busy as a Mexican paper wasp.

Y'know how when something kinda bad happens and you just have this sinking feeling that you are on the verge of a landslide of bad happenings?  Well, here we stand (we being my family).

Saturday hubby was cutting some trees down and he got stung by what we think are Mexican paper wasps.  His hand swelled up and he was in a fair bit of pain.  (Man-pain, though.  Which for comparison's sake:  a man being in a "fair bit of pain" = a woman being in labor with twins.)  This led to the frightening discovery of a wasp hive in some boxes of stuff that we have "in storage" next to our garage.  This led to a discussion about how to get rid of said hive.  (It's hard to tell how large the hive is or to scientifically estimate how many wasps could be in said hive.  Estimates range from three inches to three feet in length and anywhere from 20-2000 wasps.)

Hubby and I have been thinking about the hive quite a bit since Saturday.  He called some sort of wasp guru and she said hive removals can cost up to $800.  Currently we have about a $20 in checking, so we're thinking that won't work.  She also said that Mexican paper wasps can somehow sting through basically metal and so you are pretty much defenseless against them.

I had a nightmare in which giant bees were chasing Girl 3 and it was scary.  I told hubby I had a nightmare about the bees and he said, "Me too."  The fear this is unleashing is kinda a movement in our family right now.

So, today we got a notice that we are having bulky pick-up very soon in our neighborhood to which we all said excitedly, "Yay!  We can finally get rid of those boxes stacked by the garage."  Followed by a depressed, "But, how are we going to kill the wasps?"

This led to a terrifying dinner discussion which was disturbing yet typical of my family.  Here are some solutions that were proposed (most of them by hubby).

1.  Dress in multiple layers of clothing with our ski gear on top and modified BMX helmets for head protection and unleash several cans of whoop ass wasp spray on the hole in the box.  (Incidentally, when this first happened and we saw the hole in the box which is the opening of the hive, the 1. Cut a hole in the box jokes began.)  Boy child said to this idea, "That might work, but what if someone sees us?"  Point well taken.  Plus, we couldn't decide who would be the main person on this.  Hubby sweats a lot and it's still like 90 here, we don't really want to put the children at risk, and I don't have good aim.

2.  Get a second opinion.  This was Girl 1's idea.  If I had to pick a rational member of the family during this conversation, I pick her.  Hubby said he'd already as good as gotten one (see #6), and that pretty much shut her down.

3.  Put a lighted torch type/molotov cocktail on the end of a large (like 14 foot) pole that we have (why do we have that pole?) and somehow maneuver the pole into the hole in an attempt to burn them out.  To this I said, "Yeah, but then we have the same problem if they swarm us and we just go back to needing our suits and wasp spray."

4.  Burn down the entire garage (this was, surprisingly (?), Boy Child's suggestion).  We all kinda liked this one because we all hate cleaning the garage and we've been wanting to start over for a while.  But, y'know, laws and stuff.  And I said I'd feel really bad if we accidentally burned the neighbor's garage down, too.

5.  Somehow maneuver a tarp over the wasps (without them knowing) and then after the tarp was sealed (with rocks?) on all sides we would stick a fogger in there.  This seemed like a reasonable suggestion to us.  But, how could we get the tarp over them without getting stung?

6.  Ask our neighbor who "knows a guy" that can do it for $50 to give us that guy's number.  And call him.  The kids and I really liked this idea.  We pointed out that it kept our family safe and if we called the guy tonight, we could still get our wasp-free boxes to the curb (and possibly clean the garage) this weekend.  Hubby hated this idea.  He said $50 was still too much and we were up for a challenge.

In the end (I think it's the end?), hubby said the only way it's getting done is if we all take a job.  We've kinda decided (I guess?) that three of us will dress in suits (I'm not sure what kind, but I might be getting our ski clothes out of the attic), the youngest will man the phone (in case she needs to call 911), Girl 1 will drive the getaway car, and Girl 2 will be in her room on her phone and after we've exterminated the wasps, come out alive, and are wiping the sweat off of our brows will bounce downstairs and say, "What'd I miss?"

The purge of summer 2017 in which the wii "disappeared."

As a mom of four, wife of one, I get blamed a lot.  It's my fault when someone doesn't eat breakfast or lunch and is starving and can't wait for dinner.  It's my fault when laundry (that's not mine) stays wet in the washer for 24+ hours.  It's my fault when there's a schedule "miscommunication" and someone has to walk (no one ever has had to walk, but we've done our fair share of unenforceable threatening).  It's my fault when someone doesn't get the item they needed from the grocery store (because I'm a mind reader and can predict everyone's needs and wants).  And on and on.  If we're all honest, it's rarely my fault.  But, sometimes it is.

So, last summer I committed possibly my worst "parenting" (and I say "parenting" because it mostly just affected my kids) mistake to date for which I am still occasionally blamed.

Summer 2017, my son became a minimalist.  He researched it, decided it was for him, and then decided that everything but his bed, desk, technology, and a few clothes were not essential.  Then he encouraged us to start getting rid of our nonessential items crap.  I sorted through things I hadn't seen since the 80's, made piles, put things in boxes, and made about 20 trips to Goodwill.  The minimalist thing worked for us since I like to throw everything away and hubby could stand to throw a lot away.  Also, we are six people living in a teeny, tiny house.

While all of this was happening, we were building a tiny (tinier) house in the back for said son and we were also remodeling our kitchen.  The entire kitchen was packed into boxes and moved into the living room and a fine layer of dust was on every.  thing.  (In case you are wondering, I am still married.)

We also went on two vacations (one out of state) and did all the normal things we do during the summer.  To say that this was stressful does not adequately describe the state of the chaos.  There were boxes for our boxes and in those boxes were more boxes.

We microwaved food  in the living room (where our microwave perched on three boxes) for so long that when we finally moved the microwave back into the kitchen on the brand new black granite countertops, we still headed into the living room to microwave food.  Our dog stopped barking at the workers, and we just got used to people being in our house from 7 to 7.

Anyway.  In the midst of all of this, we got a flat screen TV.  We had said goodbye to our beloved tube TV months before, and finally purchased a flat screen.  When we put our tube TV to the curb for bulky pick-up I had diligently separated out the VCR (yes, we had one), DVD player (because we got a new one of those, too), and what I thought was just a TV contraption thingie and put them all in a box to go to Goodwill.  I distinctly remember (although no one in my house verifies this) asking everyone to go through the box to make sure nothing of value was in the box before I took it to Goodwill.  My story is that this went ignored by all family members.  Their story is that I never asked anyone anything and that I just threw random things in boxes and took them to Goodwill.

Well, eventually the kitchen was finished, we had "minimalized" the house, and we were ready to set everything back in its place.  The kids decided to play a relaxing game of Super Mario to celebrate and they asked me where the Wii had gone.  I said I wasn't sure to look in the boxes that were left.  No one could find the Wii.  Eventually I asked what the Wii looked like.  I'm pretty sure they described the TV contraption thingie that I took to Goodwill.  And that's when the yelling, hysteria, crying, and blaming started.

MOM GAVE THE WII TO GOODWILL.

CAN YOU BELIEVE MOM GAVE THE WII TO GOODWILL?

MOM DOESN'T KNOW WHAT A WII LOOKS LIKE AND SHE GAVE IT TO GOODWILL.

WE DON'T HAVE OUR WII ANYMORE BECAUSE OUR MOM GAVE IT TO GOODWILL.

DAD - MOM GAVE THE WII TO GOODWILL!

CAN WE GO TO GOODWILL AND BUY IT BACK?

I swear to God.  It's been almost a year and there is still hate about the Wii.  My 15 year old daughter (self-proclaimed Super Mario expert - I'm not sure what level, but she knows everything about Super Mario) is about to purchase a new/used Wii with her own money and my kids are crazy excited about the prospect of having a Wii again.

As you could guess, I haven't missed the Wii (God knows I couldn't even recognize the damn thing).  But I must say a part of me is looking forward to hearing that catchy Super Mario tune again and maybe practicing my dance moves with Just Dance.

It took a long time for the kids to forgive and forget not bring this up on a daily basis.  There was a little retribution a few weeks after the Wii was discovered missing.  I went to do my favorite ab/core workout video and all I could find was the DVD cover.  At that point all the boxes were unpacked so I could not imagine where it had gone.  Then it occurred to me.  It was in the old DVD player.

I was pissed.  I regretted putting the tube TV to the curb.  I regretted putting all the old crap in boxes.  Hell, at that point I considered going to all the 27 Goodwills in our city and hunting down our Wii and DVD player, and our VCR for that matter.  I thought about the great deal someone got on our Wii and the DVD player.  With my favorite DVD in it!  

I take responsibility.  I mistakingly gave a perfectly working Wii to Goodwill.  But, like many people, I have served my sentence.  Karma played her hand and there went my DVD that kept me in shape.  I now have no core muscles and no visible abs.  I tell my kids, "Mom has served her time."  I lift my shirt slightly to show my muffin top and silence ensues.  The kids shrink out of the kitchen mumbling indecipherable comments.  Sometimes the gods just put everything in place.

Case closed.  Score even.

The end.

Dear hackers: You're gonna need to build a taller wall.

Someone once said (it may have been Jack Handey), "Your valleys will be as low as your mountains are high."  And I immediately wanted to vomit in my mouth.  Until a few days ago.

When I found out (damn it) - it's true.

Sunday night I started to do paperwork for my job and found that I couldn't open a few of my files.  When I was finally able to open a few files - they were in Japanese (or something that looked like my six year old wrote it) (and, ironically, some six year old hacker in Russia probably did write it). 

I did what I often do when faced with an alarming problem that might eventually destroy my entire family, I casually mentioned it to hubby and tried my best to ignore it.

Monday morning my laptop became possessed.  And by 'possessed' I mean it acted as if someone else (let's call him The Devil) was controlling it.  I would press 'enter' and my trusty laptop would scroll to the top of the page.  I would press the scroll button and I'd end up on another site.  And all kinds of unsavory pop-ups asking me to buy enhancers were popping up. 

But, I had my oil to change, prints to complete, 27 loads of laundry to do, and basically everything that should have been done the previous three days because, um - Halloween.  So, again I reverted back to hubby.  He was incredibly patient with me while asking me a series of questions:

Is your computer plugged in?
Is your Maleware turned on?
Have you backed up your files recently?
Do you have spyware?
Have you recently scanned and deleted unnecessary files?
When was the last time you did a complete scan?
Did you send money to long-lost relatives in Africa who were in trouble???

I answered his questions to the best of my ability and then he sullenly pronounced me with an irreparable virus.

My response was something like this:

And then:

How could this have happened?  I was using protection?  Sometimes double protection.  (And - just FYI - my pleasure was not diminished by double protection.)  Are you sure?  Is it possible the files are just temporarily corrupted?  Shouldn't there be a record of them somewhere?  Y'know like how the Interweb knows what color underwear I'm wearing?  Shouldn't they also know what all my files look like?  AGAIN, HOW COULD THIS HAVE HAPPENED???  I never opened any emails from people telling me about my inheritance!!!  I SWEAR.

Calmly and patiently hubby told me how to go about "fixing" what had happened to the best of his knowledge.

This took quite a bit of time.

It was ugly.

Monday I got the ransom note from the hackers when I was attempting to delete infected files. 

The ransom note basically said:  We have  your files.  If you ever want to see them again in their unaltered form you will need to pay us one million Bitcoins (which in case you don't know is a form of currency similar to Monopoly money that people who fancy themselves to be those blue and pink little plastic people use to basically terrorize normal people) (one million Bitcoins is roughly equivalent to 500 U.S. dollars - although its value changes daily in accordance to astrological signs).

It was creepy and scary and naturally I wanted to call the police.

Instead I asked hubby:  Isn't this illegal???  Can't we sue these people and put them in jail???

Hubby patiently said:  Yes, this is illegal, but let's not involve the police.  Let's use the Google and find out what we can do. 

The next 48 hours were spent learning everything we could have ever wanted to know about a little virus called CryptoWall 2.0.  It's a nasty thing.  It's main symptoms are:  runny nose, fever, body aches.  No, wait.  That's Ebola (also a nasty little thing).  Crypto King's main symptoms are:  encrypted files, explicit pop-up messages (which albeit interesting - do get annoying), random possession of the keyboard, and basically the Devil on your shoulder.


Sidenote:  If you are (not even remotely) a techie, using the Google to research a computer virus is a little like going to a party where everyone is dressed up in Star Wars costumes (except you) and speaking a language where you understand every fifth word.   At this party you are not sure what you are supposed to be doing, so you just kind of stumble forward while everyone else is dancing wildly with abandon, having a great time, and drinking this purple juice.  You come home from the party with a bad headache feeling like you drank way too much even though you are thirsty.  You go to sleep and have nightmares about going to a party where everyone is dressed up in Star Wars costumes except you..........................................

I will lead you to the decryptor.

End of the story?  Roughly 48 hours later?

I lost everything important to my actual work while all my files like this one:  What's For Dinner?  (which included 31 Very Important dinner ideas) remained uncorrupted (of course).

I had not backed up my files in about a year. 

I know you are sitting there smugly reading this (if anyone is actually reading this) thinking, "Ms. Dayinthelife - WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?  You don't back up your files?  What century do you live in?  You should have a calendar and a strict schedule for precisely these types of activities!"

What can I say?  Backing up my files is like cleaning the fridge for me.  The last time I cleaned the fridge someone had dropped a jar of pickles inside of it.  

I have no defense.  I hide my head in shame.  But, I did learn some important life lessons.

Lessons learned

1.  When in trouble it's not always necessary to call the police.  Instead consult the Google.
2.  Hackers are the parasites of humanity.
3.  Parasites are very, very smart.
4.  Back up your files and then back them up again in case your back up gets a virus.  In fact, there can never be too many back ups.
5.  Do this regularly.
6.  Ditto for protection.  You can never have too much protection.  Sometimes you need so much protection that you will never be able to just have good 'ole irresponsible fun.
7.  When all is said and done, this is a First World Problem.  There are people starving in the world who don't even have laptops.  And in that respect I am thankful to just have been hacked and not starved.
8.  I will and have survived fairly intact.  My computer has been set back to Factory Settings (Google it - it's basically like when you shot out of your mom's womb).  I am resilient.
9.  I believe what hubby says.  He and I - we are Mexicans not Mexican'ts.
10.  And last but not least, I believe the other thing hubby has told me:  It takes a lot to stop a Mexican.  Hackers will need to build a taller wall to stop us. 

This-I$whysometimesI_hate

Today there was a phone message in a cheery robotic voice on my answering machine (remember those?) that said (paraphrased), "Hi, Ms. Dayinthelife!  It's Your Phone Company!  We just wanted to let you know that you have a bill due in a few days.  You can pay online, pay by mail, or pay by phone.  Just don't pay it late!"

I was almost happy when I thought, "Thanks, Phone Company!  Let me find that bill I owe right here in the pile of 1,000 other bills I owe!"

I checked my pile of bills and found a bill from said phone company for $.10 (no, that's not a typo - I owed ten cents).  (I won't even address how ridiculous a ten cent bill is in this post because there is already enough rage here.) 

Now, I usually pay my bills by mail (yes, probably my 97 year old father and I are the last people in the free world that still do that), but I think stamps are now like $1.47 each so I decided I would hop online while my ground beef was browning and take care of it online.

Here's how that went.

Me:  Hopped online.

Phone company's website:  What do you want to do online today?  Change your service?  Add a line?  Disconnect your cable?  Schedule a service?  Cancel a service?  Postpone a service?  Order a pizza?

Me:  Searched for Pay My Bill.

Me:  Typed in the Search Box - Pay My Bill.

Phone company's website:  I'm sorry nothing matches your request.

Me:  Great!  I won't pay my bill.

Me:  Searched again for how to pay my g*d d*mn bill.  Clicked on Billing and Payments.  Ah.  Thought, "Finally and good because my ground beef is almost browned."

Phone company's website:  Please enter your Phone Company login and password.

Me:  Cheesus Christ.  Login?  Password?  Where is my login book?  In the flippin' car.  Where someone could steal it and know all my passwords.  Note to self:  Take password book out of car.  Clicked - Help with login and password.

Phone company's website:  Type in your email and we will send help to your email within five minutes.  Just check your email.

Me:  Perfect!  I'll have this wrapped up soon.

Phone company's email:  Your login is your email.

Me:  OHMYGOD.  Why didn't they just say that?  The meat is done and I need to put the pasta on now for the love of all that is human.  Okay.  Login done.  Password?  Clicked on - password help.

Phone company's website:  Help with your password will be sent to your email within five minutes.

Phone company's email:  Type in your login and click reset your password.

Me:  AREYOUSERIOUS? 

Spent the next two minutes logging in and resetting my password.

Clicked on PAY BILL (and felt quite smug).

Phone company's website:  Type in your account number.

Me:  (Smugly) typed in my account number.

Phone company's website:  It appears your account number does not match your login and password information.  Please click here.

Me:  JESUSF8C97CHR*ST.  ISTHISFORREAL???  I ONLY OWE TEN FREAKING CENTS!!!

Me:  Okay.  Clicking here. 

Phone company's website:  Hello, Mr. Dayinthelife.  Please answer your two preset security questions.

Me:  WHAT???  MR. DAYINTHELIFE???  NO WONDER THIS IS SO MESSED UP!  HE NEVER PAYS BILLS WHY DOES HE HAVE SECURITY QUESTIONS???  It's a mother loving PHONE for God's sake.  NOT NATIONAL SECURITY.

Phone company's website:  Question #1:  What size shoe did you wear in second grade?  Question #2:  When your first pet fish died, how did you dispose of the body?

Me:  I'll take dead body for TEN CENTS.

Spent next two minutes successfully hacking into hubby's security questions for his secure PHONE COMPANY FREAKING LOGIN.

Phone company's website:  You will need to set a password for your secondary phone company login.  This password cannot be the same as your main phone company login and can only contain letters, numbers, hyphens and underscores.

Me:  Perfect.  I know just what my password will be.

For the next 10 minutes I typed every conceivable password I could beginning with IhatePhoneCompany_- and ending with YOUSUCKLIKEAHOOVER. 

Every single flippin' one ended with this error message:  There has been an error in your password.  Please read the terms and conditions of passwords and try again.

Me:  IS THERE SOMEONE ON THE OTHER END WHO HATES ME??? 

After 10 minutes of being utterly and completely defeated by the password administrator I clicked "cancel" and "log out."  After loudly cursing the phone company with every word I know, I picked up the phone.  I called the number on the bill, talked to a robotic female (I think the very same one who left a message on my machine saying that I better pay my 10 cents) and paid my ten cent bill in about five minutes.

I was filled with rage, my dinner was burned, but I can rest assured that I was not late in paying my (ten cent) bill. 

Thanks, Phone Company for the friendly heads up!

It's either writer's block or menopause. Either way I've gained 10 pounds.

Summer is almost over and I've not written a blog post since June 4.  I will not try to explain this except to say, in a move reminiscent of Janet Jackson at Superbowl VIIXIVITIT, I lost my swimsuit bottoms in a public pool shortly after summer started.  I might have PTSD.

After a long pause in blog production there are some things that are bound to annoy the crap out of readers.

1.  Trying to explain why there has been an extreme pause in writing. 

So, let me attempt to explain the long pause in writing.  I cleaned my copper bottom pans.  Jesus.  My lack of tricep muscles are still sore and I think I found the decomposed remains of Jimmy Hoffa under the black burned stuff that was on my pots.  On the upside - I can now taste my food and I will not be mildly embarrassed if Paula Deen chances by and decides to melt me some butter sprinkled with cheese and then salted (under the guise that she is a reformed diabetic racist).

2.  Trying to explain previous blog topics and why they didn't work. 

So, here are some things I have tried to write about in the past month and then after a rereading - promptly eaten the results (which could explain why I've gained 10 pounds).

a.  How Much I Hate Barbie.  Did you know that along with being an astronaut, physicist, hooker, veterinarian, and entrepreneur, she writes books now?  And (surprise) they read a lot like the genius script from Two Broke Girls.  Because I would never believe it unless I saw it, I've included one of the pages from the book that clearly makes me proud to support public libraries through all my fines.  In case the captions look like they're in Chinese (the book was made in China, after all), I've included the (interpreted) script for you below.



Unnamed character:  Barbie!  Ken's here!  Barbie:  Oh no!  I don't have my brain in yet!  Brunette:  Barbie!  Remember, you don't have a brain!  Barbie:  Oh, yeah!  That's a relief!

  And now I think I should be a published (paid) author.

b.  How Much I Hate Insurance. 

Insurance - n.noun

1. The act, business, or system of screwing.
2. The state of being screwed.
3. A means of being screwed.
4. Coverage by a contract binding a party to indemnify another against specified loss in return for premiums paid unless such premiums go toward a "deductible" in which case the party paying the premiums is screwed out of their premiums and stuck with said specified losses.  (See #1-3.)
5. The sum or rate for which such a contract insures something or not (See #4).
6. The periodic premium paid for this coverage.  "Coverage" being a relative term dependent on the amount of said deductible which is relative and rises in relation to the amount in which the paying party is being screwed.
7. A protective measure.
8. Bullshit.

Term in use:  I f*cking hate insurance.

c.  My inability to cook even with a recipe.

Here is what I made just this morning from a biscuit recipe:

Whatthef*ckisthat?

Y'know how some people have suffered tremendous stress and then go on to like win the Olympics?  Well, I'm kind of like that.  I have suffered the loss of ruining virtually every recipe I've set out to cook and yet I've managed to come out a winner almost every time.

*Eating that idea now.  (And, it's quite delicious I might add.  Score!)*

e.  Like every other female on the planet my hormones are all out of whack.  I think I've narrowed down my afflictions (thank you, WebMD) to either ebola, menopause, a stubbed toe, or a hangnail.  The list of symptoms of menopause is a blog in and of itself (the title of that blog is:  Menopause - Serve Yourself Some More Cake).  I seem to have experienced just a few symptoms (not a comprehensive list) in the time I've had writer's block:  fatigue, depression, hot flashes, mood swings, sudden tears, inability to articulate or write, inability to cook or do laundry, sudden bouts of bloat (although apparently not enough to make the elastic in my swimsuit bottoms hold), gastrointestinal distress (could be related to my cooking?), disturbing memory loss, increased tension in the muscles, and tinnitus (could be due to my kids not being in school?).

3.  Trying to describe how much you have missed your readers.

If it weren't for virtual friends, I'd have no friends at all and I know you guys have all been reading everyone else's superior blogs and having a party without me.  What can I say?  It hurts.

So, I will not try to tell you why I've been gone, what I've been doing instead of blogging, what topics have just not worked, or how much I've missed you guys.  As some guy once said in AA, "Today I am not enjoying life as it occurs.  Today I am blogging about it instead.  I'm not sure when I will do this again and I will not make any promises.  But today I hope you guys will join me."  (Or something like that.)

Any Way You Want It. Or, just the way I remember it?

It's not my fault.  When this kind of stuff happens for real, it's just no wonder I get confused.

I fell asleep on the couch last night watching Sherlock and I woke up to see an Asian man with long glossy hair and perfect teeth talking to a camera saying, "I am living a dream.  I did not think this could be possible.  And I love cooking.  Right now I am making some kind of Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese food that is not kimchee and looks delicious."  I made up that last part because he was speaking in a foreign tongue and I wasn't awake enough to read the subtitles. 

It took me about a minute to realize this wasn't Sherlock.  Then the craziest thing happened.  This tiny Asian man started singing Journey.  Had this not happened right on the heels of seeing Lang Lang performing with Metallica, I could have sworn I was in an alternate universe.

Me:  Babe are you in here?

Hubby:  Yup. 

Me:  Who is this Asian guy?  What are we watching?  I was watching Sherlock and I woke up in an alternate universe.

Hubby:  He's some guy that sings Journey better than Journey.  And you are not in an alternate universe.  You are on the couch where you have fallen asleep the last five nights in a row at about 8:15.  I changed the channel when I realized you were asleep.  Again.

Me:  Right.  But who is he?  Is this real?  What are we watching?

Hubby:  Yes.  This is real.  I'm not sure I didn't see the first part of the show - because you were "watching" Sherlock.  We are now watching Independent Lens. 

There's many reasons why I confuse things so frequently in my head (mostly I blame it on the sheer number of things I have to remember at any given point in time).  Part of the reason I am so screwed up in my thinking is that we often stumble upon great shows halfway into the show.  (That's what happens when you still watch TV in real time and you get sleepy a lot.  Apparently.)  So, I blame great shows like Independent Lens that try to teach me something and I also blame hubby (naturally).  (Specifically I blame his degree in trivia with a minor in B.S.) 

We finished watching the show (which was great) and here's what I went to bed knowing (kind of):

1.  I hated Journey in high school.
2.  I still hate Journey although I have great respect for their lead singer (?) who Did Not Stop Believing. 
3. This was some sort of dream realized for him.
4.  Sometimes dreams come true but you probably need a YouTube account for this to happen (this was confirmed for me this morning - as in - you do need a YouTube account for your dreams to come true).
5.  As hubby said first, "He sings Journey better than Journey sings Journey."  (I just think that's a quote worth repeating.  Over and over.)
6.  This guy did not get to sing lead for Journey because someone in the "real" Journey died. Rest easy - no one in Journey has died, right?
7.  Hubby (generally as good as a small Google for trivia) was fairly useless in ascertaining any more information without the aid of his "smart" phone.  He never saw Journey in concert and he didn't really like Journey much either.
8.  The Asian man is Filipino and I think everyone in the Philippines turned out for his homecoming concert in which he sang Journey better than Journey.
9.  When he sang Don't Stop Believing I almost liked it.
10.  Independent Lens can make you love Journey even if you hate it.

So, after we were in bed hubby decided to look up some more trivia about Journey.  I already know some of this trivia is going to come back to haunt me (probably later today).

Hubby:  So, did you know Randy Jackson used to play with Journey?

Me:  Holy CRAP.  I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE SURPRISES TONIGHT.  ARE YOU LOOKING AT THE REAL INTERNET OR A FAKE INTERNET THAT'S TRYING TO MESS WITH ME??? 

Hubby:  No.  I'm looking at the real Internet.

Me:  I cannot believe this!  Was that before or after Pulp Fiction?

Hubby:  No.  Randy Jackson.  You're thinking of Samuel Jackson.

Me:  Oh, right.  Are they brothers because they really look alike?

Hubby:  No.  Samuel Jackson is a movie star.  Randy Jackson sang with Journey and a bunch of other bands and now he's on American Idol.  And he's a spokesperson for Nutrisystems.

Me:  Oh.

Hubby:  I'm just kidding.

Me:  So, he wasn't with Metallica?  I mean Journey?

Hubby:  No, he was with Journey but he's not a spokesperson for Nutrisystems.  As far as I know.  But, he did lose about 200 pounds.

Me:  You suck for messing with my already messed up mind.  Speaking of music, you know that guy that just died Pete Seeger? 

Hubby:  Yup.

Me:  I'm so sad. 

Hubby:  Before you ask me, he doesn't sing the song you love Night Moves.  That's Bob Seger.

Me:  I knew that.  But Pete was his dad, right?

Hubby:  Um, no.

Me:  I was KIDDING!

Hubby:  Right.

 

How To Be (Kind of) Productive On A Snow Day in 19 Steps.

1.  Set your alarm for your usual 5:30 a.m. because when you go to bed, although it is colder than a witch's nipple, there is still no sign of snow or ice.

2.  When the alarm rings at 5:30, turn it off because you are getting up.

3.  Spring out of bed one hour later when you wake back up and realize you are screwed if there is no ice and the kids actually have school.

4.  Turn on the TV to see if there is indeed school.

5.  Listen to the brilliant south Texas weathermen say things like, "Water freezes at 32 degrees," and "Black ice is the most dangerous kind."  Briefly think about stabbing them.

6.  After watching for a full 10 minutes (you could have been getting coffee) hear the newscaster say, "There are too many school closures to announce them all.  Please check your district website for updates."

7.  Wait another 10 minutes for your laptop to boot up and actually connect to the Internet because apparently everyone else is at home accessing the Internet.

8.  Find out your kids don't have school because there is an 1/8 of an inch of ice (not black) on one overpass in south Texas no where near your kids' school.

9.  Go back upstairs to brush your teeth so you can still be productive with four kids underfoot.

10.  Lay down in your bed for just five more minutes.

11.  Wake up another hour later and decide you still have time to be productive.

12.  Go downstairs to find you are out of coffee, eggs, and flour.

13.  Preheat your truck for 30 minutes so that you can go to the store to buy food for breakfast.

14.  Check your email to find that several friends also have a snow day.  Most of them actually have snow.

15.  Fool around on the interwebs.

16.  Decide you can still make it a productive day by getting to the store.

17.  Go shopping.

18.  Spend the rest of what is left of the morning making six people breakfast, eating like you've not eaten in days, cleaning up, and sweeping multiple times (because five of the six people go in and out repeatedly looking for "black ice").

19.  Look at the clock which says past noon.  Wonder when the troops will be hungry again.  Decide to spend the rest of the day surfing the net.  (Productively, of course.)

Nicely played, Internet.

I get that Google knows what kind of underwear I am wearing right now, but every once in a while I just get creeped out by what shows up in my sidebar or my inbox.  Forget spies being in my driveway.  Are these people in my head?

I hate talking on the phone, but I'm quite smug about my online cleverness.

Well, just now this ecard showed up in my sidebar. 

Okay, Internet.  I get it.  You know me.  Now get out of my soul.

Our first child graduated! The job prospects don't look too good, and peeing or pooping on the floor is still a possibility. But no one ever said parenting was easy, right?

Anyone want to adopt a recent graduate?

So, puppy graduated from Puppy School Friday night.  (Or as hubby has become fond of saying, "He finally got his dog-torate.)  (I didn't say the jokes were good.)



1.  Around 3:00 p.m. on Friday - approximately four hours before the graduation ceremony, I started to feel guilty about not baking puppy a cake, or sending out invitations to his graduation (*maybe* I'd been drinking).  But, Lady Luck was on my side! 

Coincidentally I was baking three cakes (my human children were having a fundraiser the next day).  As usual, I tried to burn the house down while making the cakes.  This resulted in a lot of gooey cake batter pouring out of the oven door and spilling onto the floor.  This resulted in a Huge Clean Up.....and a trip to the store for more beer.

Thankfully, puppy was playing outside while the smoke alarms were sounding and billowing black smoke mixed with brown sugar and butter was oozing out of my 350 degree oven.

Where's the Lady Luck part?  You ask. 

When puppy came in he licked every surface of my closed oven door and drawer and the entire surface area of the wood floor on which my stove sits.............obsessively for about two hours.   AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND, I let him!  Because I owed him. 

THEN, I let him wash it all down with some delicious toilet water!  I'm pretty sure he had a huge grin on his face.

Puppy, you are welcome!  Happy Graduation!

2.  In the Yukon Cornelius on the way to the ceremony I was telling the family about how puppy just loves Cheez Whiz and that we should have gotten him some for his graduation.  I then told them about how the vet feeds puppy Cheez Whiz on a tongue depressor when she needs to do something to him. 

Girl 1 said, "Oh, you mean like when she needs to put a tongue depressor in his mouth?"

I said, "Um.  No."

Girl 3 said, "Oh, you mean like when he does something good."

I said, "Um.  No."

Girl 1 said, "So, when does the vet do that exactly?"

I said, "Y'know?  Like when she needs to stick something up his butt.  Like a thermometer."

Most of the Yukon Cornelius' passengers snickered after that quite loudly.

Then hubby said (snickering the loudest), "Well, I like Cheez Whiz, a lot, too....................but, I am not falling for that trick."

I think we all felt closer to hubby after that.  So, thank you hubby.

3.  Since puppy went from birth to graduation in eight months, I did not have time to make him a scrapbook documenting every milestone he has passed.  (Plus, I really didn't want my last two human children to be jealous since they only have one page scrapbooks themselves which basically document the fact that they were indeed born.) 

I think it's okay though because during the graduation I took about 8000 photos with my phone and they all look like this:

Can you tell what the f*ck that is?  No, me neither.

So, clearly he's an ungrateful bastard when it comes to memories and important milestones.

4.  I think my four year old might be ready to graduate pretty soon. 

Puppy knows about one command (sit) to about the 50th percentile  mark when compared to other border collie mutts his own age.  And he was able to graduate in the State of Texas (apparently otherwise known as the State of Poor Testing Standards).  And the chance that he will be within the 50th percent of obeying this command increases exponentially (if I may be so brave as to use a word that I don't fully understand) if you are holding a bacon treat.

This got me thinking - Girl 3 might be pretty close to graduating herself! 

She knows about one command (the actual command depends on her mood, how much sleep she's had, what distractions are present, and other sundry factors) to about the 50th percentile mark when compared to other mischievous four year old girls who think they are diva queens.  The chance that she will be in the 50th percent of obeying your command increases exponentially if you are holding a brand new Barbie in your hand and threatening her with loss of technology while simultaneously promising to buy her the new Barbie.

Graduation, for another child - here we come!!!

5.  I'm afraid we might look like a lot of other parents who just had recent graduates.  Disappointingly, despite one of our children having completed a major accomplishment, life looks pretty much the way it did before we had a child graduate.

He still lays around the house all day seemingly doing nothing, waiting for someone to give him food, clean up after him, and play games with him.  He has yet to get out of the house and look for a stinkin' job, and as far as I can tell he is still not making enough money to pay his own way, let alone his cell phone bill.

Bandit before graduation.

Bandit after graduation.  See the difference?  No?  Me neither.

 

home of the free, land of the brave

I did not see a horse with "five legs" this Fourth of July. 

Last Fourth of July in keeping with the forefathers quest for freedom from religion we saw a horse with five legs.  It was at a quaint parade in a small town where apparently the horses (in addition to getting patriotic) get frisky every now and again.

Randy was the last horse to trot through the parade route and he stopped right in front of my family and decided that would be a good time to try and mount the female (?) horse in front of him. 

Photo courtesy of:  www.yellowstone.magic.com I was pretty pissed, too when Randy tried to ruin the patriotic time I was having.

Most of the cowboys we were sitting around snickered loudly while the children we were around either stared wide-eyed or screamed loudly, "MOMMY, WHAT IS HAPPENING?  WHAT IS THAT HORSE TRYING TO DO TO THAT OTHER HORSE?  WHY IS IT HURTING IT?  AND WHY DOES IT HAVE FIVE LEGS?  OH MY GOD!  IS THAT A LEG?"

To say the least, it was awkward for all the adults witnessing and traumatic for all the children who witnessed this.  Truth be told (because it's always a good idea to tell the truth, thank you George Washington), I was traumatized for quite a while afterward as well.

This year, there were no horses with five legs.  For that, I am thankful.

Instead there was a bar complete with prostitutes (?) and an effigy hanging on the porch.  Because what says, "Happy Birthday, America!" better than that?  (Except, of course, a horse with five legs.)



I bet the guy on the porch was pissed, too.

Sorry, y'all. I'm busy procrastinating....I mean drinking....I mean procrastinating.

So, it's been a family filled summer so far.  Here's what I've learned.

1.  Someone made a wine for me.  (Not to be confused with a whine for me.  Someone made that for me a long, long time ago.)

Notice the little person relaxing at her desk?  She's clearly a woman.  To which I say, "Huh?"  In my extensive research and experience, men procrastinate far more than women.  Amirite?

2.  I've lost weight.  Maybe.  My swimsuit bottoms almost fell off in the pool today.  This could be because:  I have lost weight.  My swimsuit bottom elastic has completely lost its elasticity.  Or, I am a really bad swimmer.  I am going with - I lost weight.  So, yay!  And, boo.  Because now I have to shop again.

3.  Because during the first week of summer our kids were turning into computer screens, communicating with acronyms, and pausing their games only to toilet themselves and eat, hubby and I decided we had to somehow limit their technology use.

We have now limited it to the point where our kids hate us so much they might move out before school starts again in August. 

We arrived at this status via a surprising move last Sunday evening, when we voted in my family.  The two options up for vote were:  1.  Kids will use technology only on Saturday and Sunday for unlimited use.  There will be no technology use Monday - Friday.  Or, 2. kids use technology for one hour a day at the same hour Sunday - Saturday.  The kids voted for Option 2, and for one full week we have battled and argued each and every day about how many minutes are in a freaking hour.

Seriously?  Tuesday I thought Girl 2 was having the DTs because we had to stop her game and leave the house during her "one hour."

4.  I am addicted to Daft Punk.  My kids are happy, but a little concerned about me.  Have a listen and you'll soon be addicted, too.  You're welcome.

5.  I have been unable to run with puppy because he threw my hip out pulling me and I am recovering with large doses of Aleve, chocolate, and beer.  So, I am getting no exercise and gaining weight.  And he is getting no exercise and acting like a maniac.  This has created a vicious cycle similar to drug dependency.  He is hyper because no one is exercising him and no one wants to exercise him because he's too damn hyper.  Cheesus.

Hubby had a moment of pure genius earlier and declared, "We should have named puppy "Technology" because then everyone would want to play with him."

That, folks, has been my summer thus far.  How have you been?

Bad things happen in 3's...or 13's...or 33's. But who's counting?

So, you might have known that back in January while hubby was out of town with work, our microwave (that we'd had for about 11 years) broke. 

That was the beginning of the end.

For about one day after it broke, I felt just like a pilgrim while I actually cooked everything.  On the stove.  (Pilgrims had stoves, right?) 

Then after much furious texting between hubby and I (while he was in some "important" meetings) about how much microwaves cost "nowadays," I texted hubby from Lowe's:  Babe, the cheapest microwave is $120.00 and it looks like it would hold one bag of single serve popcorn.  I *think* it belongs in a hotel.  A hotel where only one person will be staying.

About 15 minutes and $260 later, I walked out with a sleek, stainless steel, working microwave that can *almost* hold a 9 x 13 pan.  Damn my faulty measuring.

That's when it all went down the crapper.

The complete list of everything in our house that has broken since the 11 year old microwave died in January:

1.  The air conditioner.
2.  The water heater.
3.  My trusty, dependable 20 year old hair dryer.
4.  The puppy.
5.  The garbage disposal.  Seriously?  Whose garbage disposal up and breaks???  I swear I didn't even put a fork in it.
6.  The cheese drawer on the ancient (white) fridge.  Firstly, who still has a white fridge?  Secondly, I know this isn't a real "break," but damn it if it isn't annoying to not be able to close that drawer properly.
7.  The Keurig.  (Thankfully hubby was able to fix that before I had to even miss one cup of coffee.  Thank you, hubby for not making me kill anyone.)

And, today I came back from my run to this:

Hubby:  The TV broke while you were gone.

$%&*#%  $%&*%$ is what I said.

Seriously?  I feel like I want to bury a saint in my front yard or go to a curandero, or have my house blessed.  Again.  Cheesus, Mary, and Joseph.  Someone cut me a break.

Photo courtesy:  forums: redflagdeals.com  I bet you didn't even know people still had TVs like this.  We do and now ours is broken.  If you hear screaming it's us being dragged into this century by force.

I *might* be a hoarder.

You guys, if you haven't been following, I just got back from this amazing place for my niece's wedding.  It was absolutely beautiful and surreal. 

Being home is bittersweet.  On the one hand, I missed my rotten kids a lot.  And, of course, I really wished we could have made it work for me and hubby to go - and because of that I missed him a lot.  But, on the other hand, I really wish I could go live at this resort, be independently wealthy, eat yummy food that I don't have to cook, and have someone clean up after me and organize my $hit.

So, I was a bit overwhelmed yesterday when I got back to my tiny house with five other people, my disorganized piece of chaos, my pile of work, and the state of my life.

Of course, there is always a funny side, right?  Here it is:  Last night in my mildly depressed, exhausted, and sick state I made a crazy goal for myself.  (Hubby probably thought, "You're gonna get a real job?"  Um, no.) 

I am going to attempt to clean and re-organize my entire house - one room or area at a time. 

If you know me and my house personally, you know that ironically this is far more difficult than actually "getting a real job."

I have a house cleaner (who I would like to marry someday), but I'm talking about all the jobs she doesn't do.

Today I did our tiny bathroom.

Here's the state of the union.

1.  I found 14 tubes of toothpaste, 17 razors, enough hotel shampoo and conditioner for a small country in Africa, 15 large safety pins (damn them), enough Clinique make-up to take me well into my 80's, and the travel bottle of cologne I was desperately searching for right before I went to the wedding.

2.  I am so emotionally strained and physically exhausted right now I think this should be my real job.

3.  I'm wondering if it might be easier to just put the house up for sale.  As is.

So, it's kinda good to be back?  The jury's still out on that.  If I don't post again for a long time it's because A&E has contacted me and I'm in filming.

What to do if you are abducted by aliens.

Boy child this morning in the Yukon Cornelius:  Mom, I know the number to call if you are abducted by aliens.

Me:  Really?

Boy:  Yeah.  It's xxx-xxx-xxxx.

Me:  Wouldn't it be more helpful to memorize something you could actually use if you were in trouble?  Like, for example, my cell?

Boy:  Well, I already know your cell and seriously, mom.  What are you talking about???  You are in trouble if you are being abducted by aliens!  Duh!

Me:  Where did you get this number?

Boy:  Oh, I'm reading this book about UFO sightings and abductions and stuff and in the back they have all these resources like who to call and websites to research when it happens.

Me:  Well, I think that's where your confusion might be.  The number in the back of the book is probably to call after you've experienced an abduction or seen a UFO.  Y'know to report it?  Not while you're actually experiencing your abduction.

Boy:  Well, yeah.  Duh.  While you are being abducted you need to call 911, mom.

Me:  Oh.  And how do you think that's going to go over, bub?  911 responder:  Sir, what's your emergency?  You:  I'm being abducted by aliens.  Seriously, bub?  They *might* think you are half cracked.

Boy:  Well, mom.  I don't care what they think!  I'm telling you what to do if you are abducted by aliens.  Yeesh.  You should thank me.

Me:  Thank you.

The more things change..........

Me:  What?  Annette Funicello died today, too?  And Margaret Thatcher?  They're dropping like flies.

Hubby:  Yeah.  I saw that.

Me:  I thought Annette was dead?

Hubby:  Yeah.  Me, too.

Time for a reblog......from my own blog.  And when I looked back in the files I saw that I had been awarded The Versatile Blogger Award.  Two years ago.  And I missed it. 

Someone thought I was worthy, and I MISSED it.  So, check out the lovely lady that awarded me.  I am sorry to be so thankless two years ago.  Please know that now - I thank you from the depths of my heart.  As per the award - please check out my sidebar for all the blogs I love (nearly all of them have shelves - or rooms - dedicated to their writing awards).  Until I need a shelf or a room, I have put my two awards on my sidebar for safe keeping.

The reblog.  Enjoy!

Let's hope unicorning pays well.

I'd like to come up with a normally scheduled and/or regular series of posts entitled "$hit My Family Does."  But, my track record for normality and regularity sucks. 

That said, remember the post about the evangelizers who left their bikes in our neighborhood and my kids theorized (because they're smart like that) how to most effectively steal them?
Well, this post is kinda like that.

$hit My Family Does (this will probably never happen again)

1.  Boy Child screws things up in hysterical ways.  Today at breakfast he said very seriously and poetically, "That which doesn't make us stronger, kills us."  My favorite quote according to my Facebook profile (which we know is like Wikipedia in its truthfulness) is Neitchze's, so I love this about as much as I love my kids.

2.  Hubby was explaining to Girl 2 what a baker's dozen was.  When he was done she said, "I always thought it was because the baker ate a dozen and then there was one left to share with someone else."  We *might* be related.

3.  We were driving the other day and we passed an area where new construction had started.  Boy Child commented, "Hmm. I wonder what they're building there, mom."  There was a construction company's sign up with the motto "Blank-blank Construction Company...Building the Future."  He quickly read the sign out loud and said, "That's a weird place for the future."  Lest you think he was joking when this happened:  The other day we drove by the same place and he said not even jokingly, "Look, mom.  They're getting pretty far on the future there."

4.  I don't really believe in anthropomorphism, but since I am probably going to have to send this *smart(ass)*puppy to private puppy school, he will heretofore be considered "family."  The puppy tries to strangle himself each and every time he is "chained up" outside.  Before you call PETA on me, he's only "chained" for short amounts of time (or he would die, apparently) and tomorrow the guy is coming to fix our invisible fence (as we explained to Girl 3, it's not really "invisible").  I can tie him up, quickly go inside to get a cup of coffee, walk right back outside to check on him and he's managed to make a cat's cradle with his rope. 

Photo credit:  Oxford Advanced Learner's Dictionary.

Cheesus.  And, people keep telling me he's smart. I guess I'm ecstatic he's not dumb?

5.  Lately we've been going to our favorite hang-out, Spicy Ginger, and ordering almost everything on the menu.  I am beginning to wonder what those lovely people think of us.  Are they frightened?  Is there talk in the back?  "OH MY GAWD.  HERE COMES THAT ENORMOUS MEXICAN FAMILY WHO EAT EVERYTHING ON THE MENU.  QUICK PUT OUT THE "CLOSED" SIGN."  When you manage to spend nearly $100.00 on a very reasonably priced restaurant, and the food you order could feed a small country and barely fits on the table it borders on embarrassing and it might be time to quit.

6.  This one *might* eventually be one for Prudie, but right now I'm just filing it here.  Girl 3 is addicted to chewing gum.  She hides it like an addict.  Although friends have suggested I allow it on a "supervised" basis, or I use it as a reward, hubby and I have adopted an AA approach in that we are not giving her anymore gum.  (We also helped her to admit she has a problem and make amends to the people she's hurt.)  We are pretty sure if she relapses it will not be a "I can just chew this one piece and I'll be fine," but that she will pick up where she left off and it will be more like, "WHERE ELSE CAN I HIDE THIS $HIT???  THE LID OF THE TOILET???"  Lest you think we are cookoo cra-cra, the *damages* so far include (but are not limited to):  the wood floor in the corner of her closet is permanently marked bright green and scented minty, the cup holder that's closest to her in the Yukon Cornelius is permanently sticky, her sheets are stained bright green, and there is a small piece of hair in the back of her head that still has not fully grown out.

7.  I have an irrational fear of wet dog, rain, mud smell in my house.  Usually that's easy to avoid because I live in Texas and it only rains about once every eight years here.  But, lately we've been having some cloudy weather.  The other night I let puppy out to strangle himself on the chain.  About one second after I brought him in the back door it started to POUR.  I thanked Jesus, Mary, and Joseph profusely that my timing had been so extraordinary.  At about the same time, Hubby was so excited with the rain (I guess he forgot what rain was) he threw open the front door in glee.  Yeah.  Puppy pretty much ran in the back door and immediately out the front.  He refused to come back in until he was soaking wet, stinky, and nice and muddy.

8.  Girl 3 has been a negotiator I think since she learned to talk.  She's stepped up her game as of late and I thought she'd get a little smarter with it.  But, no.  It still goes down something like this almost every time:

Girl 3:  I can't finish this supper.  Remember I don't like peas???  How about I take five more bites?

Me:  How about 10 more bites?

Girl 3:  NOOOOOOOO!  How about seven?

(There are just about 7 more bites of peas on her plate - which I have carefully calculated before entering into the negotiations.)

Me:  PERFECT!

This complete misunderstanding of the art of negotiation has made me wary of what her future holds, but also thankful that parenting in this regard has not become more difficult.  So, I have mixed feelings?  Let's hope unicorning pays well?

Lest you think after reading this that I am perfect and I don't do any ridiculous $hit, I took puppy out running wearing my headset and phone armband for the first time just the other day.  Let's just say the entanglement of earphones, choke chain, leash, and ponytail coupled with my complete lack of coordination and just how quickly it all went down was amazingly embarrassing.  I am so happy that I was home alone and that I ended up flat on my back with puppy joyfully licking my face in my own driveway or I most surely would have to find another home.

Why dinner with my family can be like the eye of a hurricane only without the rain.

I vowed to be a better blogger and just as soon as I did, I broke my vows.  Good thing I've done a teensy bit better with my marriage vows.

Here's the thing - I can't think of anything to write.  I have an enormous writer's block on my head.  And, I've been flirting with a migraine for two days.

I *might* have the beginnings of a migraine because spring break for all four of my kids is next week and they all have had spring fever since the middle of February (what???).  They've taken to saying school is almost over.  Frankly, I don't know what that means.

I think it means that their brains are already on vacation and when this happens monkey brain takes over.  And, monkey brain (as you should know if you've ever been to the zoo) causes the body to not  behave at all.

I have found these last few days that it takes tremendous effort to want to be in the same room with all the kids at once.  It's often felt like I think those reporters feel when they are broadcasting from the eye of the hurricane.  I imagine they feel like it's difficult to talk or think, it's dangerous, and at any moment everything might blow.

Sample of our "dinner conversation" (if you can call it that).  I suggested a family rule that we are all going to strive to keep:  No interrupting.  Why did I do that?  Because I am a glutton for punishment.  (I was interrupted about six times while making the rule.)

Girl 2:  I did the P.E. challenge thing today and I did 24 sit-ups.

Me:  Wow.  24?  That's...

Girl 1:  Not to be mean (which is what she now says instead of no offense because no offense "is in fact offensive") but, I doubt very much that you can do 24 sit-ups.

Me:  That's great!  Girl 1, stop being snotty.

Girl 2:  I CAN TO DO 24 SIT-UPS.

Girl 3:  I can do 24 sit-ups, too.

Girl 1 to Girl 3:  Ha!  Not to be mean, but I doubt you even know what a sit-up is.  Because you're four! 

Girl 3:  NOT TO BE MEAN, BUT I DO KNOW WHAT A SIT-UP IS AND I CAN DO 24 SIT-UPS!  In fact, I think I can do a million.

Girl 1:  Hahahahaha!  Not to be mean, but I know for fact that you can't even count to a million because you can't even count to TWELVE!

Girl 3 (in a high-pitched screamy voice):  YOU ARE A MEANIE PETE AND I DON'T LIKE YOU AND I AM NOT GOING TO BE YOUR FRIEND ANYMORE AFTER DINNER WHEN I AM DOING PUSH UPS!!!

Does this make you want to be with these people?  And furthermore, does this make any sense?

So, that's why I have a big writer's block that is painful and makes my head hurt.  And, also it might be dangerous and at any moment knock over this tiny bridge on which I am standing.

But, I did want to bring you this because it makes me laugh so hard every time I watch and I've already watched it about a million times because I have really needed a laugh (and not to be mean, but I can count to a million) .  Cheers!

The Naked Truth. (And yes, I know you never wanted to see me naked.)

So, I'm trying to be a better blogger.  What does this mean for you?  I have no idea.  (I'll probably be way more annoying?) 

But, I just finished reading an excellent post  over at one of my favorite bloggers' space and he said try to post everyday because your readers want to subscribe to something that is worthwhile.  So, please think I'm worthwhile?  (He may have also said something about groveling, too, but I'm not above that yet.)

I've also had the opportunity to read lots of posts lately where the blogger tells you a lot of things about himself/herself so that you can get to know him/her better.  At least I think that's why they are doing it.  Do you want to know me better?  Probably not, but here it goes anyway.

1.  I am a compulsive list maker.  Sometimes Often times I make lists to make the list.  Is that creepy?  Yes.  But, I can't stop doing it.  Yesterday I found this list in my jeans' pocket:

2.  Sometimes I go months without washing my jeans.

3.  I often ask and answer questions all by myself.  And by "often" I mean all the time.  Example:  This is the running dialogue in my head right now.

Is this post crazy?
Probably.
Do I care?
No.
Should I still publish it?
Yes. 
Why did you ask that question when you actually knew the answer before you even typed it?
I have no idea.

4.  I blame my kids and hubby for stuff I do at least daily.  Example:  When I've eaten 10 candies out of my kids' candy baskets after they've gone to bed and they find my wrappers in the trash the next morning I calmly say when they ask how the wrappers got in the trash, "Oh, how did those get in the trash?  That's weird.  I guess dad was craving chocolate last night."  My kids, "But, dad doesn't even like chocolate."  Me, "WELL, THAT'S WHAT MAKES IT WEIRD THEN, HUH???"

5.  So, is #4 basically lying?  Yes, it is.

6.  I hate talking on the phone.  Don't ever call me and tell me something remotely important that needs action because usually I am not even listening.  The washing machine that I am loading is making too much noise and I can't hear you.  (My close friends and most of my family know this about me so I don't consider it rude.)  (Sometimes I lie to myself.)

7.  I am mostly deaf.  In both ears.  Not really, but it's psychosomatic so that makes it true.

8.  I don't trust doctors.  Unless they are taking a baby out of my womb.  In that case I trust them more than hubby.

9.  I brush my teeth anytime I am upstairs in my bathroom.  Even if I brushed them earlier and I haven't eaten anything.

10.  I read a lot in the bathroom.  My kids *might* think I have bowel problems because they often pound on the door and scream, "ARE YOU DONE YET?  ARE YOU OKAY?  GAWD, MOM.  YOU'VE BEEN IN THERE FOR LIKE AN HOUR!"  Half the time I'm just sitting on the pot (the closed pot) reading my book and grunting occasionally at them.  I get my best reading done that way.

11.  I constantly curse at spell check.  Example (I just said this to spell check.):  No you, moron.  Cheesus H. Christ.  I typed, "hte" and you think I want to say "Hate???"  WTF?  You are a worse speller AND WRITER than I am???  How would that even make sense???  And this is supposed to be helpful???  I hate you.

I could go on and on.  Who knew?  Turns out I love talking about myself.  But, this is to make you guys happy, right?   

Now, tell me something incriminating about yourself (not on the phone - in the comments) to make me happy and then we'll be even.  Happy Tuesday!
 

It's not the Oscars.

I'm in a weird state right now.  It's called the state of confusion.  So, this is not really a post, but more of an Andy Rooneyish list of things that are bugging me.  (You're welcome and I'm sorry because Andy Rooney bugs me, too.)

1.  What the hell is really in Thin Mints?  Crack cocaine?  Is there anyone in the world that can eat just one?  I can resist them until about February 25th and then I'm like an addict that needs a fix.  I eat one and I see bugs crawling all over me.  Until I eat another one and then I feel a little better.  And then I eat the whole box and I stop shaking.  Why are the Girl Scouts trying to kill me?

2.  Why is my puppy such a nut?  Is it because he's a pound puppy?  Is that why he is compelled to never leave our sight?  Do I like this?  Or, do I just think it's weird?  Is he an idiot savant?  Heavy on the idiot?  Because he can almost open the front door with his paw.  Yeah.  Top that!  I dare you.  My family might actually have a chance on America's Got Talent.

3.  Why did I pay the public library enough money in fines in 2012 to claim it on my fu*king taxes?  Why am I over 30 and still this irresponsible?  Why can't library books come with tasers?  Because I think if I got tasered every time my library books were due, I'd have a fighting chance.

4.  Why is our elementary school talent show such a pain in my a$$?  Why am I not ecstatic that my 11 year old boy wants to play a classical piano piece (that he is actually really good at playing) in the talent show the last year that he will be in elementary school???  Is it because the talent show is rumored to last over two hours and I will have to take hubby and the four year old?  Or is it because if I have to hear even one elementary school girl sing any Taylor Swift song I will vomit in my mouth?  Or could it be because there have been more rehearsals for this talent show than there were rehearsals for the Oscars?  And are there even rehearsals for the Oscars?  Cheesus.

5.  Why have I gained back all the weight I lost last spring in order to be seen in a bathing suit which I will have to be seen in again in another few months?  (Besides #1.)  Why was I born with no will power? 

6.  Why do I have to teach my 11, 10, and 8 year olds how to take their clothes off properly?  Why are we not born knowing how to take off clothes so that they do not need to be inside outed a gazillion times before we can wear them again after washing and drying them?  If I could make a deal with God and trade the innate ability to suckle with the innate ability to know how to remove clothes for easy laundering - I'd do it.

7.  Why does Girl 3 never stop talking?  And where is her volume control knob?  And, what frankly, is she talking about half the time?  Her east coast (?) accent is making her more and more difficult to understand and more than a few times this past month I've had to say after taking serious time to think about her inquiry, "What are you talking about for Pete's sake?"  And then I have to bite my lip when she asks loudly, "Mama, who's Pete?"  Cheesus.

8.  Are the people who developed tax forms and the people who developed business plan templates one in the same?  Because I would consider loading up all my kids to go shop for bathing suits with bad lighting, pasty skin, fat on my belly and eight beady eyes staring at me in order to avoid both of them.

9.  Why when I am carrying two of something (two lipsticks, two sets of keys, two pairs of glasses, two pens, etc.) and I reach for one without being able to see it - do I always grab the one I don't want?  And why doesn't it work to try and trick my own mind?  And why am I crazy enough to try that? 

10.  And while I'm at it, why do I have 1000 pairs of glasses, but I still can't see worth a damn?  Frankly, it's ridiculous.  I have four pairs of bifocals (two downstairs, one upstairs, one in my purse), two pairs of prescription glasses, two pairs of prescription sunglasses, about a $hit ton of non-prescription sunglasses (usually, none of which I can find), and four boxes of contacts for two different prescriptions.  Invariably I leave the house with my glasses on (while it's dark or cloudy) and only non-prescription sunglasses in my purse only to have the sun (which hasn't been seen in days) blaze brightly in the sky out of nofreakingwhere.



denverebayclassifieds.com.  Yes, someone was selling these for $200.00.  Me to Hubby, "I'm gonna be rich!"

There's more, but you have important things to do.  At least I hope you do.  Like your taxes or a business plan.  While you're at it - help yourself to a box of Thin Mints...for me.

Crafting didn't kill me. But there's still a chance.

So, I'm getting ready for Girl 1's 10th birthday Ladybug/Sweet Shoppe extravaganza.  And for me it's a challenge.  I am both crafting and baking impaired, and I have four kids.  The crafting and baking involved in birthday parties held at home can be especially problematic.  And, Girl 1 chose a theme that basically is not a theme....anywhere....on the Internet or IRL.  (Of course.) 

I promised I'd post the No Sew Ruffled Tote that I made yesterday if it was not crap.  Here it is. 

Girl 1 is in love with the tote.  And I must admit, I surprised myself.  I only burned one of my kids.  And, only once.

We will not be doing this as a craft during the party, though as I originally thought.  I really want my kid to have friends after the party, so I thought it would be bad protocol to burn all the girls at the party with hot glue guns (that and the party is only three hours and it took eight hours for me to make this).

Not dead yet!

So, guess who has five more days to make nine more No Sew Ruffled Totes?!