December 31, 2005

Random Stuff About My Other Kid, and Random Kids, and Just Being a Kid... Ya Know?

This is my son, Mitch. He's 19. Guess what he and his girlfriend got me for Christmas??? TWO Michael Buble CD's with DVD's, plus the soundtrack to Rent! You know what was really cool and meant a lot to me? He sat down to watch one of the DVD's with me. What a great kid!

Krisco's got me reminiscing about when the kids were little.

Have you ever noticed how happy you can make a kid just by pinning a dishtowel to the back of his shirt like a cape? Why can't we just do that as adults every now and then? If we feel like having a little fun, adventure and just as if we had super-powers, we could wear a cape. And jump off the back of the couch.

This morning I was having my usual bowl of cereal for breakfast and it occurred to me, boy, I sure do miss getting a toy in the box. I don't remember which was more fun as a kid: getting to the prize before my siblings did, or the challenge of squeezing the box in such a way that I could slip my arm down the inside and retrieve the toy immediately after opening the package. Either way led to opportunities for further challenges.


Happy New Year, People!

December 29, 2005

Yep, I Taught Her That! (Lessons That Fortunately Didn't Stick)


<--My baby girl, Mallory.
YYYYY
"Yikes! I have only one week to learn how to catch, throw, and hit a softball." That is what I said the day I found out that my daughter's team was having a "Kids vs. Parents" game for their end of season party. Why didn't they warn me at the beginning of the season? I wouldn't have jumped up cheering every great play she made lying yelling, "I taught her that!"
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One day about a year ago, my husband and I were taking Mallory to her golf lesson. Her dad was trying to stress all this trivial stuff about her form, equipment, and etiquette on the golf course. I butted in and said, "Sweetie, it's not how you play, it's how good-looking your golf-pro is and how cute you look in your little outfit". Of course they knew I was only kidding. Come on, I'm not that stupid. I know what really matters in golf! It's who gets the highest score, right?
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Recently I brought my daughter downtown to work with me. She observed something about me and was pretty quick to point it out. She noticed that every time I walk by a mirror, window, whatever shiny surface might reflect my image, I "check myself out". Huh? Doesn't every woman do that? Oh wait, I remember the time that I discovered every woman does not do that. It was an after work happy hour and I came back from the restroom very depressed. Of course my friends wanted to know why, so I explained to them that the walls of the bathroom stall were so shiny black that I glanced over and saw my reflection. I got for the first time, a glimpse of what I looked like with skirt hiked up sitting on the toilet. Gut hanging over one way; rear the other, thighs hanging over both sides. Very depressing. Guess those other women hadn't noticed that before, because it was their next trip down the hall that ruined their night.

December 28, 2005

True Story - I Swear This Happened

I've been out of high school 25 years now. At my 10-year reunion one former football jock raised his shirt to show off his big, fat belly, patted it proudly and proclaimed, "See how good my wife cooks!" My scrawny husband lifted his shirt, patted his shipwreck-survivor-like ribs (gently, so they wouldn't crumble to dust) and said, "You see how mine cooks."

December 26, 2005

Pardon Me, But Your Slip Is Showing?

You know… when one morning you decide to wear another skirt underneath your really itchy skirt rather than a slip because it’s longer than your slip - thereby offering more of a protective barrier between the itchy skirt and your legs… and when later in the day this "substitute slip" (which happens to have a very wild and colorful pattern) decides to come unbuttoned and hang down below your nice, beige, conservative, itchy skirt in the back by oh, say four or five inches… it’s nice to know that someone will tell someone else to inform you that it shows.

I don't expect anyone to follow, or understand any of this.

December 24, 2005

I'm Just Sitting Here Remembering Little Bits of Christmas Pasts. Kinda Like Scrooge, Only Without the Terror of Ghosts Guiding Me Through It

One of my favorite Christmas memories was when my mom bought me a plane ticket to spend Christmas with a friend in South Dakota. I was 15, my family and I had moved (totally against my will) to Oklahoma, leaving all my best friends from 9th grade behind. So I went to Nancy's house and got to see all my old buddies. Just before we went to bed Christmas Eve, I said, "Where are your stockings? Let's hang stockings!" Since that wasn't one of their family traditions, Nancy selected a striped sock from her drawer, and I hung up one of my Starsky & Hutch socks. The next morning we each found a dollar bill in them. N's mom said, she had meant to go outside and find a dog turd to put in them, but didn't because a) it was so cold she didn't want to go out, and b) the frozen dookie would have thawed in the warmth of the house. I realize now, that it's not nice to impose your own traditions on other people at the last possible moment, and expect them to come through. But I was grateful for the dollar, and so happy not to have poo in my S & H sock.

I remember a Christmas when my son was so young that we had to teach and encourage him to rip open the presents. He just didn't grasp the concept that if he tore open one gift and found something cool, that there might be something great in the next box. I was the one that should have learned a lesson there, I had a son who was happy with one gift! Ha HA, if only I'd known. But yet we encouraged him to "Here! rip open another one!" "See what's in this box!" Well, one short year later, the boy had caught on. It was about a week before Christmas, and I walked out of my bedroom and observed his little 2 1/2 year old self dragging a gift from under the tree to his bedroom. After a few ripping sounds, I hid behind the door so he wouldn't see me and watched him repeat this process about four times. He never looked sneaky, just selected a gift, dragged it to his room, opened it, left it laying there (so far all he'd found was some clothes for his aunt, some perfume for a cousin, and a few other boring things), and went back for another. I finally had to put a stop to it because I got the giggles so bad, I was busted hiding behind the door spying on him. Plus I didn't really feel like re-wrapping all those gifts.

Another Christmas memory involves my daughter. It was Christmas 2003, I think. The presents were all wrapped, she shook and felt each one that had her name on it. Intrigued by this one particular gift, pretty heavy for its size, she declared that it was to be the first one she would open. She handled it every day, baffled by what it could be. (does this mean she knew every other gift?) I kept warning her, over and over that it was a gag gift. Finally the day had arrived when she could tear it open. A kitchen fire extinguisher. I am blessed with a daughter that can take a joke, as it was only in early November when she was home alone and had started a grease fire making something to eat, burning herself and most of the kitchen. And unless you think we're cold-hearted and mean... pain and suffering over, most of the scars had healed nicely, (just a few remain on hands and fingers). Her lovely face showed no permanent damage, eyebrows both grown back, insurance paid up, and now it's time to joke about it. Some day when I have a scanner I'll post some pictures of her face and tell you the whole story.

OK, very long post, I know. And now I'm going to try to get my big rear end in gear and do some things around the house.

I hope that you all have a great Christmas Holiday. Wishing you the best!
I remember the Christmas that I was about 12 or 13 years old. We lived in South Dakota at the time. My mom sat us all down - my older sister, my little brother, and me and said that she would like for us to consider how good we had life. She proposed that all the money she would have spent on us for Christmas be spent instead on the children at the nearest Indian reservation. We all agreed, and so mom went out and got all the gifts. She had us pose in the front entry of our house surrounded by toys while she snapped photos of us. Now after all these years, I will admit something I'm ashamed to say that I felt at the time: I recall thinking all the while that mom was really going to get us something. She didn't. Not one thing. But that was the deal, and for some greedy reason, I was disappointed that mom stuck to it. I also look back and although it was a really nice thing for her to do, we kids had no real active part in it, except nodding our heads agreeing to forfeit our gifts. Yes, I do know that we had it good, and didn't need a bunch more "things" that we would likely not appreciate as much as those children did. However, we didn't get any of the joy of shopping for those gifts, and we didn't even get to go with her to deliver them. I know that sounds mean and petty of me, but it's a Christmas memory, and that is after all, the topic. If I had it to do over again, I would suggest that mom let us have a more active role in seeing the good that we were doing.

December 22, 2005

How Do I Apologize To Someone I Might Not Ever See Again, Who Would Likely Run From Me If I Did See Him?

Sigh... I need to make amends. I need to apologize. I feel really bad about something and I don't know how to make it right. I scared the poo (literally, I think) out of a stranger, and I feel terrible about it!

See... a little over a year ago, when I was a "runner" or "jogger" - whatever you want to call it... I did a bad thing. And I'd like to make a public apology.

I used to jog at 4:30 a.m. every day. Faithfully. Same time every morning. I live in a quiet neighborhood and for the few years that I did this, I ran into almost no one; on foot, or in a car. Well... there was the paper boy's car. He and I were pretty much on the same schedule, but he only hit me with the newspaper twice in all that time. Pretty shameful if you ask me, I should have been an easier target at my pace. But enough about him, he's not the one I want to apologize to.

One morning I took off for my jog with my big black Labrador retriever. As the streets were always deserted, I never put her on a leash; it was much more enjoyable for both of us that way. She got in about twice as many miles as me since she ran way ahead, then back to me over and over throughout the route. But once again, I'm straying from the point.

On this particular jogging excursion, I ran into two things that I had thus far never encountered. The first being two other leash-free dogs, and the second thing being a fellow jogger. Dogs and runner did not belong to each other, and here's why I know that:

As I rounded a corner with my lab, the two unattended dogs appeared out of nowhere and made a mad dash toward her. She ran in the direction of home. I ran behind the three dogs (way behind, I might add, needlessly) shouting, "Leave her alone" and "Come here, sit!" all in vain. But guess who was headed our way a couple of blocks distant? Another jogger. Perhaps, (who knows?) for his first time out. At least at that hour, as we'd never crossed paths before.

The poor man saw nothing but three very large dogs running toward him. But I saw him literally stop in his tracks, look around in a panic, and I swear he seemed to consider leaping up on top of a parked car. But the two dogs suddenly stopped chasing my pooch. She then ran back to me, scared almost to death. And I watched the man turn and waddle - I repeat - waddle away down a side street.

Now, I would have liked to have had an opportunity to say I'm sorry. In fact I did try, but he was too far away to hear me saying, "Oh, I'm so sorry, sir, they were chasing her!" "Sir? Sir?" or maybe he just chose to ignore me.

December 20, 2005

Remembering The Age of 5...


When I was 5 years old, I was in Kindergarten. Here are a few of the things I remember about my kindergarten year: I remember getting in trouble for showing a girl how to crack her knuckles. I had to help her with it, and apparently the teacher thought I was trying to hurt her. I think the other little girl did too, and so she missed the best part of the lesson; how you only have to wait about 20 minutes and you can pop each one again. I remember cutting out a picture of a tomato from a magazine that looked more like a circular saw-blade by the time I was through with it. And the teacher, when she saw it said, "You can do better than that." I remember trying to test the teachers' claims that they could see through the walls by raising my head up and looking all around during "nap time". I remember wanting to participate in "Show and Tell" one day, so I cut out a lady's picture from the TV Guide at the last moment before I left the house for school. Hey, it got me up in front of the room, and I just held it up to show the class. The teacher then reminded me there was a "tell" portion to this game, and urged me to say something about the picture. So I said that the woman in the picture was dead. Teacher said, "Oh my! Really? How did she die?" Tragic plane crash, I explained. She then answered how odd that was as she'd just seen the woman on the Jackie Gleason show the very night before. I remember thinking something like "bite me" at that point even though that expression hadn't really become popular yet in 1967.

My buddy LR over at "That's the way my cookie crumbles..." inspired this post, and I hope you'll go read her touching
Life Lessons At 5. It's an awesome post. Enjoy!

Does He Do This on Purpose?

Every morning my cat (Cowboy George) and I crawl out of my bed at the same time. Every morning we have two completely different destinations in mind. Mine is urgent and involves a potty. His destination is the kitchen. We run side by side, bounding for our goals, but then always... and I do mean always there is a point in which we collide. I'm not sure if collide is the correct word, or even the only word to describe this morning event. Because other words like entangle, trip, and squash come to mind. And why is it he can't learn that I will get to his food bowl in a moment? I will not walk out the door without feeding him, but first things, first, Cowboy George! This morning ritual can't be fun for him because sometimes I step on his paw and then he yowls, and I say (as I continue running) "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

I have some reason to think, though, that he may be doing this on purpose! I mean if you were to see that point in which our paths cross, it's like he's doing some sort of dance under my feet. Like his goal is to trip me up each morning or he can't enjoy the rest of his day. Because he could run to the left, and I run to the right and part ways. And I'd meet him at his bowl after I'm finished using mine. But I'm starting to thing the little guy is doing it on purpose!

December 18, 2005

Happy Birthday, Dallas!

Well, not Dallas the CITY. Dallas - as in FTS, our blogging buddy from: Most likely if you read his site, you went there already today. Long before you got bored enough to come see me. If you were already there, I hope you wished him a Happy Birthday. If not, would you please go say hi and do that now? And say that Ivy sent you. Cuz for every person I send his way, that will just be further proof that I have some sort of special powers of mind-control over people I've never met. I've been practicing on Bubba with some success. I got him to post a picture of himself in a Santa hat. Sure, say that he just got new PC equipment, and 'tis the season, and he was probably going to do it anyway... Think what you like, people, I am truly convinced that it was me that caused that to happen. Anyway, obviously this mind-control sort of needs a little quite a lot of work...

Speaking of work, and powers of the mind... I did have one teeny bit of success at using my "Carrie"-like powers. No, I did not trap a bunch of prom-goers in a burning gymnasium. I am not that advanced, OK? Yet. A guy at work used to sit near me, and he drove me nuts with his quirky little noises. One day as I was clenching my teeth in rage at his annoying habits in the next cubicle, I heard him choke on a piece of candy! I briefly immediately felt bad, and thought: Wow, I have got to get these powers under control. Someone could get seriously hurt!

***Hmmmm... someone could get seriously hurt!***

Soon the guy must have sensed my evil powers because he moved to another cubicle, then shortly after that he retired.

Anyway, never fear, people. I have since decided to use my powers in good ways now rather than evil, starting little like wishing FTS a happy birthday, moving right up to helping Hoss make his pile.

I am the only person I know that can be sick for five days and still gain weight. I bet it's my silly superstitious ways of having to follow that old saying. You know the one; "Feed a cold, feed a fever, feed a headache, feed a backache, feed a hangnail, feed a stubbed toe..."

December 17, 2005

I Predict That There Will Be At Least 14 Smart Remarks Regarding Other Reasons I Might Be Avoided

Yawns are contagious.
Colds are contagious.
Why can't being rich be contagious?
Oh, I know... because then the opposite might be true, and people with money would avoid me like the plague.

December 16, 2005

I Had A Fabulously Written Post Ready (Yeah, Right!) But Then THIS Came Up....

Home Fires' incredible Lois Lane, who wrote a killer song on the spot after being given only a title to work with (see it in the comments of my Armadillo post) has once again amazed me with her talent.

A recent
post of mine pondered on the number of cigarettes my friend would be worth in prison. As usual (typical for me) I had nothin'. Just the mere (stolen from a friend) idea for wondering how many we could be worth, but no system (or clue for that matter) for coming up with an answer. But then I got an email from Lois. She has designed a quiz to help you determine just what your cigarette value might be in prison. It's fun to take, even if you're not a smoker. Heck, even if you're not in prison! Here is the rating system:

If your score is:
80 to 100 you're worth 10 cartons
50 to 70 you're worth 4 cartons
30 to 40 you're worth 1 carton
0 to 20 Bend over, this won't hurt a bit

Thanks, Lois, your quiz questions were great and funny, just like you!

December 14, 2005

Be Prepared For Some Really Long Run-on Sentences in This Post, I Kid You Not!

The last time I went out to eat, it was for Mexican food. I had just finished a fantastic meal of chicken enchiladas plus fourteen baskets of chips and 32 cups of salsa. I leaned back in my chair, unzipped my pants, shoved my almost empty plate back, noticed the evil glares from the other restaurant patrons, zipped my pants back up, then reexamined the nearly empty plate. My eyes were fixed on the only remaining item on it: the sour cream. So then I thought... "Boy, I long for the days when my kids were little and thought the sour cream was something worth trying to steal, beg or make a trade for." The kids are older and wiser now and long ago (and after only one time each) realized that the white blob is not something sweet. Beats me why they'd ever think that whipped cream or ice cream would be side by side with a matching mound of guacamole and across from the refried beans and rice, anyway. Either keep the sour cream to yourselves, people or let me have my joy back by dining with some gullible kids.

December 12, 2005

I Know FTS and SIRS GIRL Hate Them, But They're Like Money in Some Places, People!

You've all seen the little things on other blog sites that you can play. Things like: "What's my Elf Name?" And I'm certain you've heard of: "What's My Blog Worth?" What about: "I'm a ____ in The TTLB Blogosphere Ecosystem"? We click on those places, fill in our names or our web sites, and then we all have a fun time comparing ourselves to each other.

Well, here's a new one for you:

"How Many Cigarettes Would I Be Worth In Prison?"


Sorry, folks. I don't have any links for you to click on. I don't know how to program something for you to fill in, so you'll get back a funny answer. I made that title up. You're on your own. You'll either have to determine for yourself how many cigarettes you'd be worth, or ask your friends - maybe they can tell you!

But I can let you in on the birth of this genius idea. The credit really belongs to one of my friends. We were having a discussion about someone we'd heard of that went to prison. My Dear Friend (who I will from now on call DF) and I had a conversation that went something like this:

DF: "I've always wanted to know how many cigarettes I'd bring in prison. It's just a philosophical question that I hope never to really have answered."
Ivy: "Four."
DF: "It's sort of a self-worth thing. Is that four cigarettes, or four packs?"
Ivy: "Four cigarettes."
DF: "Oh. I'd be like the prison blue light special in the scratch and dent bin."

Signed,

Ivy - who knows full well it's her friends that are funny, not her.

December 11, 2005

Mind Games - A Trick I Sometimes Fall For

OK, I'm going to pretend that friends just called and are "in the neighborhood" and asked if they can drop by. Not the kind of friends who wouldn't care if my house was a disaster little dirty,but the "I'd be mortified if they saw my house like this, and I'd hide behind the door being really still with my hands over the kids' mouths pretending we weren't home waiting motionless until they gave up knocking and went away" kind of friends. (Phew! hard to say, but you know you have some just like 'em) Hey, I don't want everyone knowing thinking that I'm a total slob. I used to trick myself into thinking Johnny Depp was on his way over, but I basically just quit falling for that lie, and sat around doing nothing.

Gotta run! No time to blog, people, I'm in a hurry! Imaginary company is on the way!

December 09, 2005

What If ???

What if you've never met me?

What if you boarded my bus in Dallas, and someone pointed to me and said, "That's Ivy! You know... From Thoughts That Keep Me Awake!"? (pretend like I'm famous, or somethin' will you, please?)

What if you said, "Oh, she's not so bad! Actually she's very poised, elegant, sophisticated, and beautiful!" ?

What if the person pointing me out then said, "No, Dorkwad! The one behind that woman. The one with her head bobbing up and down like the fake puppy in the rear window of a car. The one that's drooling AND snoring." ?

Well, anyway, that's not likely to happen (well, the snoring is) cuz I don't think anyone on my bus knows my secret identity. But this morning as I was commuting to work, I looked at the guy sitting in front of me... and this thought occurred to me: "What if I read his blog?"

Which then started a chain of "What If"s in my mind. Which of course I had to put in writing, or else I won't be able to sleep tonight.

I thought of all the people I might look at and make a quick (and possibly wrong) judgment based on their appearance - good, or bad - This thought process started first thing this morning. And I did something a little different today... I pretended every person I ran into was a blogger friend. I looked at a man on the elevator, and thought "That could be
Hoss", so I smiled and said hello. Then I continued to do that all day, thinking of many of you. I don't know if it made YOU people feel any better, but it did me. :)

I would start naming more names here, of who I pretended to run into today... but then it would be like the slumber party post and I'd leave people out by accident. So just know that it was YOU. Yes, YOU that I was glad to see today.

To Whoever Put The Tin of Fudge In The Breakroom This Morning:

I love you.
If I were dieting right now, I'd hate you.
But right now, I love you, and I'm going back for another piece.

December 07, 2005

Switching Lanes, Sudden Stops, Illegal U-Turns (Basically Just Reckless Blogging)

I've been teased about randomly jumping from one subject to the next by a certain fellow blogger... you know his kind: The writers who form complete sentences and follow a train of thought to a logical conclusion. Yeah, that type. They put up a post that makes sense and everything ties in together and is extremely well written. Yeah, well... just as many of you can relate to my sudden (and sometimes unexplained) leaps and zigzags from one paragraph to the other. Besides, I've been encouraged by several of you to embrace my inner goober. And she doesn't always signal before changing lanes.

Hey, I wasn't always a big goober. I used to be a little bitty goober. (See my profile picture to the left?) I realize that the photograph displayed now is about 40 years old, but I don't look much like the picture I just took down, either. I often had that pout on my face back then. My dad always told me to pull in my bottom lip before I tripped over it. That was probably around the age when I started to call the turn signal in dad's car: "Tinker". I always begged him to "Turn on the tinker!" Even if we weren't turning. I just liked it because of the sound it made. Do tinkers not make that sound anymore, or is it only pleasing to a child's ear? Hmmm... I wonder.

(OK, now here comes the part where I suddenly swerve to another lane. To save the trouble of having to always post this particular warning, or come up with a good segue... I will from now on signal in the following manner:)

tinker, tinker, tinker, tinker...

Even though I probably shouldn't, I sometimes give rides to strangers, and have for years. I'm betting Lois can relate. It's just that I’m trying to repay all the kindness that has been shown to me when I've been stranded. One time I needed a ride because my car slid on ice and went into the ditch. Another time I was helpless because my car broke down on the highway. But what left me stranded more than anything, was my annoying habit of not refueling the gas tank in my car often enough. As a teenager, I used to run out of gas so often that my boss accused me of trying to wean my car. In my early twenties I had a very fuel-efficient car that would go forever once the low-fuel warning light began to glow. One day the car inexplicably stopped. I insisted that it couldn't be out of gas because the low fuel indicator light hadn't even come on yet! FYI, the bulb behind that light will only last so long.

tinker, tinker, tinker, tinker...

Recently I noticed a guy on the bus trying to get the driver to let him off at an intersection. This is a non-stop express route, and the man was told he would have to wait until we reached the park & ride to leave the bus. Knowing that I would pass that same corner on my way home, and that it was pretty far to walk, I offered the man a ride. When he got in my car he thanked me profusely and told me that the last time he had taken that bus he had asked several people for a ride and even offered money. He said folks were rushing to their cars, slamming and locking their doors like he was a lunatic. I told him he didn't look so scary to me. I asked him how his day had been and he said not so great because the doctor he was seeing at the drug rehab downtown threw him out of his office until he could learn to control his anger. Yeah, I hate it when that happens.

tinker, tinker, tinker, tinker...

My daughter keeps watching the news hoping her school will be closed tomorrow. Can I just say that I am going to laugh my head off if it's not?

December 05, 2005

Make Up Your Own Title, People, cuz I Can't Think of One...Smell Ya Later, Alligator!

Yesterday I mentioned the fact that I loved the smell of my brand new shower curtain. Some of you could totally relate. Others of you reveled in the correctness of your theory that I am nuts. (Duh, people, thus the nickname: Goooooberrrrr!) Anyway, that got me to thinking about what I think smells good. Sure, I like the smells of flowers, coffee, and fresh-baked cookies. (Not necessarily at the same time...) But what about the oddball stuff? Or what some people would consider oddball?

I have this friend from Montreal who is one of the coolest people I've ever met. She's the friend I mentioned in a previous post that defended me from the mugger when I was walking around gaping at Times Square in New York City like a ... well, yeah...like a tourist. I will call this friend "Marvelous Montreal" (cuz if I use her real name, she might knock the snot outta me) or how about just MM for short? If you've read my blog long enough, this is the same chick that snatched a bothersome fly out of the air mid-conversation. Awesome, eh? Well a few months ago MM and I had a conversation. Went something like this:

Ivy: "I told BD that I love the smell of lighter fluid. He said, 'That explains a lot.' Then I told him that I also love the smell of gasoline."
MM: "Oh, I love the smell of gasoline, too"
Ivy: "But only regular gas, you can't get that anymore. It's not the same as regular unleaded. I'm talking about real regular gas like when I was a kid. And I used to love it when my grandpa would let me light his cigar, cuz then I got to sniff the lighter."

MM: "We used to sniff the LaPage glue. It was wonderful." (help me out my new Canadian buddies, if I'm spelling that wrong)

Ivy: "Oh good, so I'm not the only strange one out there."

MM: "Also used to lick the salt-blocks they had out in the fields for the cows."
Ivy: "No Way! You did NOT lick a salt block, MM!"

MM: "Sure did. Everybody tried it at least once. The blue ones were the best."
Ivy: "I just fell out of my chair laughing. I do NOT believe you licked a salt block, MM! Did you pick it up to taste it, or bend down and lick it on the ground?"
MM:
"Oh, bent down. Just like Old Bossy did. I'm sure after she just finished licking her backside."

So then I called my husband - who had spent every summer growing up on his aunt's farm - to see if he had ever licked a salt block. And he had.

Ivy: "Hey, MM! He did! He did lick the saltblock!"
MM:
"Good man."


P.S. I can understand why Blogger spell-check wouldn't recognize words like: "cuz" and "outta", but why the heck would it not recognize the word: SNOT????


I'm an Excellent Driver (Uh Oh...Fifteen Minutes to Wopner...)

I have only "totaled" two vehicles in my life. (Well... two that weren't my fault. Three if you count the one that was my fault) Don't get all excited, people. It's quite normal for the insurance company to "total" a car that has a value of...Oh, say... $35. Anyway, we're going to stick to the two incidents in which I was not to blame. Save the other story for later, how's that?

The reason these two collisions (separated by almost 10 years) are noteworthy events in my life is because they had at least one common denominator. I tried to figure out what that was. "Why me?", I cried. (sorta like Nancy Kerrigan) These accidents were not only NOT my fault, they were also unavoidable! But really? Were they really unavoidable? I mean, when I try to be honest and truly ask myself: "Could I have avoided these two wrecks?" The answer is yes: I could have worn a bra. It's that simple. Two times in my adult life I left the house without a bra. Two times in my life I had a car accident that (did I mention?) WAS NOT MY FAULT. Coincidence? I think not.

Now you may be wondering how I can recall that on those two particular days I was not wearing my brassiere. Both incidents involved a "quick" trip somewhere. Trips in which I promised myself that I would not even have to leave the car. Therefore, no one would know that I was bra-less. But then tragedy struck. Or in the case of the first incident, a pickup-truck hauling a boat struck. Standing beside the road with all the other drivers involved in this multi-car pile-up, I was self-consciously aware that I had my arms strategically crossed in front of me to hide the fact that this was all my fault because I WASN'T WEARING A BRA.

The second incident was when a semi-truck took the top half of my car off when making his left hand turn while I was at a stop sign. Being another bra-less episode, this caused quite a bit of embarrassment when that cute fireman felt all around my ribs for broken bones sticking out. Yeah, I know... some of you (Jules) would have gotten a cheap thrill out of that, but for me it was humiliating.

I now have a better understanding of why people (rubber-neckers) gawk at car accidents.

***
Totally random question that has NOTHING to do with the above post: Who ( besides me) loves the smell of a brand-new shower curtain?

December 04, 2005

Turn Out The Lights, The (Virtual Slumber) Party's Over

WARNING: Major linkage occurs in this post:

A big thank you to my sister for giving me a place to stay for the past few nights. Thanks to all of you who commented on my site. I felt a lot of support, concern, and I think what surprised me the most - understanding. Seeing how much fun my daughter and her aunt Jules had together made me think of a slumber party. They got a big kick out of picking on me - said that I just make it so easy. Then Monty and I stayed up late one night chatting on-line. I told her about how it seemed like a sleep-over. I mentioned that Jules had fallen asleep first that night, so I was obligated to put her bra in the freezer. (Old slumber party ritual, gentlemen. In case you didn't know)

So I created a virtual slumber party in my mind where even the guys could attend, and no one had to worry about running out to buy new pajamas. Here's my recollection of the past few nights.

Wow, what a fun party my
sister threw for my baby girl and me. And it wasn't even my birthday! This was not your normal one night slumber party, no. It started Wednesday night and ended this evening. And guests didn't show up in the usual way. Many dropped by via comments, some by email, and some by phone. But each guest was welcome, appreciated, and boy, did we have some fun. And pranks? Yes there were pranks. Food? Yes, and plenty of it. What kind of slumber party would it be otherwise? (By the way, those were some cute jammies you had on, Monty) We had lots of laughs, I got lots of hugs, comfort, and support. LR brought some of her homemade cookies, all the way from British Columbia, and they weren't even crumbled! Poopie brought loads of pecans for us to chow down on. She and my BabyGirl had a blast hiding the shells in my shoes. Thanks, girls ;) Lois brought tons of food from her Home Fires anniversary party, and wrote the lyrics to many songs on the spot, all night long. Jona made us hot tea the night it was cold, and read us excerpts from her nano writing. FTS manned the microwave and made popcorn non-stop. He could barely keep up with our food fights! TSB cracked us up with her cheese bra, and even brought us some of her birthday cake. Peter recited Bush poetry to us until Jules and I ganged up on him and gave him the "tickle torture" I think he kind of liked it ;) Mallory walked around making note of everything she intends to steal inherit from Jules house. Sudiegirl caught us up on current events, and we had a ball drawing mustaches and horns on everyone we found pictured in the newspaper. Carlos kept us entertained with his opinions, and then he snuck out and hung a pair of fake balls under Jules' car as a prank. AKA Monty, otherwise known as the Daily Bitch kept us in stitches. Especially when she dipped Jules hand in warm water and made her pee in the bed. (Hey, that's what you get for being the first one to fall asleep Jules.) Tan Lucy Pez contributed to the food and fun by walking around all night shooting us with her daughter's pez dispensers. Sometimes we even caught some candy in our mouths, but most of them ended up on the floor with FTS' Pop Secret popcorn. Krisco hired a babysitter, dusted off her software director skills, and sabotaged all the perverted blogs as a practical joke. Jamie Dawn walked around the house with marker in hand and wrote things like "Mommy rules" on the walls. Monique's mother passed around graph paper for us use in rearranging Jules' place, but we ended up just folding paper airplanes or playing tic tac toe with it. Dawn showed a little wrath when finding out Jules had no plans to put up a Christmas tree. After all, Jules has no cat to climb up and knock it over. Trucker Bob left his harem long enough to come join in all the fun. Sirs girl came all the way from New Jersey for the party, but we wouldn't let her drink, since she just turned 20 this month ;) Chris came to the party, even though she's been feeling puny. She promised she wasn't contagious. Cheryl brought us some yummy turkey from Seaford, East Sussex and some Christmas crackers. Bubba reminded me that there are worse things than peeing in the wetsuit, but thankfully didn't demonstrate during the slumber party. Penny operated the margarita machine. sauerkraut dropped by to lend support. Mreddie came all the way from South Carolina to say hi. Ellen, Dorothy, Bullet Bow also popped in to the party and started a big pillow fight. Then we all went out and toilet papered the neighbors' houses.

The whole time
Hoss mingled among the crowd taking incriminating pictures with his digital camera mumbling something about "finally going to make his pile."

I just wanted to let you all know that I'm back home now, and doing great. Thanks for being there for me.

Now who's gonna help me clean up all that junk off Jules' carpet?

December 01, 2005

Honey, You're Just a Squished Armadillo On The Road To My Happiness That I Either Need To Go Around Or Over.

I think that would make a great song title, don't you? I love thinking up song titles. Really long ones. I don't ever actually try to write a song, but hey, sometimes the genius only needs to come up with the fantastic idea. Someone else can take it from there. Yeah. Someone who can write lyrics. You know, make the words rhyme and stuff.

I am doing fine. Super fine. I have family and friends who are helping me get out of a situation that needed to be over a long time ago. It is something that I will write about some day, but I don't feel comfortable posting details at this time. Think of it like a season-ending cliffhanger. A teaser to get you to come back and see me until you find out what's up.

When I get back to my own home (where it's not 31 degrees INSIDE the house) and where I don't have to pay ask Jules to use her computer... I will try to get back on a regular posting schedule.