This Tin Foil Hat is Squooshing My Brains

I was pondering my retirement account the other day.  *sigh* Is it only me or does anyone else feel like finding a Master-of-the-Universe, Wall Street-working, TARP-taking, Lamborghini-driving-lunkhead and commit some sort of homicide?  


My mom and dad are all worried about me since I am single again, so I was trying to make them feel better.  You know, sometimes bad ideas should really announce themselves better.  Opportunity knocks but bad ideas just invite themselves in and make themselves at home.


I love financial blogs.  I must be into S&M.  My favorite is Calculated Risk because the people who comment are hilarious and smart. Half the time I have no idea what they are talking about. I can read the words and I assume they have meaning because other people jump in and comment, but I'm not sure what it all means. 


For example:  "At September 30, 2008, all of the trust preferred CDO securities were still investment grade rated, were paying as agreed with no shortfall in principal or interest payments, and were determined not to involve other-than-temporary impairment ("OTTI"). During the fourth quarter of 2008, factors outside the Company's control impacted the fair value of these securities and will continue to do so, including but not limited to: guidance on fair value accounting, issuer credit deterioration, issuer deferral and default rates, potential failure or government seizure of underlying financial institutions, sksodhei49dkdks....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."

At other times, they are hilarious and have the funniest links to YouTube videos. 


But the bottom line (get it, an accounting joke. Okay, shutting up now) is that the s*^t has yet to hit the fan as far as the commenters are concerned and unfortunately they have been right on so many things for years.  


So, I have been trying on my tin foil hat and wondering how I should prepare. Do you remember the story, "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie?" You invite the mouse in for a cookie, which is fairly insane, most rodents are quite good at finding your cookie supply on their own, and they will want a glass of milk?  I have a feeling if I start thinking about all hell breaking loose, I might get carried away. 


I figure a case of Jack Daniels, couple of cases of diet soda, maybe some cheese doodles, and I'm set. You know, the world ends on December 12, 2012 anyway? They made a movie about it and everything.


What do you think? Any ideas would be appreciated. Talk loudly though...my tin foil hat blocks sound.

What's That in the Road, A Head?

So I kicked butt this week and I did a streaking on the football field. No, really, that's me. Well, of course, just the head part. I like that the guy chasing me, it looks like he wants to grab a little something.

Thanks for the great picture, L. I did tell her though that even I would not wear black socks with tennis shoes. Speaking of being well dressed, go check out her new blog design~! Tampons & Chocolate rocks thanks to Mary at Blog Rock. Get ready, Mary, I'm next.

My fantasy football team, the NanoBots, beat Mr. Bill, L's hubby and was he mad~! HAHAHA.

See, I'm not a total putz so far this year. I won!!! Pay up sucka. I have to gloat now...this may be the last time I win.

The Balls in the Iron Mask

Teddy Bear: Do you know it's a myth that if testicles get too hot they produce less sperm. No need to wear boxers instead of tighty whiteys.


Me: Really? How did they test that hypothesis?


Teddy Bear: Well, they put the balls in metal for like 48 hours and then they tested sperm count before and after.

Me: *mouth hanging open* They put some guys' balls in an iron mask? Good lord.


Killdozer: I want to know how to get that kind of job.

That is the kind of conversation I have in my house when you watch "The Big Bang Theory."

Happy Feet

Ummmm...not sure I would call these happy feet.




But really I did this leading to this video...



Wasn't that exciting? 

Weren't you just waiting with bated breath for him to start his strip tease? Holy schmoly. 

And to think I took dancing lessons when my oldest daughter got married so I would not look like a Frankenstein after smoking a hookah pipe full of happy tobaccy. My sister-in-law is a dancing fiend and she dragged me out there and we danced all night long. 

Are you Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers? My dad and mom are. My dad is so good he can take anyone on the dance floor and make them look good. 


I am trying to find pictures of my daughter's wedding to post. But no dancing pictures. I look like Mumbles dancing in the cartoon "Happy Feet." Only not so cuddly and cute.

When All Else Fails, Dust with a Mouse Butt

Another week at Casa de Hermit. I have to clean the house....again. This is getting ridiculous. Nephew is turning 13 tomorrow. A teenager.  Family coming to stay with me. Tried to pick up clutter and ended up dragging the mouse booty across my mantel when I was trying to pick him up. I figured since he was doing such a bang up job, I let his sorry butt finish the job.


But now I get to watch my know-it-all brother cope. I remember his words of wisdom when my oldest was in high school and I had just chaperoned my first high school dance (and last). I was telling him how the kids bunch up to hide what is going on in the middle, but there were kids "dancing" on the outside and I'm not sure what you would call it other than humping but there it is. Campus supervisors have to be the most underpaid people on the planet. (And sometimes the crabbiest people I have ever met. Go figure.) They go wading into the middle and break it up...whatever it is. They are like cops when it comes to story telling.


What caught my eyes? Girl and guy dancing, well, I guess you call it dancing. And behind the girl was another guy grinding on her and behind the guy dancing was another girl grinding on him. A veritable choo choo train of teenage MTV porn. If you weren't hot and bothered before that, that cinched the deal. Tila Tequila in action. I wish someone had gotten a picture of all the newbie parents chaperoning. I'm sure we would have fit right in a yokel family picture.


My 14-year-old daughter is going to school here?!!! His comment to me? Well, better they do it there than somewhere else. What part of moronic did he not get? Where does he think they were going after the dance? To confession? Yes, I got my lesson in teenage madness much sooner than I anticipated. 

It is amazing what you learn when you have to. I wish I had learned sooner that humor is the best thing you have going for you with your kids. And they really do want some rules. And listening. Listening. Listening. 

Ah, me. I always said that the only thing holding up my kid's halo was her horns.


I also learned to bite my tongue. Maybe that's why I blog now. No one understands me when I talk now. 


I can't wait to tease my nephew tomorrow. Do you think my brother would appreciate a gift of condoms? Go Trojans! Which reminds me...I am pretty much sucking at Fantasy Football.

The Ten Things My Muse Hates About Me

The lovely Tetanus Tomato awarded me the "Honest Scrap" award~!  I have to write 10 things about me. Wait. I just checked her blog. It has to be ten HONEST things about me. Honest?  I had to call on my muse for this one but since my Book Babe buddy, Thia Karen, gave me a shiny new cocktail shaker and a new bottle of Jack, my muse is inebriated. I figure I'm lucky to have a muse altogether. It is probably like the angel in It's A Wonderful Life. You know, trying to earn his muse wings so he can go to a real writer. 


I wish I knew what my muse looks like. I know it's a guy though. I imagine him as James Belushi.


On to the ten things about me...honest things about me....


1.   I think I'm pretty smart.  

You know, if eye rolling were an Olympic sport, my muse would get a gold medal and kick Michael Phelps' ass.


What? Do you have something to say? 


You said you were going to be honest. Should we tell these fine people how you really got into the honors program in high school? 


Go away. Your drink is looking a little watery. 


Tut. Tut. Those scantron tests are so pretty, aren't they? Especially when you fill in all those cute little bubbles with a pretty pattern. What is you did? Wasn't ABCD, then DCBA, and then...


Shut up. Don't you have a sonnet to inspire someone with? Oh, wait. You're stuck with me until you fix me up. Perhaps you should cheat. Does that ringing the bell thing work for muses, too? Maybe every time someone hits enter, a muse gets his wings and moves on. 


Such sarcasm...those gray cells must be getting old and tired. Boy, you were sure surprised when you got in that program. 


Can we go on to number 2 now?


2.  I wanna be a geek.


Wanna be? 


Hey, there must have been a good reason The Powers That Be put you with me, buddy.

3.  I didn't dust my living room coffee table for a whole year. 

That was so inspirational, too.

Inspirational? Did it remind you of a dear departed one? 

Oooohh...testy, testy. No, I just love stick figures. Cezanne tended to over your head. I figure you would think of it like an Etch-A-Sketch. You got some of your best ideas from those dust stick figures.

4.  My daughter wanted me to go on the show "How Do I Look?" You know, where you dress really stupid and they tear you apart, make fun of you, then give you $5000 for a new wardrobe. 


Ha, ha. My best inspiration yet. Yep, that was a good one.


YOU put her up to that? Did you also make her say it in front Killdozer? That was just mean. 


She had to get even for you embarrassing her when you were talking sex with your friends in front of them.


*sigh* I guess turnabout is fair play. 

5.   I love music but can never remember who sings what or the names of the songs....nothing. 

Teddy Bear loves to make fun of you. Didn't you just ask her who Liv Tyler's dad was? HAHAHA. She loved that one. 

So sue me. Metallica, right? 

Wait till I tell her that one. You confused Aerosmith with Metallica. You are going to lose all iTune privileges forever. 


She better be careful. I pay for most of her music.

6.  I love old musicals.

Wait, I know the perfect song, "Puzzlement." Good one, right? 

I really disliked West Side Story though. 

What?! You're not a Jet all the way? How the heck did I end up with you again?

You got hammered one day and they pushed you to the curb....where I picked you up. You were so cute with your little muse blankie. I don't think your fellow muses like you very much though. They had painted you kind of funny. 

 

7.  I am looking forward to the new Boondock Saints movie. 

You just want to drool. 

And your point is?  

8.  I love reading financial and political blogs. 

*yawn*

Are you trying out for the bass mouth fish award? I hear Kanye West needs a side kick. 

Are you kidding? His muse is the bomb...a legend. 


A legend? How can he possibly be a legend.


His muse works backwards...he inspires others. I mean, you loved that Fish Dicks South Park episode, right? Funny stuff. I hear Taylor Swift loves him. 


9.  I have an irrational fear of buttons. The thought of someone plunging their hand into a jar full of buttons gives me the creeps. 


Buttons? Buttons? Sorry, sorry. Zipping my lips now. 


10.  I love getting awards. 


Where are you going? You aren't done inspiring me yet.



Thank you Tetanus Tomato...that was fun. I have to pass this on to other bloggers, but I think every blogger I know has one.  I only follow the best you know. But here goes...


Thia Karen....my Book Babe buddy with the most joyous and heartfelt blog around 


Tampons and Chocolate....when she blogs she is hilarious. You need to read her~!


The Doibie Journal....she is getting her first book published, so she has not written in awhile, but she is the best.

Life Right Now...fabulous writing, the best Laker sports stuff I've ever read, loves her prayer and her dog~! 



Here's to Honesty~!

Beer Pong Noob

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

I played my first game of beer pong last night...

Got chased down by the bouncer at a new restaurant in town...



A friend of L's got banished from the new restaurant in town...FOREVER...


Met the new owner of the Gambling Cowboy...


And just generally had a great birthday yesterday. Yes, my b'day is 9/11. 


How do you turn 52 and have that be your first game of beer pong? Not only is it my first game, I played it at my BFF's house (who just happens to be out of town with hubby) with her kids, Ruthless and Princess. Ruthless is very nice to this old lady. He and his friends sit and shoot the shit with me and I don't feel like a total old fart dufus. (Teddy Bear says I am though.) 


L had picked me up for dinner and we picked up her friend A. How to describe A? Petite, slim, double D's. Yes, that will do. A 42-year-old grandma. She was already drinking wine when we picked her up and was wobbling around on her stiletto heels. She wanted to bring the glass of wine with her but I said I'm pretty sure that is frowned upon. She had a large Starbucks cup sitting there, so she pours her wine into that and it looks like their coffee, and off she goes. I'm not sure L realized what was in the cup. 


Off to new restaurant in town. In Old Town. Pretty place, kinda snooty. Total geezer pick up joint. We went into the bar which was all tricked out with little low tables, round hidden corners with soft bench like couches that circled around the little tables and semi-circle ottomans. They had fabric ceiling decorations that looked like a sphincter. The only table available is smack dab in the middle of the room. The bar is packed but no one is sitting there, there is a black cloth covering a piece of equipment that is sitting on this table. Does not stop A who picks it up and moves it to the ottoman and we sit down. Poor guy comes racing up to rescue his projector but A is a master flirt and we get to stay. L orders wine, Pinot Noir, Pinot Grigio, Pinot Butter, I'm not sure. It's red wine and it all tastes like vinegar to me. The prices are outrageous, so we decide to walk across the street to another new restaurant. L pours her wine in A's Starbucks cup, I finish my Jack and coke, pay and skedaddle. 


As we are leaving, a big bouncer guy tells us, "Thanks for visiting and come back soon." How nice. This old lady is a sucker for manners. We cross the street with A wobbling along. (She had a broken pinkie toe. Did I forget to mention that?) L and I are walking way ahead of A when we hear running and a man shouting. I turn around to see what the heck. Big bouncer guy has caught up with A and told her he has to take her drink and that what she did was illegal. (This not being Vegas, you can't walk around with alcohol. Who knew?) I am pretending I have no idea who she is. I'm not a party animal. I don't go bar hopping to pick up men. He gets all serious on her ass and he tells her something but by this point I have walked way ahead. When she finally catches up with us, she tells us he has banished her from the new restaurant...forever. 


We go to the Gambling Cowboy where A knows everyone except for the new owner. L and I are starving. We meet the new owner. Nice man. Both L and A are very nice looking, so he spends quite a bit of time with us. I look like a mom. *sigh* 


I call Ruthless to see if his fiesta is still going on at BFF's house and he says yes and to come on over. 


Ruthless has some great friends, Danny Boy and Mike, who were there and because they know I have never played and want to learn to play, we team up to play beer pong. Mike and Ruthless are on one team and Danny Boy and I are on another. To see who goes first, you take turns throwing the ping pong ball into the cups full of beer set up like this picture. 

 

But you have to look into the eyes of the person opposite you and not look at the cups. Mike starts to do Marty Feldman eyes, I'm cracking up, throw the ball and...splash...right into the cup. The guys are screaming with laughter. I showed them. Right? Right?

We throw our two balls across the table trying to land in their cups of beer and we miss. Ruthless picks up the ball, carefully aims, calculates and throws and lands the ball in one of our cups. Oh no. What does that mean? Danny says don't worry, wait for Mike to throw. Well, of course, he puts that damn little ping pong ball into one of our cups and we now have to drink the beer that is in those cups. Uh oh. Hand-eye coordination is just not my strong suit. I could aim, ponder, plan the perfect trajectory, but as soon as I throw, the ball heads off into another orbit. 

But it came down to one cup to one cup...yes, it did. And I put that dang little ping pong ball into 4 cups. They ended up winning, but I thought that was pretty good for my first game. You know what was fascinating to me was watching some of the other kids shotgun beer. I don't think I can spill a beer as fast as they were shotgunning them. 

Being the mom that I am, I'm glad the kids were crashing at Ruthless' place and we managed to lose A somehow. (I felt like we were acting out the movie "The Hangover.") She got her panties in a bunch because we were not going to the Stampede to play pool and ride the bull and she called a friend to pick her up. Sheesh. It felt like high school. 

But I want BFF to know when she comes back and reads this post, her house was fine, the dogs were good, and her yard will probably be buried in 2 foot of beer cans by the time she gets home. 

Do You Remember Where You Were?

I do. 

I had my head buried in my headphones working since early in the morning...not a clue in the world. My friend, L, called me and asked me if I had been watching the news? I never watch the news. Why? She told me to just go turn the TV on. They were replaying the first plane hitting the tower and saying that they were trying to figure what kind of commercial airliner had hit the tower. A 767 maybe. My ex had upgraded to that plane...and he was in New York. Was it his airline? The kids and I watched with no word...the emergency number into his airline was not answering. The kids went to school. And I waited to hear. Watching. Horrified.

Then the second crash. To this day, I remember the feeling. Standing up and rushing to the TV. What had I just witnessed? The chilling feeling that started at my head and ran through my whole body. And then the towers started to fall. 

I was frantic. Where was he? Finally. A call comes in from the wife of the captain he was with saying, yes, they were in New York, but they were fine. I notified the kids their daddy was okay. When I finally spoke to him, he said that he knew the numbers they initially thought might have been in the towers when they fell would be too high. He said people were fleeing as fast as they could from the burning buildings. As I remember, the original numbers were in the tens of thousands.


They were just outside the blast area. They spent many days stranded in New York. No traffic. Hardly anybody moving around. Except emergency vehicles. 

He has a letter from the hotel talking about what they were doing for anybody still at their hotel because of what had happened. 

I remember reading a Dave Barry column soon after it happened and a phrase he used has stuck with me. They did not care who we were...they killed us "Just for Being Americans."  


It is a column worth reading again today.

Next...Next...zzzzzz

I am a legal driver again....ha, ha. I never was illegal, but as of tomorrow my license was set to expire and because I never leave anything to the last minute, I went today...at 1 o'clock. They are closed tomorrow because California is one stinkin' cesspool of debt, so to save money...bwahahaha...they close some offices on the 1st and 3rd Fridays of each month.

I was going to try to pay them with an IOU, you know, like in Dumb and Dumber, but Arnold called dibs on the idea first and beat me to it.

And I actually made a DMV employee laugh. I feel like such a Good Samaritan.

Back Burner

As a young mother, I learned about the back burner. That simmering pot that sits there with all your worries and fears. You know it's there. You can't ignore it. People will not let you ignore it, but you learn when to turn the heat up and pay attention. Sometimes you even move that pot of fears to the front burner and check on the bubbling brew. But you can't live like that. 

Some mommies had the back burner bubbling away over things that I thought were silly, but it wasn't my pot. Pacifiers hitting the floor are still good and don't need to be sterilized. I remember all the stupid crap we would put in our mouths as kids. 

But the pot is still there bubbling. With some of the worst fears parents have. It is the reason the pot never gets emptied. 


I remember my ex telling me about a dream he had about our oldest daughter when she was about 3 years old. Our beautiful little thumb sucker who had a woobie blanket that went everywhere, I mean everywhere, with her. He said he dreamed that two men came to the door and he gave our daughter to the men and the next morning in his dream when he was going out the front door, there on the porch was one of her little shoes. And her woobie. I remember being so angry and not speaking to him the whole rest of the day and that was just a dream. 


That is how easy it is for a mom to bring that pot to a full boil and scald yourself. 


Then your little kids grow up to be teenagers who I adore but the fears now seem so magnified. The fears are so much all around you. My poor oldest daughter. Until I learned to turn the heat on the pot down, we both got burned. But no parent wants that phone call. 


And now a friend of mine got that phone call. Her oldest son was dead. She calls me and she tells me that the stupid practicalities of his death are driving her nuts, but not as nuts as the people filled with fault finding. Things my friend and her husband should have done differently. Being the mother of an addict is hard enough, but the coulda woulda shoulda people are hurting her. Do they imagine she did not have her pot on the front burner and was doing everything they knew how to fix this? 

They fought so hard for him. And I know in my heart every step they took was done because they wanted him to live. They never gave up on him. In their darkest moments, all they wanted was their son back from his hell. But they lost him. At twenty five years old.


I am hoping I can help her in some way. Anyway. If only even to be a place to boil over.

Queen of the Ugly Bug Ball

Thump. Thump. BANG. #@$&%! Running feet. Girlie screaming. 

Do they not know it is Saturday and it's Labor Day weekend? I swing my legs out of bed and stand up. Yikes. Playing on the computer all morning in bed is hard on the ol' knee joints. Take my trusty laptop and cell phone and head downstairs to find out how bad it is downstairs.I am trying to decide if blood had better be involved with all the mayhem going on downstairs.


And there are Teddy Bear and Killdozer with my family room sorta torn apart, papertowels and bug spray out. Bug spray. I freakin' don't get it. If I was an ant and saw a line of dead ants, I think I would turn tail or antenna and beat all of my little ant legs to get the hell out. I leave all the little ant carcasses out like small crazed Vlad the Impaler warnings.



Despair all ye who enter here....

I guess ants are illiterate and not too bright though.


Sure enough. A giant ant trail is in my family room. Maybe they have decided that I am their Ant Queen and they are turning my home into a royal ant hive. I expect one day to wake up with about a billion ants carrying me off for my coronation. I knew all the extra poundage would come in handy one day. Give those frickin' ants little ant hernias. 


Or perhaps taking me to a nearby volcano to make a sacrifice to stop all the massacring going on. 


They are crawling along the wall about 3 feet off the ground because they know I have sprayed the baseboards and certain chemical death awaits them there. (Ummm, probably should change the video to My Chemical Romance and the Black Parade.)  This trail is at least 20 feet long and it is freaking Teddy Bear out. I start to vacuum them up and at this point Teddy Bear informs me that the ants are in my purse.

My purse! Those sons of bitches are in my purse!! Oh shit. I hope I remembered to take the chocolate out. Chocolate covered ants just does not sound appealing. Teddy says they were all over my doggie bag left overs from the Yard House from the night before. Oh, okay. They can have chicken strips if they want.

But I had to vacuum my purse. Do you hear me? I had to vacuum my purse. They were all over my wallet probably plotting some Insect Identity Theft ring. Selling my debit card to the Black Widow Mafia. I had to empty my purse out. It is amazing how many receipts I had in there. One day I will have to balance my check book...perhaps even fill in the check register.

If you see me around town and I am twitching and smacking myself...don't rush for a strait jacket, I'm just on my way to the Ugly Bug Ball.  They made me the honorary dance floor.

Flinging the Bull

My dad can fling the bull quite well. This little piece of trophy is now in his garden as a warning to snails and other pests in his garden...we fling more than poo in this yard. It was a Toastmaster trophy he won. I so remember him going to Toastmaster meetings. Although in my little kid mind, why on earth would someone voluntarily speak in front of a bunch of people.

The gift of gab runs in my family. It merrily skipped right over me. Being a PTA president in one of my past lives, I learned how to do it without as much quavering in my voice, but I cannot improvise and be quick on my feet so to speak. (hee, hee.) I am a heckler's dream. Both my daughters have no problem being in front of a crowd speaking or performing. Teddy Bear truly has the gift...being that she takes after her grandpa and her dad with his gift of Blarney. (So nice to be half Irish and half Mexican. I think manana translates in both countries.)

The only gift of gab I have is sitting around with friends and shooting the shit. And last night, to my BB's great consternation, we did just that. We went to BB and JuJuBeez's friend's house, Mz. Shrink Lady and the Gadget Master and they had another friend over, JD, who works with them. Yes, a lady geek. All three of them pull out their iPhone faster than a flasher can whip it out.

I truly need to start taking notes because for the life of me I cannot remember how we went from one subject to another...although I seriously think the Gadget Master loves to egg us on. BB sat at the end of the table with his Dodger hat pulled way down and his iPhone up and his shoulders are probably permanently hunched in a shrug position trying to block out all sound.

JD mentioned that she had been to a spa and was waiting for her turn with another older couple. I guess when you wait for your massage, you wear a robe and are nekkid underneath. And Mr. Older Guy had a problem with robe etiquette. JD said his wife kept poking him to cover up, but JD sat across from them and she said that, yes, she could see old man junk. Okay, you cannot say something like that around Mz. Shrink Lady. She gets all wide eyed and you can totally see the gears and pulleys in her mind whirring away and lord help us. Did you look, she asks. Shrink Lady said she probably could not have turned her head away....like seeing a car wreck. JD said she tried to pretend she was relaxing in her chair with her head back and her eyes closed.

This somehow (like I said, margaritas are not conducive to good remembering) led to someone asking if I knew what a fruit basket was. Gullible gob strikes again. A fruit basket? You mean like from Harry and Davids? *sigh* No. No. As best as I can remember, it was a man bending over and his hanging bits are a banana and nuts in a basket. Oh. my. god. I told her it could be worse. He could have wanted tea with his fruit basket.

Then little Mz. Shrink Lady asks when you go to the doc to ride the silver spurs, do you pretty yourself up some? Which led to her asking do you shave or wax? (Only later did Gadget Master bring up the manscape aspect of the whole conversation. dang.) JD said she waxes which led to all of us asking what that was like. She told us that her waxer person said the best thing a lady can do is make sure her feet smell clean. Her feet? Am I missing something here? Well, apparently most lady peoples are pretty good about showing up for a waxing with clean lady bits, but I guess since you have to fling your leg back and practically have your leg on their shoulder, so clean smelling tootsies are good waxing etiquette. You learn something new every day.

I hesitate to mention where the rest of the conversation went...you know that line, the imaginary line of what you should or should not say? Well, Mz. Shrink Lady and JuJuBeez, and now apparently JD, have no problem leaping right over that line skipping into no man's land. Well, Gadget Master seemed to have no problem keeping up.

Can you believe that we actually were there to watch the Padres and Dodgers' game? I'm not sure what base we made it to last night. No, I mean how well we scored. No, no, I mean who beat who?

Abbie Something...Abbie Normal

Are you normal?

Have you ever taken an IQ test? I have. Once a long, long, long time ago. My room mate's boyfriend was going to school to be a shrinkalyzer. Well, actually a psychologist, a school psychologist. He was so sarcastic and such a smart ass and back then I was hopelessly naive and gullible...even in my 20s. Yes. I admit it. When you are naive, people love to yank your chain because you fall for it every time.

Anyway, he needed people to take an IQ test for part of his thesis or some such crapola...I don't remember now why, but he had already suckered a bunch of other people into taking the test. We are sitting around his apartment, drinking. He had made shark for dinner and the smell was seriously nasty. Alcohol was a great nose disinfectant. He waited until I was tipsy and asked me to take his damn test. I hate taking tests...I hate feeling inadequate and stupid. I was quite sure I was a freak and some test one day would figure me out. (It takes experience to realize EVERYONE is a freak.)

But being drunk and feeling brave, I agree to put my brains to the test. He pulls out his briefcase and pulls out big flash cards and test papers and his pen for marking my results. Ummm, shit. He did analogies, he asked about famous sayings and what did I think they meant. You know, like what does the saying "Still waters run deep" mean. And for some reason, I am flying through this test. This is fun. I am thinking to myself who cares what the results are, I can blame getting a Forrest Gump IQ on wicked wine. He picks up the flash cards and he says to tell as quickly as I can what is wrong with each picture. He has about 25 cards or so. That was so much fun. I FLY through this part of the test. I could do no wrong. And at this point he is getting mad. He is looking seriously peeved. He slams them down, looks at me and says, "You've taken this test before haven't you!?" He is mad.

And being the hopelessly gullible gob I was....I freeze up. I knew it. I'm a freak. He asks me to memorize a series of 7 numbers and then do it backwards. I am seriously hyperventilating now. Seven numbers! Yikes. My happy buzz is gone. I have no idea what the rest of the test was like. . But Mr. Sarcastic is happy now. He looks all satisfied and pleased with himself. What a prick. But a small part of me is so pleased that I managed to get his underpants all twisted up. I finally cracked his smart ass facade.

I finish his damn test and we sit around waiting for him to tally the results...and it comes back at 126. And to let you know how gullible and moronic I really am, I believed that was really my IQ for years. I call that my Thunderbird Wine IQ score now. I figure I need to have a Jack Daniels IQ score and maybe a chocolate coma IQ score and perhaps a caffeine induced frenzy score.




He went on to be the principal of a school. But I bet my Thunderbird Wine score was higher than his score.

Smooching with a Frenchie

Book Babes had dinner with a Frenchie yesterday...and he was such a good smoocher. Well, at least he smooched one the of Book Babes.

Our Resident Chocoholic could not let this opportunity pass. He had such good manners. He was dressed so well...neck tie and all. He was with another woman, but as soon as she left to use the rest room, Choco moved in. It was shameless. Frenchie was all over her and she could not keep her hands off of him.

Ah well, bull dogs are stubborn and will do what they want. And I know better than to go around kissing strange Frenchmen. Especially one who licks himself. Although, come to think of it, Frenchie last night would probably look good in a Speedo. Those huge bat ears accentuate that funny curly cue tail.




We sat outside at Front Street Bar and Grill underneath a beautiful umbrella although it was a tad warm outside. They have the best burgers! They even brought a hamburger for Frenchie and served him water in a big plastic fancy salad bowl. He behaved better than a lot of people I know.

So we talked a little bit about the book...a very little bit...I think we mentioned the title.

We gabbed about BFF leaving for Italy in a week with her hubby, Wiley E. Coyote, his mom and his sister. Rome, Florence, Venice, Milan. It is their 25th wedding anniversary.

We talked about the Wolfpack Librarian heading off to Nashville to be with her hubby...and being the always thoughtful and generous person she is, she brought me and The Greek early birthday gifts. Beautiful potted flowers and a gift card.

We laughed with the Greek and her stories of Brody the couch eater and bargains at the grocery store. (She had chocolate covered Altoids for 50 cents which, of course, went to RC.) She was telling us how she now sits in the back seat when her husband drives, Driving Miss Crazy, she called it.

Oh, the book by the way was Mistress of the Art of Death by Ariana Franklin...such a cool story and one I definitely plan on finishing.

I'm So Smart...Let's Do Some Math

Shel Silverstein. Genius. Mom. Dunderhead.

One 19 year old.

One 51 year old.

Take away the 19 year old. Much better.

I work ten to twelve hour days I'm so dumb. Daughter asks me last night why I'm so tired, I don't do anything but sit all day long. Yes. She's right.

Can I turn in one daughter and get back two puppies maybe? There has got to be a mathematical equation for putting a kid in her place. No credit card for gas? She can see how much gas costs as she subtracts it from her check book?

I don't work hard. How hard can it be to listen to someone talk and then transcribe into a document? I mean, any moron could do it, right?

I listen to highly paid educated physicians all day long as they talk into my headset about your medical history. Well, not yours, but somebody's medical history out there. I listen to them yawn, mumble, ramble, chew, eat, and yes, pass gas once in a while. I listen intently so I can get every word he says. I research every new term I hear because I hate getting stuck on a word. I mean I really hate it. I used to have a black belt in anatomy. New brain words are like crack for me. The sylvian fissure? Gyrus? Sulci? Corpus callosum? Yes. I am jonesing as I write.

I do transcription for two neurosurgeons, two general surgeons, pulmonary and sleep medicine, pain management and interventional pain management physician, physical therapist, and I have done urology, family practice, ENT and facial plastics, dermatopathologist.

I have done a lot of doctors.

I am just that kind of a girl.

You have to be curious and slightly relentless to be good at what I do and you have to be somewhat of a computer nerd. If right clicking is an alien concept, probably not your kind of job because you have to set up VPNs, split tunnels, specialized programs. Yes. I love what I do most of the time.

But I don't work hard. Nah. Using your brain is not hard work. Do you hear that out there? All you people going to school. Don't bother.

Doesn't Shel Silverstein have a poem about a brother trying to sell his little sister? Is it too late to get Teddy Bear a big brother?