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

I Love the Smell of Smackdown in the Morning...

Well, no, not really.

Little Guy has a few obsessive peeves that just drive him into the stratosphere. One of them is the term "stop". There is no rhyme or reason to it, it just is---like the fact that he is scared to death of bare feet, even his own. Yeah, I know that's weird, but I recently read an article that the actor Will Smith (Independence Day, Ali, etc) has a bit of a bare foot phobia too, so at least he's in good company.

You can say "quit it", "don't do that", or "please refrain from..." and he'll---uh---stop whatever it is he's doing without a qualm. For some reason, the word "stop" really freaks him out.

If he hears it in passing, or even on the TV, it will sometimes send him into a frenzy of indignant questions.

"Are moms allowed to say stop? What about strangers? Would you hate me if I said stop? Would my teachers get mad at me? Are teachers allowed to say stop? Can I tell them not to say it? Would they hate me? Would you still love me? Why are those people saying stop on TV? Are they bad people? Are they mean people? Are they like Miss Trunchbowl (in the movie Matilda)? Why are they saying stop?"

Although Big Kid is doing really well right now (no aliens laying eggs in his digestive tract, no butt tumors, no rage attacks in his underwear out on the front lawn), he is still Big Kid. As I've said before, there IS no pill to treat "asshole". He likes tweaking on his little brother, just for the joy of being a bonehead.

What Big Kid doesn't seem comprehend yet is that his "little" brother is now as tall as he is (and still growing), and is a pretty freaking fit muscular dude. The "picker on-er" is now finding out the hard way that his former "pickeree" is able to kick his butt from here to next Friday if he has a mind to.

You'd think that he'd get the idea that it's not too smart to mess with the Little Guy.

But no. If you've read my blog for the last year or so, you know the history. If not, just trust me. Big Kid is like the Energizer Bunny. He doesn't learn from his mistakes. But he keeps going, and going and going.

I can lay out this scenario with my eyes shut and both hands tied behind my back because it happens at least twice a week.

Little Guy is such a huge Golden Girls fan that he often relays stories to us from school in the way the character Sophia Petrillo did. So here goes:

Picture this:

5:45 a.m. on a school morning in the kitchen of our home in the mountains. I'm stumbling around, trying to make high octane coffee.

Little Guy gets up, makes his bed, goes to the bathroom to wash, brush his hair and teeth, gets dressed, puts his backpack by the front door, puts his shoes on (he has a routine), puts his lunch money in his pocket, makes his breakfast and sits down to eat it at the breakfast bar.

I'm still waiting for my coffee to come out of this really crappy coffee maker I bought last year when my trusty Mr. Coffee (18 years old) finally pooped out and died. So at this point, I'm either in the bathroom or outside sneaking a cigarette.

Big Kid senses movement on his planet and gets up. Due to some of his meds, and his refusal to even TRY to get on a regular sleep schedule (he takes 2 naps during the day, so he's up and down during the night---and although we're trying to fix this---we're just grateful that he isn't breaking things and spitting on us), he has to join in.

He sits down next to Little Guy and the games begin.

"Whatcha eating?" he asks in a friendly voice.

Toast and yogurt.
"Is it good?"

Uhhuh.

"Can I have some?"

Go make your own.
"Can't I have just a bite?" Big Kid wheedles.

No!
"How about if I just take some?" He reaches for Little Guy's plate.

Leave. Me. Alone!
"Mom, Little Guy is making faces at me!"

"Stop antagonizing him", I warn. "Let him eat his breakfast in peace."

"I'm not doing anything! I can sit here if I want! He's making faces!"

"So don't look at him. I mean it. This will not end well."

"I can't help looking at him. He's making faces at me. Tell him to (uh oh---here's the word) STOP!"

Little Guy grinds his teeth.

"Cut it out, Big Kid. That's enough!"

"I'm not doing anything! I just told him to (here it comes again) STOP!"

"If you don't like it, get up and leave. There's no reason for you to be there, and Little Guy has to finish his breakfast and catch the bus!"

I turn my back on them to refill my coffee, and I can hear Big Kid chanting to Little Guy under his breath. "Stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it."

I close my eyes because I know what's coming. Five...four...three...two....WHAM!!!!

"AIIIIGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! AAAIIIGHGHGHGHHGHGHH!!!!!!!!!"

I turn around.

Little Guy is placidly finishing his breakfast, not a hair out of place.

Big Kid has been knocked out of his chair and is laying on the floor holding his arm and screaming like a girl.

Smackdown!!

You'd think after getting his butt whooped twice a week he'd get the point sometime, wouldn't you?

:::sigh:::

P.S. I absolute don't advocate violence in any way, shape or form. Little Guy has never hit, pushed, pinched or kicked any other person except his brother and only in situations like these.

We talk about alternatives and how hitting is unacceptable, but Big Kid refuses to acknowledge that to a person who has autism words can have the physical effect of blows. Chanting "stop" over and over is akin to striking his little brother in his brother's mind.
To hear Big Kid tell it, he's an innocent victim who was minding his own business. At these times I seriously contemplate giving him a bunny-slipper enema myself. A hard one.

Pimpin' With the Dogg

I know I've been remiss in following up with my promise to pimp the "Stank for Skanks", but damn, when it rains, it pours!

I did write a post on Disaboom yesterday which kind of explains my absence this week, if you're of the mind to wander over there.

But here are my picks for the Stanks for Skanks awards!

All of you here are my winners!

Send me your email addy if you have an Amazon account, and I'll send you a gift certificate!

Mind you, if you're international and don't/can't order stuff from Amazon, there isn't a lot I can do about it. ;-)

Lola Magnolia came up with "Glamorous" by Baby Jane.

Golf Widow thinks Paris Hilton should have a new fragrance called Jailbird (Shower yourself in springtime ... but don't drop the soap!)

Fatman is spot on with "Lilliputian by Tom Cruise"!!

Beth got snarky with "Twin Peaks by Pamela Anderson"! Heehee.

Miss Litzi hit the nail on the head with "Rage by O.J. Simpson".

I can't stop laughing over "Monosyllabic by Ashton Kutcher". Way to go, Nightmare!
And how apropos. Mary came up with "Hydrant by Michael Vick".

Balqiz came up with "Et tu, Matt? by Ben Affleck." snerk!

And the lovely Brenda echos my sentiments with "Gin-ho by Britney Spears"!

Ye olde perviness Charlie focused on another faux pas by Paris with "The Wind Beneath My Lips". Gak! My eyes!

I have to say that Skywriter had me dying with laughter over "Still Tabu by R. Kelly"! I love it!

Thanks for playing, all. You're the best!

Victims of Circus-pants

or

Big Kid and Attila's Excellent Adventure

Last year, when Big Kid did really well on an exam, he asked me to buy him a pair of Tripp pants. Knowing how he was struggling, and wanting to encourage him to keep up the good work, I did, much to the dismay of my husband and of his father.

He took them when he went to visit his dad last summer, and the first time he wore them his dad called me up and said, "WTF are those?"

Yes, they are butt-ugly and scary to boot. I call them his "clown pants", because they are red. Hubby refuses to go anywhere with him when he wears them, so for the most part, the kid usually only wears them when he goes to concerts.

He's worked hard this semester so far (I just LOVE those new meds!), so that when an industrial/heavy metal band he adores was coming to town, I supposed we could work up a road trip to the big city. He'd sent an email to the lead singer on MySpace once, and the musician was gracious enough to respond.

In one class, all he has are exams and discussions. He got a 92 on his first exam, an 88 on his second, and 100% on all his discussions.

These have been the grades in his other class so far:

Assignment 1:
18 (out of 20)
Assignment 2:
28 (out of 30)
Assignment 3:
29 (out of 30)
The jelly sandwich was a nice touch. Indicate measurements to body and evidence.
Assignment 4:
39 (out of 40)
Assignment 5:
30 (out of 30)
Assignment 6:
38 (out of 40)
Assignment 7:
40 (out of 40)

He had to document and sketch a crime scene on Assignment 3. He used Hubby as the body and a remote control and a jelly sandwich as clues. ;-)

This time, instead of taking his trusty Uncle to the concert, he wanted to take a girl he'd been talking to. This presented some logistical problems.

1). We were planning on staying in a hotel, so we'd have to figure out sleeping arrangements, and

2). I really didn't like this girl very much. In my opinion, she was another one of those evil genies who toy with their suitors to see how far they can go in the "make them do stupid stuff" department while laughing their asses off with their friends.

He asked, she said yes, but I wondered how many days before the concert she'd ditch him, leaving him with no one to go with. With all the crap he struggles with, it would be nice if he could catch a break socially.

The biggest difficulty getting over was the venue. It was in a very very bad part of town. And the newscaster was predicting snow.

Although the city has been "Urban Renewaling" the area, and the venue was part of it, they haven't reached the surrounding areas yet, which you have to drive through to get there. I figured I could get them there when the doors opened, it would still be light, and they could call a cab from the vestibule when it was over to get back to the hotel.

The Big Kid was totally psyched. Me--not so much--because after last week, I was just counting all the things that could go wrong.

Sure enough, two days before the concert "the girl" stopped taking Big Kid's calls. He was totally stressing out, caught between the need to ask someone else (there was NO WAY I was going to allow him to go by himself), and the hope that at some point she'd call back and was still planning on going. He called his Uncle as a back-up, but unfortunately, my brother had to work.

The night before the concert, he hooked up with one of his buddies from military school who lives in the big city. Whew.

Unfortunately at the last minute, the blogging friend I was planning on getting together with became ill, so we didn't get to hook up. But we have each other's numbers now and have had a couple of really fabulous conversations, so it's just a matter of time!

The drive to the city was beautiful and clear. Big Kid was wearing his red clown pants with a black t-shirt. His friend walked out of his building wearing an identical pair of black clown pants and a black and red t-shirt. I did a double-take.

"We planned this!" my son laughed.

Are you serious? I asked. Doods do this? Coordinate outfits like girls?

We checked into the hotel, and the two of them went in the bathroom to "do" each other's hair into spikes. I'm serious!

They had the door open, so I heard some of the conversation. Took me back to my girlhood. snerk.

"I'm glad you're spiking my hair. My mom used to help me, but I don't think she knows how to do it the right way."

"Eyeliner? No, I don't have any. Ask my mom. She might have some in her purse."

I'm going to blog about this! I bellowed at them.

Then I discovered something ugly. WE FORGOT THE KID'S MEDS. eek

Turns out Big Kid's friend also has ADHD, but is unmedicated. Lovely. Two butterfly chasers out on the town in the big city in clown pants. I wrote down double addresses to the hotel, the venue, the phone numbers of cab company, hotel and my cell for them both to keep in their pockets when it came time to call the cab. And I had two stacks of cash.

I wrapped one stack in the paper with the numbers and gave it to Big Kid.

This is your cab fare. DO NOT SPEND THIS, and put it in a separate pocket.

"Check."

I gave Big Kid the other stack.

This is your spending money to get a t-shirt, or a cd and some drinks. DO NOT PUT THIS in the same pocket with your cab fare.

"Check."

Here is a cell phone. Call me as soon as you call the cab so I know you're on your way.

"Check. Look! A butterfly!"

Got your ID's?

"Check."

DO NOT GET SEPERATED. Do NOT go wandering off in the neighborhood. Got it?

"Check."

They unclipped all the chains from their pants so they could get into the concert, and off we went.

Only got a LITTLE lost on the way, and yes, it was dark and a bit scary. I dropped them off at the door and got about a few miles away when the phone rang.

"Mom! We're not on the 'Will Call' list!"

Dammit. I hate that "will call" thing (where you buy tickets over the phone with a credit card and they put them on a list at the door). There was no way I was going back and try to find parking to sort it out.

Use some of your cab money to get tickets at the door. CALL ME right before you get to the hotel so I can meet you at the front to pay the driver the rest of the money.

I stopped and picked up dinner at Arby's (they ate earlier) with some extras to keep in the suite fridge for after the show. Then I spent a nice quiet evening---no kids, no dogs, no phone calls---with a boatload of Snapple and a great book.

I drifted off in the middle of Saturday Night Live, and had a weird dream about camping in a rainstorm. Woke up with a wet face (guess I forgot to close my mouth when I fell asleep) and looked at the clock.

1:10 a.m. Holy crap! Where the heck were they?

I called the cell. No answer. Waited 10 more minutes and tried again. No answer. I started to panic a little bit.

Finally they called at 1:30. They had just called the cab company and were waiting to be picked up.

Still got your cab money? I'll meet you down in the lobby with the rest.

"Uh, no."

What???

Turns out that when I told him that he could use some of the cab money to get the tickets, the two of them took it to mean I had unlimited cash in my purse and they could spend the rest. Or maybe they thought if you cranked my arm, bills would come flying out of my butt on wings.

I counted what I had left and dug through my purse for change. I had $37.00 and prayed it would be enough or that they would take checks or credit cards (the cab company up here in the mountains don't).

They pulled in at 2am, and I ran down to the lobby with the pockets of my jammy pants full of quarters. The driver rolled down his window and I looked at the meter. $36.60. No kidding. Not enough for a tip unless he'd take a couple of Roast Beef sandwiches and curly fries.

Please, do you take credit cards?

He did, thank heavens.

While he was writing it all up, I asked my little freakazoids how the concert was.

"Mom---it was so great! We got to sit in the dressing room with the band!!"

Did they make you torture any animals back there?

"No, no---Mom I got all their autographs!!"

Did they sacrifice any babies?

The cab driver was staring at me with his mouth hanging open. I winked at him and he grinned.

Turns out the lead singer remembered the email exchange with my son and gave them both after-party tickets when the kid introduced himself after the show. Since both boys were under 21 and didn't have wheels, they weren't able to go. So the guy invited them down to the dressing room to hang out with the band, who by all reports were very nice. They spent a blissful 30 minutes or so yakking about music.

As we were walking back into the hotel, Big Kid stopped me.

"Mom? Can I talk to you?"

Oy. Please don't tell me you've taken ecstasy or something.

"This was one of the best nights of my whole life!"

Makes it worth it, doesn't it?

You Guys Are the Best!

First of all, thanks so much for all of your kind words and support. I'm sure somebody up there was listening to you, since I think I pissed Him off by making fun of Mel. He's been raining plagues on my head ever since!

Got a call very early this a.m. that The Happening Dude was picked up in a bus station in a big(ger) city about 5 hours away. I'm so relieved, but I haven't been able to get back to sleep. No word on where he was before that, where he was heading (it was in our direction, but we have no idea if this was his destination), or if he was meeting someone he met on the internet. They're holding him in juvenile detention until they can start sorting things out in the morning.

There's talk about putting him in a group home in the meantime, and I'm not sure what that entails.

All we know is that he's in one piece. Thank heavens.

My brother has been relying on information doled out to him by his ex. If he doesn't get on the horn today and try to get first-hand information from the authorities---he is HD's dad, and he does have rights to information---I'm going to drive up, rip his arm off and beat him over the head with it. If it was my kid I would have been on the next plane, train or automobile out there the minute I heard he was missing.

In other news, the dogs are now stink-free. We'd planned on washing them in that baking soda, hydrogen peroxide and dish soap combo, but had to wait until the morning because the stores were closed and our convenience store didn't carry the peroxide (thanks Jenn!). Fortunately they didn't get the chance to rub up against the furniture or the carpets, so those don't have to be replaced. Whew!

We've caught 6 voles in the traps in the garage. One trap is missing. Ewww. But all I can say is better out there than in here.

Late this afternoon, I have a huge test for one of my classes (yes, the one with Ms. Big Mouth). Hopefully I'll be able to get a nap in. I can't seem to remember a damn thing. My brain is mush. LOL

The brightest spot this week is Saturday. I get to finally meet a blog friend I've been dying to meet for over a year now.

The Big Kid has been doing so well in all of his classes, that I'm driving him and a date up to the big city for a concert. Imfunnytoo from Midlife and Treachery is going to get a room in the same hotel.

While the kids are body slamming in the mosh pit, we're going to order room service and have a pajama party. I can't wait!!

This week has just gotten away from me with one crisis after another. I promise I'll get the foof stuff up in the next few days. I promise!

ATM

Please Send Good Wishes...

Not about dogs 'n' skunks...that's all good.

I used to write about my nephew the "Happening Dude" from time to time (you can click on the label if you want to refresh your memory--he's the kid who will taste anything for money). I haven't for the past year because it's been a little painful for our family, and I really don't want to give his mom the public butt-kicking I think she deserves.

There is just some laundry that can't be aired, so I'll sketch it as briefly as possible.

About 4 years ago, my brother's ex-wife and her new husband had a baby. HD had been adopted from foster care by my brother and his ex shortly before their divorce and she had primary custody. They live in another state.

Anyway, HD was born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, had some very mild learning disabilities and some growth issues. He's very very small for his age, much to his embarassment. He needs a lot of one-on-one attention.

After the new baby, ex decided to start a home business. She decided that HD was a little too much to handle with her new busy life and she really needed his room for a home office. So she called my brother (who was living in my mother's house with my mom and step-dad who is now deceased) and gave him an ultimatum.

Either come and get HD, or she was going to have him placed in a foster group home. I sh*t you not.

So that's how HD came here.

My brother has a lot of good intentions, but is not the most responsible of people. So most of HD's care fell to my mom. To give her a break, HD would come and stay with us for holidays, vacations, and some weekends. We loved having him, and having the chance to get to know him, because due to the acrimonious nature of the divorce, brother's ex never let the kids come visit us.

HD was doing really well in school, and made a lot of friends.

Last summer, the poop hit the fan. While he was visiting us, ex called HD here and told him she wanted him back. Turns out that her new husband had filed for a divorce, my brother's obligation of child support for the older kids had run out a couple of months earlier, and her home business was a disaster. She'd decided to move kit and caboodle back to her home state, and while her soon-to-be-ex would share equal custody with their baby, he didn't intend on financing her new life in perpetuity.

Legally, there was really nothing any of us could do. She still retained primary custody, although HD had been out here almost 3 years. And he WANTED to go. She promised that she would make time for just the two of them, and promised that he could come visit us last summer (none of which she followed through with). She's his mom, and he loves her.

We decided not to fight it, simply because it would have put HD in the hurtful position of being in the middle.

He called us a couple of times in the last year, but hung up whenever she came into the room, so our contact with him has been limited.

We heard Monday night that he's missing. Of course, ex didn't bother to let my brother know---one of his older kids called that night.

The authorities think that he might be trying to make it here. We haven't heard anything from him, and it's been over 48 hours since he was "officially" declared missing. He took money his mom had stashed away, so he could be on a bus. Then again, they're taking apart the family computer to see if he hooked up with someone on the internet.

We're just paralyzed.

Please send good thoughts...

Update: Life is Tough When You're a Baddog...

Isn't she just pitiful?

Bad Karma

I just KNEW there would be repercussions for poking fun at God's favorite nucking futjob Mel Gibson.

I knew it!

This has been the weekend from hell.

First off, it was Big Kid's driving weekend. He's gotten past the rehabilitative private lessons and into the main driving program. 8 hours of driving Saturday and 8 hours of driving Sunday on a specialized course with 15 or so other student drivers.

And a two-hour drive to get him there and back from the mountains twice each day.

Luckily, he did very well, despite the fact that he FORGOT to take his night meds on Friday night. We had to jiggle everything around at 5am on Saturday so that he wouldn't have some sort of freakalicious anxiety attack in the middle of the skid pad course (simulates icy roads).

About 3am Sunday morning, Little Guy heard the dogs growling. He got up to investigate and heard something knocking around in the kitchen. He looked in the fridge. Nothing. He looked in the freezer. Nothing.

He opened up a cabinet and eek! There was a mouse with it's tail caught in a trap flopping around. So what did he do? Closed the door and went back to bed.

Around this time of year in our rural area, the nights start getting really cold and voles (otherwise known as prairie mice) begin to try to find warm places to nest. A week or so ago I noticed some suspicious activity, although I couldn't find any poops anywhere. I stuck a trap in one of the cabinets. And a bunch out in the garage.

Anyway, when he got up in the morning (Hubby had gone to take the Big Kid down the mountain to driving class), Little Guy started making himself some cereal.

"You'll never guess what happened last night!" he said conversationally.

What?

"I saw a mouse in the cabinet."

WHAT? Was it dead?

"No, it's alive." I went and looked. Sure enough, there was a little mousie flopping around with the tip of it's tail caught in the trap. Yikes.

I stuck a tupperware container over it and weighted it down. Hubby set it free when he got home---100s of yards from the house.

So because we had to drive back down the mountain to pick up Big Kid and the other car that afternoon, Hubby had to miss his football game. We taped it, but there was much grumbling involved. We couldn't even listen to the radio just in case they announced the scores at any point. Oh joy.

Later in the evening when hubby watched the game, there was much hollering and yelling. We lost.

About 8:30 last night, we were talking about packing it in---everyone was exhausted. The big dogs were outside barking at something and Little Guy went to open the back door to call them in.

He opened the door, and then closed it. He turned to us and said "eww".

Then it hit us. A stench so bad that our eyes started burning immediately.

Everybody is probably familiar with the nasty smell of skunk when it's farther away. Up close and personal, it has an almost chemical-smelling quality that is similar to the smell of tires burning.

We thought something was on fire. Hubby grabbed the flashlight and ran outside. He touched Charlie, our large mutant yorkie, and she was sort of wet. He looked around the back area, in the garage and the front. I searched every room in the house to close windows and see if anything was burning (electronics, etc).

Nothing. Hubby came in and asked me to smell his hands. His entire smellavision system had shut down.

The perplexing thing was that his hands smelled like burning rubber.

I called the neighbors on both sides to ask if they would come out and tell us if they smelled something. No one was home. So we broke down and called the sheriff's department, which also is in charge of animal control. When hubby told them we couldn't tell if it was skunk or some kind of chemical fire, they sent the fire department.

More joy.

So we had 6 firemen walking around our yard all suited up and with flashlights at 9:30pm. They found the spot.

Apparently the dogs decided to mess with a little black cat with a stripe running down it's back. Charlie got the brunt of it---so did the corner of our house, where there was a big greasy gawd-awful smelling spot. The big dog was luckier, but she still got some on her.

After the fire squad left, we had to figure out what to do with the dogs. The stores in our little burg close early on Sundays, and we weren't quite sure what to do. Couldn't leave the dogs out overnight, because it's too darn cold. Didn't want to let them in, because they'd ruin the carpets and furniture if they rolled around on them.

We tried to wash Charlie---5 times, in fact, but it just spread it around. That stuff is G R E A SY!!! We finally just rolled up the rugs, moved the dog's crates close to the back door and locked them in overnight. Tossed them outside first thing in the morning, and have been airing the house out.

Got a call this morning that since we used the word "chemical" in our report to the sheriff's department, they put it out on the wire and we may have some follow up. Got to round up all those meth labs, you know.

Double joy.

I guess it's true about Karma. This time the stank's on ME!

But in for a penny, in for a pound. I'll leave the comments open for a couple of more days on my previous post and do a big pimpin' stank post later in the week.

Hope you guys have a fabulous week!