Happy Anniversary, My Love

Today marks 12 years to the day that Hubby and I got married the first time.

The first time?

No, we didn't get married and divorce each other. We ended up having to get married twice, so we celebrate it twice a year.

Funny story that I'll share sometime.

In the meantime, here is the secret to a happy marriage (knock on wood)!

Devil 2, Angels 0

I haven't done this in awhile, most likely because when I have these kind of dilemmas, they aren't blogworthy.

You know, when you've got an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, arguing in your ear about you which way to go on stuff. Usually it consists on whether I should put skim milk in my coffee or real cream. If real cream is available, there's no contest. The devil always wins.

But that's boring.

I was talking to my good friend Elizabeth tonight and relayed an incident that happened over the last couple of weeks and she encouraged me to blog about it, even though I try to stay far far away from the political when blogging.

I was a bad, bad Attila. Again.

I have to confess. Hubby and I have a mixed marriage. Our 12-year wedding anniversary is coming up on New Year's eve, and so far, we've been able to work with it. We knew what we were getting into.

When we first got together I was an unabashed egg-sucking liberal dog (to quote former radio host Ken Hamblin). Hubby, on the other hand, was (affectionately) a shithead conservative Republican. But when you got down to brass tacks, our views really weren't that different. He wasn't a radical religious right sort of person---he just leaned economically to the right. Plus he recognized how my kids needed a couple of government programs to help get us through tough times when they were both uninsurable and their treatments cost about 1500.00 a month which I didn't have as a single parent trying to keep a roof over our heads without help from my vanished ex-husband.

And he wasn't about to step in and tell women how to manage their bodies as far as reproductive rights go. Gays? To each his own. So we were pretty simpatico.

Over the years, we've both come somewhat to the middle. But we've kept our separate party affiliations.

As an added bonus, I get more interesting mail from my party, which he loves to look at so he can eyeball the enemy.

Anyway, last week at about 10am, the phone rang for Attila's Hon.

"Hi, I'm Bob, and I'm calling from Washington and the National Republican Party. Could I speak to Mr. Attila?"

To be honest, I LIVE to f*ck with these people for a couple of reasons. First of all, because it's political, you can't tell them that you're on a "do not call" list. They don't have to respect that. But to us, it's just more telemarketing.

Secondly, if it was from the local Republican party, I couldn't mess with them, because we live in a small town and these people KNOW us! If it was the National Democratic party calling, I'd willingly hand the phone over to hubby. I won't condemn him for his opinions/reactions, and he won't condemn me for mine.

So it's a free-for all!

I said, Hi Bob, he's not here. Like many corporate white-collar Republican nobs, he works from 9 to 5 at an office. Do you have a number that he can call you back on?

Bob said, "Are you Mrs. Attila? Could I ask you some questions?"

And I said (sharpening my swords), Why yes I am. Yes you may!

Ok, I admit it. I think I was drooling a little in anticipation.

"How important is it to you to have a Republican in the White House after the next election?"

Not a bit! Why do you ask?

"Uh. So I guess you're not a Republican?"

No I'm not. We have a mixed marriage. In fact, Mr. Attila has to sleep on the couch quite frequently!

"Uh".

I took pity on him. After I laughed like a lunatic in his ear.

Bob, Mr. Attila gets home after 5pm our time. Call him then.

The next day we were out. I came home and checked the caller ID to see who called.

They called TWICE! During the 9 to 5 period.

Then we had the weekend and no real self-respecting Republican works then (just kidding---well, only a bit, because those guys didn't call THEN, did they?), so we didn't get any calls.

On Monday, we got a call from them around 11am, and when I answered the phone, I got a dial tone.

Now that really pisses me off. They have those automatic computerized dialing systems that call 3 numbers at a time and hang up on two of them if someone else answers first. You can't tell them you're on the "do not call" list, but they're allowed to use telemarketer crap like that designed just to chap your ass and inconvenience you.

Tuesday was of course, Christmas, so no calls then.

On Wednesday, I was prepared if they DARED to call during the 9-5 hours. And they did.

The person didn't give a name, but identified himself as calling from Washington from the National Republican Party.

I said, You know, I told you guys that hubby works a 9-5 job, and you'll have to call him after those hours.

And the guy said, "Are you Mrs. Attila? Can I ask you some questions?"

Certainly!

"How important is it to you to have a Republican in the White House after the next election?"

I said, It's very important to me! Because if a Republican gets elected, I won't have to give my husband a blow-job for the entire term!

"Uh--uh--pardon me?"

We have a deal. If a Democrat gets elected, he won't have to go down on me for 4 years. And basically, we're both really selfish people and want instant gratification, so this election will be important. I'm tired of wasting MY time trying to fulfill HIS needs, just to get a slap and tickle in return. We're both going to vote for each other's parties and hope for the best!

Then I told the guy to call back either before 9am or after 5pm to talk to the hubmonster. He was completely speechless. LOL

So TODAY I get ANOTHER call from them, around 2 in the afternoon.

"I'm calling from Washington from the National Republican Party. May I speak to Mr. Attila?"

Me (wondering what it will take to REALLY make them take notice) says, You people have called multiple times. I've told you over and over again that my husband works a 9-5 job, and amazingly enough he STILL isn't here at 2pm after your 10th call. Do you have anything you want to ask ME?

He says, "Mrs. Attila, are you a Republican?"

I said, Why no, I'm not.

And he said, "I think I'll call back later."

LOL

I can't stop myself. I need help.

Cleaning Up the Aftermath

Not as ominous as it sounds, I promise! LOL

As usual, nothing goes as planned in our house!

Never made it up to Grandma's---we woke up to snow, and it snowed all day. We're going to try to get up there on Saturday.

But it made for a restful Christmas. Sort of. Big Kid was wound up tight, but that's another story for another day when I feel like talking about crazy. I'm not calling HIM crazy, but just some behavior I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around.

I got some wonderful gifts.

The first was an AeroGarden. If you've read here long enough, you know that I'm a frustrated gardener. Back when I lived in the lowlands, I had an extensive veggie garden in my backyard. Up here in the mountains it's been a bust, since the growing season is so short, and there are wild critters everywhere just waiting to gobble up anything and everything that might be tasty.

Can't talk Hubby into investing in a greenhouse yet, so I bought myself the AeroGarden, gave him the box and said, "Wrap this!" ;-)

When I opened it on Xmas and thanked everybody for getting me what I REALLY wanted, Big Kid said, "wow, what is that?"

I (stupidly) said, "It's my very own hydroponic pot garden grower!" Of course, he perked up at that.

Oh-so-wise-Hubster countered with, "I'll bet we're on a 'list' now."

And I'll bet he's right! LOL

So I've included a "Day One" pic of growing snow peas (not a code word for pot). I'll let you know how it goes!

One of my sisters-in-law, who usually sends us a big-ass ham every year, must have gotten the word. Not from me, of course, because I would never ever snub a gift (plus the guys love ham). She sent us an 8-lb Smithfield seasoned Turkey breast.

I'm just wondering. I have really big boobs, but I don't think either one weighs 8 pounds. How big was this freaking turkey?

As an adoptee, synchronicity with my birth family fascinates me when it slaps me in the face. I wrote about one incident here, when I was redoing my bathroom (at the bottom of the post).

My birth mom and I are good friends, but we don't have the familiarity you get when you grow up together in a family. I could tell you her favorite color, which is pretty basic, but I couldn't tell you what her favorite pie is. In my family, my younger brother loves strawberry rhubarb, my older loves chocolate cream, and my mom likes everything except for cherry, which in some way horrifies her. It's all in shared history.

So for the last few years at holidays, I've bought my birth mom something safe---Jo Malone---a boutique perfume designer she's partial to.

This year, I thought that maybe I'd break out of the "safe" rut and explore other options. I looked at Macy's online and perused designer purses and bags. There were a few in my price range (like I could AFFORD 600 bucks for a purse for myself or anyone else---NOT) that I thought were really nice.

Then I slept on it.

Purses are personal women things, kind of like panties. I didn't know what she liked, and I sure as heck didn't want to buy her a bag based on MY preferences that she might store in the back of her closet and never use.

So I went with safe, sort-of---this time I got her a coffrit (whatever the hell that is) which was a variety of Jo Malone fragrances that could be layered or worn alone.

On Christmas, I opened her gift to me. After I tore off the wrapping, I noticed that it was a box from Macy's. Cool. There aren't any Macy's near us, but I do shop there online from time to time.

I opened it. Inside was a purse from THE SAME LINE that I admired and considered buying for HER!

How very weird (and I think wonderful) is that?

________________

Here's my latest on Disaboom if you feel like moseying over.

Happy Holidays!

It's actually been pretty tough keeping up with the "12 Days of Humbug!" for the simple reason that I'm a person who has been truly blessed in my life and have so many things to celebrate!

I just wanted to wish each and every one of you a wonderful holiday, and ask that you keep a couple of blogging buddies of ours in mind.

The first is Rhonda. Her son has had a devastating medical problem lately, and although his surgery went well, they won't get the biopsy results until after the holidays (Merry freaking Christmas!). Please drop by and send her your warmest wishes.

The second is Scully. She hasn't been posting too much over the last few months, but I'm sure she'll get any comments. Her husband and kids are here stateside, but she was deployed to Iraq some months ago, and is missing them for sure. Any kind words you could send would be most appreciated.

We're off to Grandma's tomorrow, so I'll catch up with you after the 25th!

All my love,

ATM

1 Day of Bah Humbug!

You know, I did a really dumb thing a few years ago, and I can't believe I did it again. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson. So today's humbug is going to be a public service announcement.

The directions on the bottle of Nair say "Shake Well", and by golly, they mean it!!

When I had my "me" day yesterday, I decided to take care of a couple of grooming things that had fallen by the wayside in the past week. My pits were starting to look a little like that thing that grows on Barbara Boxer's head.

Unfortunately, I have a couple of small moles under my left arm-pit which makes quick shaving in the shower an impossibility (yes I KNOW about mole removal and electrolysis, something I might have time to get around to when I'm 60), so I've used Nair or Neet or similar products for eons---through all of their stinky evolutions. I just slap it on, wait 5 minutes, wipe it all off and take a quick shower to get the residue before I enjoy a bath. Easy peasy.

Except I frequently forget to shake the $*&^%! bottle. Although it works fine, apparently all the really powerful hair-dissolving goodness sinks to the bottom to form a concentrate that has the equal power of "Round-up" or the industrial version of "Weed-B-Gone". And is just as caustic if you've got sensitive skin.

Normally, I toss the bottle when it feels like there's just a couple of inches in the bottom. But was I thinking? NOOOOOOOO!

Luckily, about a minute into the process I started feeling the burn, realized what it was, and jumped in the shower instead of standing around going "whaaa??" like the last time while I lost 6 layers of skin.

I only lost 2 layers this time. So I only have to do part of the chicken-arm-wing thing!

Only two days left! You guys ready yet?

On the twelfth day of humbug, Santa left for me

Semi-flaming armpits,
The Internet is watching,
My ex-inherited-inlaw,
More freaking football,
Too tired to be blogging,
7 steaming bowls of stupid,
Hubby's buttocks blasting,
5 Chin hairs,
4 exploding Snapples,
3 open tubs of frosting,
2 dead pens,
and a lump of coal for under my tree

2 Days of Bah Humbug!

Well I guess I got a little reprieve. Ex-FIL called in the morning to reschedule our lunch. Seems the lowlands got quite a bit of snow and he didn't feel comfortable driving into town. Yippee--er---I mean aww shucks!

We'll get together later next week when I've had a chance to recharge.

So I took Special K's advice and had a "me" day. Told the guys they were on their own and locked myself in the bathroom for a couple of hours for a bath and then took a nice long nap. Not a peep out of them.

Of course the duct tape I wrapped around their heads might have helped a bit.

While I was pretending that I was single and childless, Hubby organized the troops and the guys cleaned the house. I love my men!

My AOL has been acting funky for the last few weeks. Although the rest of my computer works great, while surfing the web, everything has been freezing up over and over, and I've been getting these "not responding" messages. Microsoft's tech answer? Keep everything updated. Well duh!

I logged on this afternoon, and AOL had a new update/upgrade, which I hoped would take care of the issues, so I downloaded and installed it. Happy to report that it seemed to fix the issues and added a couple of new features.

Like a creepy freaking eyeball. Yep. An eyeball so that other people can see you. Unless you poke it with your cursor point and close it.

AIIIGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

It used to be that you could go into preferences on your Buddy List and customize who can see if you're logged on or not. Now there's an eyeball staring at you.

What sadistic bastard dreamed up that bit of nightmare fodder? I can tell you already that this eyeball will have a starring role in some of my future cheese dreams.

As a funny note, in the early years of our marriage, my husband refused to have the internet hooked up in the house. He had the idea that just HAVING a connection meant that some marauding hacker could have a view inside our home and suck out all the private information that was locked up in his desk drawer.

I know it's an odd idea, but it's one he hung onto for quite a few years after I said "the heck with it" and got us hooked up with the information superhighway. Then he moved the papers and locked them in his office. Until he had to get the Internet there.

He's better about it now, but the Internet still kind of scares him.

Wonder what he's going to think about this?

On the eleventh day of humbug, Santa left for me

The Internet is watching,
My ex-inherited-inlaw,

More freaking football,

Too tired to be blogging,

7 steaming bowls of stupid,

Hubby's buttocks blasting,

5 Chin hairs,

4 exploding Snapples,

3 open tubs of frosting,

2 dead pens,

and a lump of coal for under my tree

3 Days of Bah Humbug!

Well, I knew this was coming eventually, but I hoped I'd have a few days or so to relax from the frenzy of gift bag/basket hell.

No such luck.

You aren't going to understand a bit of this unless you go here first. I wrote about this on my Disaboom blog a couple of months ago when this situation first reared its ugly head.

Since I wrote the above, I talked to both my ex-husband and his sister, who has remained a good friend over the years. I encouraged them to call the sheriff's department to have a wellness check-up done.

Ex-sis-in-law hemmed and hawed, said she'd think about it. I think she's been counting on the doofy neighbors sneaking into ex-FIL's house or stealing his mail so they can find the address to his mortgage company to report him so that the crack team of mortgage medical diagnosticians (who, I guess occupy the cubicle next to the compliance officer) could commit him.

Yes, that's sarcasm, so don't go running off thinking this is possible. LOL

Ex-husband said he doesn't give two shits. As he's said before, the only time he'll come back to the state is when his dad is dead. He has stuck with this philosophy over the years (there have been a few clandestine visits here with his job), although it's cost him a close relationship with our sons. He's been offered positions in the state and he could have seen them at least every other week. He's settled for seeing them at least every other year. Sometimes every other two years.

He's got new kids "who need music lessons, and he just bought his wife a bigger car, and aren't those grooming expenses for little frou frou dogs just out of this world? Airline tickets are expensive and he might not be able to swing it this year to see the boys (note: Hubby and I have paid for the tickets the last 3 times the boys have gone down to visit). And then the frou frou dog ran out and got hit by a car, so they needed 1000.00 to buy another purebred frou frou for the kids, and this one needs to be groomed often as well."

I could understand and respect their positions if it weren't for one thing. Both brother and sister (they're in their early-40's) go crying to Daddy every time they have a financial crisis (which is frequently) and beg him to bail them out. He's not a wealthy man by any means, but he does. Even when it leaves him short. Wonder if ex tells him it's for replacement frou frou dogs.

When I talked to my ex a couple of weeks ago and expressed my concern about having his dad drive the guys anywhere, ex pulled up his old mantra. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't want him to EVER see them!"

So I let him have it. He doesn't care if the his dad ever sees his kids, but he's not willing to be the one to tell his dad himself. As with everything else, he wants to dump it in MY lap. To be the messenger of bad news. To be the confronter. To be the one to use our kids to express ex's contempt for his dad.

Not gonna happen. I sort of inherited the old man, and have forged a somewhat decent relationship with him over the years.

Every year, ex-FIL has traditionally assigned the kids an amount of money for Xmas and taken them shopping to spend it. Since Big Kid's birthday is the 2nd of January, he's gotten an extra amount to spend. Some years ex-FIL has taken them overnight (he lives almost 2 hours away), some years he's just run with them into the city for lunch and shopping. This plan obviously has to change.

When he called, I had a whole recitation memorized. Little Guy would like to have a necklace instead of money (ex-FIL is a retired jeweler with a whole stash of stuff), and Big Kid would just like to have money to save towards a big screen HGTV. With ex-FIL's hip problem, we didn't want to make him traipse around shopping in the mall with them, or drive a long time to get up here to the mountains, so how about if we met him halfway down in the city and took HIM to lunch???

He was persistent. He "knows how much the guys love being at his house" (this entire side of the family only sees what they want to see---that must be where Big Kid gets it). I was even more so.

"We've got SO much planned with community and business and dinner parties over the next week, that keeping them overnight wouldn't work. Please let us take YOU out, because you've done so much for the boys!" He didn't want to listen, and I was afraid that I'd just have to lay it out for him.

The angels were on my side. At least for now.

We're driving down into the city tomorrow to meet up with him. We made up a fabulous gift basket filled with specialty cheeses and goodies from Ireland and Scotland, plus that neat thing we had specially made up.

I wonder if ex will send his dad a card, since he hasn't even bothered to send one to our sons at holidays or birthdays for the last 5 or more years. Music lessons are expensive, you know.

I know his dad wasn't a great dad, but I think he did the best he could with the tools he had as a single father. I'm not an apologist---the man did his best to interfere with and control my marriage with his son.

But he's been there when ex has needed him (financially, if incapable of being there emotionally), and that should count for something. He's toed the line with my rules to have a relationship with my boys, and has been a loving, if gruff grand-dad.

He's elderly and alone, mostly by his own past behavior and eccentricities.

And it makes me feel sad.

On the tenth day of humbug, Santa left for me

My ex-inherited-inlaw,
More freaking football,
Too tired to be blogging,
7 steaming bowls of stupid,
Hubby's buttocks blasting,
5 Chin hairs,
4 exploding Snapples,
3 open tubs of frosting,
2 dead pens,
and a lump of coal for under my tree

4 Days of Bah Humbug!

What wiseguy thought up the idea of NFL games on Thursday nights? I'd love to give him a kick in the ass.

During the regular season, I lose my husband on Sundays and Monday nights. I reluctantly accept it. But Thursdays too?

Hubby just started watching them a couple of weeks ago. I came home from class to see him anchored in front of a game.

"No", I said. "No freaking way. When did they start doing this?"

They've been doing it for years. They show the games on Thursday when the college season is over.

Since when? I would have remembered Thursdays. I would have remembered him watching games for years. Then it hit me. We didn't have Dish this time last year.

$%$#@!! Satellite! I hope a tree falls on our roof.

On a good note, the gift baskets are finally DONE DONE DONE. Everything has been mailed and/or delivered. Just a couple more gifts to wrap and no more for me. Whew!

You guys done yet?

On the ninth day of humbug, Santa left for me

More freaking football,
Too tired to be blogging,
7 steaming bowls of stupid,
Hubby's buttocks blasting,
5 Chin hairs,
4 exploding Snapples,
3 open tubs of frosting,
2 dead pens,
and a lump of coal for under my tree

5 Days of Bah Humbug!

Today I assembled 12 corporate gift baskets filled with coffee, tea, cocoa, cappuccino, apple cider mulling spice mix and 24 loaves of individually-wrapped pineapple macadamia nut bread, cranberry bread, apple streusel bread, and banana walnut bread.

All made from scratch. Got 6 more to do tomorrow.

Already made 31 gift bags for Hubby's business associates, which he took to the office today.

I assembled 38 gift bags with cards for Little Guy's teachers and friends and people who've helped him through the years since this is his last year in high school. The gift inside was something specially made that arrived today and is really really cool----I'll tell you about it after the holidays.

I'm just too damned pooped to blog. I'll catch up with you guys tomorrow.

And you know what? That colored cellophane wrapping stuff smells funny.

On the eighth day of humbug, Santa left for me

Too tired to be blogging,

7 steaming bowls of stupid,

Hubby's buttocks blasting,

5 Chin hairs,

4 exploding Snapples,

3 open tubs of frosting,

2 dead pens,

and a lump of coal for under my tree

6 Days of Bah Humbug!

Time to do a round-up of stupid.

When you're drinking wine in the street and have to pee, it's really REALLY not a good idea to stick your johnson through somebody's fence to water their garden. They might have a dog who thinks you're offering him a chew toy. Stupid!

What kind of doof fabricates an assault and sends threatening anonymous emails to himself and other members of his conservative campus group? A Princeton student! This is 2007, fer pete's sakes. Short of having a microchip implanted in your head, technology is advanced! You can't run, you can't hide! Gone are the days of calling people up and saying, "Is your refrigerator running? Better go catch it!" Oy! Stupid!

It's not the library's job to police what your kids are reading. Instead of calling for a book ban, why don't you get off your lazy butt and see what YOU checked out for your six-year-old? If it offends you, put it back. That's why YOU'RE the parent, Stupid!

What makes you assume that complete strangers would be thrilled to be part of your student video, oh wannabe film director? Or should I say, why were you surprised when the mall Santa called the cops after you assaulted him by smashing a pie in his face? Stupid!

If you're insane enough to drive 107 miles per hour drunk with your 11-year-old daughter in the seat next to you, you really can't expect the judge to take your "not guilty" plea seriously by telling him to "speed it up, I'm bored". Stupid!

Yahoo! gave some guy named Dave a forum where he wrote an article about "5 Ways to Keep Your Man From Straying". His list included such gems as "Plan Scrabble Night", "Send Him on Guy Getaways" and "Give Him a Boost".

I can sum it up in 2 1/2 short ways.

A brand-spanking new chainsaw prominently displayed in the garage with a tag that reads, "My Half of the House and Everything in It".

And an 18-inch blade hedgeclipper on his nightstand with "Got Bobbit?" inscribed on the handle.

Giving good head never hurts either. But I didn't say that.

'Nuff said.

Ok, I'm a philistine. I admit it. The first time I saw Blade Runner, I didn't understand it very much, but Harrison Ford was hot. Plus it was too long. Hey, I was like 14. I saw it a few more times over the years, hoping that with time and maturity, I'd "get" the brilliance. Not really. Yawn.

We like to watch movies, so for the past years since I've been online, I've kept up pretty much on what's new and what's coming out on DVD. And every freaking year or so, there's a "new" cut of Blade Runner, just in time for Xmas.

There's the "Director's Cut". Then there's the "New Special Effects Cut" (meaning they were able to pixel-out the strings that suspended the flying cars). Next was the "Director's Cut with even MORE Special Effects" (pixeled-out Rutger Hauer's laugh lines). Then there was the "Director's Cut with even MORE Special Effects Including Deleted Scenes" which showed Harry Ford toking up between takes. And the next year was "Extra Special Director's Cut with even MORE Special Effects Including Deleted Scenes" which took you into the dressing room of the acrobat who REALLY performed all the backflips for Darryl Hannah.

Now you can buy the 5 FREAKING DISC (yes the movie was long, but how in the world did it evolve into 5 DISCS?) set called the "Ultimate Edition" on Amazon for $55.00 (originally $79). Buy it? Do you sign your credit card slip with "Stupid"?

Poo on you!

On the seventh day of humbug, Santa left for me...

7 steaming bowls of stupid,
Hubby's buttocks blasting,
5 Chin hairs,
4 exploding Snapples,
3 open tubs of frosting,
2 dead pens,
and a lump of coal for under my tree

7 Days of Bah Humbug!

Ever get a song stuck in your head that won't let go?

That's what happened to me this weekend. The song "Little Boxes", by Malvina Reynolds is the theme song for the show Weeds, which airs on Showtime. We don't actually get Showtime, but we saw Season 1 and 2 on DVD this year and laughed our heinies off. It also has a kickin' soundtrack, which somebody is getting for Xmas.

Here is the song and credits:



Anyway, I got that song stuck in my head yesterday while I was wrapping presents and packing boxes to take to the post office.

Little boxes, on the hillside...

Since Sunday is football day, Hubby ensconced himself in the loft with his new love---Sunday Ticket----where he can watch a truckload of games. So from 11am to about 9pm, the only time I saw him is when he came down to forage like a bear 2 weeks away from hibernation.

I sat at the breakfast bar wrapping stuff and watched a parade of food go back upstairs with him. BBQ wings. Chips. Cheese dip. BBQ peanuts. Beer.

In the middle of the night I was dreaming that I was stretched out on a grassy hill watching Malvina Reynolds in concert and she was singing "Little Boxes" accompanied only by her guitar.

Little boxes, on the hillside...
Little boxes made of ticky tacky...

Suddenly I heard a da-da-d-d-d-d-d-da-pop-pop!

Somebody had joined her on the drums. Although they weren't exactly on beat. I craned my neck to see down to the stage.

Little boxes, on the hillside...
And they all look just the same...

A trombone section started in. Boy were they loud! And not terribly on key. I wished they'd stop. They were ruining the song!

Unexpectedly, I noticed a foul stench seeping up from the stage. People close up were retching and fainting from lack of oxygen. I sat up quickly to run away, but I couldn't get to my feet. I was stuck to the grass.

And then I woke up. I was sitting on the edge of my bed at 3:45am, gagging my head off.

Hubby was blissfully snoring away, ripping a BBQ peanut and beer fume-powered hole in the ozone layer the size of a Humvee. I hauled my butt out of the room as fast as I could, catching my pinky-toe on the door jamb on the way out.

AAAAIIIGGHGHHHHGHGHGH!!!

Mayhem ensued. But everybody got back to sleep at about 4:15. Except me.

Let me tell you, the couch is damned uncomfortable! Next Sunday, if Hubby even LOOKS at a beer or cheese or anything BBQ, that's where he'll be sleeping!

I've got the huzz just thinking about it!

On the sixth day of humbug, Santa left for me

Hubby's buttocks blasting,
5 chin hairs,
4 exploding Snapples,
3 opened cans of frosting,
2 dead pens
and a lump of coal for under my tree.

8 Days of Bah Humbug!

One great thing about being out of school is that we get to catch up on movie night and eat pizza (instead of studying like crazy or collapsing like zombies like we've done for the past month). Last night we watched Dreamgirls and then regrettably, The Reaping. I don't really recommend watching completely different genres in the same night.

Especially when you've been eating cheese.

I had a cheese dream about Eddie Murphy with pin curls being attacked by giant grasshoppers. Weird.

If I don't have anything to do with my hands while watching TV (like quilting or beading), I fidget. I pick at my cuticles. I twirl my hair. I rub my chin and try to pull out one of the two chin hairs I have growing on the left side with my fingernails if either one have had the audacity to grow back since the previous movie night.

Yank. Ow!

Did I get it?

Nope. Still there.

Yank. Ow!

And so on.

Yeah, this is what passes for entertainment at the Attila house!

So last night I picked and twirled and then finally rubbed my chin.

Hello.

It felt like I had a little piece of velcro stuck there!

I went in the bathroom and looked, which is a highly difficult maneuver requiring two mirrors (the spot is just UNDER my chin).

eek!

There were 5--count them 5--(ok it was more like 7 but this is my story and I'm sticking to 5 because it will fit in my song) little whiskers in a little patch sprouting out of my chin.

What the hell?

Did the two chin hairs I thought I had sprout double or triple hairs when I pulled 'em out? Or did I really have 7--er--I mean 5 all the time and I just thought it was the same two because I was yanking one out every week?

At this rate, I think I'm going to look like Kim Ayres in no time!

Gak!

On the fifth day of humbug, Santa left for me...

5 chin hairs,
4 exploding Snapples,
3 open tubs of frosting,
2 dead pens,
and a lump of coal for under my tree.

9 Days of Bah Humbug!

Well there was good news and bad news.

The other night I gave hubby a foot massage.

I guess that's a miracle in itself, because his feet scare me. They're pointy at the top, and his toes are so long and curled that they look like they have an extra toe-knuckle. Plus each toe is growing it's own little bush. ew.

But he's a wonderful guy, and he's been pretty stressed out since we opened a second office. I wanted to do something nice for him. So I bit the bullet and gave him a kick-ass foot rub.

Ok, I admit it. I was trying to score some extra "nice" points from Santa.

I woke up the next morning, and as I was messing around in the bathroom I noticed something bad. My wedding ring wasn't on my finger. I remembered taking it off before putting lotion on my hands so it wouldn't get all gunky. After that...nothing.

Went to retrieve it from the ottoman, but it wasn't there. Or on the floor under the ottoman. Or under the chair, or on the chair.

I spent 45 minutes hunting it down. Big Kid helped me. Did I put it in my pocket without a second thought? Did it fall out? Where did I go and what did I do after the foot massage? I re-traced all my steps. I tore the couch apart.

Oh crap. Did Little Guy see it and say, "hmmm, sparkly jewelry!" and take it to school to give to his girlfriend?

Finally I called Hubby just in case he had moved it and put it somewhere safe and forgot to tell me before he left for the office. My heart just sunk when he said he hadn't.

A very short time later he was at the house to help me look (guess the thought of replacing it scared HIM). He walked 5 feet into the room next to the Christmas tree, bent down and picked the damn thing up. I swear, Big Kid and I searched that area at least five times.

What is that saying----you can't see the forest for the trees? Guess our eyes missed it next to all that shiny paper!

So I don't get to put that incident in my song. Thank heavens.

On the other hand, I was looking for a drink, and asked Big Kid what happened to the case of Snapple we got at the grocery store the other day.

"I left it in the trunk of your car for Little Guy to bring in."

High altitude. Freezing temperatures. A warm day, then a refreeze. Rut row.

I got to spend the next 30 minutes cleaning Snapple chunks out of my trunk. But the box held, so I didn't have to pick any glass pieces out of the carpet.

LOL

What's your weekend look like?

On the ninth day of humbug, Santa left for me...

4 exploding Snapples,
3 opened cans of frosting,
2 dead pens,
and a lump of coal for under my tree.

10 Days of Bah Humbug!

I love to bake, although I'm not a natural baker. Unlike Rootie or Flamenco Mom, who make it sound (and look) so easy, I really have to work at making stuff look good.

So when my hubby asked me to make some things for the open house at the offices next week, I was game. Everything that doesn't look perfect will still taste good unless I burn it to cinders, and the guys will scarf 'em up. Plus I was roped into making a few dozen cupcakes for Little Guy's choir party this week.

I figured I could get my baking skills warmed up on those.

I'm one of those people who have to plan ahead, so I made sure I had a few boxes of cake mix and those tub thingys of frosting in the pantry. I bought them a couple of months ago, and like Velveeta, the expiration date is decades away. Not really. But sort of. Eggs? Check. Oil? Check.

Hubby was going to be away all day Sunday for the Bronco game, so I figured Sunday would be cupcake day.

Little Guy got out the big bowl and we set to work. 49 cupcakes baked, cooled and ready to frost. He got a tub of chocolate frosting off the lazy susan and opened it up.

"Urk!"

What?

He showed me. The foil that keeps everything nice and fresh was peeled back under the lid. About a third of the frosting had been scooped out of the tub.

What the....????!!!

I set it on the counter and got out another tub. I had a fairly good idea (I'll bet YOU do too) who the culprit was, but decided to deal with him later.

The next tub was vanilla cream cheese frosting. The foil was loose and I lifted it up. A couple of spoonfuls were missing.

Now I was getting REALLY pissed off. I took the third and last tub off the lazy susan. And yes, the foil was loose. There were actually FINGER MARKS in there from where the frosting had been scooped out.

My entire stash of frosting was ruined.

I hollered for the Big Kid to get his butt in the kitchen.

I wrote about Big Kid's late night forays into the pantry last spring.

Around that time, Big Kid scarfed up a pound of raisins I bought for a recipe in the dead of night. He had a massive panic attack when the undigested whole ones rehydrated and came out all gray and puffy in his poo the next day, because he thought a parasite or an alien was laying eggs in his digestive tract.

He finally said something after his third turd attack (they don't call it colon blow for nothing!) and I had to sift through his doody to get to the bottom of it. Pun not intended. ("No I am NOT GOING TO CALL THE X-FILES!! Aliens didn't lay eggs in your intestines! THERE AREN'T ANY X-FILES IN REAL LIFE, YOU DOOF!")

I showed him the frosting. Did you do this?

"Oh that. Yeah. But that was weeks ago." Like it doesn't count if I don't catch it in say---a week.

WTF were you thinking?

"I was hungry."

Why didn't you put it in the fridge after you opened it?

"Because then you'd know and you'd yell at me."

Why didn't you eat a whole one instead of opening a new one?

"It was different days. The opened ones were probably yucky. I might get sick."

::sigh::

On the third day of humbug, Santa left for me:

3 opened tubs of frosting,

2 dead pens,

and a lump of coal for under my tree

11 Days of Bah Humbug!

It's time to sit down and send out all the yearly Christmas Cards. Not only for friends and family, but for all of our business associates and clients.

Why not just run them off on the computer? Because when you own your own business in a small town, the personal touch just means so much. Truly.

Except I can't find a &^%$#!!! pen that works!

I buy ball point pens in black and blue by the bag. But whenever I need one, they've all disappeared. I've looked in the junk drawers (yes, we have more than one). Little Guy has a supply in his locker and in his backpack. Hubby swears he didn't take them to the office. Big Kid? Pick up a pen? Actually write something down? Hah!

He answers the phone, and then tells me 4 days later that the cable guy was going to come 3 days before between 1 and 5, when we weren't here.

We have this neat ceramic pen holder thingy that Little Guy made in art class a few years ago. Every time I clean and find pens, pencils, etc., I put them in there.

But when I actually NEED a pen, what do I find?

2 green pens that Big Kid accidentally bought at the campus bookstore, thinking that they were regular pens. A weird wood-shaped pen that doesn't work, but I can't bear to part with because we bought it as a souvenir the first time I met my birth-famiily in person and we all traveled up to Cheyenne, Wyoming for the rodeo. Several promotional pens that have NEVER worked but have also never found their rightful place in the garbage can. An unsharpened pencil that bears the name "Bubba's Big Balls" whose origins mystify all of us. And a bunch of little screw-drivers that we use to unlock various household doors when somehow they manage to lock by themselves.

I found 2 in my bookbag that I used in class, but both of them are completely dead. I tried to unclog them using a lighter, but only succeeded in melting the plastic holding the ball point in. Argh!

Dorky Dad once wrote a post about how his house is a pen magnet, but I swear mine is the opposite. Is there a black hole for working pens somewhere out there next to the black hole for single socks? One that's next to the black hole for nail clippers?

Maybe there's a portal in my house that beams them over to the woman above who has a monstrous ball point pen collection.

If that's true, then I wonder who in the hell got beamed all my missing tampons, because I can never find the one in my purse when I desperately need it!

So I'm off to town to buy more pens.

How's your day going?

On the second day of humbug, Santa left for me
Two dead pens
And a lump of coal for under my tree

-----------

Here's my latest on Disaboom if you have half a mind to go there. Or just half a mind. ;-)

12 Days of Bah Humbug!

I don't like to say unkind things about other people's children, but sometimes I can't help myself. First of all, I believe that all children are beautiful, despite the fact that every single one of 'em looks like Uncle Fester or Al Roker when they first come flying out of the hatch.

But I guess I expected all the gorgeous peeps---you know, supermodels and celebrities---to have equally as uber-beautiful children and am often surprised at how ordinary and often quite--uh--undernary their children turn out to be.

I was standing at the supermarket check-out the other day, looking at the rags and contemplating this when it suddenly hit me.

Those poor things must have inherited Mom and Dad's REAL noses and chins!

I know, I know, going straight to hell for that one!

On the first day of Humbug, Santa left for me....

A lump of coal under my tree.

Yippee Skippy!

The semester is finally over, and I got A's in my classes. Whew! I WOULD have spent the weekend recovering, but true to form, Big Kid had a few straggling assignments and I had to be vigilant and crack the whip to make sure he got them in before the cut-off date.

Why does he self-sabotage? Every semester it's the same. He does well until the last 2 weeks of class. Then he just refuses to do any more, and it's a daily battle. These last few assignments could make the difference in a whole grade, but he doesn't want to hear it.

But now we're both done, and he'll probably get his grades later in the week.

Yesterday there was a shooting at the church my Little Guy's girlfriend and her family attend. The reports have been unclear. Some say 2 dead, some say 4. They haven't released any names.

I didn't feel comfortable calling the family up (don't know them THAT well) to see if they were all ok. I'm not sure what the etiquette would be in that situation. "Hello? Glad it wasn't you?" Point is, somebody's dead and no doubt the family would be grieving either way. I don't want to bust in and be all National Enquirery. So I just kept the Little Guy away from TV reports and I'll call his teacher this morning.

I know I've been a horrible blog friend, but now I've got some time to visit and see what you've been up to. I can't wait!

ATM

From the Department of "You've Got Waaaaay Too Much Time on Your Hands"...

Time. Just doesn't seem like I've had nearly enough of it lately. Between my job(s), my kids, school and getting ready for the upcoming holiday season, the days have been flying by.

Thankfully, I have only ONE MORE exam left and I am done, done DONE for the semester! I can't tell you how much I've appreciated your continued good wishes. I've been a bad blog friend, but it's just because I've been so darn tired. I'm sorry. :-(

With time being fleeting, I read an article the other day that I just haven't been able to get out of my head.

Remember Leona Helmsley, the "Queen of Mean"? A few months ago when she passed away, she left her dog 12 million dollars, while cutting out a couple of her grandchildren for personal reasons.

Suffice it to say, bizarre as her will was, I fully believe that she had every right to do whatever she wanted with her money. She allegedly left 6 to 12 BILLION dollars to a charitable trust, and after the doggie dies, whatever is left will go into the trust. On that scale, 12 million is peanuts.

What I find incredibly weird is that as of now, the dog has received 20 to 30 kidnapping and death threats.

WTF?

First of all, do these imbeciles imagine the dog can read? Doh!

Secondly, do they think the dog would care? If it's like most dogs, I imagine all this pup cares about is what bed in the mansion it can sleep in and what's for dinner. Or maybe whose ankle it can bite next since it's too little to be sniffing crotches.

And what would the letter-writer gain by killing a poor little doggie? Do they think that the 12 mil will automatically show up in their bank account if they successfully commit poochicide? Or do they just walk around being hateful all the time?

I think that a person who has enough time to stew about some stranger leaving her dog a fortune for care and upkeep, and then actually sits down to put a pen to paper to vent about it has WAY TOO MUCH DAMN TIME ON THEIR HANDS!

...or needs a vacation in a nice soft hotel room with a sportscoat that ties in the back. Seriously.

Oh, by the way, the above picture is of a generic Maltese dog in disguise. Never let it be said that I provided an identifying picture for someone who doesn't wish the dog well.

You nucking futs.