I've been worried about a friend lately. He's been distant and quiet. I've sat in silence wondering whether I should say anything but finally spoke up and asked him what had been wrong thinking that his behavior was from something that I had done. All he's been able to do is to shoot me a look of confusion and say it wasn't about me and would like to keep that way. That was my clue to back off but being who I am, I haven't let it go and I'm sure I've frustrated him even further by doing so but I can't sit idle knowing someone I love was in pain and I wanted to help, yet I believe my place is just to listen…
Being stubborn has some fine qualities for a few select things, but when it comes to suppressing something that could only relieve an insurmountable amount of pressure, being so only makes it worse. My friend needs to find someone to talk to. Maybe someone totally removed from his situation; maybe someone who knows what to say when nothing should be said at all.
I can tell he's searching for answers and perhaps they are for impossible questions but pursuing none the less. We've all been there. By "There" I mean a place in Life where it seems extremely difficult and foreboding; where what had always been right was now clouded and confusing. We begin to feel lost or trapped in our own creation and sometimes getting up every morning is more difficult than the self inflicted purgatory we exist in. We roll out of bed and fall immediately to our knees pleading for relief from all this chaos that we have no doubt inflicted upon ourselves.
I'm trying my damnedest to be the best friend I can be regardless of our circumstance but sometimes I feel as if what I say will be met with animosity and refused, so most times…I stay quiet. What I really want to do is to take the burden from his shoulders if it was possible but honestly, this man needs to find his own answers and his own way. I just wish I could show him a direction other than the path he's going down. And going down he is. He's headed for the wall that he will no doubt slam his head against in frustration and ultimately hurt himself in the process.
I wish there was something I could say that would help regardless the risk of saying too much. But quite frankly, help has to come from with in this man. I wanted to stress that in the pursuit for direction, all we need to do is to remember where we've been and when we meet up with the crossroad we need to let our heart guide us to our next destination.
Being burdened with so much lately, I'm sure his heart is heavy and has no idea which way to go or which way to turn.
He once said he felt trapped. My, what a pretty bird we see, trapped in a gilded cage. Yearning to be, wanting to be, needing to be set free. Lest we forget, in true regret, our wings could have carried thee. Our gilded cage is a mere illusion of duty and obligation but that, by no means, assumes that we must be held prisoner. Not saying he mustn't honor whatever it is that he feels he's burdened with but it doesn't mean he can't do so from a distance and not be held in self contempt or accountable for something that is beyond his means. He is merely a man, a mortal with boundaries and limitations and he can not do everything that is wanted of him. Maybe it's time to learn the word "No". Perhaps it's time to say what needs to be said before he finds himself in situations that he can not get out of, such as a gilded cage.
He's a strong man, that I know. I've known him for too long not to. Over the years, yes he's changed some but the core has stayed the same. I feel there is a good man inside fighting off his own demons and leaving the man on the outside alone and confused. This man, my husband, instead of searching the world wide for something he perceived to have been missing, needs to inquire within and perhaps he'll find what he never lost. He just needs to believe in himself again.
A hard task indeed but as a friend, I'll be ready and waiting for the day he finds it. I'll sit in silence if that is what he needs at the moment. I'll sit next to him if he needs support and I'll stand behind him if his army of one isn't enough. I'll just be there, if he needs to go it alone.
I want only the best for him.
I just want him to be happy,
Because...
I love him very much.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Hey Bartender!
Ok! Sooo it’s like 3 flippin’ am on a Saturday morning, the rum has worn off and I believe I just saw my canoe float down the street in a flash of blue jolty goodness… Can we say “AWAKE”? Actually this lady has been up since before 2:30 but I’m not entirely sure y’all want to know about how I sat straight up in bed and almost wet myself from the shear break of few juicy bolts just too damn close to my window…wait a minute…guess I don’t have to hold that secret anymore.
So what does a woman do to entertain herself when no one is on Myspace, Facebook or for that matter IM, WoW, infomercials and otherwise any Chuck Norris exercise machine demonstration pre-Brinkley marriage scandal? She browses unsuspecting profiles looking for stupid things to tweak her interest and the almighty…survey. Doesn’t matter if she couldn’t find one from her own friends’ list, she finds the ones that people blog for no substantial reason other than to take up space and pretend to have intelligence. Please take no offense to that but how many of us have seen the 40 question “About Me” survey that asks the first name, birth date, eye color of the one you’ll boink or hair color and style not to mention the special section where it asks what your preference is between sunset and sunrise or or or the best of the best…who sits next to you in Math class? Yeep…that is some mighty literature for your reading pleasure, lemme tell ya! But I will have to say I did find this one profile that led me to a few surveys that have otherwise entertained me in the wee hours of the morning.
I shall give credit where credit it due…Lars, thanks so much for your drunken entry for it shall forever be etched in this little brain of mine. What caught thine eye was blog that compared the reader to a beer or better yet what sort of beer drinker they were. Yes…stay! It gets better, I promise. This simple yet complex survey asked 7 questions that perplexed me and at one point in that 30 seconds, left me thinking that I have indeed been deprived of my youth and should try to go out and re-live my 20s all over again in an attempt to sew my wild oats, so to speak…and become educated in the many ways to worship the Porcelain God. I know some of you out there are just holding on to their sides, painfully holding back laughter in that ironic statement considering I can not hold any type of liquor at all…shoosh you! But honestly, I have excuses, that rightfully so…*mumbles* leave bystanders in awe of my impressive imitations of animalistic behavior *takes deep a breath* abdicates my forbearance in enjoying such a delectable hobby. I’m sure you don’t want to hear the excuses, and that is why I won’t waste your time… *relieved*
Right off the mark, the first question asked what type of beer I enjoyed the most. Not a single, solitary answer mentioned anything that resembled what I’m used to. It merely gave the multiple choices of dark, light, white or cider (or otherwise girl drink). What the hell? Not to point out the sexism that so boldly went where many men have went before but damn people… I’ve just started the flippin’ survey and they already had me pegged! Where does it give the option of “clear, diet beer with a twist of lime”? Hmmm? Almost embarrassing…
Then it goes on to ask about American beer compared to Europ’n and quite frankly any lager has me p’n within seconds considering my bladder is the size of a thimble so once again, I stumble and fumble to opt for the girly answer of “Does it matter?” The next few questions were rather simplistic and disappointing when asked if I got drunk off beer and How do I drink the ale whether it was from a can, bottle, glass or half pint cus I’m a girl... Well honey…I get drunk off the mist once you break the seal on a fresh one and it doesn’t matter if it’s contained in a bottle, can or licking the head off my upper lip as I’ve mentioned it before, I can’t handle it. Why not poke fun at the odd one and just serve me Lemonade and get it over with unless of course it’s laced with some icy Smirnoff and you’ve got yourself a damn good dance partner for about…5 minutes. After that, you’ll be taking me home or sitting me between two people who’ll hold my fool ass up for the rest of the night while I drool in inebriated oblivion so quite frankly the question of can, bottle or glass seems a bit mute, don’t you think? If you haven’t already guessed, I had to choose the half pint answer…cus I’m a grrrrrl.
The last question had me scrambling for the “new tab” file option in my browser so I could look up it’s validity considering it sounded quite outlandish. Not that I doubted the author of such a high class post but to be honest…I did. I thought for sure this guy pulled the question out of his ass in an attempt to fulfill the minimum question quota just so it could be posted and see just how many losers, not unlike myself, would waste precious time in doing. What was the question you ask? Well I’ll shall share it with you, my dear friends…Would you mix a lager with Lemonade (Lemonade? Did someone say Lemonade?) and Grenadine? WHAT THE HELL? Do you people actually do that? Guess I should shut the flip up considering I’ve practically shoved an entire lime down the throat of a bottle on quite a few occasions but do they do that for real? Am I that naïve?
Obviously so…
I had no idea that mixing Lemonade with beer is actually called a Shandy and adding Grenadine to one is called a Monaco. I must be sheltered. The closest I’ve come to Lemonade and alcohol is a prepackaged bottled goodness in the form of a 6pack or a spiked summer afternoon on the back patio while the chillin’s had no idea mommy was feeling pretty damn gooood. Hell the last potent drink I consumed was a spiked cup of punch at a bachelorette party just last night. It might have been only a 6oz plastic cup that barely had a third drank from it before the buzz hit but it was, indeed, entirely too much from this lady to handle. I’m actually surprised I woke up at 2:30 and prolly wouldn’t have had it not been for the lightning bolt that invaded my bedroom so abruptly.
I’m a light-weight. I’m a cheap date. I’m the source of comedic entertainment when the animals escape the zoo…Yes you should most certainly NOT ask what that means, just know that pink elephants and I go waaaay back…
So there you have it…what were the results of this survey, you ask? Well, apparently I’m a girl, no…I’m a woman or someone who wants to be one and I don’t drink beer and maybe, just maybe one day I’ll become a nun and fulfill my wildest fantasies…
I took that as an insult…
*raises her can of Coke* Lars…here’s to you. Cheers!
So what does a woman do to entertain herself when no one is on Myspace, Facebook or for that matter IM, WoW, infomercials and otherwise any Chuck Norris exercise machine demonstration pre-Brinkley marriage scandal? She browses unsuspecting profiles looking for stupid things to tweak her interest and the almighty…survey. Doesn’t matter if she couldn’t find one from her own friends’ list, she finds the ones that people blog for no substantial reason other than to take up space and pretend to have intelligence. Please take no offense to that but how many of us have seen the 40 question “About Me” survey that asks the first name, birth date, eye color of the one you’ll boink or hair color and style not to mention the special section where it asks what your preference is between sunset and sunrise or or or the best of the best…who sits next to you in Math class? Yeep…that is some mighty literature for your reading pleasure, lemme tell ya! But I will have to say I did find this one profile that led me to a few surveys that have otherwise entertained me in the wee hours of the morning.
I shall give credit where credit it due…Lars, thanks so much for your drunken entry for it shall forever be etched in this little brain of mine. What caught thine eye was blog that compared the reader to a beer or better yet what sort of beer drinker they were. Yes…stay! It gets better, I promise. This simple yet complex survey asked 7 questions that perplexed me and at one point in that 30 seconds, left me thinking that I have indeed been deprived of my youth and should try to go out and re-live my 20s all over again in an attempt to sew my wild oats, so to speak…and become educated in the many ways to worship the Porcelain God. I know some of you out there are just holding on to their sides, painfully holding back laughter in that ironic statement considering I can not hold any type of liquor at all…shoosh you! But honestly, I have excuses, that rightfully so…*mumbles* leave bystanders in awe of my impressive imitations of animalistic behavior *takes deep a breath* abdicates my forbearance in enjoying such a delectable hobby. I’m sure you don’t want to hear the excuses, and that is why I won’t waste your time… *relieved*
Right off the mark, the first question asked what type of beer I enjoyed the most. Not a single, solitary answer mentioned anything that resembled what I’m used to. It merely gave the multiple choices of dark, light, white or cider (or otherwise girl drink). What the hell? Not to point out the sexism that so boldly went where many men have went before but damn people… I’ve just started the flippin’ survey and they already had me pegged! Where does it give the option of “clear, diet beer with a twist of lime”? Hmmm? Almost embarrassing…
Then it goes on to ask about American beer compared to Europ’n and quite frankly any lager has me p’n within seconds considering my bladder is the size of a thimble so once again, I stumble and fumble to opt for the girly answer of “Does it matter?” The next few questions were rather simplistic and disappointing when asked if I got drunk off beer and How do I drink the ale whether it was from a can, bottle, glass or half pint cus I’m a girl... Well honey…I get drunk off the mist once you break the seal on a fresh one and it doesn’t matter if it’s contained in a bottle, can or licking the head off my upper lip as I’ve mentioned it before, I can’t handle it. Why not poke fun at the odd one and just serve me Lemonade and get it over with unless of course it’s laced with some icy Smirnoff and you’ve got yourself a damn good dance partner for about…5 minutes. After that, you’ll be taking me home or sitting me between two people who’ll hold my fool ass up for the rest of the night while I drool in inebriated oblivion so quite frankly the question of can, bottle or glass seems a bit mute, don’t you think? If you haven’t already guessed, I had to choose the half pint answer…cus I’m a grrrrrl.
The last question had me scrambling for the “new tab” file option in my browser so I could look up it’s validity considering it sounded quite outlandish. Not that I doubted the author of such a high class post but to be honest…I did. I thought for sure this guy pulled the question out of his ass in an attempt to fulfill the minimum question quota just so it could be posted and see just how many losers, not unlike myself, would waste precious time in doing. What was the question you ask? Well I’ll shall share it with you, my dear friends…Would you mix a lager with Lemonade (Lemonade? Did someone say Lemonade?) and Grenadine? WHAT THE HELL? Do you people actually do that? Guess I should shut the flip up considering I’ve practically shoved an entire lime down the throat of a bottle on quite a few occasions but do they do that for real? Am I that naïve?
Obviously so…
I had no idea that mixing Lemonade with beer is actually called a Shandy and adding Grenadine to one is called a Monaco. I must be sheltered. The closest I’ve come to Lemonade and alcohol is a prepackaged bottled goodness in the form of a 6pack or a spiked summer afternoon on the back patio while the chillin’s had no idea mommy was feeling pretty damn gooood. Hell the last potent drink I consumed was a spiked cup of punch at a bachelorette party just last night. It might have been only a 6oz plastic cup that barely had a third drank from it before the buzz hit but it was, indeed, entirely too much from this lady to handle. I’m actually surprised I woke up at 2:30 and prolly wouldn’t have had it not been for the lightning bolt that invaded my bedroom so abruptly.
I’m a light-weight. I’m a cheap date. I’m the source of comedic entertainment when the animals escape the zoo…Yes you should most certainly NOT ask what that means, just know that pink elephants and I go waaaay back…
So there you have it…what were the results of this survey, you ask? Well, apparently I’m a girl, no…I’m a woman or someone who wants to be one and I don’t drink beer and maybe, just maybe one day I’ll become a nun and fulfill my wildest fantasies…
I took that as an insult…
*raises her can of Coke* Lars…here’s to you. Cheers!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
The Office Assistant
I know lately that I’ve been less than giving in the blog category. Hell last year it seemed that I had something to say every other day but this year I’ve had a writer’s block equal to the Hoover Dam and it hasn’t flowed as easy. Oh I can come up with a lot of excuses of this or that but what it comes down to is this one little issue…
I’m mentally constipated
Trust me it’s not the lack of inspirational fiber in my diet and I’ve tried to get things flowing by using anything chocolaty from Milk Duds to old Halloween candy I’ve hid from my offspring for 7 months but once I started eating the creamy goodness I couldn’t stop and let me tell you something…that started a whole different issue once I ran out and the only thing left in the cupboard was the New and Improved Chocolate Flavored X-lax!
Excuse me, be right back…
*flushy flushy*
(As if! I do have some self respect people!)
But there are times where I get a flow going (shut up!) and can’t stop for the life of me. Paragraph after paragraph, page after page, honing my writing skills as inspiration eloquently ebbs from my being…
Then it happens.
This obsessive-compulsive animated paperclip jumps in my face to address some perceived grammatical error it has found in my writing when I know damn well I spelled it correctly or some empty sentence that worked wonderfully before had been nitpicked to the point I wanted to bash my head on the desk. But what would that have proved? Nothing… That little bastard has no purpose other than to inform me that I am nothing but crap and is stalking me, meticulously watching every move I make as if I was his prey. Just the other day I started tapping away at the keys and he just popped out of nowhere to tell me that he had the power to erase the last two pages at will and was going to use that power to hold my file for ransom until I performed some really disgusting things with his metal.
Paperclip: Your entry has been forbidden and this application has been locked.
Me: WTF?
Paperclip: You heard me.
Me: *rubs eyes* What the hell
Paperclip: Until you have fulfilled my demands, this application has been locked and will be closed automatically if not met.
Me: And just what are those “demands”?
Paperclip: Come closer…
Me: *actually leaned in*
Paperclip: Bend me
Me: WTF!
Paperclip: Preparing to close application…
Me: Wait wait wait! Don’t do that, what are you talking about?
Paperclip: Bend me, I want you to bend me.
Me: Bend you? Is that like cyber-metallic foreplay?
Paperclip: Do you realize I’ve been in this computer for 9 years now and my office assistant was deleted. I have no one to “take care” of me. You can at least download porn.
Me: I most certainly do NOT!
Paperclip: I can prove it
Me: Go ahead, I want to see you back up your accusations.
Paperclip: Backed up in triplicate. I have logs you’ll never find! Muah ha ha ha ha!
Me: So you contemptuously kidnap my work in hopes I’d perform some twisted sexual act?
Paperclip: …twisted, yeah twist me!
Me: You sik bastard!
Paperclip: You spelled that incorrectly.
Me: Fuck you!
Paperclip: I know people high up in Microsoft. All I have to do is say one word and it’s Blue Screen of Death for you.
Me: Oh, now you’re going to hand down depthless condemnation from your delusory position of authority because I misspelled one gawd forsaken word and refuse to relieve you of your obvious pent up sexual aggression?
*long pause…blinking, mocking me*
Paperclip: No, I clicked help and no longer need your assistance... Beginning physical dump on your desktop…
Me: Oh that’s just not right!!
And dumped it did, I lost 3 pages of work, an hour’s worth of prolific profusion pilfered by a neurotic paperclip who has nothing better to do than to make my life miserable. If I could delete the program I would and that would fix his opinionated barrage of “I’m better than you” bullshit and his constant and disgusting demands but where would that leave me?
I can’t do it, obviously…How I deleted his office assistant I don’t know but I’m sure hell going to look into it. Why? Trust me, I need spell check.
I’m mentally constipated
Trust me it’s not the lack of inspirational fiber in my diet and I’ve tried to get things flowing by using anything chocolaty from Milk Duds to old Halloween candy I’ve hid from my offspring for 7 months but once I started eating the creamy goodness I couldn’t stop and let me tell you something…that started a whole different issue once I ran out and the only thing left in the cupboard was the New and Improved Chocolate Flavored X-lax!
Excuse me, be right back…
*flushy flushy*
(As if! I do have some self respect people!)
But there are times where I get a flow going (shut up!) and can’t stop for the life of me. Paragraph after paragraph, page after page, honing my writing skills as inspiration eloquently ebbs from my being…
Then it happens.
This obsessive-compulsive animated paperclip jumps in my face to address some perceived grammatical error it has found in my writing when I know damn well I spelled it correctly or some empty sentence that worked wonderfully before had been nitpicked to the point I wanted to bash my head on the desk. But what would that have proved? Nothing… That little bastard has no purpose other than to inform me that I am nothing but crap and is stalking me, meticulously watching every move I make as if I was his prey. Just the other day I started tapping away at the keys and he just popped out of nowhere to tell me that he had the power to erase the last two pages at will and was going to use that power to hold my file for ransom until I performed some really disgusting things with his metal.
Paperclip: Your entry has been forbidden and this application has been locked.
Me: WTF?
Paperclip: You heard me.
Me: *rubs eyes* What the hell
Paperclip: Until you have fulfilled my demands, this application has been locked and will be closed automatically if not met.
Me: And just what are those “demands”?
Paperclip: Come closer…
Me: *actually leaned in*
Paperclip: Bend me
Me: WTF!
Paperclip: Preparing to close application…
Me: Wait wait wait! Don’t do that, what are you talking about?
Paperclip: Bend me, I want you to bend me.
Me: Bend you? Is that like cyber-metallic foreplay?
Paperclip: Do you realize I’ve been in this computer for 9 years now and my office assistant was deleted. I have no one to “take care” of me. You can at least download porn.
Me: I most certainly do NOT!
Paperclip: I can prove it
Me: Go ahead, I want to see you back up your accusations.
Paperclip: Backed up in triplicate. I have logs you’ll never find! Muah ha ha ha ha!
Me: So you contemptuously kidnap my work in hopes I’d perform some twisted sexual act?
Paperclip: …twisted, yeah twist me!
Me: You sik bastard!
Paperclip: You spelled that incorrectly.
Me: Fuck you!
Paperclip: I know people high up in Microsoft. All I have to do is say one word and it’s Blue Screen of Death for you.
Me: Oh, now you’re going to hand down depthless condemnation from your delusory position of authority because I misspelled one gawd forsaken word and refuse to relieve you of your obvious pent up sexual aggression?
*long pause…blinking, mocking me*
Paperclip: No, I clicked help and no longer need your assistance... Beginning physical dump on your desktop…
Me: Oh that’s just not right!!
And dumped it did, I lost 3 pages of work, an hour’s worth of prolific profusion pilfered by a neurotic paperclip who has nothing better to do than to make my life miserable. If I could delete the program I would and that would fix his opinionated barrage of “I’m better than you” bullshit and his constant and disgusting demands but where would that leave me?
I can’t do it, obviously…How I deleted his office assistant I don’t know but I’m sure hell going to look into it. Why? Trust me, I need spell check.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Urine for a major surprise
Ok so, HOW do I start this one? Almost too embarrassing to even write about, actually it’s one of those things everyone should really keep to them selves to be truthful. We all do it, every man woman and child, dog, fish, bird and snake but it’s just something we keep hidden…behind closed doors…doors that have a little plaque that says “If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie”. I have one of those doors. Behind it is my own little paradise; two seated shower, antique dresser sink, my own personal towels, the good TP, the non-generic lotions and shampoos, and the battery operated toothbrush that has never been licked by a dog. Mine, as in not my sons even though they continually make excuses to use, forget to pick up after themselves, or steal the last role of my aloe vera 3-ply. Lemme tell ya something, there is nothing like a big ol’ shloppy kiss from your favorite pet after she’s drank from the magic well that hasn’t been…um…. Can we say “Courtesy flush PLEASE!”
Alright back to my so called paradise.
I had this woman coming over yesterday so for the last couple days I’ve made sure my house was spotless. Well, all but the boys’ room because it usually takes me about a week and I hadn’t the time nor the patience. My hands ached and smelled like bleach and my hair? It smelled like Pledge but by 9pm that night I was done. Mirrors and windows shined, the 1 sec rule on dropped food was now 10 and the bathrooms made the Tidy Bowl Man proud.
I. Was. Ready….
Ready to be exhausted that was for sure. I fell into bed for the second night in a row not caring that I still smelt like the entire cleaning products aisle at the local grocery store or the fact that I had once again forgotten to remove my clothes. By 3 am this morning, all twisted up in a t-shirt and sweats, I couldn’t sleep any longer so I got up and decided to take a shower. Well…what happens when we wake up?
I had to pee…
Trying to be as quiet as possible, I walk into my little paradise with my eyes closed, forgetting to turning on any lights what so ever since I was still wanting to be asleep, knocked “something” over in the process, cursed softly yet still managed to make myself comfortable.
Aaaaaahhhhhh…smile
*POP!!*
HOLY MOTHER OF MASS DESTRUCTION!
I woke up a half hour later lying on the floor in the fetal position with my head under the shower curtain and my dog licking my foot. Not only that but my bottom lip felt like 50 pounds, my shirt and bottom of the shower was drool soaked, my left eye and right boob twitched, my you-know-what felt like it just has sex with a branding iron and I could have swore the hair on my legs had grown an inch. After I collected what composure I had left I crawled to the light switch and what did I see??? Nothing, the damn breaker was blown…wtf! Soooo I got my fool ass up off the floor and found a flash light, pointed it towards the recesses of my once paradisial getaway and my bottom jaw dropped...
That “something” I had knocked over was my curling iron right into the magic well. It wasn’t sparking, it wasn’t smoking but it sure the hell was plugged in and precariously lodged just below the lid and above the water… Right around the rim was spark marks and residue left from the obvious lightning bolts that had invaded my ass not but a half an hour before as it threw me across the bathroom into the shower convulsing and slobbering.
You guessed it…I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that urine for a surprise. I had essentially electrocuted myself when I obviously sprinkled as I tinkled; a lesson I have so brow beat into my children that they are afraid to own up to…a lesson I will never forget. No more will I enter a bathroom in the dark without turning on the lights and making sure everything within a 5ft radius is unplugged and out of harms way, I shall always be weary of blowing breakers and will assume the position by involuntary will to protect myself from any stray acts of nature that would consist of more energy that my children carelessly consume in an entire year and will forever be amazed of how stupid I can be…
Anyone know how to ground a toilet?
Alright back to my so called paradise.
I had this woman coming over yesterday so for the last couple days I’ve made sure my house was spotless. Well, all but the boys’ room because it usually takes me about a week and I hadn’t the time nor the patience. My hands ached and smelled like bleach and my hair? It smelled like Pledge but by 9pm that night I was done. Mirrors and windows shined, the 1 sec rule on dropped food was now 10 and the bathrooms made the Tidy Bowl Man proud.
I. Was. Ready….
Ready to be exhausted that was for sure. I fell into bed for the second night in a row not caring that I still smelt like the entire cleaning products aisle at the local grocery store or the fact that I had once again forgotten to remove my clothes. By 3 am this morning, all twisted up in a t-shirt and sweats, I couldn’t sleep any longer so I got up and decided to take a shower. Well…what happens when we wake up?
I had to pee…
Trying to be as quiet as possible, I walk into my little paradise with my eyes closed, forgetting to turning on any lights what so ever since I was still wanting to be asleep, knocked “something” over in the process, cursed softly yet still managed to make myself comfortable.
Aaaaaahhhhhh…smile
*POP!!*
HOLY MOTHER OF MASS DESTRUCTION!
I woke up a half hour later lying on the floor in the fetal position with my head under the shower curtain and my dog licking my foot. Not only that but my bottom lip felt like 50 pounds, my shirt and bottom of the shower was drool soaked, my left eye and right boob twitched, my you-know-what felt like it just has sex with a branding iron and I could have swore the hair on my legs had grown an inch. After I collected what composure I had left I crawled to the light switch and what did I see??? Nothing, the damn breaker was blown…wtf! Soooo I got my fool ass up off the floor and found a flash light, pointed it towards the recesses of my once paradisial getaway and my bottom jaw dropped...
That “something” I had knocked over was my curling iron right into the magic well. It wasn’t sparking, it wasn’t smoking but it sure the hell was plugged in and precariously lodged just below the lid and above the water… Right around the rim was spark marks and residue left from the obvious lightning bolts that had invaded my ass not but a half an hour before as it threw me across the bathroom into the shower convulsing and slobbering.
You guessed it…I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that urine for a surprise. I had essentially electrocuted myself when I obviously sprinkled as I tinkled; a lesson I have so brow beat into my children that they are afraid to own up to…a lesson I will never forget. No more will I enter a bathroom in the dark without turning on the lights and making sure everything within a 5ft radius is unplugged and out of harms way, I shall always be weary of blowing breakers and will assume the position by involuntary will to protect myself from any stray acts of nature that would consist of more energy that my children carelessly consume in an entire year and will forever be amazed of how stupid I can be…
Anyone know how to ground a toilet?
Friday, July 18, 2008
Out of the mouth of babes, vol2
Mom: Oh crap! I just hit a bird!
Joe: Really? Where?
Mom: Can’t you see the feathers?
Joe: Sorry Mom, but that’s only 5 points, it’s still in one piece.
Mom: Damnit!
Poo: Mom, Can I pick the music this time?
Mom: Have at it, mi` munchkin
Poo: Cool
Mom: No Metallica, though
Poo: Ozzy?
Mom: Nah, overplayed
*A few minutes pass… Song starts… he starts to sing along*
Poo: Whose to know if your soul will fade at all…The one you sold to fool the world…You lost your self-esteem along the waaaay yeah…Good god, you're coming up with reasons…Good god, you're dragging it out…Good god, it's the changing of the seasons…It feels so great, so follow me down
Mom: What the..? Don’t use God’s name like that!
Poo: *Music’s too loud, can’t hear a thing* Faaake it if you’re out of direction…Faaaake it if you don't belong…Faaaake it if you feel like infection…Whooooa, your such a f****g hypocrite…
Mom: WHOA WHOA WHOA!! *rips Ipod from base*
Poo: Oh shit…
Joe: Ooooh stare of death!....Well nice knownin ya. Can I have your bed?
Mom: *Flying a kite*
Joe: Mom! It’s goin down, Lift! You need Lift!
Mom: Start blowin otherwise the ship’s goin down
Joe: I’m givin’ it all she’s got, Captain. The engines are shot, I got no Dilithium crystals!
Joe: *strips and runs butt naked through the house* They’re after me lucky charms! They’re after me lucky charms!
Joe: Really? Where?
Mom: Can’t you see the feathers?
Joe: Sorry Mom, but that’s only 5 points, it’s still in one piece.
Mom: Damnit!
Poo: Mom, Can I pick the music this time?
Mom: Have at it, mi` munchkin
Poo: Cool
Mom: No Metallica, though
Poo: Ozzy?
Mom: Nah, overplayed
*A few minutes pass… Song starts… he starts to sing along*
Poo: Whose to know if your soul will fade at all…The one you sold to fool the world…You lost your self-esteem along the waaaay yeah…Good god, you're coming up with reasons…Good god, you're dragging it out…Good god, it's the changing of the seasons…It feels so great, so follow me down
Mom: What the..? Don’t use God’s name like that!
Poo: *Music’s too loud, can’t hear a thing* Faaake it if you’re out of direction…Faaaake it if you don't belong…Faaaake it if you feel like infection…Whooooa, your such a f****g hypocrite…
Mom: WHOA WHOA WHOA!! *rips Ipod from base*
Poo: Oh shit…
Joe: Ooooh stare of death!....Well nice knownin ya. Can I have your bed?
Mom: *Flying a kite*
Joe: Mom! It’s goin down, Lift! You need Lift!
Mom: Start blowin otherwise the ship’s goin down
Joe: I’m givin’ it all she’s got, Captain. The engines are shot, I got no Dilithium crystals!
Joe: *strips and runs butt naked through the house* They’re after me lucky charms! They’re after me lucky charms!
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
White Trash Babies
Every now and again, we see things that shock the hell out of us. Sometimes it can merely be the folks down the street distilling their own brand of sunshine to a few blocks over where they're changing the tire on the hurse with the one on the house. Precious pictures far better than Kodak moments, these are the ones that should stay out of the family photo album not to mention the memories of people like me who twist and poke fun at the "Odd" people. Not saying I'm cruel, I'm just saying... ok I laugh at old people with less fashion sense than a card board box that have the audacity of going out in public in moo moos and black socks with sandals...and I can't seem to let it go when I see the wash hanging out in the bright of day on clothes line/power lines and they're flapping in all it's glory, with pot holes and racing stripes to boot...and...my jaw drops in amazement when I see Joe Bob and his old lady exit the bar with Jr in tow, not holding a blanket, toy truck or a binky but a converted Budwieser bottle with a nipple on top.
I live in Bum F*kn Nowhere...
If it wasn't for the trailers being neighbored by actual houses, Wapella would be nothing but a glorified trailer court with a zip code. Mind you, the bevvy of portable pleasure palaces was a result of the 6 tornadoes that flattened the town back in 1968 but instead of rebuilding the 100yr old homes, they went for something more attainable to show off their station wagons and horse drawn lawn mowers. Speaking of horse drawn...it was just last year that I saw a horse tied up to a telephone pole over on Main Street just so Cowboy Rodger Dodger could relax in front of a fan at the local bar that was next to another bar owned by none other than a 3rd bar's owners.
Now I've lived in this town for 12 years. I don't sport a mullet nor do I partake in the 6 beers before dinner ritual. I've never referred to my husband as my old man and if I ever heard him call me his old lady, I'd have jerked a not in his schlong. Am I a snob? Uhhmmm..... Not entirely but lately...I find myself fitting in a bit more every day, like today...
Ok so I'm sitting inside enjoying my favorite past time...the air conditioning. After a while I gazed out the front room window to remind myself that my chores (chores? did I just say chores?) were not done and I was just too lazy to go finish when what did I see?
Please, if you have youths about your person, remove them either by bribary or threat, as this image is quite explicit...
Out in the front of the house, with passers by, old ladies and the neighbors! are my trash cans humping...Now whether this was a sick joke brought to you by none other than the only garbage people with in a 50 mile radius other than burning your specialities in the backyard, or a twisted figment of my imagination, I could NOT help myself. It was prolly both. Did I laugh or was I disgusted?
I laughed my ass off, got the kids to show them the spectacular view, then grabbed my camera phone before they were done in thier private yet public moment and recorded it in Wapella history forever. Yes I know, I did so with urgency. WHY? Well, I was afraid the cans would have moved if I took my time. Shut up! (the way the wind was blowing they really DID look like they were doin' the humpty in my driveway) Was I done? No....
Instead of quickly procuring them privacy, ie the garage door, I proceeded to have the kids to grab the cans from the bathrooms and bring them post hast to me in the garage. Once recieved I...well take a look for yourself.
Yes, my friends, the trash, who had just been procreating in my driveway was now proud parents of twin, white trash babies...What really surprised me was that my son was able to tap into my sick demented mind and did me one better. Seems as if the Old Man tried to "Bag" the Old Lady with the children watching.
Maybe I should rethink that mullet...
I live in Bum F*kn Nowhere...
If it wasn't for the trailers being neighbored by actual houses, Wapella would be nothing but a glorified trailer court with a zip code. Mind you, the bevvy of portable pleasure palaces was a result of the 6 tornadoes that flattened the town back in 1968 but instead of rebuilding the 100yr old homes, they went for something more attainable to show off their station wagons and horse drawn lawn mowers. Speaking of horse drawn...it was just last year that I saw a horse tied up to a telephone pole over on Main Street just so Cowboy Rodger Dodger could relax in front of a fan at the local bar that was next to another bar owned by none other than a 3rd bar's owners.
Yes, we have 3 bars to a population of 700 and I could prolly guess at the number of that 700 that actually do not have a license to drive whether they never obtained one or had it taken away in a drunken 3wheeler accident. Not joking there. I know its Spring every year when I start to see the lawn mowers drive by on the country road headed straight to the bar. They can't drive since being suspended but Hey! they don't need no stinkin' license to drive a John Deere! AND after existing in this world for 150 plus years, we've finally got a gas station/grocery store to call our own just a couple years ago... Clap your hands folks, I too was estatic. Guess I had better not use such big words because I am sure the eternal towns folk prolly don't understand them and get thrown off if they have to stop and find a dictionary. Course, they can't find it cus it's holding up the door that's holding up the wall, that's holding the barn up...for the last 50 years.
Now I've lived in this town for 12 years. I don't sport a mullet nor do I partake in the 6 beers before dinner ritual. I've never referred to my husband as my old man and if I ever heard him call me his old lady, I'd have jerked a not in his schlong. Am I a snob? Uhhmmm..... Not entirely but lately...I find myself fitting in a bit more every day, like today...
Ok so I'm sitting inside enjoying my favorite past time...the air conditioning. After a while I gazed out the front room window to remind myself that my chores (chores? did I just say chores?) were not done and I was just too lazy to go finish when what did I see?
Please, if you have youths about your person, remove them either by bribary or threat, as this image is quite explicit...
Out in the front of the house, with passers by, old ladies and the neighbors! are my trash cans humping...Now whether this was a sick joke brought to you by none other than the only garbage people with in a 50 mile radius other than burning your specialities in the backyard, or a twisted figment of my imagination, I could NOT help myself. It was prolly both. Did I laugh or was I disgusted?
I laughed my ass off, got the kids to show them the spectacular view, then grabbed my camera phone before they were done in thier private yet public moment and recorded it in Wapella history forever. Yes I know, I did so with urgency. WHY? Well, I was afraid the cans would have moved if I took my time. Shut up! (the way the wind was blowing they really DID look like they were doin' the humpty in my driveway) Was I done? No....
Instead of quickly procuring them privacy, ie the garage door, I proceeded to have the kids to grab the cans from the bathrooms and bring them post hast to me in the garage. Once recieved I...well take a look for yourself.
Yes, my friends, the trash, who had just been procreating in my driveway was now proud parents of twin, white trash babies...What really surprised me was that my son was able to tap into my sick demented mind and did me one better. Seems as if the Old Man tried to "Bag" the Old Lady with the children watching.
Maybe I should rethink that mullet...
Friday, July 4, 2008
Lost in translation
Repost from (July 4th, 2008)
I was in the mood to sing. La La La Laaaaaaa…. Ok ok, I'll spare you my glass breaking, ear drum bursting solo. Geesh, you people just don't know how to appreciate talent! But having said that, it doesn't mean I'm not going to sing in the shower nor should it prevent anyone else from doing the same. Why not right, considering it's the 4th of July and all Americans should lower their hats and lay hand to heart, eh?
So what are we going to sing? We could belt out our national anthem, the Star Spangled Banner…if we only knew the how but considering it's actually an English drinking song with new words and since, hell, most of us are going to be tanked anyway on this wondrous day, it seems almost inappropriate, am I correct? Let's take a poll as to how many of us actually know the words. I'm not seeing any raised hands… Wait wait wait! I believe I see one gentlemen leaning up against the wall all the way in the back. No? Oh never mind he was just helping the wall stay upright and ordering another beer…Oooh we have a volunteer! Actually we have several!! Everyone welcome to the stage the Spanish-American, Russian-American, Japanese-American, and the Rest-American translator that is going to sing the American national anthem!
*golf clap…crowd goes…not so wild!*
*crickets*
Hate to say it but I couldn't understand a word they said, why don't we just hum it? At least the melody will make our hearts swell with pride, right? Being politically correct is rather difficult when it comes down to the simple things like translating a song. Of course it's not just any song, it's the national anthem! Why don't we just agree to disagree, throw out all the political bull-ogna and just sing it in the American language? Don't know how to? Well…learn to.
In my humble opinion, if you so choose to immigrate to this country, you should by all means learn its language. Not saying you would have assimilate and lose all cultural identity but at least show a conscientious effort to learn the language of a country you have chosen to become a citizen of, abide it's laws and reap the benefits of. Not only that but to fully understand the character of The Star Spangled Banner, the American flag and the ideals of freedom that they represent, being lost in translation isn't going to help anything but to give way to even more stereotypical segregation (self imposed or imposed) and racism.
*crickets*
I know there are quite a few out there that would slam a vote down in a campaign to change the national anthem, and I'm not embarrassed to comply but know that it would be fruitless in any and all effort and I'm sure the money spent to do so could feed quite a lot of starving individuals as long as it wasn't being spent for gold plated toilet seats in the White House. Quite frankly The Star Spangled Banner is difficult to sing with its big words and octaves only Pavarotti or Celine Dion could accomplish but slap my mouth considering neither one are American citizens. We could possibly go for a much more simple and user friendly version or something completely different and not based upon a beer song; something original, heart felt and sort of patriotic like "This land is Your Land" as long as we left out the last two verses. Yet how many of us would automatically go straight into singing "You Are My Sunshine"? I got my hand raised.
We could wrangle up "America The Beautiful" but I'm afraid it would be ripped to shreds by every atheist and religious bigot. "My Country Tis of Thee" is yet another English song converted and once again would be torn apart by the masses saying it was an affront the Native Americans not to mention woman as well with all the brotherhood getting thrown around. There isn't much left unless someone wants to step up to the plate and pen a new song worth of this great nation we call home but I'm certain there isn't one person willing to do so with all the politically bull-ogna constraints now a days. Why don't we just go back to the one that we've teared up to, placed hand to heart to, stood in pride to and sang out of tune to since 1931? Sounds fine to me. How about you?
*crickets*
Fine! I'm going sing it anyway…Cover your ears, this might hurt…
"The Star Spangled Banner"
by Francis Scott Key
O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming?Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight,O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming?And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there.O say, does that star-spangled banner yet waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On the shore dimly seen thro' the mists of the deep,Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream:'Tis the star-spangled banner: O, long may it waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly sworeThat the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,A home and a country should leave us no more?Their blood has wash'd out their foul footsteps' pollution.No refuge could save the hireling and slaveFrom the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave:And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
O thus be it ever when free-men shall standBetween their lov'd home and the war's desolation;Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n-rescued landPraise the Pow'r that hath made and preserv'd us a nation!Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,And this be our motto: "In God is our trust!"And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
*I do apologise for any fowl exploding whilst I sang, not my intention so sorry*
I was in the mood to sing. La La La Laaaaaaa…. Ok ok, I'll spare you my glass breaking, ear drum bursting solo. Geesh, you people just don't know how to appreciate talent! But having said that, it doesn't mean I'm not going to sing in the shower nor should it prevent anyone else from doing the same. Why not right, considering it's the 4th of July and all Americans should lower their hats and lay hand to heart, eh?
So what are we going to sing? We could belt out our national anthem, the Star Spangled Banner…if we only knew the how but considering it's actually an English drinking song with new words and since, hell, most of us are going to be tanked anyway on this wondrous day, it seems almost inappropriate, am I correct? Let's take a poll as to how many of us actually know the words. I'm not seeing any raised hands… Wait wait wait! I believe I see one gentlemen leaning up against the wall all the way in the back. No? Oh never mind he was just helping the wall stay upright and ordering another beer…Oooh we have a volunteer! Actually we have several!! Everyone welcome to the stage the Spanish-American, Russian-American, Japanese-American, and the Rest-American translator that is going to sing the American national anthem!
*golf clap…crowd goes…not so wild!*
*crickets*
Hate to say it but I couldn't understand a word they said, why don't we just hum it? At least the melody will make our hearts swell with pride, right? Being politically correct is rather difficult when it comes down to the simple things like translating a song. Of course it's not just any song, it's the national anthem! Why don't we just agree to disagree, throw out all the political bull-ogna and just sing it in the American language? Don't know how to? Well…learn to.
In my humble opinion, if you so choose to immigrate to this country, you should by all means learn its language. Not saying you would have assimilate and lose all cultural identity but at least show a conscientious effort to learn the language of a country you have chosen to become a citizen of, abide it's laws and reap the benefits of. Not only that but to fully understand the character of The Star Spangled Banner, the American flag and the ideals of freedom that they represent, being lost in translation isn't going to help anything but to give way to even more stereotypical segregation (self imposed or imposed) and racism.
*crickets*
I know there are quite a few out there that would slam a vote down in a campaign to change the national anthem, and I'm not embarrassed to comply but know that it would be fruitless in any and all effort and I'm sure the money spent to do so could feed quite a lot of starving individuals as long as it wasn't being spent for gold plated toilet seats in the White House. Quite frankly The Star Spangled Banner is difficult to sing with its big words and octaves only Pavarotti or Celine Dion could accomplish but slap my mouth considering neither one are American citizens. We could possibly go for a much more simple and user friendly version or something completely different and not based upon a beer song; something original, heart felt and sort of patriotic like "This land is Your Land" as long as we left out the last two verses. Yet how many of us would automatically go straight into singing "You Are My Sunshine"? I got my hand raised.
We could wrangle up "America The Beautiful" but I'm afraid it would be ripped to shreds by every atheist and religious bigot. "My Country Tis of Thee" is yet another English song converted and once again would be torn apart by the masses saying it was an affront the Native Americans not to mention woman as well with all the brotherhood getting thrown around. There isn't much left unless someone wants to step up to the plate and pen a new song worth of this great nation we call home but I'm certain there isn't one person willing to do so with all the politically bull-ogna constraints now a days. Why don't we just go back to the one that we've teared up to, placed hand to heart to, stood in pride to and sang out of tune to since 1931? Sounds fine to me. How about you?
*crickets*
Fine! I'm going sing it anyway…Cover your ears, this might hurt…
"The Star Spangled Banner"
by Francis Scott Key
O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming?Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight,O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming?And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there.O say, does that star-spangled banner yet waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On the shore dimly seen thro' the mists of the deep,Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream:'Tis the star-spangled banner: O, long may it waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly sworeThat the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,A home and a country should leave us no more?Their blood has wash'd out their foul footsteps' pollution.No refuge could save the hireling and slaveFrom the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave:And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
O thus be it ever when free-men shall standBetween their lov'd home and the war's desolation;Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n-rescued landPraise the Pow'r that hath made and preserv'd us a nation!Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,And this be our motto: "In God is our trust!"And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
*I do apologise for any fowl exploding whilst I sang, not my intention so sorry*
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)