Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

Did you get my sly innuendo?

You know if you read this post, that I have been on a mission to try to plug a few extra swear words into my daily life a little more.  Well, WTF?

WTF??!

I'm a failure.  It just doesn't come naturally to me.  Only if I am really mad or really tipsy and with people in my tiny little circle of people.  Guess what though?  First of all, I am hardly ever really mad.  Irritated here and there, but not really mad.  And as I have said before, drinking and getting tipsy just isn't my cup of tea.  Or rum, I should say.  It isn't my cup of rum.

So I'm trying so hard to be badass, (HA!) but there just isn't anyone to swear at and there isn't much of anything to swear about.  So what's a wannabe badass girl to do?

Give up. 

Yeah, I am giving up.  It was a dumb idea and I am over it.

I'm not all religious or anything

                                                                    (credit catholicbooksellers.org)

I grew up as a Catholic.  We went to church every Sunday and religion every week.  We celebrated Catholic holidays, followed Catholic traditions and knew the basic stories of the bible.  We said prayers.  But growing up Catholic, I always had questions that I felt weren't answered. Even though I had faith, or my own version of faith, I still didn't know what it was supposed to mean, being Catholic. 


I've always been interested in religion, and asked lots of questions of others who were of different faith.  I remember spending hours talking to someone who was a Jehovah's Witness -- I was appalled at some of their beliefs.  This person was explaining to me how his young niece had recently died (because they wouldn't let her get some pig valve for her heart or something) and they all rejoiced  and were happy for her.  And I was all like, really?  You really were happy that she died??  And he was like, of course, it is her purpose, she is with God in Heaven!  I couldn't even wrap my head around that thought process, and the fact that he didn't even feel sad.  And he was like, I'm not sad because I know our spirits will meet again.  He was so sure that they would be together again.  And I was like -- But she's DEAD.  I'm sorry, I just don't get that.  How can you be sure??  Nobody really knows!


Well I like the Jewish faith.  It just seems very warm and welcoming.  I don't know how else to describe it.  I went to my first Jewish wedding a few years back and it was probably the nicest ceremony I've ever been to.  It made me want to be Jewish, made me want to be able to participate more freely.

I also love Buddhism.  It's just so peaceful.  And spot on.  I definitely could be a Buddhist.  Maybe I could be a Jewish Buddhist.  That might shock my Grandmother.  And my sisters would definitely make fun of me.

It seems like lately I have been thinking more about faith and religion, and what it all means.  This always happens to me when the kids go back to school - they start their weekly religion classes, it's just expected.  We don't even go to church regularly, we are the bad Catholics that usually only go to mass when there is a holiday.  Which makes me feel guilty, actually.  The thing is, I want my kids to question their faith.  Is that bad?  I think it's because they haven't had a choice yet - I just bring them to church every so often, and make them go to religion class because I am their Mom and that's how I grew up.  Why can't they choose a religion that they really feel, in their hearts?  Of course, that would involve me exposing them to different religions, which I haven't done.  I guess what I mean is, I don't want them to feel like they have to be Catholic, just because their Dad and I are.  I don't like the thought of someone telling them how they are supposed to feel about God and religion, I want them to form their own conclusions.

I want.

I want a few things. Not just one. A few. First, I want there really to be a vampire like Edward. Oh RELAX.  I know! I know!! Edward and Twilight and vampires are so last year. But I can’t help it. I wouldn’t be into the bloodsucking though because that’s just gross.

Also, I want a bunch of chickens – running around deep in my backyard so they don’t bug me, but they lay a lot of eggs so I can just go out to my yard and pick them up and eat them without having to pay anything, and knowing that they are clean(ish) and not injected with all sorts of gross stuff. Which brings me to wanting a great garden, without having to actually do the gardening part. For all of the reasons of the chicken except the egg part. And I would take a cow for the same reason but I think I would feel too guilty to kill it and eat it so it would turn into a pet cow and then I might have to name it something all cute, like… Mister Moo or something. And while I am being all earthy and stuff, I definitely want a windmill.  That crap would be the bomb.  Not just because of the green-ness of it all, but also because I hate my electric bill and I think electric companies are a racket.  And finally, I want a craft room. And an upstairs vacuum, and a black Labradoodle and definitely a really good but easy to use camera. With a zoom. And knitting. I want that too. I want to be a knitter. And a sewer. NOT a SEWER but a SEW-er. Like, a person who can sew!! Just to clarify. Because who would want to BE a sewer?? Nobody would. Because there there would be far too much poop and chemicals involved. Anyway. That’s all I could come up with on such short notice.

Oh yeah!! I forgot one thing!! I want a pool that has its own tube slide thing that goes far and fast, like at a water park. I hate water parks because I hate getting in a bathing suit in public and I hate the thought of germs and people peeing in the pool and swimming in some random person’s pee and germs. Because the thought of that makes my skin crawl.  So yeah. I want one of those. But it has to be huge, otherwise the ride is too short and the effort to climb back up for another ride would just be exhausting.  Unless of course there was an elevator involved.  An escalator would be better though, because my sister is neurotic scared of elevators and confined spaces and it would be less fun if my sister couldn't come over and go down my slide with me.

(That is not me.  I know this because I have a bigger boob.  And I don't have a monkey.)

Fine. I’ll take a cute monkey that is little like a baby and wears baby clothes and a diaper too (is that weird?). But definitely not the kind that gets all scary and violent and rips your face off.  And I would teach it sign language so we could communicate.  And possibly a dolphin in my (water slide) pool. Except it would have to be able to do cool tricks. Which would probably mean a trainer. So then I’d have to have a guest house too because the trainer is definitely NOT sleeping in my house. I hate sleepovers. I would make an exception if the dolphin trainer was Edward Cullen. And then he could sleep in my bed. With me, of course.  Alex wouldn't even mind because Edward is my new free kiss.

So I think I've pretty much covered everything.  Except a cleaning lady and a personal chef (only if he would wear a chef hat the whole time he was cooking though).  And a driver and personal trainer.  Shoot.  Somebody stop me.  This I want thing is getting out of hand.  So what do you want?

ps.  You can all blame the Bloggess for this long-winded and self serving post.  It all started with me commenting on her post about insomnia.  And weird wants.  But I'm pretty sure her readers are way more freaky than you guys.

bike in bedroom? huh?

So the other night I was going into Alex's room to tell him to wrap up what he was doing and get into his PJ's, and he must have heard me coming, because he basically met me at his bedroom door.

With a funny little smirk.

I know that smirk.  I know it well.  And it usually means something is up.

So I said, "What's up?"

And he said, feigning innocence, "Nothing.  What are you doing in here?"  We are still pretty much in the doorway of his bedroom.

So of course I said, "What is up, Al?"

And so he's all like, "Nothing Mom." Still innocent.  So I make my way into his room with him at my heels and I notice, of all things, a bike tire sticking awkwardly out of his partially closed closet door.

"Is that your bike in your closet?"  I ask.

"Yes!"  He says, rather indignantly.  It wouldn't have been the brightest move if he tried to deny it seeing that the evidence was plainly sticking out of the closet. Otherwise, knowing Alex, he would have tried to deny it.

"Well, what is your bicycle doing in your bedroom closet??" I ask.

"I'm sick of Megan riding it." was his answer.

Huh.  So I was thinking that he was pretty selfish.  I mean, he is gone until at least 5:30 or 6 every day after school with soccer, and what does he really care if she rides his bike when he isn't around, except to give her a hard time.  So I said, "Well, that's pretty selfish.  Now please get your bike out of the closet and go put it back in the garage!"

And he was looking all sheepish and stuff, and he goes, "Well it is my bike and she keeps taking it without asking and she left it over at the field unattended (he really said unattended - LOL), and someone could have stolen it. Mom."  Do your kids complete a sentence and then add "Mom.", kind of like a statement at the end?  Mine do.

And then I thought about it.  This kid loves his bike.  It is his only mode of transportation around town, and he actually does take care of it.  He also tried to help Megan fix her own bike.  And I know he has asked her not to take it, and she has been doing it anyway when he is at practice.  I should partially blame myself for looking the other when when I notice her doing this because I don't feel like carting her bike to the bike shop.

So I still made him take it out of his room and bring it downstairs and into the garage.  But I am not going to make him share it with her.  It is his bike.

I guess that  means I am going to have to cart Megan's bike up to the bike shop. Damn.

Cleaning like sarah

What is it with fall that makes everyone want to purge?

I have a whole notebook of lists (I love lists), room by room, of crap that needs to be done around my house.  And it involves a lot of purging of miscellaneous stuff that has accumulated over time.  So I started by going all Sarah at Cloverlane.  She has this black garbage bag theory... and I went there.  Yes, yes I did.  So far I am only on three big bags of crap to bring to the curb, but it's a start!  A good start, considering that it was all from one room.  In fact, one might say that I am ahead of the game, because Sarah does Forty Bags in Forty Days.  And I did three bags which means technically, I could skip tomorrow and the next day if I wanted to.

Actually, it's not from one room exactly.  More like one closet.  My closet, to be specific.

In my defense, it is a pretty big closet.  And I share it with my husband who is a hoarder.  I'm not a hoarder.  Well.  Some might disagree, but whatever!  Lots of things that look like garbage to your average person could possibly have meaning! So anyway.

So in tweaking Sarah's method, I start with piles.  There are ONLY three piles.  The keeper pile.  The tosser pile and the donating pile.  Actually, the donating pile gets broken down a little further, into the donate to people I know category, and the donate to the Salvation Army category, but I still consider it one category.  It is my system (sorta) so I can do that.

So the thing that makes this plan so effective is the fact that the bags are black, so kids (and husband) can't see what is being tossed or donated.  Which leads to no meltdowns.  Because really, I am tossing things that are just done, you know what I mean?  Done = played out, worn out, never looked at, never played with, never worn.  But isn't it funny that when kids (or husband) think something is getting tossed (disgusting holey undershirts and underpants that don't fit, etc) they panic?  They try to save the item or items by rationalizing or crying or moaning.  They may even try to sneak the holey undershirts back into their drawer.  Hon.

Anyway.  I am starting my purge and clean.  Yay for fall!

I'm not trying to be all mean or ungrateful

This was supposed to be my 200th post!  Yee haw!  But that isn't what I am writing about.  The topic for today is noisy toys.

It is my opinion that only jerks give kids noisy toys as presents.

I'm not trying to be all mean and ungrateful here.  Let's just put that out there.  But seriously, what parent in their right mind would give a kid a noisy toy as a gift? 

Unless of course, they hated the kid's parents or were in a situation where they had to *regift a noisy toy that was given to their kid as a gift.  Or maybe they have stock in really effective earplugs.  Oh, we all know what kind of toys I am talking about - I'm talking about those kinds of toys that play annoying, incessant Barney-esque type music til you want to poke your eyeball out with a fork just to get some relief from the noise.

Yeah, well those toys aren't allowed here at our house.  No way.  Take your crappy hateful gift and give it to someone who has an extraordinary amount of self restraint.  Those toys that do somehow stick around mysteriously run out of batteries really quickly.  Either that or they have to have a port or hole-thing so we can plug in some headphones, because I just can't listen to it all.day.long.  Why can't someone just give my kid a hula hoop, or a kite or something?  Those toys don't make noise.

In a foggy stupor brought on by a lack of hazelnut creamer for my coffee, I accidentally bought my son a Vuvuzela, and I suddenly feel the urge to pull my hair out of my head.  Good Cod, I can't take another day with that plastic piece of hell, blowing loud noisy noise all over the place.  I was in the bathroom, happy as a clam, and almost fell off the potty when someone came in and blew that damn thing right in my personal space.  I can assure you, it wasn't a pretty scene.

I only have myself to blame.  I have a funny feeling it is going to get stolen out of the front yard by a pack of Vuvuzela freaks.  Yeah, that's what I'll tell him.  It was definitely the Vuvuzela freaks.  

*About regift:  don't you think it's funny that regift wasn't a real, recognized by Webster's Dictionary word til 1995?   That's some interesting trivia right there.  The first person who can remember who came out with that word first wins a big fat prize. (It might be a really nice used Vuvuzela, but I'll never tell!)

If I were you, I wouldn't even go there.

My great advice for the day -- do not, what ever you do, make the mistake of ordering a Caramel Frappe from McDonald's.

I'm just trying to be a good friend here.

Besides the fact that I felt like an idiot ordering it - do you pronounce it like FRAPE?  or FRAPP?  or FRAPAY?  It's so embarrassing, you're all like "Can I have a Caramel hmmhmmhmm?" in hopes that they just get what you mean.  And they're like "A what??" and then you say "A Caramel fra-pay?" like sort of quiet so you don't sound dumb.  I hate when a clearly AMERICAN chain food store tries to go all French on me.  Like - how is a girl who took four years of Spanish in high school supposed to know how to order that?  I do my best to avoid ordering things that I cannot pronounce, unless I am seated and can all smoothly point to the item on the menu.  We're doing the drive-thru thing at McD's, you know - so there just is no way to point.

So anyway, I made the mistake of buying a Caramel Frappe from McDonald's recently, I had a coupon for a free one.  My rationale is that it would have been a crime to just throw away an opportunity for a free frappe!  and O.M.G. I should have just thrown away the coupon.  That thing is amazing.  So of course, I checked the calorie/fat content after I tried it and loved it and did my best to get every last drop that was in the cup.  Which is the kind of thing that always happens to me.

So, do you want to dirty details on the freaking amazing Frappe?

OK, you asked for it.  FIVE HUNDRED and FIFTY disgraceful calories and TWENTY FREAKING FOUR big fat grams of fat.  Hmm.  So for your average person who wants to drop a few (or 80) pounds, that is pretty much half of the calories you should be eating a day.  WTF??!

That's just mean.

on a scale of one to rob pattinson...

I totally stole that line from my niece.  Except I substituted Rob (my #10 = ridiculously hot guy) for John Stamos (her #10 = mildly hot guy).  Although I do admit John Stamos is pretty cute.  I like his salty peppery hair.

Anyway, on to the point.

I'm feeling it again.  Blog angst, blog worry, blog envy.  Hold on, I am checking blangst on urbandictionary.  And blenvy for good measure. 

O.M.G.  I DID IT!  I got an original word (or two) on unbandictionary.com!  WOOHOO.  Oh yeah!  It's my birthday!  WOO HOO!  I will post a link for my definitions of BLENVY and BLANGST as soon as they post it on the site!  For those of you here that aren't aware, I have been trying to get an original word on urbandictionary for like ever!  I am so excited.  You can give me high fives in your mind.

Gosh, I got way off track.  What else is new?

So on a scale of ONE to ROB PATTINSON, how would you rate this blog?  What do you think I could or should do here that I am not? (Or amn't, as one of my kids used to say.  Aww.  I love amn't.) 

Once again, I am questioning my reason for blogging in the first place, and wonder if it's all just self important drivel that nobody really cares about anyway.  I mean, writing is fun, and I am rarely at loss for things to talk about (go figure), but really -- do you care?  Am I keeping you all interested and coming back?  Would you rather I just shut up and went away?  I mean, if I am just writing to write, I could always make this blog private and not clutter up the blog world with my nonsense.

So.  Really guys -- give it to me straight.  I need some constructive criticism.  Just please don't be all harsh and mean-ish and hurt my feelings.  I am bad at receiving criticism.  I am cringing, just waiting.

I'm pretty sure I am going to start swearing.

You know, I've been blogging a bit now, and it seems that suddenly my world has opened up to all of the OTHER blogs and bloggers out there.  There are some seriously awesome blogs to be read.  Really freaking funny stuff.  Everyone should make an effort to find them, because I am literally chuckling out loud by my own bored self reading this stuff every day.  In fact, I make a point to not put on mascara til after I read the bloggess.  Trust me on that one guys.  Something that I have noticed in reading a lot of these blogs is that a lot of Mom bloggers swear like a bunch of G.D. sailors and I'm feeling a snitch surprised, yet also a tad jealous.

Like, I love to swear, but I don't often enough.  And usually not in front of a crowd.  I mean, I am surrounded by kids an awful lot, and I can't be screaming "Get your ass out of the car Donald!" like I heard a mom scream one day at her kid in front of a bunch of pre-schoolers.  Donald was actually a pre-schooler himself, poor little guy.  I swear to God it was his first day of pre-k and he was nervous and didn't want to get out of the car... my sister and I looked at each other like, whoa.  Well, no offense to all of Moms who swear at their kids out there, but I think it might be a little bit scary to a pre-schooler.  But I'm not judging!!  Or maybe I am, but you'll never know because I usually just keep those thoughts in my own head.

Anyway, now that all of the rugrats are in school, and I am without kids for exactly 6 hours and 36 minutes five days a week, I think I might start swearing more often.  Not at my kids or in their presence, but you know, just in general.  For the fun of it.

You might wonder who or what I could swear at, being that I am alone during the day for the most part.  Well, there was a dishwasher repairman here the other day, and he was effing annoying and very talkative and sniffley.  I could have sworn at him, because in my head I was.  I was thinking, "Just fix my effing dishwasher and get out dude, you're totally cutting into my magazine reading!"  Or Bob, the UPS delivery guy.  But I like Bob - we've become less like strangers with all of the freaking deliveries that I get.  I mean really, who orders all of this crap anyway?  And I could never have sworn at the cable guy, who was here last week too.  I wanted to politely scream at him for wiping his nose on his sleeve several times, "DUDE, use a G.D. tissue.  PLEASE.  Or I will vomit on your big effing mud tracking man boots!"  But I couldn't.  I mean, he did deliver and install my second DVR.  He installed it slowly and sniffley, but it is functioning.  And that thing is really important to me.

Some guys swear at the TV - you know, while watching sports and stuff.   Except I don't really watch sports on TV.  Come to think of it, the TV is off for 6 blissful hours and 36 minutes a day.  I like the quiet.  It's been a looooong time since I've had such quiet in my life.

I don't know, since all of the other mothers in blog land are doing it, I might as well jump on the bandwagon!  Everybody else is doing it!  We could all just UNITE and start effing SWEARING like truck drivers in our posts!  Woohoo!

Hm.

See that though, I couldn't even type the F word in public without feeling uncomfortable.  I guess it's just not me.  I probably won't really swear that much in my posts guys, sorry if you were excited about it.  I tried, but I pretty much stink at swearing outside of my head.

** addendum: ooh!  so while I was searching for clip art that involved swearing, I came across two articles that actually were PRO-SWEARING!  One of the articles was on Oprah.com and the other was some scientific journal or something.  I figure if you're on Oprah and in a science journal, it must be the real deal.  Swearing is not all bad!  By all means, check them out for yourself, they were actually kind of enlightening.

Well I'll just toot my OWN horn then.

You know, I could argue that I am a damn good wife.

I take care of my man, even when he’s a pain in my butt. I mean, who else would get up out of a warm snuggly bed to go down to the car at midnight where there could potentially be raccoons that might attack me because the car is by the garbage pails and everyone knows that raccoons are violent and like garbage in the night, just to search for an inhaler when my husband says he feels wheezy?

(mean racoon that wants to use my leg as his next meal)

One would think that the said inhaler would be on the said asthmatic’s side of the bed, within reach. One might go so far as to think that at least one of the forty seven thousand inhalers that I have purchased would be somewhere in the bedroom, bathroom or upstairs region of an asthmatic’s house.


Like does anyone out there know a chronic asthmatic that doesn’t carry his inhaler with him like a big boy?? Why, when we are halfway to a destination, will he look at me and say, “So did you pack me an inhaler?” And I might just say, "Of course I packed you an inhaler Hon." Because I am all lovey like that. And because I know with every fiber of my being Hon will not remember to pack himself an inhaler. I mean, I don’t want him to start wheezing and not be able to breathe, so obviously I make a point to have the proper medication on hand at all times. One might think the asthmatic might take the bull by the horns and keep track of his own life saving medicine, wouldn’t one?

Well. One better get his damn inhalers in strategic spots all over the house so the other one doesn’t have to get out of her snuggly warm bed and face vicious, man eating raccoons in the dead of night ever again.

One is definitely lucky that I love him, and his lungs.

Saturday Centus 20

I'm participating in Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus, where she gives a weekly themed prompt, and you can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell your story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restrictions are: The prompt must be left intact AND you cannot split up the words in the prompt.


The prompt is in bold.

Exhausted, Jemmie sat waiting to be released for the day when she noticed the splotch from her perch on the edge of the wooden chair.  She smoothed her apron and pushed back a damp lock of hair, the disappointment clear in her dark eyes.

She quietly rose and crossed the room, hoping Mrs. Carrington wouldn’t come for her anytime soon.  Reaching for the familiar rag and bucket beside the kitchen cupboard, she sighed.  Her back howled as she gingerly got down on her hands and knees.

“This is never going to come out," she thought as she scrubbed at the spot on the worn carpet.

Hot tears filled her eyes when she heard the familiar sharp footsteps echoing down the hall.

full circle

What comes around goes around... if you spit in the air, eventually it's going to land on your face... karma's a bit*h... if you lie down with dogs, you're going to come up with fleas... wait.  That one doesn't apply, but I heard it once and thought it was funny.


You know, I don't sit around waiting for bad things to happen to people who have wronged me.  I feel like at some point, things come full circle on their own, and you reap what you sow.  There I go again with the sayings. It's funny.  I guess I never think about what others think my full circle will be.  Who have I wronged, and are they waiting for something to happen to me so they can be all like, "Hmph.  That's what you get for slapping me across the face in fifth grade!"


Like, what is MY Karma (karma: how you live your life determines the kind of life you will have. one's fate, destiny)?  Has it already happened?  Whoa.  Is this going to turn into some deep philosophical post??  Well.  That wasn't my intention, but let's just keep plugging along and see where this thought process goes.

I know I have done things wrong here and there along the way.  I'm sure I was thoughtless more times than I can count, and I know I hurt some feelings but I can't really think of too much that I have done purposefully or in a mean-spirited way to hurt someone.  Except throw my sister's Puff the Magic Dragon record down the stairs.  I'll never hear the end of that!

I did lie and say that Sha Na Na was my cousin when I was in 3rd grade.  Dumb bell that I was, I didn't exactly get the point that Sha Na Na was a band, not a person.  I lied because my friend Val went to the Shaun Cassidy concert and got a satin jacket with his name on it and wore it to school.  I was so jealous.  And I did slap a girl across the face in fifth grade and that was so mean, but I did it because someone encouraged me to do it. I guess I was looking for approval, acceptance by a specific girl friend.  Of course, that doesn't make it right -- just explaining my logic at the time.  I never did say sorry to that girl, I will if we ever cross paths again though. 

I also was a mean girlfriend to a few guys in high school.  I still have tons of guilt about that, really.  No excuses, but insecurities and selfish immaturity was what that was all about and I know that.

So I was thinking about what my Karma could be.  And I just don't know.  I mean, I live a pretty happy life - have a happy marriage, healthy kids and close relationships with family.  I have money in the bank and food on the table.  In general I am good and don't have many real problems.  So either my Karma hasn't hit yet, or it already happened and it was so insignificant I didn't even notice it.

Hmm.

Just something to think about:
Buddhism - the teaching of Buddha that life is permeated with suffering caused by desire, that suffering ceases when desire ceases, and that enlightenment obtained through right conduct and wisdom and meditation releases one from desire and suffering and rebirth

the scariest movie that I ever watched

A couple of years ago, I was home alone-ish (kids asleep upstairs), and I was clicking around the TV just bored.  I stopped on this movie called Hostel, which had just started - so I settled in and started watching.  I watched horror movies when I was a teenager, I guess everyone did -- you know Jason and Freddy Krueger - that kind of stuff.  To me, that wasn't realistic enough to be truly scary.  You went to the movies, screamed along with everyone else, then went home and forgot about it.  But as an adult, I have no interest in watching horror - I didn't even realize that the movie Hostel was supposed to be in that category. 

I think I went with it because I saw it was a Quentin T movie, and I always like his stuff, it's weird and different - just my style.

Let me tell you, I am still traumatized.  I always had backpacking through Europe on my mental bucket list, but this movie changed EVERYTHING.  I also had scary dreams about it periodically for years.  YEARS. 

The only other thing that ever affected me like that was the book American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis.  I literally had to put the book away for a bit (I honest to God hid it from myself under the bed) because it was so horrible and scary that I just needed a mental break.  I remember actually seeking the book out because I heard it was removed from the shelves.  I had to go to a few bookstores before I even found it, and it was in the back stockroom- wrapped so you couldn't see the cover or something.  I hate when books get removed from the shelves.  That's just so wrong.  So of course, I had to see for myself.  And I was subsequently traumatized, and really do wish I never read it in the first place.  The movie version isn't anywhere as intensely sickening as the book, so if you saw it without reading it - don't be fooled.

Just thinking about it makes me feel sick in my stomach, actually, right now.

OK, so I was going to write about the movie Hostel, then I got sidetracked with American Psycho, but now I am all thinking it will give me bad dreams so I am wrapping this post up with this very, very smart advice:  If you like to have peaceful dreams and a good night of sleep, don't watch the movie Hostel, and definitely DON'T read the book American Psycho.

The end.

so what exactly is the protocol?

I love reading the comments that people leave for me, and I don't get enough comments where it is actually overwhelming to respond to them individually.  So someone fill me in, please.  WHAT IS THE PROTOCOL on responding to comments?

Do I respond individually?  Do I do that on my original comment thing, or do I re-comment you on your blog?  Do people even ever come back to see if you responded to their comment?  Do I respond in an email?

I don't mean to sound all crazy, but I don't want to be rude!  I want to respond, and even though I have been doing this for a bit, I really don't know all of the blog rules.  Or any of them, if you want the truth.

Once, when I first started blogging,  I deleted a mean comment from a mean lady who was just . . . mean.  But I only deleted it because I didn't know how to answer her and I hated the thought of leaving it out there without being able to defend myself.  Well, I still don't know the right way to respond, so what if someone is mean to me again?

So, I am asking for your collective opinions.  Anyone? anybody home? mcfly? 

too seriously?

(by Anna from Red Means Go , a rather funny inappropriate blog)

I know a couple of people who take themselves, their lives way too seriously.  It's almost like they spend their time waiting to pounce on the one tiny little wrong-ish thing that someone says/does. 

Don't you think that living life like that has to suck?  Like, really -- I would have a headache on a daily basis if I was always on the edge, waiting for someone to mess up.  Come to think of it, I do pretty much have a headache every day, but really I think I just have a brain tumor.  But that's beside the point.

The point is - Why take everything so SERIOUSLY?  What do you really gain in life by being like that?  The satisfaction of saying "HA!  I was [insert (right/better/smarter/cooler/nicer etc.) here]!" ? I've come to learn that not everyone cares that much!   I took me a while to figure that out, but I decided to share that tidbit with you because I am all nice like that.  And maybe this post could be the beginning of a dramatic change that is necessary in your life!  Who knew I could be so influential?

So here is my challenge for the week:

-Chill out.

-Smile. A lot.

-Be glass HALF FULL.

-LISTEN.

-Imagine that when someone does something that irritates the crap out of you, they actually didn't mean to bug you.

-And finally, truly try to apply the best advice I have ever heard to your life: "It is none of your business what other people think of you." 

ps - if you are reading this and think that I am referring to YOU in particular, get over yourself.  I'm probably not.  Or maybe I am, but you'll never know! Right?  So just do my challenge and quit overthinking everything. K? K.  Just do it.

what happens when i am bored and/or lonely

From: Jessica
Sent: Friday, September 10, 2010 1:08 PM
To: Alexander
Subject: sept 20

Hey, hey boyfriend! Guess what? Next Monday, Sept 20 is the parent meeting for the kid's religion!! Guess who is NOT going?? Me. That’s right. I said it.


Which means . . . you’re the parent going! Yahoo! Please mark your calendar accordingly. The meeting is at 6:30 pm. Love ya!



From: Alexander
Sent: Friday, September 10, 2010 1:08 PM
To: Jessica
Subject: RE: sept 20


i cant make it i will be in cooperstown at a work event. hahahah ya i said it



From: Jessica
Sent: Friday, September 10, 2010 1:14 PM
To: Alexander
Subject: RE: sept 20

F. ME!!! That’s not very funny at all. I think you will be home in time!



From: Alexander
Sent: Friday, September 10, 2010 1:15 PM
To: Jessica
Subject: RE: sept 20


no way it is an hour and half ride and i need to see if i win anything... hahahahahahahahaha. maybe we could go to the sat morning parent meeting



From: Jessica
Sent: Friday, September 10, 2010 1:17 PM
To: Alexander
Subject: RE: sept 20

Fine. I will inform the Bobster. The Bobinator. The Bob-meister, meisterbob.  I will inform him that YOU will be going to the sat morn meeting. :)


From: Alexander
Sent: Friday, September 10, 2010 1:19 PM
To: Jessica
Subject: RE: sept 20


are you on drugs like those stay at home moms you see on tv



From: Jessica
Sent: Friday, September 10, 2010 2:04 PM
To: Alexander
Subject: RE: sept 20

Haha, hoohoo, heehee.
Nah. I don’t even know where I would find a source.

Saturday Centus week 19

I'm participating in Jenny Matlock's  Saturday Centus, where she gives a weekly themed prompt, and you can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell your story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restrictions are: The prompt must be left intact AND you cannot split up the words in the prompt.

I understand that this prompt represents 9/11.  I just don't feel creative when writing about that day, just sad - and my words can't truly convey my feelings.  So, I wrote something else - something different.  Not about 9/11.

I have the prompt in bold.

I stood frozen in front of the flickering images on my TV monitor. The security camera mounted carefully outside the door was a housewarming gift from my father, who worried about my safety in this city known for its crime.

It was so dark, and the noisy static made their pale reflections dance on the paper thin walls of my apartment. I could see them approaching my door, hear their hurried whispers. I could feel the tension in the way they moved, glancing anxiously around the narrow hallway.

I fumbled for my cell, and backed into the shadows of an armoire, eyes glued to the screen.

There was no place to hide.

I just threw up in my mouth a little

A few random thoughts for this lovely September morn (oh! that just made me think of the old song "September Morn" by Neil Diamond.  Yes, I just put that out there. I love Neil Diamond):

ANYWAY.  Fruit Flies suck ass.  How come even after I removed all of the fruit and moisture in my kitchen they are still kamikaze flying in my face?  Of course I googled how to get rid of stupid fruit flies and none of the so-called solutions seem to work well.  Then I read the part that said fruit flies inject their eggs into the fruit they are hanging out on.  In other words, every time I happily bite into a banana, I am also munching on fly eggs or larvae or some other gross crap.  That's where I threw up in my mouth a little.  No really.  Some things are better left un-learned.  I am, in fact, sorry I just had to share that disgusting bit of information with you.

I really like that movie Hairspray.  I'm not sure why I was so resistant to watching it in the first place.  I wonder if it is still on Broadway, because it would be great to see the live version.  Now that is something that wouldn't make me puke if I googled it.

I think my all consuming love of Vampire Diaries is bordering on unhealthy.

Why in God's name would anyone choose to be roasted?  Like, does roasting someone mean that everyone really likes them?  I mean, all of the roasters slam the crap out of the roastees for an hour and a half, then smile and hug each other or shake hands when it's over.  Like, really?  If you just sat there and talked crap about me and my family and the things that are important to me, I pretty much think I'd want to go all blanket party on you.

Speaking of parties, one of my favorite parts of the movie Anchorman is when Steve Carell's character Brick is trying to invite Veronica Corningstone to a pants party.  Then she says, "Are you trying to tell me there's a party in your pants and I'm invited?"  and he says something like "Yes.  Yes I am." bahahah.  That makes me laugh every single time I see it.

What if I started swearing more often?  Like, what if I inserted blanking swear words every other blanking time I said a blank blank word?  I think that might just blanking shock people.  Sometimes I really want to say the F word.  My little kids think the S word is "Shut up."  That just proves how much we don't f-ing swear in our house.

I am pretty darned sure that I could walk around in a bookstore all day and be completely happy.

remember mix tapes?

Unless you are (ahem) of a younger generation, you probably know what a mix tape is. You know, the things that came after records, but before CD's, which came before mp3 downloads. Have I lost ya yet, young'uns?

Well anyway, I have a lot of mixed tapes from back in the day. You know, straight up Say Anything style (love you John Cusack!), the things that old loves of your life made for you - cassette tapes mixed with all sorts of fantastic 80's tuneage - Psychedelic Furs, Modern English, Peter Gabriel, Pink Floyd. . . U2(!), Echo and the Bunnymen, The Smiths!! 

Remember the tapes that you made yourself, sitting with your tape recorder pushed up to the radio while waiting patiently for your requested song to come on, which would subsequently be ruined when mid-way through the crappy taping, one of your sisters would slam open the bedroom door and scream at you that you were wearing her fringed boots?

Oh wait.  That didn't happen to you too?

Back to the point. The problem is, the only thing I have to play them on is a pink Barbie princess boom box (do they even call them that anymore?).  As you might imagine, the sound quality isn't exactly amazing on that thing.  But on the plus side, it has a microphone, so I could rock out to my old favorites!  Yeah.  I guess that might be something to try when I am all alone, all alone.  Like I am right now.  Til 3:26 pm.  Five days a week.

Gah!  I am having kid withdrawl.  Whoa.  Did I just say that out loud?

i think i will just go cry now.

So.  There you have it.  My last baby, out the door into the big bad world of mean kids and naughty words.

I hate this day.

But I smiled and pretended I was happy.  And I went upstairs to put some medicine on my ugly fever blister.  I never get fever blisters -- it is a stress fever blister, I just know it.  I haven't slept well all week.  I can't believe I am all alone.

So I have the traditional kid at the front door with their back pack pictures coming up.  Feel free to click to a more interesting blog at any point . . .  

Forgive me the lame post today, I am drowning my sorrows in a cup of hazelnut coffee, wondering how my little peanut is doing in Kindergarten... 

Brooke (K), Brenna (4th), Megan (4th)

Meg, 9 years old

Brenna, 9 years old

Brooke, 5 years old

Brooke and Daddy

one last snuggle of the blankie... (sniffsniff)

well... there you have it.

I think I will go cry now.

clean as a whistle?

Do you ever find yourself saying that?  Like how clean can a whistle be, actually?  I mean, if you think about it, a whistle is probably pretty unclean.  Germy even.  Especially if it is a whistle blown by a kid.  Or some person who doesn't brush their teeth regularly.

Another one of those phrases that makes me smile inwardly sometimes, is "fast as a bullet."  My kids say that.  However, one can easily figure out that a bullet is pretty fast.  They also say "shiny as a bullet."  Like Brooke will exclaim "Mom, aren't my teeth as shiny as a bullet?!"  after she brushes.  With her mouth in a big cheesy grin.  Shiny as a bullet if someone shined it I guess!  Or if it was brand new in the box.  But certainly not a used bullet, which probably wouldn't be very shiny at all.

I say "Home in a jig!" when we get home sometimes.  It's like it just falls out of my mouth.  What is a jig anyway?  A dance move?  Did my mom say that when we were kids?  "Home in a dance move?"  Well that doesn't make any sense.

So of course, in my quest to find the answer to all things odd and stuff, I did a little research on the term "clean as a whistle," and there was quite a long winded answer online, which I won't bore you with except for the fact that it has to do with beheading someone in the 19th century.  If you are interested in a more in depth discussion on it, you can click here!  Well, now that I know what it actually means, I may have to rethink using it.

I also checked into "Home in a jig," which refers to an old children's poem.  Which of course lead me to read about the origins of lots of other phrases. Because I tend to get all carried away like that.  Some of them are really gross actually.

Well, there you have it.  I have to wrap this up for now, because my dogs are barking! 

That's my exciting and oh so interesting post of the day! Feel free to share any interesting commonly used non-sensical-ish phrases that you may have been saying without knowing the real meaning to. (that sentence actually came out pretty non-sensicalish, didn't it?)

Saturday Centus

Writing for Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus, where she gives a weekly themed prompt, and you can use UP to 100 words (not including the prompt) to tell your story. It can be fact or fiction. The only restrictions are: The prompt must be left intact AND you cannot split up the words in the prompt.

I have the prompt in bold.

The wind whipped my face and I could feel the tears threatening to fall. My back pressed hard against the big oak tree behind the shed. It was a dark and stormy night, the kind of night always spent inside, surrounded by the warmth of loved ones. The fleeting thought that I should be wrapped up in Grammy’s quilt reading by the light of the fire pushed a lone tear slowly down my cold cheek.



I didn’t care that they were yelling my name. Flickers of the flashlights were getting fainter, and so were their frantic calls.


I imagined her soothing voice, “It’s alright Honeychild, Grammy’s gotcha now.”

the free kiss

OK.  I can't be the only one who believes in this philosophy.

So, me and my husband have this little unwritten rule that we get a free kiss with a particular celebrity crush, if the situation ever arose.  (clearly, the situation will never arise, but a girl can dream, right??)

So for the longest time, like for almost my whole marriage practically, my free kiss was... Dave Matthews.  From DMB.  Oh man... I love him.  And his voice is amazing and every one of my friends made fun of me for my free kiss pick!!  Isn't that so mean??!  I think he's hot.  ANYWAY.  Of course those losers pick the guy that EVERYONE would pick -- like Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp.  Who wouldn't take a free kiss from one of those guys?  But come on!  Think a little outside of the box people!

( I still like you Dave.)

Alex doesn't think outside of the box.  He typically goes straight to the blonde with big boobs.  Such a guy, my husband is.  And he is always switching.  He started with Britney (!), then went to Charlize Theron, then moved over to Scarlet J.  He kept her on his list for a while.  Now, he changed it up!  He just informed me he's going Kim Kardashian!  Who knew?

As I was saying before I got sidetracked (go figure), I was saying that I have always had Dave Matthews, but I think I may be over him moving on.  I don't know what happened!  I mean, I still love him and think he's the man, but I am kind of ready to try a new and different free kiss.  

So I decided, I am going to poll the readers.  Who do you think I should pick?  I will give you my top three contenders, and you can vote!  And when I feel like closing the polls, I will take all of your advice, and have my free kiss be the the guy of your collective choice.  Look how nice I am -- offering to let you all hold such power over my kiss.  Please, use your judgement.  Choose wisely.  I keep my free kiss for a long time, so don't choose the guy you think could be just a passing fancy.  OK.  I trust you.

TOP THREE CONTENDERS

(1) ROB  You know who I mean.  Edward/Rob.  ROB PATTINSON.  My cousin Kat tried to claim him, but I could throw down over this guy.  Oh, I do love him.  And I love his crooked tooth and his cutie face.  And his voice.  And his mischievous look.  And I dig a guy that can rock a messy hair-do.  I don't really care that he is so young.  It would be like Demi and Ashton.  Oh, I could go there.

(um.  Did I mention hot?  Yes. Yes, I did. Sigh.)

(2) BOB HARPER  From The Biggest Loser.  OK.  Relax.  I told you that I think outside of the box!  I can hear the wheels spinning madly over this, but I don't really care about the rumors of his sexual orientation, he's HOT.   And very fit.  And he has sick tattoos.  And I am sure he would be very motivating.  I love Bob. 

(yikes.)

(3) JEREMY PIVEN  Oh Ari... I mean Jeremy!  Jeremy!  I think he is adorable, and funny, and cocky, and cute as anything.  And mischievous, like Rob/Edward.  Plus I like that he's been around the acting block a while... Honest to God if I had another son, I think I would name him after Jeremy's character Ari. 

(yikes again.)

Let me have it.  I'm waiting...