the REAL reason I wanted to make a post tonight. And I'd better do it now, so I can get some sleep: Jules and I never really did kidnap FTS's cat. (Well, truthfully, I can't vouch for what SHE was up to, but I DO have an alibi.) I was at an awesome event. I listened to my buddy Seth Simmons play his incredible original piano music, while his artist friend Rolando "Ro" Diaz painted a picture. If you are in the Dallas area, or plan to be around mid-December when they do their next show, please be my guest and watch this amazing event. Not only would I love to meet you, I would love for you to experience such an event. There is no advertising for this, it is strictly underground, word-of-mouth. And I happen to have a big mouth.

Feeling a Tad Guilty About This Post, But Aww, What The Heck?

The incredibly talented (and probably totally gorgeous) FTS just today named me "This Week's Spotlight Blog". While I am very grateful for this honor, I'm pretty sure it was just an attempt to keep me from posting this story today. You see, my sister Jules and I have been trying to hook up with FTS and have a few margaritas and actually meet him in person. What's the harm in that, right? But the problem is, that we waited too long to actually get around to it... giving him the opportunity to read our blogs and get a little more insight as to what he's getting himself into.
Basically, I guess the guy is now a little scared to meet us. So Jules and I catnapped kidnapped THE CAT WHO OWNS HIM and took kitty out for margaritas. But never fear, we returned the cat. But not without first taking this incriminating shot before we dropped him off at the door, knocked and ran.

November 11, 2005


FOR SALE: One Ladies Ducati Motorcycle Jacket - Very Beautiful

I'm sure you're wondering, "Why, Ivy? Why would you sell your beloved tri-colored leather jacket that came all the way from Italy and cost a bazillion dollars, and according to number 10 on your list of (almost) 100 things about you, you want to be buried in?" Why? you ask... (I'm just going to keep on pretending you want to know) I'll tell you why:

  1. I could use some cash
  2. It doesn't fit
  3. I sold my motorcycle
  4. I changed my mind about dying someday
  5. and oh, did I mention it doesn't fit?

I had wanted a motorcycle since I was in kindergarten. We lived near a teenager, who my baby brother called "Motorcycle David". Motorcycle David would do wheelies out on our street, and attracted quite a bit of attention with the sound and sight of his bike racing by. Looking back, I am betting the parents in our neighborhood weren't thrilled, but I, for one, thought he was amazing. I finally bought a motorcycle at the age of 41 after enrolling in "Motorcycle Operator Training Program" (required curriculum for a mid-life crisis)

My new motorcycle was SO much fun. I cannot describe what a thrill it was my first time on the freeway when I was passed first on the right by a semi-truck immediately followed by a semi on the left. I know, I know, I should have been passing them! But for that brief moment in the lane between the two of them - better than Six Flags!

There was something about being a motorcyclist that made me feel tough. One day I avoided having to kick some women's butts for getting on my nerves at a PTA meeting. All it took was a dirty look, and a glance down at the motorcycle helmet beside my chair for them to shut up and behave themselves. Try it sometime. If you don't want to actually be a biker, just carry a helmet in with you when you go somewhere, they don't have to know it's a prop.

It turned out that I was not as tough a biker as I thought I was. And not nearly as fearless as I would like for people to believe that I am. I noticed that when I was first learning to drive it and would meet another biker on the road, they always did this cool side wave with their left hand. Yeah, hi guys! Nice to see you, too, but guess what? I'm brand new at this, I'm going 70 M.P.H. and I'm afraid to let go with one hand, OK? Hope you'll understand!

Also turned out that having a motorcycle didn't make me cool. Sigh. I was just a dork on a cool bike. I had no idea there was so much motorcycle etiquette - oh, I had so much to learn! For instance, did you know that you don't "decorate" your bike as I had planned to do? You may "customize" it, or even "dress it up", but never, ever, say you're going to decorate it. And a white helmet was a fashion faux pas. Heck, I started out with a black riding suit and brown boots! People are probably still laughing at me. Maybe that wasn't some secret biker-brotherhood wave I was getting on the road. Maybe they were trying to say "go home and change!" or "don't ride so close to me, I don't want anyone to think I'm with you!"

Then came the day that I ordered that beautiful leather jacket over the Internet. This thing was made in Italy where my motorcycle came from. Even has the bike name and logo embroidered on the collar. It had me worried, though since I couldn't try it on and it only came in S, M, or L. I mean, what if large Italian women are not as big as large American women, I wondered? It finally arrived and I was too fat for it. Yeah, it did zip up, but it seemed like being able to breathe would come in mighty handy out there on the road. But I don't know, I finally decided that if it looked good on me, breathing was not that big of a deal!

I eventually mastered the cool side wave when meeting another motorcyclist on the road. Was it coincidence that I could finally do this, after my purchase of black boots, leather jacket, and a cool red and black helmet? I think not!

I once put this request in writing in the event that I would suddenly die: "When I die, I want to be buried with my motorcycle jacket on (someone, please let it out in back so it doesn't look so tight) and wearing my boxing gloves. And I don't mean to be morbid, but I do not want a calm, serious expression on my face. I want the mortician to fix me up with a great big grin; I want it to look like I'm saying "Wheeeee!"

Then I tried to help a friend of mine come up with a wacky mid-life crisis theme of her own. She rejected my idea of buying a motorcycle saying that she would be dead on day one. Yeah, death does conflict with our goal here. After all, it is my opinion that the key word in 'mid-life crisis' is life!

I was very stingy with my Italian motorcycle, even though most things that I own I share very willingly. One day my husband told me that as he passed by our garage he heard my motorcycle calling to him. He CLAIMED that it was calling out to him, saying "Take me for a ride!" I never even cracked a smile, never offered the key, just went right on doing the dishes and said: "that's impossible, because my bike doesn't speak ENGLISH."

Ah, but alas, now it is history. I have sold the bike. After almost 2 years and over 8,000 crash-free miles (unless you count the time two times I didn't get the kickstand all the way down and it tipped over in the garage) So you see, the jacket is in extremely good shape. Rarely worn, and the few dead bugs are almost completely scraped off.

Things That Don’t Work as Well in Real Life as They Do On Cartoons (Not That I'm Speaking From Experience)

  • Winding a jump-rope around your waist and asking your friend to "pull real hard" and watch you spin like a top
  • Laying across the sidewalk, so the neighbor boy can jump over you "Evel Kneivel" style with his bicycle
  • Kneeling down at the edge of the pool and trying to do a front roll into the water
  • Hanging on to the ski rope after both water-skis have gone flying from your feet
  • Trying to catch a wild rabbit with a fishing net
  • Helping baby Easter chicks learn to fly by sending them down the slide
  • Donning inline skates for the first time and putting the dog on a leash to pull you

November 10, 2005

Don't Laugh, It'll Only Encourage Me

My mother never appreciated my sense of humor and adventure when I was little. In fact, she used to tell people, "Don’t laugh, it'll only encourage her!" As a small child, I considered myself to be a comic genius – the problem was that I was the only one who thought so. Like the time when I was little and our family was having dinner at my parents’ friends’ house. I couldn't wait for the meal to be over so I could tell the hostess, "That was awful… good!" My timing needed work. I guess the pause for humorous effect after the word "awful" was either a bit too long, or else my mother's reaction time too swift as I was yanked out of my chair and paddled before I could get out the word "good".
Then there was the time that I was presented with a bunch of packages of those colored tights we all wore as little girls. I always loved to think of them as panty hose. I was about first or second grade, was in my room and was amused at how small they look brand new before being worn for the first time. My mother had a friend over chatting in the kitchen and I thought I'd interrupt and share my humorous observation with them. You know, give them a good little laugh. So I held up the tiny looking hose from the waist band and dangled them around and said, "ummm, mom, these are too small". She just didn't get it. She grabbed that pair and all the other packages and handed them over to her friend and said, "Here, give these to Mandy, they'll fit her."

Don't believe moms can ruin a good punch-line, or stifle a great invention? Check out Lois' guest post for further proof in her "masterpiss".

And remember, don't laugh. It will only encourage me.

November 08, 2005

Further Proof I'm A Goober - AS IF (sigh) Any Were Required

Flash back to a time when I was young, single, and childless... therefore making me an expert at child-rearing.

I was 20 years old, and I lived with my sister and her two-year-old son. Trying to understand an incident involving my nephew, a bead, a nostril and a doctor's visit I wondered: how can something so tiny placed inside your nose not just fall right out? So I tried it! Yes, you heard read right, I stuck a bead in my nose. Staring at my reflection in the mirror on the bathroom medicine chest, my conversation with myself went something like this: "Hmmm, it didn't just fall out." "Oh well, I'll just pull it out." Then with a little more urgency: "Don't panic, Ivy! And quit pushing it up farther!" Then, "OK, Calm down, you are making this worse!" And finally: "Dey will bury be wid dis bead id by doze before I ever adbit dis to anyone."

Old Faithful

I was going to write a post on procrastination, but awwww, it can wait. This morning as I stepped out of the shower and reached for a clean towel... I found that I bypassed the new one, and went for one that must be at least ten years old. Then I had to wonder why. Fortunately I have all day to ponder on this. So except for the possibility of missing my morning nap on the way in to work, or the one I sneak in at my desk after lunch, I am not likely to lose any significant amount of sleep over this one.

Although it is true that the brand new, fluffy towel does feel good against my skin... there is something to be said for experience and loyalty. That old towel has dried many a body, big and small in these ten years. And possibly the dog, or a flooded floor. While some may think that is disgusting, I have faith in Tide (or whatever's on sale). Something makes me feel that the new towel is just a bit too frou-frou to do a good job.

Oh no! Does that mean that I am discriminating against soft towels? Am I a towel bigot? Do I think that a pretty, fluffy towel just can't do the job? But if I choose the new towel in the morning, won't that mean that I am tossing aside the old? The one that has proven to me that it is dependable and reliable, if a bit faded. Shoot, now I won't be able to sleep tonight.

November 06, 2005

Driving Miss Daisy Dukes

Have I mentioned how I long for the day when my teenage daughter can drive? I just returned from a butt-numbing six hours in the car to pick her up from her best friend's house in Oklahoma. You know, it never used to bother me to run the kids all around. I knew they depended on me for a ride, and I was happy to do it. But driving her up there on a Friday night and picking her up on Sunday night is wearing me down. One of the problems is the timing. It always seems that I need to leave to get her just about the time that I need a nap, or a stiff drink. Neither one of which are a good mix with driving. We don't do this every weekend, but often enough to generate a few more gray hairs. Sometimes I feel that we're spending good quality time together, which I treasure, I really do! But tonight's ride went something like this:

"Mom, can we please turn the heater on? I'm freezing." I must tell you that she asked this in the very nicest way. Not demanding, not whining, it was a very polite request. However, she has no idea what it's like to be an overweight, middle-aged woman. I didn't have the A/C on, but I surely did not want the heater on. From now on, Stick-Girl must come prepared with blanket, sweater, parka... whatever it takes to keep her warm and keep mom from roasting.

"Mom, we already passed that Sears"
"I know, I'm lost, dammit! I missed my turn somewhere. That does it! From now on I'm going to pick you up before dark! I always get lost after dark!"
"Mom, you always get lost in the daytime, too!"
"I know. But it's easier to see where I'm lost!"

I am leaning forward as far as my seatbelt will allow. I feel that the 6 - 10 inches I've managed to get my face closer to the windshield makes a huge difference in being able to read street signs. Darling daughter alternates between text-messaging the friends she just left and snoozing on the drive home.

As you can tell, we made it back. She, of course walked right back to her room and is sound asleep. I am wound up because driving does not relax me. I need a few minutes more to get the tension out of my body before I can even attempt sleep.
While we're on the subject of my daughter...
How is it that she cannot remember something I have said to her fourteen times - things like, "take out the trash", "put your laundry away", or "will you PLEASE go brush your teeth?" But yet she can remember ONE time, (when distracted by a good television show, a kitchen fire, or one too many glasses of wine) I supposedly agreed to let her get her belly-button pierced.

November 05, 2005

Situations In Which I Would Be Dead So Fast It Is Not Even Funny

I watch a little TV now and then, and sometimes even go to the movies. I have observed some situations, mostly in action/adventure films, where I would surely not last very long. I believe that in these instances, I would have to just say, "So long, it's been nice knowing you, I am about to DIE now." Depending, of course, on whether there is enough time or breath for me to speak those last words. Or I could just shorten my final farewell to "AAaaaaaaaaauuhhh!" Following are just a few of the many predicaments that I would likely not survive:

Hanging from a cliff (helicopter, building ledge, etc...) by one hand. Yeah, right. I can't even hold my body weight up with TWO hands. Color me dead.

Trying to pull someone up from the above situation. Yeah, sure. Let me lean out slightly to give you a hand and my body weight will send us both spiraling downward.

Foot chase scenes. It's really hard for me to imagine myself in either of these roles: the chase-er, or the chase-ee, because I would simply give up either way. But just to get my point across, let's say that I HAD to run like these guys on TV. They sprint through traffic, dash through alleys, cut through back yards, run up fire escapes... all at full speed. Heck, I get winded just watching them on screen. I would have pulled a hamstring then fallen down DEAD with a heart attack before I'd taken fourteen steps.

Any type of jumping, whether leaping from building to building across the rooftops in a chase scene, or from one boat onto another, or off of something about to explode. Jumping is just not my thing. I have to think long and hard about jumping at all, and then I always decide: uh-uh. Not gonna happen. So put me in one of those situations where my life depends on it... and I'd be history.

Being held for ransom. I can already hear the laughter. I don't know one friend or family member that would scrape up two bucks for my safe return, much less 2 million.

But most likely I will never find myself in any of those situations in real life. The closest I've come to any of them, so far is; pulling myself up off the floor using the edge of a desk when I fell out of my office chair; chasing after a teenage driver half a block waving a wooden spoon when he peeled out and sped past my house; and jumping over the cat (although that one was technically tripping). As for the ransom... I have yet to be kidnapped. But I'm saving my money just in case.

November 04, 2005

Ehhh? Say Again?

I wonder how many times in life I have misunderstood someone, or have been misunderstood. I'm sure it happens a lot, but I wonder how often I maybe never even realized there was a miscommunication.

Makes me think of that time when I was a teenager buying something from a convenience store, and the clerk told me that I needed a bath. A little hurt and embarrassed, I went into a lengthy explanation about how I was helping my boyfriend paint his car. You know, first there’s the sanding, and then comes the coat of primer. So of course I was a little dirty, but did I smell bad too? She just looked at me like I was a crackpot and repeated (a little louder this time), "You need a BAG?"

Oh and then there was that time that I was in training at my new part-time job as a hotel front-desk clerk. I was carefully following the fields on the computer screen that I needed to ask the guest standing before me. I smiled up at him and said, "your name, please?" He replied, "And you are…" Thinking he was joking with me and wanted to know my name before he would tell me his, I very enthusiastically said, "Ivy! My name is Ivy, nice to meet you!" He had a strange look on his face when he began again to start spelling his last name for me, "N-U-R-K-O-W-S-K-I"
P.S. A big thank you to Se7en who made my new template. I've had some very nice compliments and I want to be sure he gets credit! Click on his "Blogs Gone Wild" over on the left side of my page to see all his fancy stuff!

I Am Not Devious (much)

My sister Jules recently posted this horrible lie on her site. Poor thing, her memory is shot. (Too many birthdays) She only got two facts exactly right in this whole story: #1 yes, our dad was in the Air Force, and #2 yes, I did say my own name out loud. But do I have to pay for this crime for the REST OF OUR LIVES? I am searching my brain trying to think of even ONE OTHER time in my life when I was "devious"... and oh... wait! I just remembered another one...

One of my 8th grade teachers reminded me of the child-catcher from the movie "Chitty, Chitty Bang, Bang". One thing that woman would not tolerate was candy or gum chewing in her classroom. So every day before I walked into her room, I would apply a heavy coating of Lip Smackers lip-gloss. The bubble-gum and grape scents worked best to drive her nuts. She would walk around the room sniffing at all of the students demanding to know who was guilty. I would innocently open my mouth to show her I had nothing to hide in there. Oh...some day I know I will have to answer for my evil ways.

I'd like to leave you with this little saying, which is sure to become a classic (the first part of it already is....)

Oh, what a tangled web we weave... when we put more than one bra at a time in the washer.

November 03, 2005

Honey, You Ain't Woman Enough To Take My Man

Very soon, my sister and I will be meeting FTS live and in person. The plan was, however, that I would be single by the time we got together for margaritas and table dances (I hear he does a pretty good one). See, ever since I read his profile and a few of his posts, I thought: "ding, ding, ding, HUSBAND NUMBER 2!!! " (Hoss, dearie, you were my first choice. But you're runnin' outta time to make your pile, hon.)

Picture our lives together, ahhh... It's like a dream:

Every evening, side by side we sit. Each with our own computer, blogging away. Him uncorking that nice bottle of Shiraz and pouring himself a drink into a beautiful stemmed glass. Me unscrewing the cap to my clearance sale jug of Merlot and taking a swig right from the bottle. Mornings are great as he wakes up early and styles my hair to make sure that Ivy will NEVER again have a bad hair day. Each night dining at only the best drive-through places. Him sitting at his computer writing eloquent and intriguing stories. Me sitting beside him scratching my head wondering why spell-check doesn't recognize the word doofus.

Then it happens. We start arguing about whose turn it is to throw away the fast food wrappers. And he complains that I talk all through "LOST". Then I bitch because he chopped off too much hair and I look like sh poo in bangs. Next thing you know I'm stealing his password and leaving nasty comments at all the WOMEN's sites. And he gets mad and starts calling me a "comment who schlut". and then...
MY SISTER moves in for the kill.

But then... in walks
Monty, singing the title song. and Jules and I are totally out of the picture. Ahh, but like I said from the start... it was like a dream.

P.S. Who in the H. E. double toothpicks keeps eating the Halloween candy, then putting the wrapper back in the bucket, fooling me into thinking there's still CHOCOLATE left???

November 01, 2005

Numbers - 1, Ivy - 0 (I swiped that from Hoss)

I like words. I don't like numbers. I'm still trying to check the math on Peter's post about a cat ranch from a few days ago. I even dislike numbers on the clock. Like this time change, it drives me nuts. I get so crazy thinking, well.. it is now x'oclock, and it used to be y'oclock a few days ago, so YES, that means I can go eat. Or go to bed. Whatever... so I try to pretend like that hour change never happened. Otherwise I will dwell on it for days. It's bad enough that I have to wait for spring for the clock on my VCR, my motorcycle, and the watch to my heart-rate monitor to be right again.

I had a similiar issue in that marathon I did... when I looked at my watch as the gun went off at the starting line, it was off by 5 minutes from the published race time. So for six hours I found myself looking at that stupid watch and trying to calculate what time it really was. Doesn't seem that difficult until you forget which way the 5 minutes goes. So then I had to think, "well if it's this way then it's this time, but if it's that way... sigh. Some of you will never understand (nor will you want to) how my mind works. It's sort of like when a record gets stuck. Remember when the needle just got hung and played the same spot over and over? I do that sometimes when I go to the grocery store. I repeat the items in my head in an attempt to remember what I went in there for, but then find myself three hours later still repeating those items and I'm long gone from the store. But I'm getting sidetracked. The subject was numbers.

Here is something I have been trying to work out in my head since I was 20 years old:

If 7 girlfriends drive 50 miles to spend the weekend at the beach, splitting the cost of a $150.00 a night hotel room, and
one of the girls gets 7 "direct hits" by seagulls in 2 days, and none of the other 6 girls gets pooped on even ONCE, how many…

Oh forget it; word problems have always given me a headache.

Mouth Terminated. Receives "Fails to Meet Expectations" Rating

My mouth has hereby been fired from being my spokespeice. I will no longer be using its services. All of its former communication duties will be taken over by my hands, which will convey messages either by keyboard, pen and paper, whiteboard, or a thump to the head. Over and over, time and time again, my mouth has proved to me that it is just not a team player. There have been many times when, without any direct orders from my brain it just begins to speak. But then today, when I desperately needed it to speak, it remained silent, failing me miserably. My brain kept sending it a signal to "tell the judge this, tell the judge that... and what about THIS... Come on mouth, SAY SOMETHING! You remember! We've talked about all this before!" Instead, when it heard the judge say that he WOULD NOT GRANT MY DIVORCE, my stupid mouth just sat there. And then the lips started trembling, and then the tears started coming, and then the face got all hot. Oh sure, everybody listen to that stupid quivering mouth why don't you? Just abandon me. Just stand there and bawl like a baby in front of the judge. Screw you all, who needs you? Well not me, I'm taking the rest of the body and we're outta here. At least the legs still do what I want! (well, not always - actually, I can't quite convince them how cool it would be to be able to do the splits, or say... put my feet behind my head). So I turned and fled the courtroom. But that idiot crybaby mouth followed me to the car and we sat there sobbing until my head started to hurt.

Ah, but maybe this is all my brain's fault after all, for thinking that I could get out of this marriage without making a couple of lawyers rich.

Forgotten Quip and Wish Me Luck

I have been worried about how my last post may have left you all with the false impression that I can still run. After gaining (literally, I'm not joking this time) 80 pounds in exactly one year... I am just now getting back to the gym and starting over with walking. Next step: wogging (that's faster than a walk but not quite a jog). Oh heck, let me tell you the real reason I couldn't sleep last night: I forgot to post my favorite quip that I wrote during those running days:

I couldn't sleep last night thinking about how fortunate I was to start my period on the morning of my first marathon. Forget 18-hour bras, forget 12-hour allergy relief, forget toxic shock syndrome, I need a 6-hour tampon. Someone should make those. They could call them marapons, or tampathons.

Check back tonight, I plan to make another post. Today is November 1st. I will go to court this morning for my final divorce decree. That is, if this goober - who is too cheap poor to hire a lawyer did all the legal paperwork correctly.