Happy Hour...Somewhere

Family Cooties

2010-05-03T17:45:00.000-07:00

My daddy turned 18 last Saturday.

Well, that's what he told ME when I asked how old he was. Eighteen, dad? Did you invent time travel in delusion land?

He sat there grinning and said, "Just hold it up to a mirror." Great. My dad thinks he is Leonardo da Vinci now. Yeah, that makes me 25 again~! Which, when you think about it, still makes me older than he is. Stupid mirror. No wonder Alice had a heck of a time in wonderland.

We were in Old Town San Diego for his birthday at Cafe Coyote. A HUGE Mexican restaurant. My sister and her boys were there, my brother, his wife and sons were there, my baby brother and JuJuBeez, my daughter and Mr. Guitar Player, and, of course, my mom. My parents have been married for 53 years and they crack me up.

My brother took all the boys to the haunted Whaley House and cemetery and all the other girls went shopping. It was an absolutely beautiful day in San Diego and there were lots of people walking and shopping and browsing. Because my dad's lungs are shot and he has a hard time with his git up and go, we sat in the bar. Large windows were open and you could watch everyone walk by or watch TV.

We ordered drinks. My mom ordered a coke because I think in her entire life she has had maybe ten drinks. My dad gets a beer and, of course, I order Jack and diet. My mom's soda turns out to be a small Olympic swimming pool. Bubbly carbonated dog paddle heaven.

I whined for guacamole which turned out to be delicious. Okay, I try not to double dip. My mom is Ms. Fastidious and I have friends who are champion germaphobes, so I was being good. Honest. My dad is using his fork to load up his chips with guacamole. I have been watching though and he never put the fork in his mouth. It was just a convenient shovel for guac goodness. My mom sees him put the fork in the guacamole and has a cow.

"Don't put your fork in there! You have cooties."

He looks at her with a slightly owlish expression. I can see his brain churning out just the perfect response to make her go crazy.

"But, Rosie, these are FAMILY cooties, so they don't count."

I wish I could convey the sound my mom makes when someone says something she considers ridiculous or makes an argument she can't refute. We all do it to tease her because it is so uniquely hers. Usually she says it to the kids, "Ack, mijo." But the ack is not really an ack. Okay, just put a slight accent on it and you've got it.

She acks his argument and won't touch the guacamole which suits me just fine. Until Teddy Bear shows up and then proceeds to demolish the rest of the dip. Dang. She is grandpa's favorite. Totally not fair. She can do no wrong in his eyes which is one reason he is a wonderful grandpa.

So, Happy Birthday, Dad~! I love you.

Doo Dah Band and Death Cab for Cutie

2010-04-23T21:12:00.000-07:00

Dang. You can teach an old dog new tricks.

I was in the car with Teddy Bear and Mr. Guitar Player (who really plays the guitar well) driving home from dinner. The song "I Will Possess Your Heart" came on by Death Cab for Cutie.

Okay, what kind of name is Death Cab for Cutie and how on earth did they come up with that. Mr Guitar Player knew exactly where the name came from....The Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band from the 1960s. They did a song called "Death Cab for Cutie" produced by Paul McCartney no less.

Hoocoodanode?

I swear I think I was sleepwalking through the 1960s and 1970s. Teddy Bear knows the music from that era better than I do. Well, she knows the bands and who's who, but the songs bring back vivid memories. Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon...well, I'm sure the memories are good but I was either drunk or stoned and so they are rather vague.

Tomorrow is my dad's birthday, so I will be down in San Diego playing with the family. Maybe we will hear the Mexican version of the doo-dah band...

G'ma Fail

2010-04-18T16:41:00.000-07:00

I am the oldest of five...with three younger brothers. You would think I would know how to rough house with the best of them. But, apparently, I don't.

When I was young watching my brothers "play" together, I thought they were the biggest dopes. They would roll around the floor hollering and carrying on like they were taking each others head off. Strangling, screaming, yelling, punching. Yeah, I thought they were a strange species of human being that my poor mother was inflicted with and was too nice to send them back. They would fight and play and then...inevitably...one would get hurt. Like, duh. But what I thought was unbelievably moronic was they would go running to mom to seek retribution.

Even back then I thought to myself, if they were my kids, I would have hit their heads together to render them unconscious. Did they really think my mom was stupid? Like she hadn't just been listening to their mayhem and nonsense and no way was she picking a side? She would yell at both of them and they would sniffle and get bent out of shape at the total unfairness of moms...and then go back to playing.

I truly thought boys were the most irrational things in the world for years.

Now, it is coming back to haunt me. I babysat my grandson today, two year old Z, and I realize being a girl is definitely a strike against me. His dad is one of seven...five of them boys, so little Z has tons of uncles who love to play rough. And my ex totally is the love of his life. Papa has a hangar for his plane and I guess he takes Z there and they run around and play like crazy. I always used to call it the play house for big boys.

We walked to the park. Well, he got spooked by some girls and made me carry him and push his little car at the same time. Man, those mom muscles are atrophied. He ran up the steps, hung from the top of the slide, and I thought he was going to pitch himself off the top. I was having a coronary. Do you stay at the bottom to catch him? Do you stay on the top to stop them? Do you have any idea how long it has been since I went down a slide? I am positive I have slide burn.

But I was boring...so he marched off to his little car and proceeded to push it all over the neighborhood. Did you know two year olds will throw themselves to the sidewalk just to check out what's underneath a car? He had to point to every tire we went by and tell me to "Look at dat."

We made it to his house, I made him lunch, he pretended to eat it. Then a smell started to waft around me. A stench of suspicious origin. Uh oh. I should probably tell you that the older I get the worse my gag reflex gets and, oh no, it was starting to kick in.

"Z, I need to change your diaper."

He ran away and hid in the living room. I finally managed to corral him and pretended he was a rocket and he let me carry him into the family room but he was not all that pleased with me.

Until I started to change his diaper.

Oh my, he was belly laughing. I thought for sure he was going to pee in my face he was laughing so hard. Why? Because G'ma was gagging and coughing and her eyes were running. He thought that was absolutely the funniest thing ever. And that's when it hit me....

Oh my god, he has been taken over by an alien species.

New Patient History and Physical

2010-04-09T09:55:00.000-07:00

Patient Name: Happy Hour...Somewhere
#1234

Date: April 9, 2010

Chief Complaint: Ennui.

History of Present Illness: The patient is a slightly overweight 52-year-old female who appears somewhat jittery and tends to perseverate on what is wrong. Tended to go off on wild tangents and ramble. She said she has been bored for the last several months. When pressed on the issue, she claims she has to be bored because she is starting to know more reality TV people than real people. RuPaul's Drag Race is the bomb. The Real Housewives of New York drive her crazy but she cannot stop watching. Will Jill pull her head out of her arse? Will Bethenny ever shut up? Will LuAnn shed her skin? Will Ramona finally have her head spin off? Will Alex realize Simon is gay? (I will have to investigate this further.) At this point, I had to bring the patient back to reality (ha, ha) and continue with the evaluation.

Past medical history: Usual childhood illnesses. History of breaking a windshield with her head, which may explain a lot.

Past surgical history: Something about tubes and baby factory closed down...probable tubal ligation.

Medications: None but badly in need of something.

Allergies: No known drug allergies but totally seems allergic to keeping her story straight.

Social history: No smoking history but I smelled cigarettes on her. She said she just snuck a puff from her friend's son. Claim to drink alcohol rarely but wears a Jack Daniels t-shirt. I would say she is a moderate drinker.

Review of systems: Patient checked off no to everything....whatever.

Physical Examination:
General: A slightly overweight, somewhat anxious, 52-year-old female who appears her stated age. (The patient was a little huffy with this assessment.)

Vital signs: Weight: Patient refused to get on scale and got quite belligerent with the staff. Claims we always lie and step on the scale when she is not looking so she weighs more. (Possible paranoia?) Height: Short. Blood pressure: Through the roof. Pulse: Whoa boy!

HEENT:
Head: Small, slightly pointy. Old bump on forehead.
Eyes: Check thyroid as eyes are slightly buggy. Pupils dilated. (Perform random urine drug screen.)
Ears: Possible hearing loss as her kids claim she never listens.
Nose: Pollybeak deformity.
Throat: Turkey wattle deformity.

Skin: Pasty. Vampire like.

Genitourinary: She said the next man that got a gander at her happy place better not be slapping a speculum there.

Rectal: The patient said "as if."

Musculoskeletal: Moved all 4 extremities well but a little spastic. Reflexes slightly hyperreflexic.

Neurologic: Cranial nerves II-XII are intact except for hearing. Failed memory test. Had no idea of the date. Wanted to know if it was 2012 yet and something about the end of the world.

Radiographic studies: MRI of the head showed nothing. Ditto a CT scan.

Diagnosis:   Ennui.

Assessment and plan:
1.   Boring people are bored.
2. Get out. Do Happy Hour at least once a week.
3.   Sit at the coffee shop with your friends once a week.
4. Get outside. Told the patient she would not sparkle or turn into dust.
5. Take the dang dog for a walk.

Signed by Dr. Know It All

See, this is why I never go to the doctor. They write fiction.

Sometimes It Pays to Look Stupid

2010-04-02T17:12:00.000-07:00

Do you ever look back and wonder how you made to the age you are now? How on earth can someone that dumb have made it? No?

Sigh.

Have you ever been stuck on the side of a freeway? When you suddenly realize just how fast 80 mph is and you hope you don't end up like the bugs on your front bumper?

I was listening to the radio and the guy was talking about the goings at Griffith Park. Some sort of shenanigans in the bushes. Now, I'm sure his shenanigans were different than the ones I experienced.

Picture it. Around Mother's Day...sometime in the early '80s. (My frontal lobes refuse to cough up the date.) We are taking my mom to a play in Los Angeles. I am following the crew in my 1984 Honda Accord, affectionately known as Suzie the Squirrel Killer. Headed east on the 134 getting ready to transition to the 5 southbound. Right there near Forest Lawn, the Los Angeles Zoo, Griffith Park. It is Sunday morning so it is quiet. Hardly any traffic.

And Suzie decides to drop her nut basket. She just coughs and dies. I firmly believe that I have an overworked and underpaid guardian angel because I coast into a big dirt turn out with a Call Box phone right in front of me. It is almost comical to think how antiquated those seem now in the era of cell phones. I try to restart Suzie but she will have none of that and my family is oblivious to the fact that I am no longer behind them.

I am dressed in nice cream colored slacks and silky shirt and really nice shoes....totally different than my usual jeans and sneakers. I feel so stupid. I walk to the Call Box and try to figure out how it works. The nice lady who answers is pretty emphatic. Are you on the freeway or pulled over to the side? I tell her I am in a turn out and she sounds relieved. I am told to get back in my car and put on my seat belt and someone will be on their way.

Thank heaven it is a nice day. I get back in the car, put on my seat belt, roll down the windows and start to turn on the radio. D'oh! Car broken. Probably for the first time in my life my car is not littered with at least 5 books. (I used to think of my car as a giant purse back then.) This is going to be soooooooo borrrriiiinnnngggg.

As I sit there feeling sorry for myself, a car pulls into the turn out. It is a big area and the car is at least 100 feet away. Do you remember when cars were the size of aircraft carriers? With trunks that could easily fit a Mini Cooper? Well, that's what pulls in behind me. A big man gets out of his car. Hollywood could not have picked a more cheesy stereotype of scary guy.

Gulp. Trying not to look like I just had the shit scared out of me, I try to ever so casually roll up my windows. You know, I mean really ROLL up the windows, like in the olden days. I manage to do it and lock my doors and I start sweating like mad. I look in my rear view mirror. He is looking at me and smirking. He reaches back into his car, picks something up, and then closes his door.

Gulp.

He is putting on a pair of work gloves. ohmygod. ohmygod. ohmygod. I'm going to die and no one will ever know what happened to me!

Mr. Goon puts on his gloves, walks to the ginormous trunk and opens it up. Probably looking for rope and duct tape. He fiddles around a little while.

I on the other hand look like I have been hypnotized by a snake. I'm sure my mouth is hanging open but I can't move a muscle. When it comes to fight or flight, I chose the third option....pretend you're a statue.

He walks out from behind his car and walks toward the bushes. What??? He is digging around in there for a while. What is he doing? He walks back to his trunk carrying wrapped packages of something. He goes back and forth. Back and forth. Did UPS drop a load of his in the bushes? What is he doing and what are those packages?

He finishes his groping in the bushes and shuts the trunk. He takes off his gloves. Okay, maybe I'm going to live after all. He doesn't want fingerprints on my throat, right?

He gets in his car, starts his engine, adjusts his mirror to check himself out, and starts to drive away. As he passes me, he looks over at me. That sonofabitch actually looks like he is trying not to laugh.

Do you know how many years later did I realize just what the heck he was up to? Little packages of cocaine or heroin. (I don't think it was weed.) Can you imagine if I had had to take a whizz and went into the bushes and tinkled on their stuff? Light tan bricks of urine flavored coke? I still have a heart attack thinking about it.

I can only guess that I must have looked clueless, gullible, and oblivious enough to reality so he figured he had nothing to worry about.

Like I said, sometimes it pays to at least look stupid.

Yummy! Spam is Delicious...No, really...Come Back

2010-03-22T17:00:00.000-07:00

Actually, I don't remember the last time I ate Spam.

Unfortunately, I think a truckload backed up to my bloggy house lately. Full of goo and yuck. Went into almost every room in my bloggy house. Left nasty pictures...or bragged about a gambling problem...even spoke in languages I am not sure are human. (Maybe the aliens from District 9 escaped and instead of cat food, they are enjoying Spam.)

For the next week or so, I will have word verification on my comments so Anonymous will hopefully leave me alone for a while. The little pecker. One guy is super relentless in invading my bloggy house. Here is a sample of the goo he leaves behind.

I know you and your friends are memebers on this site Erica... Well guess what? Now they get to see you slutty naked ass! HAHAHAH. Just go to gf4free.com/members/surferdude23/ Enjoy!

gf4free.com/members/surferdude23/][img]http://www.gf4free.com/members/surferdude23/uploads/9.

Does anybody in their right minds click on any of these links? It is like answering the Nigerian e-mail scam. Even if all you have is two brain cells karooming around your brain like the Los Angeles Thunderbirds jamming around a rink, at some point they make contact, and you realize some things are just too stupid to believe.

The rest of you can spam me all you want as usual.

I Have Greeeeeeeeen Pee Pee

2010-03-18T14:40:00.000-07:00

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

I wish you could have seen it. Who was this girl? Wild hair. Kinda braggy attitude. Flying out of the bathroom to announce to one and all, and this must be said in a sing song voice:

" I have greeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen pee pee!"

Being the slightly oddball person that I am, I had to investigate.

"Did you flush?"

"No."

I cross the room and take a peek in the potty. Well, looky there. Green pee pee. I flush the toilet. (Practicing my manners.)

Oh, look. Blue water.

Being the highly intelligent proto scientist, I ponder this. Blue water. Yellow pee.

Blue + Yellow = Green

Elementary, my dear, Watson.

Teddy Bear was quite proud of herself. How many five-year-olds can manufacture greeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen pee pee?

I told her that was her Irish coming out.

What?

You have to be Irish to kiss the Blarney Stone? (Perhaps we need to invent Mexican Malarkey.)

A Picture is Worth....Ah, Heck.

2010-03-14T17:39:00.000-07:00

Dang. And I thought it would be safe to go on chemistry.com or even e-harmony.

It gave me some good ideas...you know, highlight the good bits and downplay the bad bits. Does anybody have an x-ray machine so I can display my awesome pancreas? Also, I think my olecranon rocks.

In a flagrant pilfering of ideas, I was clicking through blog land and saw Bill at Just a Moment of Miscellany's post on Fractals and just had to pop in. The whole mathematical backdrop for fractals is interesting to me...and then I remembered an old post of mine on fractals. So I decided to re-post it. Because Fractals and Fonts make a good combo....like Jack Daniels and almost anything.

Wow. Pilfering and laziness in one blog post.

Font Conference by collegehumor.com.

Just thinking out loud. Finding your first gray hair will do that for you. That, and a bottle of Jack Daniels to drown your sorrows. My sister-in-law plucked out the gray hair for me. I know. You're not supposed to do that because it will bring all its little buddies with it, but somehow I just could not stand to know it was there. As if being 51 didn't suck enough.

Anyways, I was reading an article, which for the life of me I cannot find on Yahoo, about people getting their panties in a bunch about Comic Sans and wanting to ban it. Yeah, banning a font. A FONT. Did you know there is a documentary out there about the Helvetica font? It looks fascinating and I really want to see it now. But what got me thinking was no matter how much you look into a subject, you can still go deeper into it. People were waxing poetic on fonts and typography and I totally get it. The love and fascination for graphic design and typography. I started doing what always gets me into trouble, jumping from link to link to learn more about a subject, and the more I looked the deeper the subject went and finding out how much there is out there which I have no clue about.

It got me thinking about fractals. You start with a formula, create an image, and when you zoom in on that image, it continues to stay complex and interesting no matter, it seems, how much you zoom in. (My understanding of fractals is strictly an amateur's fascination. I may be totally full of shit here, but this is what I know...so far.) What is a fractal? Ah, this video might help.

Well, I'm off to go play with Times New Roman. Well, one doc likes his transcription in Arial. Maybe I should invoice in Comic Sans....nah, the docs already think I rob them blind and will not appreciate the comical light-hearted touch I think. I should make it something tough and bossy. Helvetica sounds bossy but I'm not sure.

Any ideas?

If You Have a Bucket, I Have a Tune

2010-03-05T16:12:00.000-08:00

I truly cannot carry a tune. I hum off key. The shower runs in terror when I hop in.

But I love these guys. Just belting out this song.

I live in trepidation for the day I get snockered enough to do karaoke...I know it will end up on YouTube. I will end up like this lady.

Yes, yes, I know I will.

I went looking for a nice sweet video on YouTube about grandmas and grandsons so I could prattle on about my grandson turning 2 on March 1st.

Look, it's hard enough to BE a grandma when I look in the mirror and I don't SEE a grandma. I don't have gray hair. I don't wear house dresses all day. (Shut up. Sweats don't count.) My hair is not in a bun. You might starve to death in my house because I hardly ever cook.

This is me as the mother of the bride. Okay, so I look like I'm already out to lunch and the wedding had not even started. My oldest daughter, the Hot Tamale, is the bride, and Teddy Bear, my youngest is third from the left.

But HT made me a grandma...and she is due again in June. I am on a hunt for a name still. My mom is Grandma, so it gets confusing when we are all together.

Well, I get to baby-sit tonight. Little Z doesn't really talk yet, so I have a chance to pick a name for myself and persuade him to call me that.

I won't be singing Little Z to sleep tonight because I'm sure then he would think up a good name to call me.

I could be Granny Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh........

Flukes and Spouts

2010-02-26T17:42:00.000-08:00

I wonder if whales have a sense of humor? Do you think that they ponder our existence at all? Or are we like squawking seagulls dropping doo doo over their heads? You know--loud, obnoxious, bossy, pushy, messy.

Yes, we went out whaling again and this time we got us some whales. One hundred ninety people shooting at them like mad. It was a mess. I thought we would capsize every time they would say, "Whale at 3 o'clock!" and everyone would stampede to the keelhaul side, which is nautical speak for the right side of the boat. The left side is the peg leg side, the front of the boat is aye matey, and the back of the boat is the poopdeck side. I am so educated on those terms now. (There is some fancy measurement on when a boat becomes a ship, something like if it is longer than 150 yellow rubber duckies it is a ship.)

I felt kinda of bad for the little kids on board. (Yes, yes. There were little kids on the boat. No, I didn't heave any of them overboard. I was the model of restraint.) I mean, they totally don't get the o'clock stuff. We are going to have to invent a whole new way to do that. They have no idea how to tell time. My Teddy Bear got a fancy new watch for Christmas and she loves wearing it because it's pretty, but do not ask what time it is. She will pull out her cell phone. She says the watch is just a fashion accessory, it's not really meant to tell you the time. How could it be she tells me...there are no numbers on it, only little lines. Whatever. Sesame Street needs to get cracking on this problem.

Anywho, whales, dolphins, and sea lions were out in force...and so were the looky loos. Not us, of course. We motored out past buoy SD-1. Sailboats were far out on the horizon. The San Diego skyline was off to our left looking beautiful. I had a Bloody Mary in hand. Sunlight sparkling off the water. Life was beautiful. Except for all the people on the boat. If you remember, the last time we went whaling, it was raining and there was maybe 30 people on that excursion. This time it was sunny but not hot and we were packed like sardines with 190 people. And thank heavens the little kids stayed on the middle deck for the most part. When I did become such a curmudgeon? I used to be able to tolerate decibel levels that would make a Children of Bodom concert seem quiet by comparison. I was the mom that let the kids leave the cool fort they made in my living room up for days because they weren't done with their adventure.

Back to point.

You could see other boats wayyyyy out there. Until we started seeing whales. Then it was like a crash on the 405 freeway. The other boats start racing toward us going right over where we had seen a whale. That is OUR whale, go away! There we are floating with our engines trying to be as quiet as possible and here comes the gawkers (not us, of course). It was a traffic jam. Gridlock.

I think the whales are going to need a car pool lane.

And the whales were everywhere~! Flukes and spouts. One at a time. Two at a time, sometimes even four at a time. There we were running back and forth trying to see them all. I finally just stayed put in the perfect spot.

I don't think my mailman will be amused. But like I have said before, he can bite me. He only brings me letters from the tax man and junk mail.

So, is everybody ready to float around and drink rum and yo ho ho on the Pacific Ocean? I'm sure that a whale spout enema doesn't hurt too much.

If You Waive Good By, Is It Really Hello?

2010-02-15T09:05:00.000-08:00

Aisle be missing you...what? Did I say something wrong? Know, it looks write two me.

I was in the shopping isle at my local market. What a splash! Serial and crackers all over the place.

What??!!

Gosh, quit interrupting. So rude.

Fine. I guess I better get back to work since you can't seem to contain yourself. (Do you know in medical transcription you can't use contractions? No, you can't, not at all.)

How much does grammar matter? Spelling? Do you judge? And, by the weigh, is it judgment or judgement? Traveling or travelling? Must be proper, you know.

For all you righters out there, how many times do you write and rewrite a post? Lots? Nun at all? Some of you are so eloquent. Your posts have a point, they follow a path, they get to some conclusion. Some of you are snarky and sarcastic. Born storytellers. I wait with baited breath for the next line.

Or are you like me? Start typing, let it fly, hope it makes cents, and then off it goes? (And spend more time looking for the proper video to go with your post?) I can never be a real author, it takes too much time. I have Blog Attention Deficit Disorder. BADD. This format suits me fine...short, hopefully, pithy, and if you make mistakes, you hope people will forgive you for egregious errors and lack of loquaciousness. Nobody wants to be thought of as a diminutive dimwit.

Can you tell it's Monday and I want the week to end already? It's Presidents' Day for goodness sake. Nobody is in school, the mailman is taking the day off, the bank is holding my money hostage, so why are my docs in the box...I mean, office?

Sigh.

Why Do They Call It a T-Shirt?

2010-02-11T06:48:00.000-08:00

L at Tampons and Chocolate is very bad...she sent me an e-mail asking if I had seen this video. No, I say and off I go to YouTube land to take a peek. That's like telling a crack addict, "Just one line."

I play in my playlists. I link to other videos they suggest.

I need help.

I was in the middle of transcribing a pain report. Wait, that sounds wrong. A doc was dictating a report on a pain patient. That still sounds wrong. Oh, well. Do you know how many times a day I transcribe, "There was no gross bleeding."? Sheesh. I would think all bleeding is pretty gross. I guess that's better than typing "The patient had no frank symptoms." Poor Frank. He gets picked on a lot in medical dictation.

They call this kind of video stop action. That's almost as funny as gross bleeding.

Gotta go...

FCINO or Baa Baa Demon Sheep

2010-02-08T20:26:00.000-08:00

I am a political junkie. I love economics and following the financial shenanigans going down now. At age 13, I was clipping newspaper articles on Watergate. I was in college when California passed Proposition 13. I came within a semester or two of a degree in Economics but then got married and had kids. (Can you get a Ph.D in kids?)

I kept waiting for John Cleese to pop up somewhere and start singing a song. What's next? The Knights who go nee? Or is neep?

I am taking no position here on any candidate (let me be perfectly clear) but this ad is too good for anyone to miss who doesn't live in California. This should be our state video, an emblem of the nuttiness that is California.

Enjoy the demon sheep~!

I Plan On Keeping My Marbles

2010-02-04T16:56:00.000-08:00

I love Chinese checkers.

I bite the big one at chess.

I know. Chess is for the super smart among us. Those who memorize a chess board and plot and strategize like a mad Napoleon. They ponder. They extrapolate. They freaking drive me crazy. I know how all the pieces move. I'm not a total dunderhead but I don't play with a strategy, which is why I always get my butt kicked. I like sliding that old Bishop in a diagonal dash across the board. Move my pawns so they can be taken like the peons they are. I like the quirky Knight and like to jump him all over the board just to move him.

And is there anything more humiliating than getting your King or Queen bumped off by a pawn? I don't play the right way so a real chess player will never play with me. Thank god. They get mad when you win because you just wanted to move the castle near your knight because in my mind I am re-enacting the scene from Monty Python, The Holy Grail, and thinking of coconuts and swallows or some such folly.

No, I am definitely not a chess person.

I like Chinese checkers. So egalitarian. All the marbles are the same size, just different colors, and they all have the same chances. None have super powers. They can't jump up one and across two. One marble does not get to say "Off with your head!" I would also say that unlike regular ol' checkers and chess, you don't lose your marbles. Isn't that a great metaphor for life? Nobody assassinates your King or Queen, or kings you and takes your chips.

The goal is to jump all your marbles to the other side before the other guy does and you keep your marbles.

I also like games that move fast. Jump, jump, jump. None of this head hurting planning. Jump. Jump.

But I like to kick butt and win, too. (So much for egalitarian!)

Does anybody want to play? You can keep your marbles, too.

Puke and Possum

2010-01-22T10:40:00.000-08:00

Why?

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?

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

2010-01-18T09:19:00.000-08:00

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.

Eff. Ewe. Sea. Kay

2010-01-10T15:57:00.000-08:00

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.

A Soldier's Embrace

2010-01-07T19:10:00.000-08:00

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 muse...you 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.

Pizza Dawg

2010-01-03T17:49:00.000-08:00

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.

Bitch.

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~!

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

2010-01-01T17:05:00.000-08:00

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.

Cinnamon Toast and Tacos, Por Favor

2009-12-27T11:17:00.000-08:00

I never what they were saying before but now I know. You know, those directions they give you in the beginning of the ride to keep you from flying out of the little boat into about 3 feet of water. Keep your arms and legs inside the boat at all times. Yada yada. They say them in Spanish and you would think I would understand what they are saying being as my parents speak Spanish and my grandparents did not speak English. Well, only a little anyways. It is amazing what two generations accomplish. Physicians, engineers, teachers.

My SIL, JuJuBeez, told me one day that all she ever heard listening to the Spanish instructions was, "Cinnamon toast and tacos, por favor." From my muy pequito Espanol, I think they are babbling about remain seated, please. But they could be saying take a hike for all I know.

I only got my tree up a few days before Christmas, wrapped presents a few hours before they got ripped open, and once again did not send out a single card out. But I enjoyed every minute with family. My nephew, 7 years old, sang us some songs. I especially loved "I'm Getting Nuttin for Christmas." Watched The Muppet Christmas Carol. Went to the Bonnie Hunt show where I jacked a pencil. Yes. I stole from Bonnie. I hope she comes hunting for me because she is so damn funny. They wanted us to fill out a slip giving our New Year's Resolutions. They even filmed one of my friends because she said she wanted to drink more wine, eat more chocolate. I kept the pencil.

Did you all have a Merry Christmas? I was going to spend New Year's Eve with my baby brother and his friends but I get to babysit my grandson. Yes!! He is part of my diabolical plan to lose weight by chasing him around. No, fat, lumpy grandma here.

I went to the San Fernando Valley for Christmas to be with my folks. We saw the movie "Blind Side" on Christmas Day. Wow. What a movie. I loved it. Take a hankie with you when you go. Gotta love those gun-totin' Southern women. They thump their bibles and thick heads. The line for Sherlock Holmes was horrendous and no way could my mom sit through almost three hours of Avatar.

I usually don't do New Year's Resolutions because it will just another thing I don't accomplish yet again. This year though I think I'm going to have a few. Dual Mom, bless her black heart, and Think Tank Momma are challenging everyone to lose weight, so I will jumping on that wagon. Well, actually I will be hooking the bandwagon with a cane to catch it and then will leisurely climb on board, but I figure falling off will still be painful.

I hope everyone's Christmas was joyous and I can't wait to hear about everyone's New Year's Eve debacles.

I hope my grandson is not too much of a party animal.

Avast You Bloody Landlubbers~!

2009-12-13T09:13:00.000-08:00

Call me Ismael.

I am still walking like a drunken sailor on land for the first time in months, my pony tail tipped in tar, and my parrot squawking in protest.

We set sail on a three and a half hour tour (are we all singing the theme from Gilligan's Island now?) aboard the Hornblower. It was a rainy day and the seas were rough. Our mission: Find the Great Gray Whale. Hunt her down to the far reaches of Mission Bay...and snap a ton of pictures.

Our captain was Captain Bill, a jovial man who only needed whiskers to look like St. Nick, who called himself a bus driver (but looked nothing like Ralph Cramden) and told us we were the whalers and to keep a sharp eye out for flukes and puffs of water and shout out "Thar She Blows!" when we spotted our whale.

We stayed on the top deck in the rain. Hardy sailor types don't notice the inclement weather. And the snack bar sold me a bloody good Bloody Mary so I was all warm and toasty. Finally, my black beanie was soaked, my tennis shoes were getting water logged and my muffin was getting wet, we decided to duck downstairs for a little shelter. The steps were wet and Mr. Gadget Man shouts out to me to be careful. Well, yeah, of course I will and turn around to say something sarcastic.

Aacckkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh my god. Eighteen inches from nose was a nasty loud seagull squawking "Mine, Mine, Mine." I almost threw my muffin at it. Do you have any idea how big those stupid birds are? And then Captain Bill informs us if we feed the birds we would be in BIG trouble with the Feds and get arrested and all. Feed the birds. Hah! What if they pester and steal from us?

The rain stops and we return to our stations in the crow's nest or the forecastle or whatever. We motor past sea lions lounging on barges and buoys. Great swaths of kelp float by. A Coast Guard boat goes by towing someone they rescued.

But not a single whale...not even a dolphin.

We did sail past the carrier Ronald Reagan currently in the San Diego port for fixin' up. Did you know it is 1000 feet long? And that the tallest building in downtown San Diego right across from the carrier is only 500 feet? So, if you stand the Ronald Reagan up on its hiney, it would be twice as tall as the tallest building? It would be like a warped scene from Titanic.

Since sailors on leave like to party, we went off to Coronado Island and visited the Hotel Del Coronado. Such a beautiful building. A giant Christmas tree in the lobby. We ate downstairs, watched the ice skaters skate on a rink they made for the holidays, bought some yummy desserts. (Was there any doubt?) It is slightly drizzling, the beach is about 20 feet away and the ocean is probably about 100 feet or so away, but there it is...people wearing ice skates zipping past palm trees and the ocean.

All in all, a good way to help celebrate my baby brother's soon to be 40th birthday. Yes, the baby of the family turns 40 on the 17th. Being the know-it-all big sister, I will have to razz him a little. Being the obnoxious little brother, he will have to remind me that I will ALWAYS be 12 years older.

Too bad I forgot to make him walk the plank.

Team....Whatever

2009-12-11T18:49:00.000-08:00

So, are you Team Jacob or Team Edward?

I love my friends who say how can you be team Edward...he is hard and cold. How much fun can it be to hug a rock? I don't know which is funnier. The fact that I will argue with them or the fact that they say it like it's, you know, real. Or women only like it because they are missing something in their life. Well, duh. Romance writers would have been out of business years ago otherwise.

I am not a fan of the first movie. Twilight sucked. The parody was so much better than the movie. You don't believe me. Just watch.

See, that Bella could actually act.

I enjoyed all four Twilight books. As I have said before they don't beat Harry Potter but I liked them anyways. (J.K. Rowling can actually write.) But it was fun reading about a vampire who is all sparkly, doesn't kill people, falls in love, and the horny teenager who falls in love with him.

I liked the transformation into wolves. I disliked when Jacob cuts his hair. I really disliked the scene with Bella getting stitched up...where the hell was the director telling her not to look up like that. All I could see was her eyes disappear into her head and see a whole lot of the whites of her eyes. It was like a sunny side up egg gone horribly wrong.

Dakota Fanning rocked. The bad vampires in Italy were fun.

And Jasper still looks like a character from a puppet show.

Tree Twirler

2009-12-10T19:33:00.000-08:00

I used to feel that way about my ex at Christmas.

Every year at Christmas, we would all go out as a family to pick the tree. I loved doing this. The wonderful tree smell, happy people, twinkly lights. Probably why I will never have an artificial tree. It would seem to me like finally giving in to being a Scrooge. As if Christmas was just about getting it done instead of the memories. Besides, where else will the dog lift his leg while he is in the house to pee? Or take a drink?

We would go and Ex would gladly unravel the netting, pull out the tree, and then twirl it around so we could all decide if it was the perfect tree. Well, gladly for a few trees anyway. The girls and I would finally pick one and then drag it off to pay for it.

One year as we are standing in line to pay, Ex was grumbling in a somewhat playful manner about the whole bother. I looked at him and said, "You only have one job at Christmas...to be a Tree Twirler. What is so hard about that?"

A couple of people back, a gentleman pipes up, "Hey, how did you manage that?"

He did manage a sheepish smile.

Last year I had Teddy Bear's boyfriend to help me with the tree twirling but this year he is not around and I have no tree twirler. Teddy's newest is in Afghanistan so I can't actually blame him for not taking a quick trip back to help. I'm not sure I have any frequent flyer miles to cover 7,500 miles. Heck, I don't have any frequent flyer miles.

So Christmas is how many days away? Ahem. The dogs tore something up in the garage and I have white fluff all over the garage...it looks like Department 56 Dicken's Village, so that must be the sign from above that I need to start decorating.

Fifteen days. Better check my list. I hope everyone was naughty so I don't have to buy too much.

Burn, Baby, Burn!

2009-12-07T16:34:00.000-08:00

I have super hero powers.

Yes, yes, I do.

I discovered them the other day and I am so excited. I was going to go put on my spandex and tights but somehow the look was not what I thought it would be. In my mind, it is Lara Croft. In reality, it is Miss Piggy....without the wicked sense of humor. I cannot wait to start the new big loser diet with Dual Mom.

Back to my superhero powers. It has been cold enough here in Temecula, California to use my fireplace. My little bitty fireplace. I bought some way expensive firewood and a little box of firestarter. If you think I'm going to chop some kindling, you are crazy. I would be fingerless or toeless within a few chops. My hand eye coordination sucks. Big time.

I have tried golfing a few times and hitting a little white ball with a club was torture. (I always thought it was so appropriate that Tiger Woods had the name Woods, you know, like the clubs. I guess he needs a new name now. Tiger Oops, maybe.) I swing the club and miss the ball entirely or I hit the ground and cause nerve tingling pain into my wrist and elbows or just clip the top of the damn ball and watch it dribble about 20 feet. We have a family reunion every year that is centered around golf. I will only play if they let me play Lucy and Ethel golf.

I lit the fire starter, put a couple of logs on...and nothing. Now, I have a pile of paper to be shredded that if I stacked it all up would probably be 12 feet high. No problem. Instead of shredding it, I will burn it. Just to get the fire started you know. I fold up a bunch of sheets, stick in the fire, and whoa, big flames and the wood looks like it is burning. Walk back to the couch. Oops. Wood went out. More paper. More burning. Walk away. Fire goes out. I'm making log briquettes. It is looking a nice charcoal black color.

How is it that paper and wood can be set on fire and then go out? Over and over. I went through quite a few folders of paper when finally the wood started. I only had to sit right in front of it feeding the fire because of its voracious appetite. It got so hot I almost melted my stretch pants. But as soon as I stand up and walk away, the fire goes out.

I tell you, it was like magic.

I am thinking red tights with some flames on my leotard and pointy Madonna like cones with more flames. Maybe a cool mask. I can even dye my hair bright red. Shoot. I might look like the Flash.

I am taking suggestions for my superhero name. Somehow "The Great Fire Putter-Outer" just sounds lame.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

2009-12-02T20:05:00.000-08:00

I feel like I got gobbled up by a turkey. I don't have a turkey wattle though.

Thanksgiving was fun. Family, friends, food, chocolate martinis. (Thanks, L~!) Vodka, Godiva chocolate liqueur, and Bailey's Irish Cream. My sister and I "practiced" making them on Wednesday night. Come to think of it, that may explain why turkey day was tiring. D'oh. We got tipsy and did not get to bed until after midnight. Thank goodness my mom was there.

So much going on getting ready for the holidays...and the IRS just sent me a CERTIFIED letter saying it was a letter of deficiency and I owe over $3000. All because a client filled out their 1099 form out wrong....they said they paid me $10,000 more than I said they did and, of course, the IRS wants their share of that. You know, things don't work mostly because of bureaucracy and all the damn hoops you have to jump through to get things done and I'm not talking about the IRS. They have actually been fabulous. No, it is my damn client from almost three years ago driving me to drink and an ulcer.

Things work out for the best and I hope this is one of those times. Hey, don't laugh at my rose colored glasses!

Have you ever seen that show "Hoarders"? Wow. I have been recording it but have had no time to watch it until last Sunday. Holy crud. It is mesmerizing. I have a question though. Most of the people profiled were not in a high socioeconomic bracket but I had read once that hoarders tend to be pretty educated. I wonder if they would just never allow a camera into their home to film. One episode was fascinating because the lady was a hoarder and had a daughter who lived in the home who was a hoarder but the daughter was a schizophrenic...and she made more sense than the mom. Even the drunk husband was more rational than the hoarder. Like I said, I was mesmerized.

Teddy Bear flew to Philadelphia for Thanksgiving (boo hoo) and got to see how the East coast does turkey day. They also ran up the Rocky stairs in Philly. My knees hurt just thinking about it.

.

Well, as you can tell, I am wandering all over the place. Oh, oh, I saw "A Christmas Carol" with Jim Carey. Yikes. Bah humbug. Yucky, yucky. I still have not seen New Moon though. I am going to go blog hopping to see what you all thought of it.

Gotta go make my list and check it twice. Santa doesn't mind typos does he?

Happy Birthday, Teddy Bear~!

2009-11-22T18:11:00.000-08:00

My Teddy Bear turned 20~!

I wish I had all my early photos on my computer so you could see what I remember so well. She has always been a tiny little thing. Not in a great hurry to talk...her big sister the Hot Tamale was the vocal virtuoso. Teddy was my wild woman.

Her hair was always wild and unbrushed....red hair that flew in all directions with a constantly smudged face. She could climb so well that I regularly learned to look UP to find her. At soccer practices, if I lost track of her for a minute, she would toddle off to the nearest fence to climb it. I would look over and there would be Teddy, 18-months-old, scaling the fence...a six-foot chain link fence. I have no idea how many times I would catch her at the top just in time before she launched herself over the fence. I am sure that mommy adrenalin aged me significantly.

She was in such a hurry to be born...four hours from first contraction to delivery. Scared the heck out of me it went so fast. I remember the day she was born we did not have a name yet. Nada. Nothing. Zilch. We NEVER agreed on a boy's name and a girl's name we kept going back and forth on. I had my first contraction and was wondering if I should say something or wait until I knew for sure when my ex came running into the room to tell me he finally figured out a name~! So my daughter is named after the goalie for the Los Angeles Kings. Yep. A hockey player. I think maybe we jinxed ourselves into a tomboy.

She is the kid that if you told her no, it meant hurry up and do it faster before I stopped her. She is the animal lover. She rode horses for years. The first horse she rode was Kramer, about 16 to 17 hands. Huge, huge horse and she was so small and so happy to be there that I'm not sure it dawned on her to be afraid. Even when he took off galloping and she held on the whole way. Thank heavens for carrots.

She is such a precious part of my life. Quick witted. Funny. And beneath all the bluster and cynicism of youth, she is warm and generous. She loves to sit with the "adults" and gab with us. She tells me so much of what is going on in her life and I will be forever grateful for that.

She thinks she is old but I know it is just the beginning. I am looking forward to watching the journey.

Happy Birthday, Teddy Bear~!

Crabs, Chocolate, and Buttholes

2009-11-17T19:41:00.000-08:00

I had a squealin' good time last night.

Book Club with the Book Babes at Pala Indian Casino. At the buffet. At the buffet with crab, shrimp, salads, Mexican food, pizza, sandwich bar, steak, Asian food, soups.....

and, of course, dessert.

Cheese cake dipped in chocolate and then rolled in chocolate flakes with a lollipop stick. Espresso cups with a chocolate covered coffee bean in a chocolate cup with edible gold leaf. Little pecan pies. Little espresso cups with tira misu in it. They had TWO chocolate fountains with dark chocolate and white chocolate, which on my first go round at the desserts, I totally missed seeing. And they were about three and a half feet tall. Sheesh. Cookies. Cakes. Banana splits. Ice cream. Peach cobbler. Bread pudding (whatever that is).

Oh, they also had flan. You know, that snot on a plate stuff. Yuck. Almost as bad as oysters (which they had, too). Feels like a booger going down. Not that I know what that is like.

Oh, yes, we had dinner, too. Debbie and her hubby go for the crab when they can, so she knows the buffet well. Chocolate Lover and Debbie brought back big plates covered with crab legs and a nut cracker type thing to help eat it. Man, and BFF thinks eating chicken wings is a lot of work~! HA! They were working for their food. Chocolate Lover said it helped burn calories so she could eat more chocolate.

On my first plate, I got a salad. A plain salad. BFF gave me an F. I failed buffet? Do I get extra credit for devouring my weight in desserts?

When we weren't talking about food, they were talking about dogs. Thia Karen told me if I wanted to meet men, I need to bring Indy to the dog park. She said there is a man there with kind of long hair in a pony tail. I am such a product of my time that I still like men with long hair. She said he has a nice dog who is named Indy after Indiana Jones. I looked at her in amazement. Are you kidding? You mean like my daughter's poop master, Indy? He is also named after Indiana Jones. She totally forgot about that.

A match made in heaven perhaps? Wouldn't it be ironic if I meet a man though my dogs?

We signed up for the Pala card so we could get $5 off the buffet and with the card you could play a machine for free. We each got one play. You picked five little piggies and they climbed this ladder and jumped into a pile of mud. I hope it was mud. When they jump, they made the weirdest noise. If they landed and did not "find" money they stayed with their piggy butts sticking up out of the mud with their little piggy tails looking all curly Q like. Sometimes they would come up from the mud with fists of cash.

All I got was five buttholes sticking up in the air.

I like book club. The next meeting is the Christmas cookie exchange at Debbie's house. More desserts!!

Oh, yeah, we each get to pick our own book to read and do a book report on.

Homework?!! I may do it at the dog park...and say the dog ate it.

Take That~!

2009-11-12T10:45:00.000-08:00

Do you talk while you are watching movies in the theater? Do ya? Do you crackle and rattle your candy wrappers at the quietest moment in a movie? Can't sit still through an entire movie and not have to get up over and over?

Well, then don't sit next to Teddy Bear. Or around her. Okay, just stay the hell out of the theater when she is there.

I bought the DVD "Up" yesterday and I wanted her to watch it because she missed it when it first came out. But all I could hear was clickety clackety as she updated Facebook and My Space, got up and down to get something, left lights on all over the house. She drove me nuts because I thought the movie rocked.

Anyway, I got to thinking about the time we had gone to the movies together. I don't even remember the movie but the theater was not that busy. We sat in my favorite row, the first row with the barrier in front of it. It is not so close that you get a crick in her your neck but close enough. And I can stretch my short little legs out on the bar in front of me. Ah, I love it.

We sit down and watch all the previews and what not. Some guy sitting in front of us, across the walkway, kept texting on his cell phone. The little blue light kept lighting up which was annoying the hell out of me because I LOVE previews. Finally, the house lights go out and the movie starts. He keeps texting and texting and texting. Now, remember there are not too many people in the theater. I am trying to watch the beginning of the movie when all of a sudden something flies across the theater and hits the texting man! Whoa. Who threw that?

Ummmm...Teddy Bear. He looks around as if to complain but then sees Teddy looking right at him as if daring him to say something. He put his phone away. There is no way on god's green earth I could ever do that. I ask her what she threw at him. Skittles, she says.

Dang. I knew candy was good but I never thought it could be used as a silencer.

I guess the next time I want her to watch a movie with me, I am going to have to drag her to the show with me.

But the next time we watch a movie at home...I'm packing Skittles.

Have You Seen a Head Rolling Around Anywhere?

2009-11-08T07:39:00.000-08:00

Have you? It has long brown hair, freshly washed, no gray. No?

Somebody must have it because obviously the lump on my shoulders is not mine. A pod head?

I missed my 100th post, totally blew by it. I just missed my 200th post. Did not notice until I hit post 208.

I missed my Blogaversary. Yes, October 25, 2008 was the first time I posted and I totally let that anniversary go by without so much as a howdy doo.

I never realized how true it is that when you have too much on your mind, your brain cells cease their hand holding function and start firing willy nilly.

Teddy Bear has had some medical issues which are distressing. I have had billing issues with clients. My property management company has their head up their butt so far it is now threatening to replace their heart. What am I saying?!! They never had a heart to begin with.

And my work computer may be dying. I make a living working at home....on my computer. Now it sounds like a VW bus chugging its way up the Grapevine...in the snow. Even with my headphones on, I can hear the little fan scraping along or whatever it is that is broken.

I ran to my favorite big box store and bought a computer on Friday. Something made me not open it and now it is Sunday morning and I realize what stopped me. The stupid new computer comes with Vista with a free upgrade to Windows 7....which means delays in getting it up and running, but more importantly, I have ancient software that probably will not run on either system! My most favorite software that I use to run my business is oldddddddd, Pleistocene era, created in 2001.

I am now sitting here doing this post on my laptop wondering if living in a cardboard box is all that bad. I have a long extension cord. Can I plug into one your outlets? Please.

*sigh* Fine. Think of me today as I battle the bits and bytes. I know Jack Daniels won't help but do you think it will hurt?

Have You Ever Googled Your Blog Name?

2009-11-06T16:14:00.000-08:00

Have you ever Googled your blog name? Or maybe Binged it? Checked it out on Wolfram Alpha? Did a look see on Yahoo?

Apparently I was not terribly original. I was thinking about it because I was thinking of starting a new blog where I can wax philosophical on economics, finance, politics, blah, blah, blah. I would need to start a new blog because some of my bloggy friends say it is kind of boring when I get all Sam Donaldson on something or try to imitate Brit Hume.

The first link on Google for Happy Hour Somewhere was to World of Warcraft....Teddy Bear would be so happy and Ruthless will think that is pretty cool. Or call me lame. Never sure with him.

Bing.com had a link to Happy Hour Studios. Very cool stuff.

Wolfram Alpha only said it wasn't sure how to compute an answer from my input. Sheesh. Does not compute. Does not compute. How hard is it to compute Happy Hour Somewhere? Swizzle me that, Batman.

But Yahoo is now my new best friend. I was the first hit on Yahoo~! Even before the World of Warcraft link. I am so jazzed.

Okay, I realize I am easily amused and entertained.

I don't think too many people care who Peter Schiff is or why I think Goldman Sachs is the antichrist or why California is still headed for the crapper. I have learned so much from my blog friends and have had my views changed on many subjects. You CAN teach an old dog new tricks. (And I better not hear any beyotch jokes, dang it.)

I bet I can make you start snoring now...Ben Bernanke, Timothy Geithner, Federal Reserve, recast vs. reset...zzzzzzz.

Did you fall asleep? I guess my Book Babe buddy was right.

I will be using my little gray cells to come up with a name for my new blog though because my geeky self is getting excited about the videos I can post with the new blog.

Maybe I better check with Wolfram Alpha first.

On second thought, maybe not. My new input will definitely not compute.

Don't Piss Off a Table Full of Doggie Lovers

2009-11-01T14:28:00.000-08:00

Do you really want to know what that is a picture of? Really?

I don't mind telling but then I have a habit of making my friends jam their hands over their ears and start singing "la la la, I'm not listening."

Yes, this adorable ball of fluff is on my enemies list. Gosh, I sound presidential saying that. Because right now if I were to catch him, I would be in the Super Bowl throwing a perfect spiral for a touch down, but instead of a pigskin, it would be fluffer butt.

Of course, this picture also reflects badly on my housekeeping, so I truly am irritated about that, too.

My doorbell rang the other day, and being the paranoid tin foil hat wearing person that I am, I have to know who is ringing my bell. I sneak into the living room to take a peek and almost step in it. And on it.

Little piles of poo.

Streaks of doggie dung.

Yes, that is a picture of lots of poo. Doggie poo. Indy poo.

As you can tell, I barely ever go in my living room. It is a pretty room with beautiful couches and an awesome book shelf but I park my butt on the family room couches.

I was hopping mad. I sent off a snitty text message to Indy's trailer trash mommy (Teddy Bear) and tell her that when I get home that night there had damn well better be no shit on the floor.

Lucky for her, Friday I went out and, well, today is Sunday and my head finally feels like it will not roll off. When I woke up Saturday morning, the only thing I could do was wonder if riding the porcelain bus might make me feel better. Never again. I'm old enough to know when to stop. Sheesh.

I had to sleep most of Saturday because every Halloween for years BFF and I go to Claim Jumpers for drinks at their happy hour. This is about our fourth year going there instead of passing out candy for rug rats and I did not want to be totally hung over and crabby.

My head is still not all there and lord help me there was no way I was drinking, but I go and we have a great time. Somehow we got on the subject of dogs. I am sitting with a table of dog LOVERS.

Not dog likers.

Not dog toleraters.

Dog lovers.

And, unfortunately, both my dogs have jumped up and down on my last nerve this week. BARK BARK BARK bark bark bark bark bark. My fat weiner dog is going deaf so lord knows why he is barking and I have to admit I get a hoot out of sneaking up on him to yell at him to shut up for gawd's sake, but he does not hear me because, well, he's deaf, but then I poke his fat weiner dog body and he jumps a mile. Oh man, it is so funny.

He used to be able to jump so high he could snatch food out of your hand when you were standing up. Now, when he jumps, just part of his paws come up off the ground. He looks like a fat ballerina trying to get up on some new toe shoes but he never actually leaves the ground. Bark, tippy toe, bark, tippy toe.

So, no, I was not everyone's favorite person last night. They have this idea that dogs are....are...people. So, I guess I'm in the dog house with all my doggie lover friends.

I hope they give me a pretty flea collar. And, at least, I know better than to use the carpet as toilet paper.

My Armpits are Very Sad

2009-10-29T17:12:00.000-07:00

Can someone tell me why, oh why, razor blades cost an arm and a leg?

Come on. It is not such a high tech piece of wizardry that a package from my favorite big box store should cost almost $30! Over $2 a blade. I can buy precision tools that will last a lifetime with that kind of money. I can buy little thumb drives that hold gigabytes of data for that money. I can buy some lovely aged whiskey for that money.

But something to scrape the stubbly hair from my armpits is that expensive? I know they can be stubborn those follicle fellows. I know I want a smooth shave. No one wants little nubbies left, but still....

I say we all get mad as hell and not shave anymore. No? I guess long armpit hair would be pretty gross. Rapunzel would have a whole different meaning if it had been armpit hair.

The Kiosk of Acne and Dueling Pianos

2009-10-24T17:58:00.000-07:00

Back in downtown San Diego last night.

Did you know that The Shout House has $1 beers during Happy Hour....all kinds of beer? I like beer but if I drink beer out in a place like this I get to know the bathroom better than the bar. Having a wee bladder is such a handicap. It's so bad, I get to know all the artwork in the bathrooms, the shapes of the tiles, the sinks with no soap.

We parked in the Horton Plaza parking lot and had to go into the mall itself to get our ticket validated. It has been such a long time since I have been at a mall and Horton Plaza is amazing. It is a 3 or 4-story outdoor mall with levels running all over the place like an Escher painting.

We wandered around looking for the validation machine peeking into the windows at the cute clothes. I wish I was a size 6 again. Sigh. Oh. And had money to spend on clothes.

JuJuBeez and I were having so much fun following my Baby Brother like puppies while he looked for the machine and then for an ATM. Do you know what I found? I had to take a picture because it just seemed so odd.

What? A giant snack machine for acne medicine? I am so perplexed. Is this the wave of the future? I kept waiting for Jane and Judy Jetson to come flying in.

We walked to the Shout House and because we were early it was only a $5 cover charge. There a giant line of people across the street waiting for the Haunted Hotel on Market Street just around the corner. The Shout House is a dueling piano bar where you suggest songs for them to play and if you play the video you can see they are also naughty and like to embarrass the crap out of people.

Yes. I drank way too much and sang way off key and I think I was the oldest person there by a healthy margin. And I sent a drunk text picture to BFF's son, Ruthless, of the pianos and then meant to send him a second text to join us since his new GF lives in downtown, but I forgot to send the second message. All he got was a fuzzy picture of some pianos. Thank heaven he was actually back in Temecula and did not get the message right away. He already knows I'm kinda crazy.

Next time I go I need to have a list of songs to suggest. Some songs were so bad but the nice thing is you can pay them to stop singing it. Hee, hee. It became a battle for some people to get a song played. Beatle songs were a big hit...and those are older than me.

I'm Gonna Plump the Girls

2009-10-20T10:45:00.000-07:00

What do you think? All they do now when they are free ranging is squawk a lot.

I was going to make a crude and childish remark about the male chicken parts...

But a cock-a-doodle-doo is hard to catch at my age.

I've Been Hexed

2009-10-19T21:08:00.000-07:00

Tampons and Chocolate has hexed me...and dude I'm looking for a wax doll to stick pins in tonight.

We are in the same Fantasy Football league. Her team is the Winos. Hah! Figures.

Ouch!!! Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Those damn witch doctors have no sense of humor.

Sheesh. Going into today's game, she had 113 points and I had about 92 but I still had the San Diego Chargers vs. Denver Broncos game to go. I have Phillip Rivers, quarterback for the Chargers, Vincent Jackson for the Chargers and the Chargers defense. But...I also have Kyle Orton quarterback for the Broncos sitting on my bench and I was playing my Broncos defense. I had a chance to pick up some major points and kick her butt. But noooooooo..............

I talked to her earlier today. (Yeah, she was being so nice. She was helping me because I was stuck on some dictation. I'm such a sucker.) Then she tells me she put a hex on Phillip Rivers. A hex? Ha, ha. Sure. I think your box of wine needs refilling.

This is where it gets creepy. The final score: Winos 113 vs. NanoBots 107. Do you know how may points Rivers got? 14 Kyle Orton? 22. If I picked Orton instead, I. would. have. won. Rivers had 26 points last week.

Man. When she is PMSing she is like all powerful and stuff. I know I took my cauldron out for Halloween...may have to do some cooking.

Wine is a good thing to add to food, right?

Suzy the Squirrel Killer

2009-10-18T14:36:00.000-07:00

Do you name your cars?

I wished I had named my first car...a 1965 Ford Mustang. It was only a 6 cylinder. When you stepped on the gas, it might or might move and forget quick darting turns in traffic. I NEVER drove in Hollywood. They are already nuts there and would turn into breaks in traffic that Evil Knievel might think twice about. But I loved my car. Except when I didn't. I just remembered how many times after working late at Busch Gardens in the Valley, I would drudge out to my car smelling like hamburgers or cotton candy and then try to start it. I would pump and pump and pump.....and pump. My right calf muscle should have been twice the size of my left like some freak work-out accident.

But the car that I remember fondly was Suzy, our 1984 Honda Accord. We drove that car for almost 20 years. I loved Suzy. I learned to drive a 5 speed because of her. Thank God I learned in Lubbock, Texas, nice and flat. Nothing but short stubby cotton plants for miles. No hills to practice burning out the clutch on.

We moved from Texas to California and bought our first house, kind of at the outskirts of a growing city. It was the last housing bubble. Ah, me, such memories. Too bad Wall Street and the bankers have such poor memories.

There were empty fields all around our little group of a few hundred homes. Big, big empty fields. Filled with the stupidest squirrels. Right up there with the dumb bunnies. They were definitely not smart like the gopher from Caddyshack. One of my friend's mom thought that gopher was real by the way. She wanted to know how they trained it to do all that acting. Maybe we should have told her they offered the gopher exclusive rights to sell his story to the Enquirer.

Leaving the neighborhood was like playing whack a mole at the carnival....will you smack a squirrel or not? The first time I smooshed a squirrel I felt soooooo bad. The damn squirrel ran right out in front of me literally at the last minute. Do you know how hard it is to stop yourself from swerving and slamming on the brakes?

After about the fifth squirrel, I gave up. I figured this was Darwinism in action. Okay, you flea-bitten, dog-food-stealing, chirping noise maker, let's make a game out of it. It got to the point where you could see the little morons lining up on the side of the road. I would literally almost be crawling down the street ready to slam on the brakes, but no, they would wait and wait and wait and just when you thought you had made it past them....they would scamper at top speed into the street.

Bump. Bump.

I wanted a sticker to put on the side of my car like a bad ass World War II flying ace going after the Nazis. A squashed nut? A squirrel tail? Start my own cargo cult with the cool painting I wanted to put on my little Honda.

I have a silver Honda Odyssey now. Still looking for a name for it though. No animal life mayhem with this one. Any ideas? Just keep in mind, though, in my imagination I drive a Bugatti Veyron. Vroom. Vroom.

Sfogliatelle and Calamari

2009-10-14T18:33:00.000-07:00

Downtown San Diego...Little Italy's 15th Annual Festa.

Sunday was the perfect day for an outdoor festival. Sun shining, sparkling ocean just down the street, and so much delicious food.

BFF, her hubby, Wiley E. Coyote, and I went to Little Italy. After hunting for a parking spot and finally forking over ten dollars we park and walk to India Street. A long stretch of the street is blocked off and there are people walking everywhere, music playing, and people dancing.

One man was singing sounding like Frank or Dino and there was an adorable older couple dancing. She was wearing the most outlandish clothes but they were so cute.

Sorry about the hand...that's the singer doing his crooner impression. They were whirling around just having so much fun.

As we walk in, I see someone selling balloons and they are not your usual balloons...they are octopus balloons.

Me: Why octopus balloons?

BFF: Because it has eight legs.

Me: I know, but why an octopus?

BFF: Why not? They're cute.

Me: They are cute but they are not your normal balloon, so why the octopus?

BFF: *laughing at me* See, they have eight legs, that makes them an octopus.

Me: Ummm...okay.

As we walk away, I still cannot figure out why they would have octopus balloons in Little Italy. It was too cute to be Ursula from the Little Mermaid.

See. I KNEW there had to be a reason for the octopus balloon...octopus salad. What? No tentacle tortellinis?

I don't know about you, but when I go to places like this, I go for the food and the people watching. This brought back so many memories. My best friend growing up was Italian and her dad was forever teaching me how to say all the words. I made for good comic relief. All the older Italian couples just reminded me of her parents.

We started with sausage sandwiches with grilled peppers, onions, and sauce. And you know what? The water was only $1. A dollar. Not $3 or more. I wanted to hug everyone there. The sandwich was so good and it is gone in no time flat. We are sitting on the curb enjoying the people watching. The lines are long but they move quickly.

There are models of the Nina, Pinta, and the Santa Maria because Columbus is one of them you know.

We wander further down the street and I see heaven....pastries. Pastries that look like they weigh a pound each. Pastries that look like 3 days' worth of calories. Like I care. I was salivating so bad that I forgot to take a picture. Wiley gets in the long line and BFF and I stand up front deciding exactly which pastry we want.

And I see it. Sfogliatelle. But how do I tell Wiley what I want when I can't even say it? Su-fog-la.... Try again. S-vog-ti.... A woman turns around and in perfect Italian tells me how to say it! I repeat after her and she smiles at me like her favorite kid. I manage to tell Wiley what I want and we get calamari. They are making it right there in front of us and it smells so good.

I know.

Calamari and sfogliatelle. Pastry and squid. BFF is holding her nose and diving into her Iris, a giant deep fried donut stuffed full of cheese. I tease her with the legs. She is not amused. Wiley squeezes lemon on the calamari and it is delicious.

BFF's next vehicle? Wiley just bought a motorcycle, so why not. Beep, beep. Pink is her favorite color, too. She told me growing up she used to ride a moped around town. What?? A mini motorcycle mama?

Sidewalk chalk artists were at the end of the street. The only thing we drew on the sidewalks was hopscotch squares and four square. Maybe I can become a stick figure Picasso. Wait? Maybe I would be Goya. Not being Italian and all.

What a day....wish you all could have been there.

Just In Case You Thought You Were Paranoid...

2009-10-13T12:54:00.000-07:00

And all this time I thought it was just me...

Whew.

Ghost Galaxy, Googlitis, and Jason Mraz

2009-10-10T21:06:00.000-07:00

Some randomness that is rolling around my head and I can't focus my brain to write a coherent post about each one. Rolling stones gather no moss, right? Or perhaps it's more like I'm losing my marbles.

It is Halloween time at Disneyland and Jack Skellington rules the night. (I'm an annual passholder.) BFF was supposed to go with us but she is down with a cold, so it was our young friends who are servers from our favorite happy hour and I. They are so cute to hang out with us. One of them went to school with one of the Book Babe's daughter. I think of them as our "kids."

We stood in line at the recently refurbished Space Mountain. So weird. I have a bumper sticker from the first summer they opened Space Mountain and now decades later I'm in line...for freaking ninety minutes...to ride it again.

There is spooky kinda creepy music. The kind of music where you expect a really haunted looking house to pop up. Very Outer Limits. They have images and fluctuating colors projected on the mountain. One is a rusty, slightly greenish, orangish color, then swirling tie dye looking colors, then like the surface of the moon. Stars and galaxies float by. I was really waiting for the icky girl who climbs out of the damn TV in the movie "The Ring" to come crawling down the sides of the mountain. Let me in, let me in. That scene freaked me out.

Uh. oh. I don't want to say how they changed the ride for Ghost Galaxy...but I think I had an accident in my granny panties.

BFF and I were gabbing today and we got to talking about health care being as it seems to be all anybody can talk about. I personally don't go to doctors. I told her that if I want to know what the different colors of mucus from my nose means, I look it up on Google.

She told me I didn't need to do that, she could tell me. Clear is okay, no problem. Slightly yellow means something is brewing. Green means you got it, and green with red is trouble.

Or maybe you need to stop picking your nose so much.

We had to go eat fried pickles at Lucille's after that.

I have to mail in my taxes by October 15th. I truly wish everyone had to write a check every year...and only once a year...to pay their taxes. You realize then that what you send them every year would probably pay for top 'o the line insurance. Or at least keep me in Pop Tarts.

Tomorrow we head to San Diego to see Jason Mraz in a fiesta type concert. Teddy Bear says they will kick my butt out of the concert if I try to sneak in booze.

I better break open the piggy bank. What? What do you mean Uncle Sam has left me a note. Does anybody know if the IRS takes Pop Tarts in lieu of penalties and interest?

How Big a Turd are You If You Embezzle from a Brownie?

2009-10-08T15:20:00.000-07:00

No, really. Is there anything cuter than a troop full of Brownies? So cute. Missing teeth. Nonstop chatter. Endless enthusiasm. (Well, except for the high pitched screaming that all little girls are soooo good at.)

How big a floozy would you be if you embezzled all the cookie money?

No really. The cookie money. It's only once a year that people get to fill their addiction for thin mints and shortbread....yummy. The little dickens go out there and harass, I mean, ask you to buy their cookies. Come on, it's once a year and for a good cause.

I have even been a cookie mom. Thousands of boxes of cookies in my living room, dining room, everywhere. Carbohydrate heaven. Fatty paradise.

I'll tell you. You would be the troop leader who is in the midst of divorcing her husband because, well, she is cheating on him and she needs money for the floozy red dress that matches the trailer she ends up living in. And she steals the cookie money.

I am trying to imagine her at the Pearly Gates. (I know I'm an agnostic...sheesh, play along.) How do you explain to St. Peter you stole cookie money from Brownies? I bet even the big guy orders cookies.

I think I would rather have Severus Snape practice his potions on me.

I am so glad my girls are grown up and I don't have to volunteer anymore. No more grad night, Brownies, PTA, snack day, book fairs, back to school nights....

Am I rubbing it in too much?

*diabolical laughter*

Wait, wait. Does anyone know how to get a tattoo off? You know, the one that says sucker on my forehead?

Happy Anniversary, Barcode

2009-10-07T12:33:00.000-07:00

Happy 57 years to you~! Something older than me...yippee. I see you everywhere and on everything.

I even saw you tattooed on the back of some guys neck. I wanted to take a picture but my brother was ready to strangle me. I think the guy would not have minded. I mean it has his birthday on it and all...09/18/1985.

Well, yeah, he looked like a gang member, but still it was a cool tattoo. Very Hitman like.

I think everyone should go to a bar tonight to celebrate barcode's birthday.

You can hum "Walk the Line" if you want. Or dress like a zebra. Or go as a scanner.

I Feel Pretty

2009-10-06T18:18:00.000-07:00

I feel pretty, oh so pretty...oh so witty.

That Mary of BlogRock is a miracle worker...she's magic with the make up brush and just as magical with the keyboard.

She made that cartoon of me in my new header...allowing for a creative flight of fancy, that's me. Well, the smile is me anyway. And I do have brown eyes and brown hair. I do have bigger boobs though.

Maybe I can get her to add some cleavage. Ummmmm.

She made so pretty. Did you notice the Teddy Bear and the bowl of Hot Tamales? My nicknames for my daughters. Hee, hee. Shoot. I meant for her to put the letter Z on my shirt...for my precious wonderful grandson. I can be like Laverne from Laverne and Shirley.

Yes, I think I'm going to like my new place.

Come on over, pull up a bar stool. There are pretzels, peanuts, foo foo drinks, beer, and iced tea (for my teetotaler friends). Maybe I can add a plasma screen. Oh, Jack and coke. The cost? Some good conversation. And remember...

It's Happy Hour....Somewhere~!

In Zombieland, You Follow the Rules

2009-10-05T17:58:00.000-07:00

Rule #1....Cardio.

Run like hell. Don't stop running. Keep running. Fatties will not survive.

Although my personal favorite was Rule # The Double Tap.

Horror movies always drive me nuts when the stupid people assume that the monster is dead with one bullet and they go up and TOUCH the monster and.....ohhhhhhhhhmyyyyygooddddddddddd it's still alive. Well, no kidding. Maybe you were already a zombie with no brains so you are on a quest to find some. Perhaps you deserve to get eaten. Go ahead and get chased by a zombie and have him munch on your limbs.

One of the characters is on the hunt for Twinkies. Yes. Twinkies. Yellows logs of creamy goodness. He flips out at one point when he thinks he has found deep fried twinkies. Deep fried twinkies? Have you guys been holding out on me?

I like frozen Ding Dongs.Does that count?

Rule #17 Don't be a hero.

Ah, you know what happens.

Of course, I took a Facebook quiz and only have a 55% chance of surviving. I figure my biggest downfall was failing Rule #1 Cardio. It is so bad, I avoid walking to my mailbox, which is only 4 or 5 houses down the street. I wait until I have to run an errand and on my way out of the neighborhood I go pick it up. Which, because I think I'm becoming a zombie, may be once a week....or longer. Do you have any idea how much junk mail I get? My mailbox is jammed, stuffed with JUNK. Junk. And that counts the letter from the IRS I got.

Is it wrong to want to practice Rule #2 on the IRS? (Not the nice lady who helped me today. Full of southern charm and a laugh that just made you want to join in. I love to make the IRS laugh...and no, she was not laughing AT me. I told her that the company cannot find copies of old forms 1099 because they are lost in a warehouse, like the ark of the covenant in Indiana Jones. She thought that was funny.)

BFF's son, Ruthless, took the quiz and has a 95% chance of surviving. Ummmm. So sad. I'm sure that one of the rules is not schlepping around excess weight around. Even if it's his mom's BFF.

Oooohhh, and Bill Murray is in the movie and he's funny and not weird funny.

So go to Zombieland and tell me what you think. If you take me along, I'll buy the popcorn.

I have tons of ammo, too.

I Swing Both Ways

2009-10-03T11:40:00.000-07:00

I had no idea.

Liar. I did. I always knew I could go either way.

I can Go Geek and Hang with the Girls.

What? What did you think I was talking about?

Watching a trailer for 2012 and the geeky guys...my brother and his friend...are commenting on the great graphics and action. Lots of eye rolling from the wives. JuJuBeez and Ms. Shrink Lady. As if.

Of course, they are still kind of miffed because they supposedly had a date night last week with the hubbies. They got all dressed up, did the make up and hair thing. They go to dinner and try to decide on a movie. Yeah, right. Action movies outta there. Chick flicks don't make it to first base. They bicker. And end up back at the house...and end up watching the Fast and the Furious and the girls fall asleep. HAHAHA.

We are at dinner and one of TVs has a trailer for 2012. I think 2012 looks like it might be okay but the graphics look so cool. Watching St. Peter's basilica roll over and crush everyone in the plaza was so cool. I know...I'm going straight to hell, but it was cool. I mean, the last earthquake here in California we got to watch freeways collapse and fall down. Ho hum.

Anyway, the guys are going on about the movies and my SIL rolls her eyes and makes the comment about how like unreal it is that when they take off in a plane and they fly so close to the ground and it is all dramatic and unreal. Man, buzz kill. Without thinking, I remark, "Yeah, like the 'Time Traveller's Wife' story is so probable."

Ooops.

"Hey, whose side are you on? You are supposed to be on our side~!" I may be banished from hanging with the girls. Fine. The next sex toy party they have, I will leave my checkbook at home.

Dang. I like action/fantasy/sci-fi films. (By the way, Zombieland rocks). I love chick flicks and musicals. Where do I fit in?

Anybody in the market for a switch hitter? Anyone?

This Tin Foil Hat is Squooshing My Brains

2009-09-27T19:42:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-09-24T08:00:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-23T12:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-21T19:59:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-18T17:47:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-14T19:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-12T09:01:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-09-11T07:23:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-10T15:10:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-08T20:10:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-08T18:05:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-07T11:26:00.001-07:00

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

2009-09-06T07:57:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-04T15:02:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-02T14:14:00.000-07:00

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?

Perspective

2009-08-30T18:11:00.000-07:00

I have always wondered why people like to travel. What is the lure that sends people on adventures? What do they hope to find when they get there? People? Culture? History? Souvenir shot glass from each country?

There are bloggers from all over the world and some of them take the most amazing photos. I am mesmerized by one site called Random Shots. I stare and stare at the images...and I'm not sure why. I try to imagine living there....and I can't do it. Is that what travel will do? A looking glass experience. What is it like to live in a city that is over 2000 years old? Do they even see it?

P. J. O'Rourke in "Holidays in Hell" writes about places suffering "....insurrection, stupidities, political crises, civil disturbances and other human folly...because it's fun. Like most people who don't own Bermuda shorts, I'm bored by ordinary travel. See the Beautiful Grand Canyon. Okay, I see it. Okay, it's beautiful. Now what? And I have no use for vacation paradises. .....Nor do attractions attract me. If I had a chance to visit another planet, I wouldn't want to go to Six Flags over Mars or ride through the artificial ammonia lake in a silicone-bottomed boat at Venusian Cypress Gardens. I'd want to see the planet's principal features--what makes it tick. Well, the planet I've got a chance to visit is Earth, and Earth's principal features are chaos and war. I think I'd be a fool to spend years here and never have a look."

Is travel good for paradigm puncturing? Culture clash awareness? This video absolutely gives me the heeby jeebies. Is this what it's like to go through the looking glass and land in another country?

Think of all the assumptions going on this video. (And you know what they say about assuming. ) First, people push and shove their way in to make sure they get on the train and then the people who work there finish shoving them in the way I used to shove myself in jeans when I was 23. Lying down, jumping up and down, and sucking in my gut. I used to think I was fat because I was shoving myself into jeans that were a size 3. Gack. What I wouldn't give to be double that size now. Second, is there not another train coming? Are there so many people using the train that EVERY train is that packed. My personal body bubble is cringing just thinking about this and I can't help thinking how naive that is.

I haven't even talked about history. Which is probably a good thing. One thing on my bucket list is to learn some more history. Not that it is always an exact science but it does bring some context. George Washington chopped down the cherry tree, right? History changes....which used to bug the crap out of me as a kid. Teachers would get their panties in a bunch as if history was like the multiplication tables, immutable and unchangeable.

I have always imagined traveling in outer space but after seeing District 9, I'm beginning to think that that may not be a good idea. Instead of Captain Picard on the USS Enterprise, I might end up in a refugee camp on a planet in a galaxy far, far away.

So why do you travel?

Hey, That Girl Has Two Sets of Cheeks to Powder

2009-08-30T13:50:00.000-07:00

Egads...How many times does it have to be thrown in my face that I'm becoming a geezer? Took the gambling fools to Pechanga and we went to the round bar to drink because the only gambling I really like nowadays is wondering if the bartender will take my IOU. (It works for Arnold.) The club inside the casino just recently reopened ($30 cover charge!) and we had primo seats for people going in. I guess I should do a disclaimer here or something. I would gladly and happily have gone to clubs to listen to the bands in my 20s but my ex, well, he thought those places were too loud. Like, duh, no shit Sherlock. Youth really is wasted on the young.

Anyway, we were sitting right at the bottom of the stairs where everyone was walking up. Tattoos are definitely a defining statement of the 20 somethings. They were everywhere and seemingly on everyone. There were enough sleeves to make tank tops an oxymoron. And since the size of the dresses was little more than the size of my laptop monitor, there was a lot of skin showing. Watching the little dresses go up the stairs was highly entertaining. Not that I could really see anything. Every time a set of cheeks was headed up the stairs, a bunch of guys were going up the stairs, too. It was like magic. And it is way funny to watch the guys in my age range, geezer launching pad, busy cheek chasing. I'm pretty sure when I was 23 that a guy in his 40s and 50s would not have even registered on my radar.

I don't think my mom did so well gambling. They were ready to leave before midnight. I offered to come back and get them even if it was 3 or 4 in the morning. They have been known to come in that late in Vegas. Why do gamblers think slot machine are alive? They talk to them, they do magic finger waves over the screen while it is spinning. One lady I remember had her purse on a stool next to her while she played the slot and in her purse was a stuffed animal poking its head out of the purse and pointed toward the slot...for good luck. She would pet the animal and pull the handle (back before all the push button technology!). Kinda of reminded me of Professor Trelawney in Harry Potter.

They had a good time though. Chicken tacos, cake and ice cream, and wishing my mom a very Happy Birthday~! As my mom said to Me Too, her gambling partner and neighbor, there is a 20 year age difference between her and I...and I'm 20 years older. Talk about revisionist history. Sheesh.

Time for Music, Singing, and Genetic Engineering

2009-08-28T20:16:00.000-07:00

I actually found this video because another blogger had this video on their blog and, of course, it reminded me of Charlie the Unicorn which led me on a wild chase through YouTube universe.

It has been a LONG week. Mom and Dad and sister and brothers and family are coming to my place tomorrow and then for my mom's birthday she wants to go to Pechanga Casino. And Me Too is coming, too. They are short gambling fools. My mom and her buddy Me Too are a hoot and my dad might actually go gambling with them. He is lucky without even trying which will fry their slot machine hineys off.

Ah, yes. Wheel of Fortune here we come.

Do Vegan Cows Give Brown Moo Juice?

2009-08-27T18:45:00.000-07:00

College is killing my carnivore buzz. Teddy Bear started back to school and she is taking a nutrition class...and the teacher is a vegan. Now we have brown milk in the fridge. I've heard of moo juice. but poo juice? She says its soy milk but it tastes like nothing. She poured it on little pieces of cardboard and plywood. I know, I know, it was cereal, but it still didn't taste any better with the poo juice on it. I probably should learn to like it because I am lactose intolerant. Can you imagine not being able to buy Baskin Robbins 31 flavor ice creams? Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey...or whatever its called because you will be a writhing lactose emitting alien within 30 minutes?

BFF and I once went to a scrapbook convention (hey, I saw that eye roll! Knock it off) and they were giving away Skinny Cow non-dairy ice cream treats. Yummy! I can eat those, right? Right? No, no, I can't. I ended up LYING down in the lobby of the convention center wondering which was worse? Farting in public or trying to walk bent over to the bathroom and farting in a stall? Luckily, that feeling passed.

Teddy Bear loves her nutrition class and actually bought a book called "Skinny Bitch." I guess it's a vegan cookbook. TB was making a grocery list out of this book. Like it's hard to remember if its green, it's keen. She knows how I feel about the whole subject but she said they have a vegan sloppy joe? Both Killdozer and I look at her like she has eaten a magic mushroom. How do you make a VEGAN sloppy joe? With tofu, of course.

It's going to be a tough semester...

In a Battle of Wits, I'm Half Way There...

2009-08-25T20:08:00.000-07:00

Christopher Hitchens...Vanity Fair magazine article..."Why Women Aren't Funny."

"Probe a little deeper, though, and you will see what Nietzsche meant when he described a witticism as an epitaph on the death of a feeling. Male humor prefers the laugh to be at someone's expense, and understands that life is quite possibly a joke to begin with—and often a joke in extremely poor taste. Humor is part of the armor-plate with which to resist what is already farcical enough. (Perhaps not by coincidence, battered as they are by motherfucking nature, men tend to refer to life itself as a bitch.)"

But he has a point. Why the hell do we call it Mother Nature? And why is life a bitch and then you die? I know if a lady were in charge, no friggin' way would I have a visit each month from Aunt Flo and PMS would stand for Please Me, S'il vous plait. He says we don't need to be funny because guys will like us anyway for you know what. Yeah that.

"Wit, after all, is the unfailing symptom of intelligence."

So, in a battle of wits are you fully armed? Or like me...just a half wit.

Pick Me, Pick Me!

2009-08-24T18:53:00.000-07:00

Do you know football? The last time I followed football the Rams were still in Los Angeles and the "Fearsome Foursome" ruled the defense. Well, in my mind they did. I loved Roman Gabriel, and, of course, Deacon Jones, Rosey Grier, Merlin Olsen, and Lamar Lundy. I loved ABC sports' This Week in the NFL show. I loved learning the nuances of the games and about the players and coaches. Vince Lombardi, Tom Landry. Monday Night Football here I come. Sundays will be in front of the boob tube. Not that I have any idea how Fantasy Football is scored.

But what do I know now? Nada. Zip. Zilch. And yet I have a Fantasy Football team and I'm in a pay league. Forked over my $50 to pay. I am such a geek. Nerd. Dork is probably more like it. The name of my team? The NanoBots.

Yes, that is my logo. Go ahead. Make fun of me. The commissioner...well, L's hubby, the Marine, originally had my team named the Killers. I cannot seem to leave well enough alone.

The draft went well, I think. It went fast. We all had our laptops so it was so cool to see who picked who. The quarterback I originally wanted got picked in the first round with the very first pick. Drew Brees. So sad. As a tribute to Killdozer I picked Phillip Rivers and San Diego Chargers defense. I have Marion Barber, too.

I remember playing football in the street with my brothers. I loved kicking the football and I loved throwing it watching it spiral down the street but god help the damn brother who actually hit me. They would get their butt kicked later on.

I'm still looking for the Rams though. Someone told me they are still around somewhere. Traitors.

Why I Will Never Be Allowed to be an Eyewitness

2009-08-22T08:11:00.000-07:00

Scene: Teddy Bear and I have just come back from seeing a movie, 9:30 at night. I'm up in my room getting ready for bed.

TB: Mom, mom, there's truck parked on the side of the house with its lights off.

I peek out the window that looks down over the street practicing my mad spy skills. Yep, small pick-up, lights off, guys talking in the middle of the street. This is a small side street that dead ends a few hundred yards away at an entrance to the snooty neighborhood behind me (with most of the homes empty because of foreclosure) and to a small park where teenagers hang out and do stupid teenage stuff. The guys are talking fairly excitedly about something when one guy gets out of the truck with a baseball bat. *gulp* I had just been about to go to the balcony off my room that also looks right down on them. Across the street is an elementary school. The parking lot is right there with a long sloping driveway. Baseball Bat guy is walking slowly toward one of the driveway entrances to the school. What is he doing? His buddy is slowly following him, lights still off.

Mom: Teddy Bear, go get me the house phone. I'm going to call the police.

TB: Your cell phone is right there, use that.

Mom: But they won't know where I'm calling from when I use my cell phone. Go get the phone!

TB: That is the dumbest thing, just call.

Mom: Damn it....go get the phone.

TB stomps off to get the phone. Meanwhile, I am now out on my balcony spying on what is going on. I have the best seats in the house. Baseball Bat guy is still walking slowly, bat in hand, toward the school. Truck pulls slowly into the long driveway and stops. Bat Guy has his cell phone out now and obviously is taking pictures with it. WTF? He is crouching and cautiously moving toward a planter that edges the driveway. He has his bat held at the ready and goes into the low bushes and flowers and starts taking pictures. His buddy is all excited in the car. Whatever it is, Bat Guy is close and clicking away. Bat Guy backs up suddenly and a big dog comes out of the bushes. I mean a tall dog, kind of mangy. A dog? They are all excited about a dog? Big Dog ambles off down the sidewalk toward the school like he does this everyday. Not a care in the world. Bat Guy and pick-up are slowly following him as he heads toward the front of the school. Big Dog disappears into the school and now I hear both guys yelling and throwing rocks and basically carrying on like a bunch of lunatics. I call 911.

911: What is your emergency? (or whatever it is they say).

Me: I need the police! Some guys are at the school across the street yelling and with baseball bats and throwing rocks or something!

911: Are they fighting?

Me: Huh?

What does she mean are they fighting? Sheesh. What a dope. I forget that even though I can see perfectly what is going on, poor 911 has no clue what I am looking at.

Me: No, no, sorry! They were together in the truck and now they are both in the school. They were parked on the side of my house with their lights off and now they are in the school.

While I speak another truck pulls up, an SUV type vehicle.

Me: Oh my god, another truck just pulled up and they are parking in front of the school!

911: What kind of vehicle is it and what color is it?

Me: Type? Color? Uh...uh. Well, ummm, the lights at the school are those orange hideous lights that change all the colors, so ummm I'm not sure what color they are. Maybe gold for the SUV and faded red for the little pick up truck.

By this point 911 is convinced that I'm a moron and I can't say they are far off the mark. Teddy Bear is looking at me like she is now convinced I'm the last person she would want around in a real emergency.

911 says they will send someone over to check it out.

The second truck was actually just a mom which I forgot to tell 911. She gets out of the truck and marches the determined mom walk to the front of the school like she is looking for something. I can hear them talking to each other now, the pick-up guys and the truck mom like they know each other. Okay. What is going on?

The Big Dog is now walking ever so slowly up the driveway back toward the street like he has had enough fun. It is such a strange walk. He has long legs and he has a lope to his walk, not much of a tail. His whole attitude is, go ahead, make my day, mess with me. The people are all agitated but Big Dog acts like he does not have a care in the world. Baseball Bat guy is throwing rocks at the dog now!! This is getting ridiculous. Dog does not seem to care and walks off down the street toward the park it seems. The guys drive off.

Great. Cops will show up and no one will be here and I will really look like a dork.

Sure enough. Pick up is now gone and 2 cop cars pull up. Two? With their lights off? They slowly glide down the street and into the school. The mom is still there and they block her so she cannot get out.

Because the school is built on a slight slope below me their voices carry right up to me. I hear them talking and then I hear the words mountain lion or maybe she says bobcat.

Oh shit. Where is my fat weiner dog? My big gray tabby cat? As if on cue, I hear my cat start carrying on just below me. Teddy Bear races down to lock the dog up but good luck catching the cat.

But everyone eventually pulls away because whatever it is gone. Teddy Bear and I stay on the balcony looking for the damn cat. My house sits on the corner and there is an easement right behind my house that slopes down to the snooty neighborhood, perfect for burglars and wild animals.

A cop car slowly comes down the street again and this time pick-up guy meets up with him and they start talking. And there it is. Mr Mountain Lion or Bobcat just walking down the sidewalk. Strolling. Out for an after dinner constitutional. Now both cop cars quickly pull up with their bright lights shining on it. They actually try to box it in with their cars. One races down the street and then turns around and shines its lights on the cat and the other cop car does the same from the other direction. What they forget is that the damn cat just has to cut across the street from the side not blocked off...which it does.

Right behind my house.

There is now a mountain lion running around behind my house? What is it with mountain lions and this family? Isn't it bad enough they tried to eat my ex-husband and other daughter (but that is another story)?

The cops are all excited now but what are they going to do? Hunt it down and shoot it? No, no, they drive off and leave us.

I am glad to say that the old mountain lion made its way to the fields near my house and was seen the next day and for a few days causing excitement but managing never to get caught.

And he didn't eat my fat weiner dog.

Slow Bistro

2009-08-20T09:37:00.000-07:00

I love this stuff...I don't get it, but I love it. So many visual puns going on. How many do you see? A tongue lashing for sure. ha, ha.

Little Gray Cells vs. Blubber Cells-UPDATE

2009-08-16T18:19:00.000-07:00

UPDATE: Well, unbeknownst to me, PETA (People for Exceedingly Tacky Ads) put out a Save the Whales ad to fight blubber...just trying to help me along in my quest to be svelte and slim just like them PETA people. In their quest to save fat women everywhere, they have so graciously given us their best advice...GO VEGETARIAN. I think they have taken their advice to an extreme and stuffed their heads full of straw because you know brains are like, meat, you know and meat, you know, is BAD. So all you beached whales at the beach, put down the burger and grab some tofu...then it can be your turn to make fun of someone. Of course, don't whales eat meat? Oh man, wait until PETA finds out.

I have started a new diet...and it's not even New Year's. I am only 5 feet 3 inches tall and look good at 120 pounds but let's just say I'm a few bowling balls over that weight. I have been watching what I eat. I still eat it, but now I watch it as I do. Nah. Just kidding. I have actually been good for a while. I even went out with the girls at P. F. Chang's in La Jolla and did not have a drink *gasp* and only ordered lettuce wraps. But I know this is all a mind f**k my fat cells are conspiring on.

I used to think it was my brain in charge. You know, just make the right choices, don't buy the wrong foods, blah, blah, blah. Now I know why that has never worked. My brain is not in charge of fat. There is a whole fat union thing going on and the union thugs are totally in control. They are so clever. They let me think I'm so slick for a few days and then, wham, they send out the blubber cells in charge of salty yummy chips. It was an all out offensive. Normandy Beach took place in my cellulite stricken thighs. But the little gray cells won that skirmish. I resisted. I gave name, rank, and serial number. (There was no frickin' way I was telling them my weight.)

The next offensive was tasty nummy oh-so-little-they-can't-possibly-count-as-calorie desserts at P.F. Chang's. Fortunately, none of the other traitors, I mean, friends ordered dessert, so by default I won. Blubber union headquarters was not amused. Picket lines were organized. Busloads of fatty cells were sent in as shock troops. I capitulated. The white flag went up. I ordered a Monte Cristo sandwich when I was out with my brother yesterday. This is not just a sandwich. It is a DEEP FRIED sandwich. Served with fries. But you know what? After days and days of being good, it just tasted greasy. I even gave my fries to my sister-in-law and only ate 3. Okay, 6, but they were little ones. I didn't even finish it. I have been practicing on the super slow eating thing. I read an article once that said French women stay skinny because it takes them forever to eat, so they don't eat a lot. That is how they get away with eating fattening foods. Well, that was their theory anyway. I think it has more to do with being a mistress and having to duck and cover a lot.

I think it really helped going to see Body Worlds in San Diego a few Sundays ago. Such a strange exhibit. I was totally not freaked out until looking at one body, I saw a tattoo on the wrist. It was like getting hit upside the head. One exhibit had a thin cross-section of an obese body. You could see the layers of fat on the back, in the stomach, just everywhere. You know it's bad enough to get a quick glimpse of your own fat on your back much less see it on exhibit.

I am even re-reading a book I have had for ages by Joyce Vedral on getting a fit body. I love that book. Now, if only I could look like her just by turning the pages.

"I'm Not Hanging Noodles on Your Ears"

2009-08-14T14:11:00.000-07:00

I am making tea with my navel over this video and will be running out to get this book...wait, is that an idiom, too? So, do you have thighs like banana trees? What do you mean my head should grow in the ground like an onion?

I have enough trouble understanding my 19-year-old, I had no idea it would be that hard everywhere. My brother says things are "sick." I almost hit him the first time he said it but being the baby brother, he knew what he was doing and dodged out of the way. Sick means good. If something is bad, what do you call it?

LitChat on Twitter (yes, Twitter again) has a chat three times a week and today was with a just published author Jag Bhalla...and I missed it damn it. I went back and read the Twitter stream. It is so fun to be able to actually tweet with the author and have them answer you back. I can pretend I sound somewhat edumacated and sophistated...instead of being the hermit holed up in my office still in her pajamas at two o'clock in the afternoon. Of course, how edumacated can you be when you use words like "tweet?"

I guess I will shower and put some clothes on....I mean I have clothes on...put on some outside clothes and run to Barnes and Noble. And I must be attractive because I have thighs like a banana tree, and I'm not hanging noodles on your ears saying that, but I may be blowing sunshine up your skirt.