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.

Off Our Back Deck...

Sometimes words are completely inadequate.

Hope you're having a great week!

ATM

Bad Idea #125---Gettin' Your Coyote Ugly On...

This being the holiday season, I thought a cautionary tale about the effects of drinking too much demon eggnog might be in order.

Ever hear the term "Coyote Ugly"? Not the forgettable movie, but the term. It comes from the idea that a coyote stuck in a trap will chew it's own paw off to escape. In the same vein, it's a description of the "morning after" when you wake up next to the [koff] babe you picked up at the bar the night before.

You're so horrified that you'd rather chew your own arm off to get away than wake him/her up.

Bad, bad eggnog!

So this guy (who wasn't named in the article) in Winnepeg was so drunk that he broke into a couple of garages and rooted through some stuff. A concerned homeowner called the police, who eventually found the guy passed out in somebody's boat, with his Coyote Ugly by his side.

Except that his date wasn't alive.

It wasn't even human.

It was a stuffed dog.

"He was lying there with his genitalia exposed next to the stuffed dog," said Crown attorney John Peden. "While the police report doesn't describe it this way, the dog might be appropriately characterized as now being anatomically correct, as opposed to its condition before he removed it."

Gak!

Ok, I have to admit, I laughed hysterically when I read that.

The guy's defense attorney explained:

"All (his offences) involve being drunk, usually drunk as a skunk."

The authorities actually had to take a DNA sample in their investigation of the plush po-po perp.

Yes, I can't help myself. I'm still laughing hysterically.

Of course the article quoted a psychologist who talked about stuffed animal fetishes, which made this seem ever so creepy. I found it when I was looking for a picture of a stuffed dog.

So let that be a lesson to you!

If the Elmo you bought your kid for Christmas starts looking like a Tickle Me George Clooney...

Put the eggnog down!


Here's my latest on Disaboom, if you feel like dropping by!

Happy Turkey Day!

I know you've probably gotten this in email, like I did, but I still wanted to put it up! Hope you have a wonderful day, and don't burn that bird!

Yum!

Quit Yer Bitchin'!

Sorry I haven't been around lately---between the Big Kid and I, we had 9 papers and 3 exams due this week. I'm not going to whine about it---ok, maybe just a little bit. Yesterday I felt like my eyeballs were staring at the inside of my skull.

But whew! It's done. There's only about 3 weeks left of school, and the last big hurdle will be finals. I can't even complain about Ms. Bigmouth that much. The professor realized a couple of classes ago that we weren't even half-way through our objectives and has been hurtling through the material. When she tries to stick her 27 cents in, he shuts her down pretty effectively. She's been reduced to trying to correct his Latin two or three times a class. Ex-partay, anyone?

So while I've been feeling like a big crybaby, an article caught my eye this week.

It's from The People's Republic of Boulder. If you aren't from Colorado, that reference will probably fly over your head, unless you watch South Park. No, it's not the one about gay cowboys eating pudding. ;-)

Anyway, the Boulder Valley school district has decided that starting in 2010, there will be no more high school valedictorians. There were too many complaints from the non-winners (or I suspect, their parents). They've decided that recognizing high achievement (like class rankings) fosters "unhealthy competition".

Ok, fer pete's sakes, "unhealthy competition" is Tegwin, Zaq, and Hunter pulling their pants down and competing to see who can light the biggest fart. And filming their heinie explosions to send to Jackass.

"Unhealthy competition" is Madyson, Irelynd, and Dilyn keeping a book to have a record in a contest of "who can blow the most players on the football team" (this actually happened in our little burg several years ago).

How are our kids going to learn to compete in a global society if Mumsy and Daddy insist that "everybody" has to be the winner? And what's the point of buckling down and doing well if your hard work is going to be unrecognized?

Sheesh.

How I Feel About Football Season

Film + Faith--Oh God!

I was supposed to participate in RC's Film + Faith blogathon earlier this week, but my back wasn't cooperating and I didn't get to post in time.

He's graciously allowed me to submit it late!

First and foremost, I have to confess that I have a real problem with organized religion. I don't have a problem with other's participation, I'm not going to advise or advocate one over another or insist on none. It's just my own journey, as I think it should be for us all.

When I was a kid, we were originally members of the Lutheran Church, Missouri Synod. Quite a bit of fire and brimstone there, and I thought God was a very very scary old geezer who was going to send me straight to hell for wishing my older brother would eat a bug in his sleep and choke on it. In my mind, He wasn't accessible to me. I couldn't relate to Him as someone I could confide in, confess to, ask forgiveness from, or thank for my blessings. He knew all my secret bad thoughts and would "get me" in the end.

Although we were members of the Lutheran Church, my mom was pretty broadminded in our religious instruction. She thought it was fabulous that my Jewish kindergarten teacher taught us about Hanukkah, the dreidal and the song "Hava Nagila" (oddly enough, this came in handy years ago when karaoke was in its infancy---I was a DJ in a number of clubs in the city---that's how I met my current husband--and a middle-aged woman with her elderly mother had scoured the area to find a show that not only had the song on it's playlist, but someone who'd sing it with the mother. So they'd visit this rather seedy little club twice a month, drink a club soda, and we'd do a duet! ;-))

But yes, I'm digressing. Nowadays, if a kindergarten teacher in a public school did this, there would be indignant screaming all around!

Mom also sent us to different churches for summer day Bible Camp as well. Maybe she was looking for a break (which I get), but also I think she understood that the Bible Camp in our church was pretty damn grim. My favorite was the Baptist camp. Their message included uplifting music that just made my heart sing! Over the years we went to Catholic Bible school, Presbyterian Bible school---a huge variety of faiths.

When I was 10, the movie Oh God! came out. What a revelation! Instead of scary Santa, George Burns was God! It made me start thinking.

Jerry Landers (played by John Denver) says: But I don't even go to any church!

and God (played by George Burns) says: Neither do I!

Huh? What a concept!

My mom was active in our Church. Our minister would tell her over and over again, "Hope (not her real name, but she has one that is equally as religiously appropriate), I don't know what we'd do without you! You have a true calling to our faith!"

When my dad ran off with one of his employees (I loved him to death---he was a great dad, but a total shit as a husband) after 24 years of marriage around 1978, Mom found herself at odds at the age of 46. She had a graduate degree (worked as a teacher while putting my dad through college to his doctorate), and felt she had a calling and asked our pastor to mentor her.

He completely slapped her in the face. "We hardly allow women to become pastors", he sneered. "What makes you think we would allow DIVORCED women to do so?" Like it was HER fault my dad was a dog and couldn't keep his dick in his pants.

Big first blatant strike against organized religion for me.

But my mom was a champ.

She basically said "f*ck you" and got her Masters in Divinity as a United Methodist minister instead.

The odds were against her. Out of her graduating class, there were very few posts available, and not many churches were willing to accept a 40+ divorced woman as their first choice. She ended up as an interdenominational protestant circuit preacher in a small farming town. She'd drive 100 miles every Sunday to do three services in three towns. One of the services she held was in the basement of a hall, and the entire congregation consisted of one family, 6 members in all, who'd be there every week.

I went and lived with her my junior year in high school (my brothers and I had moved in with my dad to stay with the school system we'd grown up with when she was posted). I was appalled at the small-town patriarchal system that was ingrained in the citizenry itself. There was a new power facility being built (a 2-3 year endeavor), which brought a large number of new people from all over to the area. Mom was new, and actively worked to help these people feel like they could find a home in our church, and tried to make it truly interdenominational. She was pretty successful (increased the membership by about 40%).

The old folks didn't like it and tried to have her fired. They wrote letters to her bishop. They held secret meetings just for this purpose. They didn't approve of having a "woman" minister. They didn't approve of the improvements or changes she was implementing. Their efforts didn't work, but it hurt her terribly. She'd come home and cry. The politics disguised as "faith-based" can be loathsome when spewed by supposedly-Christian people.

It was another strike for me against organized religion. Although it hurt my mom a lot, I volunteered to work at my job at the local bakery on Sundays. I couldn't bear the hypocrisy of being pleasant to these people who were nice to my Mom's face on the Sabbath but were scheming behind her back. I simply couldn't "turn the other cheek". I wanted to punch them in their sanctimonious mouths, and had to remove myself.

Essentially, this ended my tolerance for the behind-the-scenes political bullshit that happens in church that can only be realized if you've actually been there, done that. Over the years, we've attended a few different parishes, but at the slightest whiff of anyone approaching us with the "us against some other faction of members" I've yanked us out, lock, stock and barrel. It might not be really fair to the kids, and I've had some guilty feelings over it.

So it comes back to Oh God! and how the message affected me as a person and a Christian.

Do I have to confess my sins to a priest, or wear magical underpanties, or speak in tongues to reach the stairway to heaven? All of that foolishness is a result of organized religion, in my opinion. I don't do any of those things, and no, I don't think that George Burns is God, but it helped me clarify a lot of things in my mind and in my heart.

I don't have a problem with an atheist message, or an agnostic one either. To each his own. I can profess my faith without pushing it on others.

Bottom line, Oh God! helped God be accessible to me. Instead of being a formidable and punishing presence, I can think of Him as being benign and loving. I can pour my heart out when I talk to Him---articulate my fears and follies, thank Him for every blessing in my life, ask Him to watch over soldiers and people who've had tragedies and my children, etc.

"I know how hard it is in these times to have faith. But maybe if you could have the faith to start there, maybe the times would change. You could change them. Think about it. Try. And try not to hurt each other. There's been enough of that. It really gets in the way. I'm a God of very few words and Jerry's already given you mine. However hopeless, helpless, mixed up and scary it all gets, it can work.

If you find it hard to believe in me, maybe it would help you to know that I believe in you."

For me, that's it in a nutshell.

As a postscript....after 6 years in that small town, over the years, my mom went on to be posted as a minister in several other small parishes (she wanted to live closer to her children)---none of which had ever had a woman minister. After she moved on, they all specifically requested a woman to replace her, which really made her a pioneer. She retired at the age of 70 a few years ago.

I'm so very very proud of her. She's such an admirable woman.

Gah!

I did it again, although I'm not sure how.

Threw my lower back out, that is. Why does it always seem to happen in the same spot?

Anyway, it's been excrutiating to sit for even short periods, so I've been AWOL. Will be back in a couple.

In the meantime, I was supposed to participate in RC's blogathon---Film + Faith. I had a half-finished post about how the movie "Oh God!"---which I watched as a kid---really changed my perception about how I viewed my faith. George Burns as God.

If you have a moment, drop by and read the entries. Really interesting stuff!

Life's a Stage

Is this guy for real? Does he regularly eat big steaming bowls of stupid for breakfast?

That's what I've been asking myself for the last day after reading about the verdict in the Vincent "Don Vito" Margera trial.

On Wednesday, Margera, 51, whose claim to fame is from the MTV show Viva La Bam (about his nephew Bam Margera) was found guilty of groping two underage girls (12 and 14 years old---and not the women pictured) at an autograph signing at a Colorado skate park.

"Big Boob," he said to the 12-year-old.

His attorney claimed that, "her client may have been obnoxious and vulgar but said he was acting according to the character that his fans loved and expected to see."

Oookay. I don't know on what planet I'd "love and expect" to see a slovenly old creep grab little girl titties, but maybe that's just me.

He's also charged with 12 counts in breaking conditions of his bail, which will be heard in court in December. 12 counts? Wonder what he did? Offer a 10-year old a bite of his salami sandwich?

After the verdicts were read, Margera threw himself on the floor and flailed around, knocking down his attorney in the process.

"Jesus! I can't spend the rest of my f------ life in jail! Just f------ kill me now!"

"I can't stand up! My legs! My legs! I can't move," he yelled as deputies tried to calm and subdue him.

"I didn't f------ do nothing. You can rot in f------ hell!"

"I can't move. I can't move," he shouted as deputies surrounded him and the astonished jury looked on.

"I can't get up!" Margera said. "My legs are broke! Help me. Help me!"

It took four deputies to carry him out of the courtroom. All the evidence that was left of the scuffle was a lonely little Hershey bar on the floor.

At the initial incident:

"When two female police officers arrived at the mall parking lot to arrest him, Margera called them "psycho lesbian b------" and thought he was being "punked."

During the arrest, Margera claimed his arm had been broken, prompting a visit to an emergency room. He was cleared and taken back to the police station, only to be returned to the emergency room when he complained he couldn't breathe and was having a heart attack."

I've never seen the TV show that he was on---in fact my original interest was piqued when the incident occurred simply because it happened in the neighborhood where I grew up---but it makes a person wonder.

Is that guy so clueless and histrionic in real life? Was the whole incident a part of his "schtick"? In a world where 4-year-olds get suspended from school for kissing other 4-year-olds, did he think that it was ok for his "character" to grab the breasts, butts and thighs of young girls?

Stupid or creepy, take your pick, I guess. His family must be so proud.

Sheesh!

I Want the Powah!!

I read a strange story last week entitled "Woman Accused of Genital Theft".

Say what?

A middle-aged Nigerian man was accusing his former lover of "stealing his genitals." Apparently the two---this part is kind of unclear---had sex together for 29 days before he traveled home to visit his family.

"But instead of enjoying his stay with his family, Ulame said he started having problems with his organ. He noticed that he could not have an erection."

"He consulted a lot of pastors to help him out of the predicament. After that failed, he started searching for orthodox and traditional medicines but there was no solution to what he described as his shrunken manhood."

If I was a dood, I'd try a urologist before going to my pastor, but hey, that's just me.

He called his girlfriend, who advised him that she thought it was probably stress, and that he should try to relax.

Sounds pretty reasonable, doesn't it? But no---you know how they are. Doods.

Ulame went to an herbalist, who told him that his girlfriend had stolen his johnson with a mirror. Yeah, silly man. That's the first thing I'd have thought of!

Sheesh!

He and some friends decided to beat her up to get his genitals back. What did he think she was doing with them? Toting them around in her handbag?

Then a lot of other weird stuff happened.

The article didn't say if he ever actually retrieved his genitals though.

You know me, the story kind of got stuck in my head and wouldn't let go. I had midterms this last week and have been studying like crazy, along with a lot of other obligations that pooped me out. But through it all, this just stayed in the back of my mind.

First of all, in my opinion, if they really had sex 29 times in 29 days before his visit with his family, Ulame's middle-aged pecker probably revolted and went limp out of sheer exhaustion.

Second of all, next to the Crotch of Steel, I thought this would be a really neat superpower to have.

I was in the grocery store the other day, and some guy was ripping his girlfriend/wife up one side and down the other in public. If I had the power, I'd have zapped him a good one when he got to the second "stupid bitch".

Zap! Weenie-be-gone! Who's the bitch now, Big Boy?

The next person on my list would probably be Bill Clinton. I am so damn sick and tired of hearing about his pecker. Recently there was an article where Hilary confessed that Bill is turned on by dental work. Who the f*ck cares? All that makes me wonder is if there is anything that DOESN'T turn him on.

I'd give Bill the old zapparoo at least until the elections are over. Then he'd stay out of trouble. Besides, Hilary has a big enough set for the both of them.

The next on my list would be Denver Broncos' running back Travis Henry. At age 28, Henry has 9 children with 9 different woman, and even with a 22.5 million dollar contract and a hefty signing bonus, he has trouble managing to make his child-support payments. Flashy cars and jewelry have the priority. Oh, and smoking dope. Since he has trouble tying a knot in it----zap! No more for you! Have a cold shower instead.

This old fart down at the hardware store annoys the hell out of me. The next time he sneeringly calls me "Little Lady" (I top him by about 7 inches and outweigh him by a good 60 pounds), I'll give him a good zap.

Then again, that's pretty mean. See how power can be abused? I'm running amok just thinking about it!

Maybe next time I'll just call him "Little Man" in response and see how THAT grabs him!



Here's my latest on Disaboom, if you have a mind to check it out.

Hope you're having a great weekend!

Sometimes You Just Gotta Say....

You know, sometimes you really gotta say it, even if it's just for yourself.

Last week Hubby went back east to spend some time with his mom. Luckily, he didn't schedule construction projects to be done on the house while he was gone (like he's done in the past), so I didn't have to deal with weird things like walking past the kitchen window and viewing acres of ass-crack.

But true to form, the Baddogs were at it again, this time I think protesting the absence of their mollycoddling Daddy. Charlie, the mutant 13-pound yorkie got her face and body into some kind of plant that disperses seeds in nasty little spikes. Her entire face and front end looked like a hedgehog's butt. Pulling those hitchhikers out were as unpleasant for her as they were for us, because, dammit, those things are sharp! Big Kid, Little Guy and I had to take turns holding her (two of us at a time), calming her, while the other ripped those suckers out. With hair.

You know, I can deal with a lot of things. Blood, yeah, kinda, as long as it's liquid and not in clotted chunks. Poop, well heck---I changed diapers for almost 8 straight years between the two kids, so I can deal with doody.

Snot that comes out of a face bigger than a 2-year-old's?---nope.

Puke---well forget that too. Nada. Not touching it. My guys aren't little toddlers. If they can't make it to the toilet, then the puker can be the cleaner-upper. I mean, they're already sick. Why make ME sick while cleaning up THEIR barf?

If the puker happens to be one of the big dogs, well then, that's Daddy's job. They're HIS dogs. I'll clean up after MY little dog, and it helps that she's only 3 pounds. Her puke spans like a tablespoon. ;-)

So when the Noodle (the big dog I showed you a few weeks ago with the anti-skunkinizer crapball over her) came in the second night after Daddy went out of town, and puked in her crate, well it was a double dilemma.

She actually puked whole turds. Yep, that's right. Apparently she followed the little dogs around and gobbled up a hot snack without chewing. I can deal with turds. But puke-turds? Geezus.

Hubby owes me BIG TIME. And I will collect. With interest.

I told you guys about a 3-hour law class I have where it's all lecture. 3 tests, 1 research project for the entire semester, no notes allowed during the exams, etc. The teacher digresses a lot, so it's hard to tell exactly what notes should be taken. You will only do as well as the notes you take and selectively memorize. I also complained about a fellow student (who I called Ms. Bigmouth) who just won't shut up and annoys the hell out of me.

I know way more about her now than I know about my next door neighbors, and I'm not kidding. She has to insert her personal dramas into everything that has nothing to do with this class.

[ok, I'm snipping this part here. On reflection, I was a bit more mean-spirited than I should have been].

Judge Judy is the boss, Applesauce. Ms. Bigmouth has some "friend" that quotes her things, except either her "friend" is a complete dumbass or she can't exactly remember what the "friend" said. Doesn't stop her from quoting said "friend" though. Very frequently.

"The wheels of truth grind slowly but they grind very small." Hmph. If you're pompous enough to quote Chaucer, you should at least get it partially right.

And isn't it pretentious of me to point out that the original quote is from Chaucer? snerk. ;-)

Since Hubby was gone last week, I skipped this class simply because I didn't have anyone to leave Little Guy with (Big Kid was out of the question) and I didn't feel comfortable letting him stay in the student lounge. The class is at night, there is minimal security and students, he's just too friendly and too many bad things could happen. I had a classmate tape the class for me on my recorder.

So I'm sitting at the breakfast bar with the headphones on and transcribing my notes, when I realize that my buddy who recorded the class sat right next to "Ms. Bigmouth". Oy. I thought it was bad enough sitting a row or two behind her. Now I got to hear every adoring sigh and indignant grunt up close and personal.

Thank God she didn't rip ass, or I would have heard it in stereo.

There was a note on the envelope from the recording classmate that said that my recorder was "full" and missed the last 30 minutes of the class.

As I'm listening, I learn in detail that Ms. Bigmouth's [more snippage of unneccesary meanness on my part]

Then later I get to hear a 10-minute exchange where she confuses "due process" with "a right to a speedy trial" and she and the professor (who is trying to correct her misconceptions and doesn't quite know what the hell she is getting at because he doesn't live his life watching Law & Order reruns) go back and forth because what she really means with her blabber about "due process" is really a defendant's right to "a speedy trial", and he's saying that everyone deserves "due process" and he's heard of civil trials that have lasted over 15 years, and she keeps bleating, "isn't that unconstitutional?"

Of course, I got what she was meaning to say within the first minute or two of the exchange. I watch Law & Order too, but I guess I understand it better. I bet other students who were actually in the room did too, but didn't step in.

At this point, bent over my notes and wearing my headphones,(thinking I'm alone) I shout, "Why don't you just shut the f*ck up already???? I'm so sick and tired of listening to your crap!"

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up and it's Big Kid, and I push down the headphones. He looks scared.

"Mom, I'm sorry! I just asked if I could have a soda!"

Gak!

Ok, I have to say this, because it's like the ultimate in irony.

In class a couple of days ago, we got our first test results back, and we were going over the answers with the professor. I sweated over this in a HUGE way, but I did well, which was a big relief.

A student who has only actually been in the class maybe 4 times out of the last 8 came in, and the professor asked her if she took the test so that he could hand it back to her. She said no, didn't he get her phone call saying she couldn't make it? So he gave her the test and told her she could take it outside. We got through the class and were let out pretty early, and as we all walked out, we saw that the late-test student was taking the test with all the books and hand-outs spread out around her as she was looking up the answers.

On one hand, you will totally get that every single freaking thing Ms. Bigmouth has wasted class time over blabbering about her personal crap has nothing to do with the class topic, when I tell you it's "legal ethics". On the other, a bunch of us students got together at the stairwell and said, "OMG! Did you see that the test-taker was using the book and handouts?"

So since the class is in "legal ethics" should we report her? I mean, none of US got to use our notes or references, and it was a pretty freaking hard test. Then again, should we show solidarity to a fellow student? Maybe she had good reasons for all of her absences.

On a final note, we had the Grand Opening of our new office today. There was a huge turn-out, which was really nice. I mentioned that we bought a building in another mountain town a couple of months ago, and this has been taking up a big part of my time in the last couple of months with the renovation and other details.

I'll post some before and after pics soon.

I promise that I'm working on catching up with all of you! I'll get there at some point!

xoxo