Friday, January 22, 2010

Puke and Possum


I mean really, why?

Minding my own business typing away in my home office trying not to be distracted by YouTube and keep working and then this happens. Teddy Bear came running into my office to tell me a dead possum was on our front porch. I actually laughed. 

"Ha, ha, sure. It's probably playing possum."

I thought I was so funny and witty. I mean, my Christmas tree is still on my front porch because I missed trash day this week. You would think I have a car on blocks on my front lawn and blackened out teeth and drive a pick up truck with a gun rack or something. But I live in a nice suburban neighborhood in Temecula. With a homeowner's association who frown on brown lawns and send snitty messags to you if such a calamity occurs. 

But there I am. Dead Christmas tree. Dead possum. It is blowing rain, cold and windy here. It has rained for days and the temperatures are down in the 30s at night. 

Teddy Bear's friend, Mr. Guitar Player, even poked it with a stick. Yep, rigor mortis. Even the tail was stiff. A possum popsicle. The only thing moving on it was one ear that kept gently flapping in the wind which made Teddy and I jump. I am tempted to leave him there and hopefully a coyote will decide to come along and help himself. I can get a sign pointing to it and everything. Like Wile E. Coyote and the roadrunner. Anybody know the number for Acme? 

The last time I saw a possum was in my mother's backyard. The whole family was over with all the dogs. Big ol' Tank, fat bo, clueless Cabo (who is huge!). They are going insane barking at something. There it is. A possum. On the lawn. Just lying there. The dogs jump at it, then jump back like they got electrocuted. They look positively stupid. Like they have some sort of doggie neurologic disorder. They are trying to channel their ancestral wolf genes but they end up looking like city slickers on a dude ranch. The possum continues to lie there. We finally round up the dogs and bring them inside and, lo and behold, the possum is gone the next time we look. 

So now I have to run to the hardware store and get a shovel to shovel him into a box. I will have to do this at night because I am quite sure I will be gagging and trying not to puke while I do this. 

For heaven's sake. I just got myself all out of my funk. You all are such good therapy. I even watched Pollyanna. 

Anybody want to play the Glad Game? 

We can be glad I have a dead possum on my porch because...because...I got it!! It will keep the holy rollers from knocking on my door and making me read the Watch Tower! (I know, I know. I'm going straight to hell. Is there a Heathen's Anonymous?) 

Maybe I should turn it into a door stop or something with a note pinned to it: No Solicitors Allowed. Do you think it would work?

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Monday, January 18, 2010

Time for My Stoutness Exercises, or Tut Tut, It Looks Like Rain

Yes, I am good at my stoutness exercises. I am stout, round, and I have found I improve my appetite when I exercise. That Winnie the Pooh was a genius. 

My diet is going as well as Pooh's disguise at being a little black rain cloud. I have only walked the dog ONCE since the first. 

Today is Monday, so I am going to pretend this is the first of the year because there is just no way it is already the 18th. January is more than half way done. Kaput. Done. I only took my tree down a few days ago because in my mind it is only January 5th or so. 

What do you do when you get the blues? I am thinking I am due for a mid-life crisis. Not that I think I am going to live to 104. (Fancy math, huh?) Nor has the Grim Reaper paid a call to fill me in on my day of reckoning. Of course, if HE did show up, I might have a coronary and that would be all she wrote. 

I have been blue. In a funk. Not cranky but definitely not myself. I feel like not only is the glass half empty but someone is drinking my half. 

I have absented myself from company because I believe that going around in a bad mood is like going around with body odor or bad breath. (My favorite talk show host actually says that...I am totally stealing his line.) I don't want my friends and family to go sniffing around me saying, "Ewwww, bad mood...get a life!" Like people who smell their own armpits. 

I am trying to invent a bad mood deodorant. Puppies, kitten, stuffed animals? My personal Teddy Bear, my lovely annoying daughter, has lately made me want to run off to Build-a-Bear and get a new model. 

So I have been thinking what I could do to show everyone I have finally lost it, slipped into mid-life decrepitude. Men go out and buy sports cars, which would be my number one fantasy. I love to drive fast. But somehow you just look lame zooming along in a minivan. No cool factor there. I'm too old to run away and be an astronaut and there is no way I'm ready to wear adult diapers. 

I think jumping out of a plane and parachuting might be taking it to an extreme and bungee jumping would only make the blood rush to my head and give me a headache. Not to mention I'm a chicken and afraid of heights. I would love to do that squirrel flying with those funny suits. You know, you jump off a cliff wearing a suit that makes you look like a flying squirrel and haul ass down the mountain. But the fear factor strikes again. 

I would go on a pilgrimage seeking answers but I also believe in the saying, "Where ever you go, there you are." 

I will be exercising this week and trying to see that glass as half full. I just hope whoever was drinking from it didn't backwash. 

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Sunday, January 10, 2010

Eff. Ewe. Sea. Kay

I was going to use this video as a grammar lesson...transitive vs. intransitive. You know, things I don't really get at all, but....

I got a nastygram comment and I just thought this would be appropriate. So if you see Happy Hour...Somewhere in a human spiral, you know that Chris did it. Either that or the PETA police will be at my door knocking it down and putting me out of my misery. 

I do look good in orange though.

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Thursday, January 7, 2010

A Soldier's Embrace

Happy Hour: What are you wearing? 

Muse: *not so very nice look* Why don't you tell me what I'm wearing. 

HH: Me? Why would I know? 

Muse: Because this is your fantasy. You started fantasizing after reading this book and then the next thing you know, I'm dressed like the next member of The Village People. 

HH: Hey, that's Clint Eastwood! You take that back. That man melts my butter. 

Muse: You do know that he is now a geezer? 

HH: You are totally going to be eating that cigar in a minute.

Muse: This wool thing is itchy. Can I take it off? 

HH: Yeah, that look doesn't do you justice. You are more the white toga, hemlock sucking kind of guy.

Muse: I can leave you know. 

HH: Whatever. 

Muse: It was kinda of funny. Like Miss Piggy.

HH: What!! You are comparing me to Miss Piggy? 

Muse: *skipping away* Tut, tut. I'm your know you can't hurt me. Don't you watch TV?


Muse: Do all women do this? 

HH: Do what? Stick a cigar up their muse's butt?

Muse: Fantasize about a character they have read about?

HH: Oh, but Lt. Ryan is so hot. Cavalry, tall, handsome...It is called "A Soldier's Embrace", so I was just taking it to its logical conclusion. *sigh*

Muse: *gagging noise*

HH: The book is so good. You start and before you know it, it is chapters and chapters past the time to make dinner.

Muse: You are so jealous.

HH: I know. I am a baby writer, a wannabe. 

Muse: You should see her muse. 

HH: Really? Tell me, tell me.

Muse:  Sorry, no can do. Muse union rules. I'd have to kill you.

HH: Well, I'm just going to call her and ask.

Muse: That's cheating. 

HH: I just think you should read her book. 

Muse: I have read it. Very good, very good. But that is what they do with good stuff....they publish it. 

HH: Can I fantasize about being J.K. Rowling and being worth a billion bucks?

Muse: You just want to hang around Hogwarts. 

HH: I just want everyone I know to run out and read my sister-in-law's book. 

Muse: Shameless plug. *tut, tut*

HH: I know...but her book is sooooooooo good and I know they will like it.

Thank you all for listening in and my marvelous, funny, charming, red-headed sister-in-law has written an awesome book and I just want to shout it to the whole world.

Muse: Man, you need a soapbox or something.

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Sunday, January 3, 2010

Pizza Dawg

Okay, it starts with the girl on the show "I Didn't Know I was Pregnant" and ends up on "Mystery Diagnosis" who dies briefly. She is then on the show "I Was Dead." She gets depressed and starts "Hoarding" and eats "33,000 Calories a Day," so then she has to go onto the show "The Biggest Loser." Unfortunately, she loses weight and then and gains all her weight back and goes on the show "Confessions of a Reality Show Loser." She then kills herself and ends up on "Ghost Hunter." Maybe Ghost Hunter International. 

By the way, a pizza dawg is a hot dog from Costco wrapped in a slice of pizza from Costco. 

Good lord. It has been a long lazy weekend. The kids have been watching way too much TV.

I stepped on the scale and took a picture....and no way am I broadcasting that picture to anyone. I have been in a state of denial and the pyramid is now poking me in the arse to let me know it is time. Time to lose weight. Time to exercise. Time to stop pretending. My Walter Mitty days are over. 

My size 12 jeans are going to be an emblem of my past. I have a closet full of "skinny" clothes. I keep trying to bribe myself with a new wardrobe if I lose weight but since I am not all the girlie girl, that does not seem to be the best motivation. I am hoping that having to see my ex's new girlfriend, probably sooner than I want, will be enough to motivate me. Teddy Bear says she is nice, but she is tall, blonde, thin, athletic and pretty. I am short, have dark hair, and plump...and athletics are fun to watch.


Ooops, sorry. That just snuck right outta of me.

Starting yesterday, Saturday, I started my new diet. I lost tons of weight on this diet last time, so I hope it works again. 

I also promised myself to stop eating every bite like a rabid dog. I never realized how quickly I gobbled food. This is probably a remnant of having 3 younger brothers who could inhale an entire box of cereal in the morning, so you had to eat quickly if you wanted to eat. When I actually chew instead of gulp, and really taste the food, the longer it takes to eat, and amazingly (to me anyways) the faster I feel full. I read somewhere that those fancy French ladies eat like that, too. 

I am going to try to find a widget or something to keep track of how much weight I have lost and post it on my blog. Maybe way on the bottom where you have to hunt to find it since I have to lose at least 50 pounds. 

Here's to a new body in 2010~!

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Friday, January 1, 2010

How Long Can I Use My Christmas Tree As a Nightlight?

I love leaving my Christmas tree lights on and turning off all my other lights, but every day that goes by, this gets harder and harder. Not because I feel guilty that my tree is still up. No, it would have to be February before I felt bad about that. Only because at some point it becomes a flash point waiting for the next spark to go up like a blue dart fart. It's truly very sad. 

I hope everyone had a fabulous New Year's Eve. My grandson is a party animal. He made me open every cupboard in his mom's kitchen and when he spotted something good, grunting in toddler talk what he wanted. I don't speak Zayne yet, so it was a little frustrating for him. I'm sure if he could talk, he would have said, "Grandma, get a grip. If I wanted granola, I would grunt at my mommy. I want Cheez-Its, Ritz crackers. You get the idea, Grams."

We read Pat the Bunny. He played endlessly with a tape measure. Pulling it out, then letting it snap back into the case. I figured at some point he was going to tape measure his nose off, but he was giggling like a mad man doing it, so I didn't make him stop. He passed out at nine and being the excellent grandson he is, he went right to sleep. 

I turned on a movie and the next thing I know the ending credits are running. The first New Year's Eve where I didn't drink and I still pass out. 

But really I was not babysitting my grandson, I was babysitting the granddog. Poor Meloh. He is a little dog with long gazelle legs. People all over the neighborhood were setting off firecrackers and the poor mutt was shivering like a bowl full of jelly. (I just typed bowel, instead of bowl. I need a vacation.) He finally fell asleep at my feet. I felt really bad though. I moved and accidentally tooted and scared the heck out of him. The look on his face was priceless. 

I have a long list of goals and projects and resolutions this year. Maybe I should shoot for a goal of completing them before the end of the decade. I figure I better take care of all those letters addressed to taxpayer. This IRS person is really becoming a pain in the ass. 

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