It Was a Dark and Stormy Night...

Once upon a time, in a land far far away (depending on where you're reading this... My reader from Mumbai is pretty far away. You from Fishers, Indiana... not so much) there was a family of five and two dogs. That family went to bed a little late last night, as Ibbat (fictional name, so as to not humiliate the parties involved when they're older and or wandering the dog park... you never want to give the toy dogs an excuse to mock...they can be vicious) had a late basketball game. Little heads drifted off to sleep on their pillows until.... BOOM! Thunderstorms!

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.

Ode to Mark and Marriage to Same

I receive like 8,000 (yeah right, like I have that many friends) Facebook memes a day. (And if you’re not hip to the cyber speak, meme is defined as: a neologism used to describe a catchphrase or concept that spreads quickly from person to person via the Internet). Basically, it’s like herpes online. Memes go over your first born, your high school experience, name games, Google games, and everything else you can think of. I play some, I intend to play others and never actually do it, and lots of times I just ignore it and move on. This time I decided to play, and what better arena to play in than my blog? It’s my own little Lucas Oil Stadium. I know… could they have picked a worse name??? (Please read that with all of the inflection of a Chandler Bing sarcastic question.)

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.

Havin' Babies Through A Straw

*To the tune of Sippin' Cider Through A Straw*

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!!!

Mysterious Motor Pool

When I worked for the State of Indiana, we had a fleet of motor pool cars for traveling to prisons, and one day they became possessed. "Exorcist, line one... exorcist, line one."

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!

You Don't Get News from the Washington Post

Dear Mr. or Ms. Washington Post Publishers,


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!

Signed,

A Former Reader

And the winner is...

Homa!!! Congratulations! I know that its an honor just to be nominated, but in this case, you're a winner! It came down to Homa, Tuffy and Yo Mama (my mama), but the Best Actor category clinched it.

Homa, your gift certificate will be on its way!!!

Congrats and thanks for playing!

Oscar Picks - A Contest

I love the Oscars. I love movies. I never get to see movies anymore, but I still love them and I still love the Oscars. Really, I think its the clothes, but who cares. Let's pretend its the movies.

I decided to make a little contest with two of my buddies to see who could make better Oscar picks. Now, I haven't seen a single Best Movie picture, and neither have they so really its a crap shoot as to who is coming out on top. So, in the interest of keeping it fair, I am posting our picks here (no change-oes, no cheating).

Let me introduce you to the people involved and the pathology used:

Me! Movie expert (if you consider knowing every line to The Devil Wears Prada and Pretty Woman an expert). Haven't seen hardly anything nominated, so using media 411 to make my picks.

Will! Not so much a movie buff, unless we're talking Mighty Machines or more recently Jay Jay the Jet Plane. He typically pays attention to roughly the first 32 seconds of a film (unless its Nemo where he gets totally freaked out by the fish attack at the beginning and therefore runs at the first shot). He picked his choices based on... well... toddler logic.

Bentley! Again, not a movie watcher. But, willing to sniff anything on the ground. Picks based on names on a sheet of paper and which paper he sniffs first. Basically similar odds to me trusting movie reviewers and media predictions.

Here we go!

Best Actor:

Me: Mickey Rourke The Wrestler. I hear its a long shot, but his dog just died so let's throw him a bone (so to speak).

Will: Frank Langella Frost/Nixon. He just kept repeating Langella and laughing. Apparently if the voting was done by toddlers, the name that's the most fun to say takes it.

Bentley: Brad Pitt The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I think Bent is voting on looks.

Best Supporting Actor:

Me: Heath Ledger The Dark Knight. Will said his photo was too scary, so I don't think he's going to round out the category for us. But, I've loved the guy since 10 Thing I Hate About You, and I still love him even after he died.

Will: Josh Brolin Milk. Will's logic. "I want some milk, Mama!"

Bentley: Josh Brolin Milk. Bentley is a big milk fan, too. Probably his thought process is similar to Will's.

Best Actress:

Me: Meryl Streep Doubt. My dad loves her, so I am just picking her for him. Personally I believe after her performance in Mama Mia, they should strip her of all awards previously won and any pending or future awards, until she provides a written apology to each and every person who watched that film.

Will: Angelina Jolie The Changeling. Again, see Langella theory. "Jolie, jolie, jolie...." lather, rinse, repeat 4,000 times.

Bentley - Melissa Leo Frozen River. Never heard of her. Never heard of it. No clue why Bentley went there... although he likes the underdog. Hey, too bad that movie wasn't nominated!

Best Supporting Actress:

Me: Marissa Tomei The Wrestler. I have always been a fan of My Cousin Vinny. I loved her in that, even if its comedy and comedy gets a bad rap from "The Academy." I'd like to justify that Oscar with a second one.

Will: Amy Adams Doubt. He saw her picture and somehow linked her to Ni Hao Kai Lan. Not sure why this blond haired, blue eyed nun photo evoked the imagine of Chinese Kai Lan, but we're going with it.

Bentley: Viola Davis Doubt. That Bentley... I think he's just being ornery. God forbid he agree with Will on anything.

Best Director:

Me: Slumdog Millionaire. This is the only movie of the bunch I actually want to see (but have three children and probably never will), so I better support it where I can.

Will: Milk. Again "Milk, Mama!!! Chocolate!"

Bentley: The Reader. Don't worry, Bentley was not allowed to see this provocative and risque film. He is only 7 years old, after all. In dog years that is 49, but I hear that still isn't old enough for some of the scenes in this movie!

Best Picture:

Me: Slumdog Millionaire. Who wouldn't vote for Bollywood dancing?

Will: The Reader. Again, clearly not a film he's seen, so don't comment about my bad parenting. Well, you can, but this wouldn't be a great reason. He just wants me to read him a book now. Apparently its Clifford time!

Bentley: Frost/Nixon. I think he's a bit of a history buff.

Want to play with us? Let's make it a contest. A $15 Amazon gift card (hey, I am a stay home mom... that's as much as I've got) to the person who does the best picks. A tie will be broken by scientific random name pulling out of a hatting. For complete list of nominees (only in these categories listed above... no extra credit if you pick in categories we didn't list) go to www.oscar.com/nominees. Good luck! Winner announced on Monday! Entries close (for obvious reasons) before the Oscars start on Sunday.

Mosquitoes In Your Nose

Will was napping in his "big boy bed" yesterday and he had his first nightmare. Or at least, the first one where he articulated very clearly that it was a nightmare. No, he didn't say "Mommy, I had a nightmare," but let's just say it was pretty clear.

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's What the...

Ok, have you ever been sitting at lunch, innocently reading your Parents/Good Housekeeping/Family Circle (insert any other magazine here) and come across those hideous ads for skin rash creams? I realize that people suffer from a lot of skin issues, and they have my utmost sympathy, but those "before" photos are just not right. I don't think people buy that crap just because there is a hideously deform-a-rash in one photo and the prom queen with skin as smooth as a baby's behind in the next photo. (Although not my baby's behind because he has a diaper rash from h-e-double hockey sticks... and no, I will not include a photo here). I just think they need to issue a warning before you flip the page and see that stuff. "Attention - Skin Cream Ad on next page. Read at your own risk." Gore (and not Al) has a warning on tv, movies and video games... I think there should be in magazines, too. Its just no good when you're halfway through the recipe for 30 minute turkey tetrazzini and you turn the page to that. You'll never end up making that tetrazzini, that's for sure.

Now, Mr. Bachelor Guy.... I previously confessed my love for you, but no more. I am not so sure you are Mr. Perfect after all. On Monday, three women were left. All three professed their undying love for him (which undoubtedly is real since they've known each other for two weeks and went on perfect romantic dates that really happen in real life land). His response to each and every one was to sit there with a stupid smirk and then make out with them. And seriously, Jason, what was that make out session in the hot tub with Jillian? Gigolo, party of one. Who does that and then kicks the chick off the show? If you hadn't watched this week's show and I just ruined it, sorry! And you women... what the hell? I love the show, and my life is better because these women are pathetic... but come on! You confess your love for the dude and all he does is offer some tongue action?!?!?! Why is that ok? I realize its a show and he can't tell you he loves you back, but he could tell you he cares for you and blah blah blah. But, no... he swaps spit with you (and two other chicks) and you're aok! It kinda makes me sad to have a vajayjay.

And speaking of reality... Joaquin Phoenix? What reality are you living in? This one gets a picture, in case you don't know what this man has done to himself. First... the old Joaquin.

Foxy. Handsome. Brooding? Yes. But sexy brooding. Alluring, brooding. Now... the new Joaquin.
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!

Google Me - In Triplicate

Ok, I wasn't going to do another Google post for awhile, because I felt like it was getting old. But, with this new set of Googles, I would be remiss in not posting this stuff. They say that one in three people on the computer at any given time is Google searching something. The scary part is that they could be searching one of these queries!


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.

1. Drug sniffing lice. They get into the hair and look for marijuana residue. Why do you think Michael Phelps keeps his hair so short?


2. 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.


3. 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.


4. 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.


5. 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.

The other odd lice Google was kid has lice in Seattle January 2009. Is that the only time someone has had lice in Seattle? Because I have seen those grunge people, and I highly doubt that lice is foreign to some of those shaggy flannel wearers. But, I am totally curious why this one lice having child in January 2009 is so important. I may Google it myself and see what else comes up (other than my own blog). Stay tuned... if its interesting, I will let you know.

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.

Mark Did Good

I bet no one thought they'd see a title complimenting Mark! I didn't either. But, I have to give the man credit where credit is due. He actually surprised me with a good gift for Valentine's Day. And no, I didn't find it first, because it really was a surprise. (And no... I am not going to claim it didn't fit just so I can return it tomorrow. I will actually keep it. Which is saying a lot if you know me). If you don't know us, then the idea of a gift a woman likes is no surprise. If you know me, you probably are hoping your cat can dial 911 because the shock has induced cardiac arrest. So, for educational purposes intended for readers who don't know me... let me paint you a picture of some past gifts.

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.

You can't take it with you...

For the first time, I am including a disclaimer on my blog. This entry deals with death, but in a totally ridiculous way. I am a big fan (if fan is the right word... maybe follower is better in this case) of the blog Keep Believing, where a wife and mother is grappling with her husband's impending death from cancer, and I in no way intend to diminish their struggle, or the losses of anyone reading, by joking about death and heaven. This conversation really took place (yes we are that pathetic), and our ways of dealing with death (or every other damn subject) is to joke about it. So, read it... don't read it. Just don't take it seriously enough to email me complaints about how I am disrespectful and evil. I already knew that.

So... let the ridiculousness begin!

My friend Lori and I were discussing some really deep topics yesterday. One of them was what happens after you die. Now, this gets pretty deep, so be ready. Deep thoughts a comin'.

The conversation started because we were both complaining about our shared fatness. Now, I personally don't give a crap about Lori's fatness, because my fatness so far surpasses her fatness that if we our plane crashed on a frozen mountain top, I would totally be the one eaten first. So, we aren't really sympathetic to Lori's weight issues. Except, (as she would whine if she got to help me write this) she used to be a size 4 and then had a baby at 40(ish) and gained weight because she spent her entire pregnancy inhaling the entire Bob Evan's breakfast menu. Italics were included to emphasize the parts she would really whine. Anyway, in our joint complaining about muffin tops (and not the edible ones) she said she didn't care anymore because when she dies she is not keeping that body anyway, so why worry about it. So, I guess my point is... is that true?

When we go to heaven, do you think we keep the body that we are in when we die? Is it like a freeze frame of what we look like the day we died? Will I be this fat even in the afterlife? And seriously, what about the hair? There was a day (that I've tried to block from my memory) a few years back, when I asked for a simple trim and came out of the chair with G.I. Jane's doo. I cried for days (not a pretty point in my life). But, if I died that day, would I go to heaven having to explain that I didn't die in combat but really it was from my hair stylist's self defense after I attacked her for shaving my head? Or, do you leave your mortal body behind (and what a behind I have!)?

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.

So, based on this conversation, I feel like there is even more pressure to go on a diet. Not only do I look like crap and feel like crap that's been squished under a shoe (from a self esteem standpoint), I also have to worry about wearing a swimsuit in a few short months, and NOW I have to worry about dying today and looking like this in heaven forever. Great! Like we don't have enough pressure with 90 pound movie stars and emaciated models... now I have to worry about the afterlife. Although... I just thought of this. If it is a freeze frame, does that mean you spend eternity in the clothes you died in? Crap... I gotta go get dressed.

A Prayer for Strength

Dear Lord,

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.

Amen.

(Oh and insert repentance for only praying when I need something here.)

Amen again.

Wednesday's What the....

Ok, yesterday I was all hearts and flowers and dentures, but today I am taking aim at... well every stupid thing I just don't understand. Hearts and flowers are off for the day.

First... could someone please tell me WHY the women handlers of The Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show still insist on wearing short skirts? Pencil skirts at that? I am a HUGE fan of the dog show, watch it every year and every year I sit here wondering why in the name of Lassie do these women put themselves through that torture. Picture an athletic woman (aka not terribly skinny) running along side a Great Dane (meaning long strides on big dog must be matched by long strides on human) in a knee length tight skirt. Their thighs have to stay still because they can only separate their legs under the knees. Maybe we should consider a wardrobe like that to end teen pregnancy? Or for the Octomom? Can't implant embryos if you can't get in there. Anyway, I get tradition, formality and all that hoopla, but if the men don't have to wear skirts then neither should the women. Or, if nothing else would a flowy A line number be out of the question? At least then you could run and not look so paralyzed. If any of you are reading this, Westminster woman handlers, please let me offer my services to you as a stylist. I will be the Tim Gunn of the dog show world!

Second... I know I took on the Octomom awhile ago, and I am not going to say what I've already said once. (What in the hell is she doing having more children on top of the six she already can't take care of??? Ok, I said it again, so sue me.) But, here is my newest what the hell flying in her direction. Why are people comparing her looks to Angelina Jolie? I will admit, I have a bit of a crush on Ms. Jolie. I think she is gorgeous. Let's all take a gander.

Quite possibly the most attractive female on the planet. Oh to look like that!!! Anyway, let's take a gander at the mother of the octuplets in California.

Admittedly, this is not a great picture, but the only thing this psycho (I mean loving mother) has in common with Angelina Jolie is the desire to have a soccer team made up entirely of siblings. Then again, Angelina Jolie has the money to provide for them, so maybe she should just adopt the Octomom's kids. Truly the only thing physically these two women have in common is some big lips, but I am pretty sure Nadya Sulemon's looks a lot more like Lisa Rinna's store bought pair than Angelina Jolie's au naturales.

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.

Stalked in the Coffee Aisle

I was walking through the grocery store yesterday pushing my cart, list in hand just picking up this and that for meals for the week. I could feel eyes on me from the moment I walked down the coffee/juice aisle. I walked slowly, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Someone was following me. I glanced back, as if to check the price on that industrial sized vat of non-dairy creamer milk-esque powder nonsense, and I saw that there was not just one follower, but two. They quickly looked down at the coffee filters when I looked at them. Convinced I was just crazy, I moved on.

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.

What I Didn't Do

So, I didn't post a blog entry on Friday. I didn't write anything on Saturday or Sunday either. I was going to sit here today and tell you what I was doing instead of sitting down to blog, but I can't bring myself to do it. Instead, I think I will make it clear what I didn't do.

For one, I didn't go to Arizona on Thursday. I didn't fly there for a vacation to the heavenly warm and sunny weather of Scottsdale, Arizona. Do you know what else I didn't do? I didn't then fly on to Cabo San Lucas on a lark because there was nothing better to do. I didn't go sightseeing or hit a beach or have a lovely dinner while staying at an even lovelier hotel right on the water. My mom did... but I didn't.

I also didn't spend Friday at work. I didn't get up, get ready and mingle with adults while earning a paycheck. I didn't feel like I did a job well done while I went from task to task completing my responsibilities that actually required brain power and I didn't leave at the end of the day feeling like I got things done and spent my time doing worthwhile activities. I didn't do that. Mark did, but I didn't.

I didn't do my mother proud by becoming the next Martha Stewart on Saturday. My Dad and Grandmother came over for dinner and I cooked and baked a cake. I didn't even come close to making a cake that looked like something people would actually want to eat. My Mom made my Grandmother's cake last year. It looked professional. I bet you can look at the pictures and guess which cake is this year's and which is last year's. Mine looked like a dome of dog poo with tack-a-riffic sugar decorations that I bought at Meijer. It didn't look professional. My Mom's cake did... but mine didn't.

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.

Who would wipe your butt?

This is one of those "a friend of a friend" stories, but I swear its real. I am just going to leave out some of the names, since its about people I don't even know and therefore feel a little bad about "outing" on my blog. I don't give that same consideration for people I actually know, so Lori...this entry's for you!

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 What the...

I have no business having children. That was confirmed for me this morning. I have three, and quite honestly, I don't get them at all. Anyone who has read my blog before is sitting here going "uh duh... We gathered that from day one." But, if you're new to the blog... please allow me to elaborate on my most recent confirmation that Lynn plus children equals "what the....?"

I live in the Hoosier state, and we have about 12 inches of snow on the ground. My neighborhood is pretty lazy (we fit right in!) so very few of the sidewalks were shoveled between here and the bus stop on the corner. The first snow came last week, so that was blocking the walks and then we received about another 4 inches yesterday. Thanks, Mother Nature!!! So, brilliant me decides that Mark (not me... are you nuts) should snow blow the sidewalks from our neighbors' house (one house up from us) to the bus stop. And blow the snow he did. In fact, he skipped our driveway and front walk just to make sure that our Cobblestone hood rats had the chance to walk snow free to the stop. I was so proud of it... not just his hard work, but more importantly, my wonderful idea. The neighborhood would be so grateful to have children with dry feet, instead of snow up to their ankles or kids walking in the ice covered street. Glowing with pride, I watched my stepdaughter meet her little friends to walk to the stop.

I was so pleased that we were responsible for the dry walk to the bus stop. Our neighbors are so lucky to have such givers in their neighborhood (remember that when we have a huge inflatable swimming pool filled with toxic waste and mosquito larva in the summer). I beamed with pride as I watched Tabbi cross the street and head toward the clean walks. Her three little friends waited for her as she crossed and I wondered how excited they would be to not have to dredge through the snow for half a block. I watched and waited to see them walk those clear walks. I watched... I watched... I watched her bypass the clean walks and climb right up onto the four foot snowdrift on the edge of the street (thanks Mr. Snow Plow). I watched her friends follow. I watched all four kids climb up that four foot drift and sink down to their butts. They proceeded to go up and down drifts the entire walk to the bus stop. Good thing we (by we I mean Mark) spent that time clearing those sidewalks because the nobody that used them really appreciated it. A smarter person would have totally known that this would be the way children walk to school in the snow. So, in honor of my Wednesday What the... I present... What the hell were we thinking snow blowing sidewalks no kid will use???

Google Me! The Sequel

I cannot get over the joy of seeing where some of my readers come from. I tell ya, the Internet is a magical place filled with all of the answers. Unfortunately, the answers rarely fit the questions. Take a look at these:

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.

I'll show you fat!!!

Its Monday morning. Its early (in my world) and I am tired. Jack slept through the night, but Will didn't, so I have a little crabbiness going on. Plus, Mondays always hit me hard. So, forgive me if this post is a little negative... a bit snarky... and just well... mean. Its in my nature at 7:50 on a Monday to not be very nice. The good news is that I am going to aim this Italian temper at those who really deserve it. Namely... the media. I am going to drop the R word on them right off the bat. Really? Really, media people? Are you that stupid? Why? Because of this:

Are you kidding me? Is this really the standard that we are going to set for women these days? Alert the media, fire up the presses.... Jessica Simpson actually has a chest and an ass. SHE HAS CURVES!!! Light the torches, let's burn her at the stake. This woman is gorgeous and while I would take aim at her stylists for what is a hideous outfit (I'm sorry is she dating Tony Romo or Ant'ony Romano "Mafia Kingpin," because in that getup its hard to tell). But seriously... if the world is going to sit here and judge her because she doesn't look like one of those stick insects that now grace all tween/teen tv shows, then we as a society are in trouble. Hey Katie Holmes... the praying mantises would like to know when you're going to eat Tom Cruise's head because you're running a little behind!!!

Now, I am guilty of watching the new 90210 and look at these girls. Is that really what we think that our teenage girls should look like? Where are her breasts? I am pretty sure she, as a female, is supposed to have them. She looks like a freakin' lollipop. Don't get me wrong, I think she is very attractive, but how many of us go out in public in fear of being blown over by a sneeze? Wouldn't it be nice for this young girl to fill out that skirt, instead of requiring an A line number just to give the illusion of a butt and thighs? If she wore a pencil skirt she really would have the same shape as a pencil! And don't fill up my comments with your anger because you are a size 0 and no matter how many pints of Ben and Jerry's you eat, you still resemble this girl. First of all, I don't want to hear it because I inhale oxygen and gain 10 pounds (I won't get into what happens when I inhale B&J's, but it ain't pretty), and secondly that is not my point. There are millions of shapes and sizes in our world and I applaud them all when they come naturally. I just reserve the right to openly mock the super skinny ones. Deal with it.

Now plenty of people could read this and call me bitter. Its probably true. I could wear Jessica Simpson's outfit, but only half of me would fit into it. I am not thin, and I have come to terms with the fact that I am probably not ever going to be, barring major illness (which I pray stays barred). The thing is, I truly don't take offense for myself. I don't even take offense for Jessica Simpson. She is in the media, thus opening herself up to criticism. Comes with the job. But, I am offended for all of the little girls who have seen the picture of Jessica Simpson and now have it imprinted on their brains that her body is fat. Are we that irresponsible as a society that we are going to pass that message along as if its correct? I even blame two of my favorite shows, Good Morning America and The View. Both shows echoed my sentiments that this allegation of obesity is preposterous, but then both shows brought on experts to deduce how much Simpson weighs based on these photos and they brought on diet experts to determine how she should work off the poundage. Hypocritical, party of two!

Jessica Simpson, while guilty of wearing Donna Gotti's wardrobe, is not guilty of needing a diet or analysis of her weight. She is doing her thing despite constant negative publicity about her brain being too small and now her body being too big. I am not a fan of hers, as far as her music goes, but I can respect the voice that chick has and I respect her ability to take it in the face as often as she has and she keeps coming back for more. I challenge those media people who snap the pics and write the slogans to stand on a stage in front of thousands so that we can get a gander at what they look like. Because I am pretty sure they don't have anything on Jessica Simpson! Take a shower, cut your hair, wash your clothes, use a little something we like to call a razor (only $1.99 if you go for disposable), and Mr. Do Rag.. the 70s called and they want your look back. Not so fun when you are on the receiving end, huh? That's for us real fat girls (Jessica Simpson doesn't apply)... we may weigh more, but we still look better than you!