Friday, February 27, 2009
Thunderstorm is a strong word for the three crashes of thunder and 30 seconds of rain that took place last night. Thunderstorm mini is more like it. If a hurricane is a 18 wheeler, this storm was Will's (or wait... we're using fake names... Lliw's tricycle). But, the lack of ferocity did not manage to diminish the weenie-ness of some of my housemates.
I wake up to the thunder-ette, and promptly start falling back to sleep after realizing that this storm was so not worth waking up for. However, I hear scratching at my bedroom door. Yeltneb the Beagle was already in our room, so I knew that it must be Ikuyallebyssim, the Great Pyrenees. "She never comes in our room at night," I thought. I opened the door and that 85 pound fur beast made a beeline to our bathroom. I've never seen her move that bod so fast. Not only did she hit the john, so to speak, she dug out the bin of Lliw's bath toys that was between the tub and the toilet. This snow beast wedged her huge self in that teeny space, so scrunched you could only see her polar bear snout sticking out. Nice, Big Dog. Remind me not to turn to you in an emergency. If Timmy gets stuck in a well, we'll check on you in the potty!!! Lassie you're not, Big Girl!
I leave the big dog to her own cowardice and go back to bed. One more thunderclap (which was more golf clap than rousing applause) and I hear Lliw wake up. "MMMMAAAMMMMAAAA!!!!" I go in his room and he says "Someting scare me." I laid down next to him and said that there was nothing to be afraid of. Its just a storm, and a teeny tiny, barely recognizable one at that, so we just need to go back to sleep. So, I covered him back up all "comfy cozers" (I don't know what that means, but its a Lliw/Mama-ism so leave it alone). So, we snuggle and I say "Oh, that's better. Nothing to be afraid of now, buddy." He turns to me and says, "Mama, you need to sleep wiff me? I make you safe. You lucky to have me, Mama." You're right, buddy. I am pretty lucky.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
I am titling this little meme “Ode to Mark and Marriage to Same.”
What are your middle names?
Mark’s middle name is Edmond. Ha. Stifling laugh. Although, it’s his father’s name, so can’t laugh too much or will be cut out of the family. Mine is Ann. Can’t laugh at Ann, as it is 50% of the female population’s middle name. Lynn is the other 50%. I have two middle names and no first. Thanks, Mom and Dad.
How long have you been together?
We’ve been married almost four years (God, it feels like longer… and I mean that in a good way, honey. And yes, I said honey). We dated for a year and a half prior to our marriage. That involves a fraction to total up, so you figure it out.
How long did you know each other before you started dating?
I hired him about one year prior to our dating. If you’re ever single, get into HR. You get to interview and probe (I mean in a questioning interrogation sort of way) your future dates! Plus, you totally know how much they earn!
Who asked whom out?
Hmmm... I guess that would have been me?!?! We started out as friends, and one day we were both at work on a Sunday and decided to go to the art museum instead of working. I think that was my idea (faking intelligent and artsy only lasted about a minute). Mark now says its his idea. Whatever, Mark... no one cares.
How old are each of you?
I'm 30, and he's (ancient) 33 (although I had to ask him how old and it took him quite awhile to determine if he is 33 or 34). Senility is setting in.
Whose siblings do you see the most?
We both have 1 older brother (and I mean each… this ain’t Kentucky. All my Kentucky readers just deleted my butt). Mine lives in Kansas, and his lives in California. We see mine much more often, and will see him again in April! Woo hoo!
Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?
I think our kids. I read in all the pregnancy and first year with baby books that your relationship gets really complicated with children. I didn’t really believe it, but it’s true. Jack, the 6 month old still wakes in the middle of the night, so we are still exhausted most of the time. Will has more energy than a room full of Jim Careys on no-dose and he requires constant attention to make sure he isn’t breaking himself and our house at the same time. And Tabbi. Tabbi is rough. So we struggle with child raising. Love them… kinda hate them sometimes, too. “Hi, CPS, it’s me again. Reading Lynn’s blog again. You might wanna head over there.”
Did you go to the same school?
Nope. He went to Arizona State and I went to Kansas State. Not quite the same.
Are you from the same home town?
Nope. He is from La La Land (yes… Cali-forn-I-A) and I am from Kansas. Again, not quite the same.
Who is smarter?
Aww geez. Who wants to answer this honestly and then have to pay the bill for the divorce attorneys later??? I would say we’re smart in different ways (take that for diplomacy, Hillary Clinton! I should be Secretary of State). He is techno savvy and mathy and sciencey. I am not. I am wordy, more deductive, and let’s just say common sense is not his friend. So, I win that battle hands down.
Who is the most sensitive?
Let’s just say I was diagnosed as “insensitive” when I was pregnant with Will and every person I told said “tell me something we didn’t already know.”
Where do you eat out most as a couple?
McDonalds? Taco Hell? We don’t go out as a couple often, so I wouldn’t say there is a place we go. Sad, huh?
Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?
Toronto for our honeymoon, which was a fab trip, but I hate to travel. HATE IT.
Who has the craziest exes?
I am pretty sure that isn’t a contest at all. One us has had one past serious relationship. The ex has a Masters Degree in Library Science and works at a university library (or so says Facebook). The other ex (who has been married four times now) mooches off their significant other (specific gender not required), once described herself as a Wicca (so I can call her the Wicca Witch of the slightly Northwest of us), and likes to have zero parental responsibility for the kid she shares. Oops, all those pronouns gave it away, huh???
Who has the worst temper?
Hmmm…. Temper? Who has a temper? Not me. Ok, yeah me. I’ve been known to flip a lid over, well, anything. Tee hee… its part of my charm. Right? Seriously, right????
Who does the cooking?
That’s me...part of the arrangement for giving up my career upon Will’s birth. I pretty much decided the day he was born that I was not going to put him in daycare to go back to work. Mark wasn’t too on board, because he was all “gosh, maybe we should be able to pay our bills.” So, the way to a man’s everything is through his stomach and now that I cook, and we don’t care about bills!
Who is the neat-freak?
I wouldn’t say a neat freak… but life is better when crap’s not laying around my house. That’s all I’m sayin’.
Who is more stubborn?
Uh yeah, that should have been under my middle name answer.
Who hogs the bed?
This isn’t painting me as a very good person. I better make a mental note to remove this if I am ever husband shopping again. No one will want me! This would be me again, although more often than not he hogs the covers. Does that count for anything?
Who wakes up earlier?
Mark. He does mornings. I do noons. I used to do noons… now I do mornings too. See temper category. It is exponentially worse the earlier in the day.
Where was your first date?
The first outing we actually called a date was to Chili’s (I know, he spoils me) and then to watch a movie at his apartment.
Who is more jealous?
Who is there to be jealous of? No one else wants our crazy selves!
How long did it take to get serious?
It didn’t take me long to decide he was “the one.” I am a quick decision maker about everything. In hindsight, maybe I should spend more time on the serious stuff.
Who eats more?
The Mark eats. He is an eater, although when I was pregnant… it could have been a tie.
Who does the laundry?
Me. Again, that stays home mom agreement. I’m a slave, people!
Who's better with the computer?
Me. Ignore the fact that Mark is a professional IT dude who earns all the money we live off from his professional ITing. And, ignore the fact that last night I lost a whole tool bar and he had to find it for me. Really, I am a computer wiz!
Who drives when you are together?
This is weird to most people, but it depends on the car. If it is his car, he drives. If we are in my car, I drive. My car is the bigger one with the car seats, so we take it more often, so I drive the most. But, it really is car related.
Feel free to answer some or all of the same questions about your significant other in the comments, or leave a link to your website if you prefer answering there. I would love to see what the other insane (I mean married) folks are like.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
The silliest mom (The silliest mom)
I ever saw (I ever saw)
Had 14 ba- (Had 14 ba-)
Bies through a straw (Bies through a straw)
The silliest mom I ever saw… had 14 babies through a straw!
I told that gal (I told that gal)
I didn’t see how (I didn’t see how)
She’d handle all (She’d handle all)
Those kids right now (Those kids right now)
I told that gal I didn’t see how she’d handle all those kids right now.
But she done found (but she done found)
A real dumb doc (a real dumb doc)
Who’d let her have (who’d let her have)
Her own huge flock (her own huge flock)
But she done found a real dumb doc, who’d let her have her own huge flock!
She’s all alone (she’s all alone)
She got no house (she got no house)
She got no mo- (She got no mo-)
Ney and no spouse (Ney and no spouse)
She’s all alone, she got no house. She got no money and no spouse.
And oh my God, (And oh my God)
Or oh those lips (Or oh those lips)
How will she hold (How will she hold)
14 kids on those hips? (14 kids on those hips?)
And oh my God, or oh those lips… how will she hold 14 kids on those hips???
The moral of (The moral of)
This little refrain (This little refrain)
Is have your babies (Is have your babies)
When yer not insane!!! (When yer not insane!!!)
The moral of this little refrain, is have your babies when yer not insane!!!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Our Director's office looked out on the parking lot (fancy, right). Right! A group of us were gathered, I am sure working hard (or gossiping or lounging) and suddenly we heard a car honk. We glance out the window and we watched some sales people come in the door. As they walked, a state car would pop the locks, making the cars honk. Don the food sales guy glanced at the car and kept walking. Later Jim the furniture sales guy came in and he paused as a trunk popped open. He shut it and the locks unlocked. The car starts honking over and over. He disappeared inside the building. Doors continued to lock and unlock on multiple cars resulting in multiple honking cars. Trunks opened. Horns blare. When someone shut trunks, they opened again... sometimes on a different car!
Directly below the Director was the IT office. Those guys (including my guy) looked out onto the parking lot and after multiple honks and trunks, the manly group comes out to investigate. Meanwhile, a crowd of enthralled ladies have gathered at Nancy's window on the second floor to watch the investigation. The locks go; they question. Trunks open; they shut them. Doors lock and unlock. One car. Horns sound repeatedly, then silence as quickly as they came. Another car starts. IT men ponder. They fix things. They are fixers. Trunk pop. Doors lock. Trunk pop. Horns blare. They examine. Trunk pop. Horns. They open the hood. Trunk pops on another car. They look frustrated. Doors unlock. HONK HONK HONK. They pop the hood on another car. Finally, in walks the mass of frazzled IT men. They come up to Nancy's office, because by God something is wrong with the motor pool cars. The gaggle of ladies look natural... all in a line.... all staring at the window, down to the lot where they just were. IT men don't notice. IT men don't observe much, unless its honking. The IT Manager hits Nancy's office first and we say "look, we're watching geese." I am not sure any geese were out there. Just IT men, trying to fix motor pool cars. We are mesmerized by the mystery he unfurls. How the cars keep popping their trunks. Latches must be broken. How the doors lock and unlock. Must be an electrical short. Honking. Lots of honking. Electrical wiring's really bad. We have no idea how that is happening. And to so many cars at one time? IT Manager doesn't notice the silence in the lot right now. Hmmm....
Teresa, the HR Manager, holds up a set of keys and presses the panic button making the horn honk over and over. "Could it be these?"
I can't put Ron's response here, its a family blog. All I can say is... honk 'em if you've got 'em. Its worth it!
Monday, February 23, 2009
My name is Lynn and I am writing to respectfully make you aware that I think you are a worthless rag of a publication and I will never EVER read your articles again. Oh wait, you don't deserve respect, so let's make it a disrespectful notification, instead. In fact, I am pretty sure your paper is no longer fit for the following: wrapping high quality (or low quality) meats, washing my windows, crumpling to start a fire, pressing Silly Putty on, eating fish and chips from, lining birdcages, and/or being seen by the light of day. The subject of today's decision is this appalling, disgusting, not even remotely funny cartoon that some ridiculously brain dead human being (or more accurately someone masquerading as a human being) decided to feature in your paper last week. Idiots, party of... well, however many decision makers let this sucker run!
I truly went back and forth over whether or not I was going to reproduce that picture here... but I decided that people who haven't seen it should. Not because I approve (we'll get to that nonsense in a minute) but because it is our responsibility to view what a supposed "news" organization is willing to publish and it is our JOB to then make it known that this kind of publication is completely unacceptable. So, please consider this my notification to you that it is unacceptable. And let's just add a little sidebar that its pathetic that someone should have to let you know that racism in the form of an editorial cartoon is not acceptable. I mean, really, Washington Post people? It didn't occur to you that maybe racial slurs are a poor choice?
I don't blame the cartoonist for drawing the picture. There are stupid people in this world, and unfortunately some of those stupid people can draw, sing, paint and thus spread their hatred and ignorance through their art. But, I blame the Washington Post for giving a hater a voice, and a loud one at that. There is no question that racism is involved in this picture. A monkey has long been a racial slur for African Americans and to draw one and imply that it is the President of the United States (or any other person for that matter) warrants that the artist be terminated and his pencils confiscated. May they be sharpened to dust so that you can never draw again!
I get the whole free speech thing, and I am a liberal at heart, so I even agree with it. But, I also think that we have a social and moral responsibility to not hide behind that. The reality is that the Post ran the cartoon for the publicity. Score one for the Post, because they got it. Everything from The Huffington Post to The View to this blog is talking about it. But, that doesn't make it right. Our world, or at least this country, is not going to get over this kind of social stigma when our newspapers promote it and then hide behind free speech. I applaud the other papers and publications, news programs and comedians who came right out back when President Obama's campaign began and they said "this will not be about race." If they are going to report, mock or satirize the stimulus plan, they will do so without resorting to racial bigotry.
At my job for the State of Indiana, a gentleman (who was more jerk than gentle) was immediately suspended without pay for implying that two coworkers of African American descent were "monkeys." We ended up getting sued, because he said the comment was not racially motivated. In the end, he was reinstated and given back pay. While we lost that battle, I applauded (and still do) our Director for making a stand that such behavior was unacceptable, knowing full well that a lawsuit and penalties could result. I hope that the powers that be in the Washington Post will be strong enough to send that same message. Mr. Drawer of That Picture... you deserve to never have your sketches tarnish the page of another publication again. And, I hope that happens, and when you are unemployed and losing your home... I wonder what you'll think of President Obama (black or white) when he bails your undeserving butt out. And to you, the disgusting people who run the Washington Post... newspapers are a dying breed thanks to the Internet and instant news and let's just say this. After that cartoon, I don't give a rat's ass if you rest in peace!
A Former Reader
Homa, your gift certificate will be on its way!!!
Congrats and thanks for playing!
Friday, February 20, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
He woke up from his nap SCREAMING. Being the best kid in the entire universe (today, at least), he won't get out of bed after a nap. He usually yells for me or Mark and then we have to go get him. Annoying? No. WONDERFUL. No fear that he is going to plummet to his death on the stairs while wandering around in a sleepy stupor. He just yells for us and we fetch. We're really very well trained. Anyway, yesterday's was not the normal "come fetch me" scream. It was horror. Sheer horror. Jack and I ran up the stairs (ok, I ran... Jack was carried) to check on him and he was bawling. We're talking full on hysterical sobs. When I got into the room he yelled "skeetoes in my nose, Mama! Skeetoes in my nose!" He clawed at his nose like an anteater who accidentally inhaled a beehive. (I don't know where I get these similes. I am sorry.)
It took quite a while to calm him down. Cuddling in my bed was involved. Puppa (pronounced poop-a thanks to Will) his decapitated dog head sewed to a blanket was involved. Finally, the Teletubbies were involved. While watching the Teletubbies, he saw 10 ducks and felt obligated to turn to me and let me know "if you no help me with skeetoes in my nose, Mama, the ducks help me." So, apparently not only did my kid have a nightmare about mosquitoes in his nose, but his craptastic mom was no help at all and he is turning to water fowl for assistance. Is there some Mother of the Year award I might qualify for?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
The characters on Lost don't look this scruffy and they were stranded on a desert island for well, I don't watch the show, but I am pretty sure they were there long enough to look like this and still chose to shave with a conch shell instead of growing that forest. And what is with his behavior? He wants to be a musician, not an actor, so he becomes a freak? Is Marilyn Manson his musical role model? He was on David Letterman's show promoting his movie, and either forgot or acted like he forgot his co-star's name. Not that you could blame him... it was only GWYNETH PALTROW! Its not like she isn't uber famous or anything! I want the old Joaquin back!
And, apparently reality tv is at the top of my what the hell list this week, because what the hell was Jackie Tohn wearing on American Idol last night? I assume she sang, but I have no idea if it was good or bad, because I was in shock from her nightmare of an ensemble. I have scoured the web for a picture and can't find it... undoubtedly because it was too hideous that the Internet Gods feared we would all shut down our browsers at the sight. Spandex is a privilege, not a right. And, wearing it as pants is never a good idea (barring Olivia Newton John in Grease, which was still iffy, but she is an icon and so we forgive that one time). This Am Id contestant was 80's cocktail party from the waist up and Jazzercise from the waist down. Seriously, black spandex pants and huge, puffy basketball sneakers. Did she need to be able to change quickly to go play in a WNBA game or what? And her belt was this super thick red pleather number with a strapless black and white polka dot tube top. All she was missing was a sweat band in her hair and I would have been transported back to 1985. Truly, she could have been the performance of the night, but I have no idea. I was lost in a world of radical and gnarly until she was off the screen. Only then did I snap out of my need to wear a snap bracelet, tight roll my jeans and quit repeating "where's the beef?"
Lastly, you know I love me some Sarah Palin, and this week is no exception. I watched the interview with her daughter Bristol on Fox News, and I have to say I was impressed. With Bristol. She had a very realistic message about "abstinence only" programs (of which her mother endorses) and feels that kids are going to have sex, and therefore educational programs must be in place too. Kudos to Bristol. But, if you watched it, did you notice how Sarah busted in and the look on Bristol's face when she did? If I were at all computer savvy, I would put the video here, because I thought it was too funny. A Palin is sounding intelligent and making some sense, and Sarah had to rush right in there and get the photo op. Congrats Sarah, finally you're involved in something that didn't make you look stupid, and you can thank your daughter for that!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Yak Yram. Someone Googled Yak Yram. I used it as a name on my Who Would Wipe Your Butt post. I got quite a few responses questioning my use of that name, but now that it has been Googled, I feel vindicated in my use of Yak Yram. I mean, that is a really common name. Its not like... well... let's just come up with something random... Mary Kay. Mary Kay would be a lot less likely to be used, right? Instead I used the more common Yak Yram. Not Mary Kay. Yes Yak Yram. Not Mary Kay. Get it? Take a gander at Elocin now that you know my name hiding trick.
Frankel Staffing Sucks. Apparently this search leads to my post called Ode to Uverse. If Frankel Staffing sucks as bad as Uverse, I feel for this person.
Donna Gotti. This leads to my I'll Show You Fat post, where I compared Jessica Simpson's concert attire to the wardrobe of the wife of Mafia boss John Gotti. Maybe Simpson's stylists Googled it to get more clothing ideas.
Again with the lice Googles. Teacher Lice stories and lice training. Again, I ask you. What are we training these lice to do? Here are my top 5 ideas for lice jobs.
- Drug sniffing lice. They get into the hair and look for marijuana residue. Why do you think Michael Phelps keeps his hair so short?
- Soldiers. Think of all the beards and hair they could infiltrate in the middle east. They would make the other side scratch themselves silly. All we would have to do is walk into a place and take over, because the other soldiers would be so busy scratching, their weapons would be on the floor. Then, when we take over, we can pass out RID to anyone willing to rat out where Osama Bin Laden is. And seriously, we've seen his beard. He'll willingly surrender just for the treatment.
- Political Operative. This is a sneaky job, so only the most cunning lice could do it. Let's say someone came onto the political scene relatively unknown. But, this person (let's just say its a woman) starts getting a lot of attention. Not because she is qualified for the job she's running for... but because she's a she. So then, in order to divert attention, you give her lice so that she makes a fool of herself on camera at every turn and no longer appears to be a viable candidate. And no... I am not talking about Sarah Palin. She didn't need lice to make a fool of herself. She handled that all on her own.
- Medical Personnel. Hey, if you can use leeches to save people, you can use lice. It will just take a whole lot more of them.
- Infertility doctors. Apparently, some of these professionals have the morals of a mosquito, so why not let those blood suckers move on to other careers, and these blood suckers take over. At least you know what you're dealing with when you deal with lice. The other vermin are under cover.
How to Wipe Your Butt. Really? I mean that... really? If you are old enough to log onto a computer and type in "how to wipe your butt," you better already know. Come on people. Go potty. Take adequate amount of toilet paper. Front to back. Discard. Flush. Wash hands for minimum of 30 seconds. The end.How did I get a tear in my placenta. Well, the injury is called Placenta Previa, but I gotta tell ya... best not to learn important medical information from blogs. The Internet is a scary place for medical info because you never know how reliable the poster is... but let's just assume that anyone writing a blog (unless its called Dr. So and So's OBGYN expert blog) is probably not your best source of medical 411.
Be ready... this is a good one. Paula Deen + Defecating in the drive way. I'm sorry, did Paula Deen defecate in the driveway? Is this news and I had no idea it happened? Extra, The Insider... you let me down. If this happened and Mario didn't tell me...? AC Slater cannot let me down now! Whose drive way did she do it in? OR could the defecation have been Paula Deen recipe induced? I just made her strawberry cake and it could cause me a spontaneous potty break, too, if I ate too much. I bet it happened on Paula's Party. They get kooky on that show... butter highs can be a dangerous thing.
Seriously, that is totally the face of someone who just took a doo on your driveway.
Monday, February 16, 2009
1. My birthday this year. Ok, if you read this blog back then, you know that I wanted pink hair extensions. They were expensive, so I called it my birthday gift from Mark and got them. Perfect, right? What you don't know is that Mark got me something small, just so I could open something on my birthday (Which is a rule of mine. Even if the real gift happened already... people should always get something small and fun the day of). I got Tupperware. Small - check. Cheap - check. Fun - no check.
2. Christmas this year. In November, Mark started panicking about how hard I am to buy for. Which is probably true, except I don't think so. But, I (frustratedly) grabbed a Lillian Vernon catalog (I know... like I couldn't have grabbed a Pottery Barn or something) and pick out a wire shelf to go under the sink, a key hook and a clock. So, Merry Christmas to me. I know, Lori is sitting there saying to herself "you picked it out, idiot," which is true. But, come on... pressuring me to pick my own gift in November just shows you weren't really going to try. And, to make it better, I got mad later (because I am a woman and that is my right) and told Mark that it was a crappy gift. So, he added two Carbon Monoxide detectors. Jealous, aren't you???
3. Birthday last year. Nothing. And, again, its not 100% Mark's fault. He asked me what I wanted, and I couldn't think of anything. So, he got frustrated and I got frustrated. So, I said "just don't bother getting me anything." Girl code - you better come up with something, Buddy, because I don't mean this at all. Lo and behold, Mark doesn't speak girl and therefore I got a nada.
4. This is my favorite. Valentine's Day two years ago (back when we did Valentine's Day gifts). Mark got me a love jar. Yeah... love J-A-R. It was a glass jar, filled with teeny tiny pink fortune cookie slips of paper with love quotes. 365 of them, so that I could read one every day for a year. Eww... I just threw up a little bit at the memory. Some ladies will sit back and say that is sweet. If you know me... you know I don't do sweet (unless it is chocolate or ice cream). The best part is that it was $40! Forty bucks for a jar of fortunes about love! I told him next time to just give me cash. Thus ending our purchasing/recognition of Valentine's Day! Until Saturday.
Mark got me a lovely pendant. It was a total surprise, and while I had pointed out that I thought it was pretty when I saw it on a commercial, I didn't outright say "buy that for me." So, by Valentine's Day, I had forgotten all about it. And Mark didn't just spring it on me randomly either. This is a feat in and of itself. When Mark proposed... we went to dinner and instead of waiting for dessert or some romantic moment, we ordered and he proposed. Kind of lacked that "ta da" thing I was hoping for. Later, when I was pregnant with Will, he got me a Mother's Day gift, but didn't give it to me on Mother's Day... he threw it on the bed on Saturday morning when I had just woken up and was watching Food Network. Kinda takes the romance out of things when you can't decide if he threw a gift or Egg McMuffin. Glad I didn't eat it in my groggy state. This time, he waited until Valentine's Day evening, when I got out the kids' gifts and then placed mine in front of me. Very TV commercial, very thoughtful... very ta da. So, kudos to youdos Mr. Mark for doing a good job.
And, for those of you wondering... I got Mark the nada that he so thoughtfully got me for my birthday last year.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Now, Lori's plan is to have her body either donated to science or cremated. She feels that she would rather be a crispy critter than be in the body she currently has for all eternity. I personally disagree, plus what if you have that burnt smell forever? I hate the smell of burnt toast and I would rather be Fay Fatty Fatterson then smell burned bits all the time. And I wonder, if you donate your body to science, does that mean that just pieces of you show up to heaven and you're kept in a box like a jigsaw puzzle? Plus, we are talking about a freeze frame of when you die. If you die fully clothed and you just happen to step off a cliff Wile E. Coyote style, its not what happens to your body after you are dead that goes to heaven, right? I hope not, or that cat would be a stain laying somewhere in the clouds. So, if you die in a normal state and then get cremated, the ashes don't go to heaven, it would be your image when you died, not what the funeral home folks do to you after. Duh, Lori! Or, do you abandon your mortal frame and float around, just a soul in some sort of ethereal cloud? I vote for that one... because I personally think that transluscence would be very flattering. Transluscent is the new black. I warned you that this was deep stuff.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Hi, I am Lynn. Remember me? I don't pray much, so I might not ring a bell. My brother does... so you know Mike... yeah Tuffy. I am his sister. You could remember me the way they did at Kansas State... I am Lynn, AKA Tuffy's Little Sister. I come around every now and then... usually only when I want something. I realize that's not really the intent of prayer, but at least I am honestly owning up to it, right? Hey, can I throw a little repentance in here for that? Thanks! Anyhoo, so yeah... I want something. Oops. Maybe the repentance should come at the end. If I forget to write it again, throw it in at the bottom. Cut and paste, if you will.
Anyhoo, (I told you I'm not so good at this) could you please give me strength to deal with my stepdaughter? I need it. I don't feel like a strong enough person to deal with all of her crap. Can you say "crap" to God? Probably not. We've been having a few good weeks, God. You know that... you're everywhere.... not in the shower, right? No one should have to see that... not even supernatural beings who created us. And, seriously God, while we're talking... if you created us in your image, how come some get to look to Angelina Jolie and others get to look like... well, me? Not fair. Oops... probably shouldn't complain when asking for something, right? Right. Back to Tabbi.
She is really struggling, God, and I don't know if I have the ability to deal with it. I know all kids come with challenges, but truly this is beyond me. She creates problems. You know that... you were here last night (and sorry for taking your name in vain so often watching Top Chef, but those cheftestants are a little cocky and it kept annoying me). She intentionally lost that big report and the fit she threw after (when she realized I would make her redo it from scratch) was ginormous. And then the lying and the "poor me, you're so mean to me" act just drives me nutty. I have never been around someone that could make me SOOOOOO mad before. And I used to work with some annoying people. (You know who they were.) I tried so hard not to ground her and make her miss the first birthday party she's been invited to ALL YEAR. But, she MAKES me. How many warnings do you give before you have to act? I am not going to quote the Bible to you (you were there), but I am pretty sure Adam and Eve only got one warning about that apple and bam... consequences! Very Super Nanny... I like that. I gave her more warnings than I typically would just because I didn't want to take that party away, but its like she craves getting in trouble.
Anyway, God, I think my point is that my mortal self just doesn't have the strength for this. I don't have the unconditional love for her that I do my own children. The kind of love that means you still love them even when they drive you batty. You know, the kind you have for... well, all of us. I don't have that for her. I used to care for her and really enjoy our relationship, but I don't even have that anymore. She reduces almost every evening to misery and I feel like its unfair and resent her for it. I feel like four of our happinesses (is that a word, God? Do we need to pray in proper grammar?) is sacrificed for one. (No lightening bolts yet... must be coming.) Mark and I are miserable and Will and Jack are being raised in a house that is in constant tension and often yelling. What kind of childhood is that for them? I know we can't send her back to Mother of the Year, and I know that I am at fault for not having that kind of affection for her. But, God, that is where you come in. I just need the strength to either find it or fake it. Right now I can't do either. Please help me to become the person I need to be to help her become the person she could be.
(Oh and insert repentance for only praying when I need something here.)
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
And really, Lisa? Really? You think that looks good? You should get your own what the hell for those life preservers. (I mean the lips).
And lastly, a great big Wednesday "what the..." goes straight out to Chris Brown and Rihanna. I don't know what happened in their incident on Sunday night, but do these two need to watch a little Yo Gabba Gabba to learn that you don't get to hit your friends? If Chris Brown attacked her, as the media is portraying, then why is he not locked up somewhere facing criminal charges? The allegations about her injuries are atrocious and if they are even remotely accurate then get his butt behind bars and do more than yank away his milk and gum ads. I celebrate the radio station in Cleveland that has suspended playing his music until this is sorted out. A message needs to be sent to young boys (and girls too) that this behavior cannot be tolerated. I have a friend who was in an abusive marriage for years, and I cannot stand to hear about these kinds of stories. Violence is not ok, and if Chris Brown lashed out on Rihanna and attacked her, I would hide, little man. Because she's got some big friends and (while I don't condone violence, but apparently you do) you might come out looking way worse than she does now! On the other hand, and I can hear the boos already, my guess is that Rihanna got violent, too. Reportedly she has bite marks on her arms, and my guess is she wouldn't just hold her arm out to be bitten. A bite (especially on an appendage rather than neck or face) is most often a defensive attempt to get hands off of you. I agree that women are typically weaker physically (and Laila Ali Rihanna is not), so men have NO BUSINESS putting their hands or teeth on a chick. But, let's play fair ladies... we have no business putting our hands (or teeth) on them either. There are better ways to resolve a disagreement. I am a huge fan of verbal warfare (just ask Mark), and I am exceptionally good at it. If you gotta fight, bring on the words. Leave the fists out of it. I don't know who started this fight or why, and therefore I don't know who to send my what the hell toward, but come on both of you?!?!? We're all adults here, and you are adults with the means to get out of any situation. Don't ruin your reputation by resorting to this type of behavior. And, Chris Brown, if you did this unprovoked... then I hope you become some big man named Bubba's boyfriend when you're inside and you can feel what it feels like to be a victim.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
I could hear the footsteps behind me. I paused at Swiss Miss Hot Cocoa (no sugar added, plus calcium) and read the box. The footsteps stopped. I glanced, they looked away. I decide to test the devious pair. I back out of the aisle and head to the meat. The four feet follow. I pause at the lobster tank. Oh, aren't these little guys interesting... pause... watch them sit there waiting to die... pause. I glance back. My stalkers look like they are engrossed in the case of frozen shrimp. I move on... quickly. Step out of the way, speed shopper's a comin'. They pick up the pace. I stop abruptly at one pound of ground sirloin for my Nacho Casserole and they stop abruptly at the steaks. I double back. Back to the coffee/juice aisle. No one would go down the aisle they've already been down unless... unless they are after me. So, I stop back in front of the Swiss Miss and they are right on my heels. I turn ready for the first ever Meijer Grocery Store Smack Down and I am pumped. My facial expression said "Do you feel lucky, punks?" And my stalkers stepped right up to me and said, "Miss, can you please reach down that Cranberry Juice. We're too short."
Oh yes... my stalkers were two mini-geezers. They came up to my shoulders and God bless them, they couldn't even reach the third shelf. They were the two cutest old ladies that ever were. They proceeded to stalk me through the entire store asking for me to reach down their laundry detergent (which was also as miniature size. I was tempted to ask where the laundry mat was at the Lollipop Guild, but I thought that would be rude), their eggs, basically anything three shelves up or higher. They were so grateful for my assistance and when I offered to just walk the aisles with them, they wouldn't do it. They didn't want to put me out. Instead they paced me, just 10 feet behind, up and down every single aisle until my shopping was done. If I stopped to grab my 4 oz. can of diced green chilies, they paused admiring the tortilla selection. If I wanted to examine the prices of stick margarine, they would wait by the tub butter until I was finished. Then we would move on, this weird pack of ladies young/tall and old/wee. At one point "Crocheted Sweater Lady" (not her real name, of course) mentioned that she used to be as tall as me. Ahh, back in the day. She shrank. Then she said what a joy it was to be 5 feet 3 inches back then. I am 5 feet 8 inches, so she never really did get to be my height, but by God she used to shop off the top shelves in those days.
I really hate the grocery store, but shopping with Mable and Doris (again, my names) made it kind of fun for me. The best part was that they hailed "see you next Monday" as I walked to the check out. I feel a little guilty, because I won't be back next Monday. If I brought my kids with me, the mini grammies would run, not stalk. So, this was a one time shot for me. So, if you are around Indiana next week and need a few sundries, hit Meijer and help my little old ladies out. I can see myself like that some day (although a taller version), and I hope a sarcastic and rude 30 year old in a hurry will put her attitude in check and get me my Cranberry Juice too. No, not that one. The Meijer brand one. No, the smaller one, please. The one next to that one. No, that one looks dirty. Ok, yes, that one.
Monday, February 9, 2009
I also didn't cure cancer, finish the book that I have like 10 pages left to read, fix America's economy, get the mail, glance at my to do list, find Osama Bin Laden, finish my current Netflix movie "The Women," pay bills, clean up the mud tracked in by my eight dog feet, buy groceries, or dye my roots. I did take care of two sick boys and go without sleep for three days straight. Its never a good thing when the things you didn't do are vastly more interesting than the things you actually did do.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Lori was telling me about a friend of her friend who broke her pelvis in a car accident. At least, I think it was a car accident. That part of the story was clearly not the part that interested me most. So, for my purposes of this blog, we'll pretend like I listened well enough to KNOW it was a car accident. Either way, broken pelvis is the key. Lori said it was not just an average broken pelvis either... apparently this woman (we'll call her Elocin because everyone needs a name) has been put back together thanks to the miracles of modern medicine combined with the miracle of Home Depot inventory. We're talking metal plates, nuts, bolts, screws etc. They practically had to call in Jeff the Wonder Fixer to put her back together again. (Apparently all the king's horses and all the king's men were busy). Poor Elocin had a nice little stay in the hospital, but luckily has now been moved to a rehab facility (not the drug kind) for the duration of her recovery. Broken pelvises will do that to you. Her friend, my friend Lori's friend (we'll call her... Yak Yram) went to see her in the hospital and at that time Elocin had to go number two (I don't think the defecation had anything to do with Yak Yram specifically... it was just bad timing). She obviously cannot get up and head to the water closet, so she took a number two in a bed pan. It took the nurses FOREVER to get in there and help Elocin clean up, so finally Yak Yram did the right thing and wiped Elocin's butt for her. That, my friends, is friendship. And it made me wonder... who do I like enough to wipe their butt?
I had this conversation with Lori last night and flat out declared that I do not like her enough to wipe her butt. But... that is probably not true. If she needed, I would do it. We agreed as a group that it would probably be easier to wipe your girlfriend than your husband... because who would want to look at or think of their husband that way? I think it might kill the romance for good. I know there are couples out there who (hypothetically) shower with the curtain open while their mate takes a pooper, but I am not one half of that couple. I like potty activity to be private (or kept between me and my cyber readers). I can think right now of a few people who I would wipe (and no, I am not going to list them here... if you think you are one of those people I am not going to dash your hopes and dreams by admitting you're not). But, the list is short. Plus, really, the more important question is... who would wipe me???
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
1. "10 signs boyfriend has mafia connections." Wowza! If you have to Google whether or not your dude is into organized crime... maybe its time to just say the relationship isn't working. But, in case they couldn't find the signs in their search, I feel qualified to bust some out right here. Afterall, I am Italian and fluent in The Sopranos.
- If you're boyfriend wears white leather loafers and matching belt, he might be a mafioso.
- If you go out to dinner and he slurps his spaghetti with his back to the wall, he might be a mafioso.
- If his answer to replacing appliances is "we'll see what falls off a truck," he might be a mafioso.
- If he seduces you with the words "badda bing badda bam," he might be a mafioso.
- If he has more grease in his hair than a Paula Deen recipe, he might be a mafioso.
- If he introduces himself in public as Thomas Smith, but his real name is Anthony Steffano, he might be a mafioso.
- If his friends only replace his last name with a nickname (Tommy Two Thumbs or Lenny the Lizard), he might be a mafioso.
- If his suits are shinier then your bathroom mirror, he might be a mafioso.
- If your man uses the same decorator as the Vatican, he might be a mafioso.
- Lastly, if he plans dates by saying he'll "meet you at the place where you saw the thing with the people that time," then he might be a mafioso.
2. "Reasons sent to Principal's Office." Is this some teacher just trying to come up with excuses to ditch her students or what? Usually the reason you are sending the kid to the Principal is pretty clear. In Tabbi's case... it is either talking back and/or not turning in school work. If you have to turn to Google it to get a reason, the kid might as well stay in your class.
3. "Dog Contest 2009." I am pretty sure this person wasn't so interested in naming my dog they had to Google the contest to find it. I'd like to think that my dog and I are that important, but I don't kid myself.
4. The ever popular lice Googles. This time my two favorites are "I love lice" eww and "lice not going away." I worry about the person Googling the first one, but I feel you on the second one. Took us about 6 weeks to kill it off for good.
5. "Tara in Seattle." This is a warning to my cousin Tara... someone may be stalking you. If so, let me know and I'll go Matrix on their ass!!! Or at least I will smash them to bits via angry blog posts! I am sure that will have them quaking in their galoshes. (Because its Seattle, so you have to wear rain galoshes... get it?!?!?!?)
6. "Rescue groups too picky." Obviously not the Indianapolis Great Pyrenees Rescue. They gave me a dog, so I am pretty sure anyone with a fenced in yard and cashable check will do.
7. "Frozen propane lines." I am quite sure that Handy Manny was thrilled to come across my saggy boobs and fat rants when looking for actual handyman advice. You're welcome, Mr. Fix It!
8. Lastly, and probably my all time favorite Google that stuck someone unwittingly into the Land of Lynn is "Grunders underwear." I am turning grunders into a household word one blog post at a time. You're welcome, too, Mr. Webster.