Random

I used Hubby's bathroom the other day and noticed a new revolting development.

When the kids were younger, we had a small TV/VCR we installed in the back of the SUV for long road trips. Now it is gracing a prime viewing spot in front of his toilet, complete with remote control.

WTF is up with that? I can't decide if he doesn't want to miss a chance of dumping an actual doody every time he views Keith Olbermann or a shrieking Chris Matthews, or is afraid to miss a play on any of the bazillion football games that are shown on Saturday, Sunday and of course, Monday night.

I'm kind of afraid to ask. But I will if I find a stash of beer and chips in there.
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Dilemma of the day:

You're in the bathtub. No kids or dogs or husband yapping away demanding your attention.

It's just you, your favorite bath oil, a fabulous book, a glass of wine, and an hour to enjoy yourself.

Just as you get in and get comfortable, you pull an Attila and sneeze. Chunks and snot all over your hand and arm.

Your towel is too far to reach. Toilet paper is across the bathroom. The outside hand you need to hoist yourself out of the tub with is the one that was violated, and you have to get the crap off so you don't slip and break a rib or 4. Calling the kid in to help would make him go blind.

Choices that come to mind?

1) Wipe it off on the shower curtain.
2) Stick your arm in the water and splash it around and then try to avoid that slimy jellyfish looking thing while you're busy trying to get the hell out of the tub.
3) Call your dog and hope that she's like Lassie and will bring you a scrap of toilet paper. Since she's in the habit of pulling paper out of the trash and chewing it into bits and all. When she doesn't, call her in a baby voice, entice her over and wipe it in her fur. Then enjoy your bath and wash her when you get out.
4) Scrape it off on the side of the tub and clean it up later. Keep eyeballing it to make sure it doesn't slide down and get you.
5) Wipe it off on the top of your head and then get up and wash it out in the shower when you're done relaxing.

feh. What would you do?
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How come it seems like the only people who say "it's all about the money with you" are the people who owe you money? Since I've been taking Contract Law this semester, I've been paying a lot of attention when watching the court shows and in my own personal sphere as well.

Why is it that when you go out with some friends or family members (I'm being general here so the guilty can't complain that I'm targeting them while they know that I'm targeting them) and it's time to pony up shares on the bill, one invariably comes up short and nonchalantly shrugs it off with, "well, it's only 16 bucks."

Then they get offended if you point out that since it's "ONLY 16 bucks", then they won't have any problem coming up with it.

Wait. You mean it's "only 16 bucks" if it's MY 16 bucks? But if it's YOUR 16 bucks you won't be able to pay your rent/feed your kids/heat your home that month? Your world will completely collapse into financial disaster?

I certainly didn't break your arm and make you order the appetizer, t-bone and dessert. Oh, and two cocktails.

Don't invite me out and then expect it to be my treat. Only my children get to do that.

Bite me.
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If you eat a handful of dried Wasabi peas as a snack, it's a really bad idea to use that hand to wipe your eyes when they start to water. Trust me.

More Random...

Eh, lots going on in the Attila house this week. Sorry I've been so busy.

A couple of weeks ago, we were supposed to host a pool party for some of hubby's business/political associates. After three straight days of rain, AND a tornado up here at 9000 feet, at the very last minute, we rescheduled it to past Sunday.

Amazingly enough, the kids weren't that thrilled at having to consume another round of party food since they'd spent the previous week eating everything that was already prepared for the first party.

They've been begging me to make something "boring" like meatloaf for dinner.

Between the 7-layer bean dip and the deviled eggs, you'd think our house was located over the portal to hell. The dogs were walking into walls from the sulphur fumes. With the 21-bun salutes and clouds of air freshener to cover it up, I think we all sustained a little drain bamage.

Speaking of deviled eggs, did you ever notice that they're a hell of a lot of work with little to show in the end? Except for the obvious eau de pharte?

With all the rain, a couple of revolting developments happened. As the vole holes filled up with water outside, the mouses ran for the houses. Or should I say the meece for the heese? Our mouse traps in the garage, which have sat there empty for a couple of months suddenly started screaming "No Vacancy!"

All 8 of them. Yech.

And courtesy of Little Guy, who frequently forgets to close the basement door all the way, we were treated to the soothing sounds of Big Kid screaming his ever-loving head off at 1am. Apparently while cruising around on MySpace, he took his Ipod headphones off long enough to hear the pitter-patter of little meese feets. So I set a few traps down there. More on that another day.

On top of all that, it seems as if our Noodle dog has been up to no good.

We live on the side of a mountain, so our back-yard is terraced off into usable space. On one area, we have a basketball/tennis court. The we have a little bridge that connects the court to the pool. While we thought the Noodle was laying under the bridge to escape the sun, she was using her genius only for evil.

She was digging a hole to China.

Of course, being a dog, she probably didn't realize that wasn't the best idea in the world. Especially since her name is Noodle.

With all the rain, the earth under the bridge gave way, and we had a cave-in. It spanned 5 feet. 5 feet of tunnel.

Where in the heck did she hide all that dirt? It was completely gone!

I have images of her hiding it in her coat and shaking it out around the prison yard, ala Andy Defresne and his pants in The Shawshank Redemption. There certainly weren't any stray piles of dirt accumlating anywhere.

Anyhoo, in the middle of all this, I managed to pull my lower back out, so I had to take it easy for a couple of days. Everything is fine here, and school started a couple of days ago.

Since Big Kid has been showing no inclination to start living his life, and the waiting list for a group home is up to a year, Hubby and I have decided to "launch" him on our own. He's stable on his meds, and his docs say that he's not going to get any better if we continue to let him live here.

Sooooo, we've found an affordable apartment for him a block from the bus stop at a reasonable distance in case he needs us. He's scheduled to move in a couple of weeks, and I'll tell you more later.

A heck of a lot can happen in a week, can't it?

Catch up with you later, gators!

ATM

Random Thoughts

So Cougar Woman took Big Kid out today. Lots of different things have happened in this sphere during the last couple of weeks, but I'm going to skip over the gory details.

Suffice it to say, Big Kid has learned:

That Cougar Woman will take him out to his favorite and expensive sushi restaurant frequently, and buy him cigarettes when we won't. I guess that falls in the realm of what sugah mommas do.

He's also learned that if he pisses us off and we tell her to either a) make him call his grandfather for a place to stay or b) drop him off at the homeless shelter, but NOT to bring him back to our home....

That she isn't willing to put him up at her place other than once in a blue moon on her cat-hair-covered couch. The end. He either has to work it out with us or she'll drop him off at the shelter.

Anyway, the plan today was that they were going to see a matinee and catch a meal here in our mountain town so that she wouldn't have to race to get him home before her eyeballs failed her (and believe me, I sympathize---I've been having some problems my own night vision in the last year).

Turns out that they went to the sushi restaurant and to the mall to window shop down in the city. But she got him home before it got too dark for her to drive.

Big Kid: "We went to a little oriental shop and looked at samurai swords. Boy, do I want one of those!"

Me: (struggling to say something and groaning inside---just what we need! ANOTHER sword--my Ex-FIL gave him a family one on graduation--that we'll have to hide so he won't freak out and cut our heads off some night while we're sleeping) Uh, I don't think you're supposed to say that any more. It's not politically correct.

Big Kid: "What, I'm not supposed to say 'Oriental'?"

Me: Yes.

Big Kid: "Well what am I supposed to call it?"

Me: Heck, I don't know! Maybe Asian? Maybe you could just call the shop by its name?

Big Kid: But that IS the name! It's called "A Little Oriental Shop!"

Doh! I give up. I'm so confused! LOL

Voices Carry

I've read a couple of blogs lately in the disability community and others about different things that make people attractive to each other. Terrible Palsy wrote a lovely post about what made her husband attractive to her (despite being shorter and a bit older), and it made me think about my relationships as well.

One major thing that drew me most to my husband was his voice. Deep, melodious, and expressive...he could read a column of the most boring crap from The Wall Street Journal and even after 14 years, it will still make my knees weak. He could make a fortune recording books on tape.

What is it about certain sounds that affect us so?

Little Guy can hear a vacuum or car alarms with no problems, but fire alarms completely incapacitate him. When he was in elementary school, the building had an issue and the alarm went off every 15 minutes or so for several hours. He curled up in a ball on the floor and completely shut down.

His para-educator went to the principal and said, "Either you call his mom to come get him, or I am putting him in my car and driving him home myself. This is torturing him." He has much greater control nowadays (mostly because they warn him before fire drills), but he still has a lot of anxiety whenever he sees a fire alarm on a wall anywhere, especially in the hair salon.

I've been a huge fan of Billy Joel for years. I think he's brilliant, or at least he was before he started getting drunk all the time and driving into buildings. And what kind of stupid sh*t would cheat on a Goddess like Christie Brinkley? Like he's going to get something better? He's got the Ethan Hawke disorder. Or maybe Ethan has the Billy Joel disorder. What kind of short, scrawny, pretentious and bad-toofed dood could cheat on Uma Thurman, for pete's sakes?

Whatever, I digress.

Anyway, we have a stack of CD's we listen to whenever we go on long car trips. One of them is "the best of" Billy Joel. Except for one song.

I simply CANNOT listen to "Under Pressure" in the car. Nothing will transport me into the throes of a panic attack quicker than that song. I guess it's part of his musical brilliance, but you know that anything that makes your toes, sphinck and chest clench in a spasm simultaneously can't be a good thing.

I'd rather throw open the car door and hurl myself onto the interstate than listen to that song.

The voices I find incredibly pleasing?

Khandi Alexander.

She plays the medical examiner on CSI Miami. I can forgive the stupid dialogue when she pontificates to the faux corpses----"Who did this to you, Sugar?"---just to listen to her talk. If she ever gets tired of the Hollywood rat race and decides to just do voiceover, I think I'd listen to her even if she dubbed Power Rangers 12, The Zord Unleashed XXXX, or even the freaking Farm Report.






Patrick Stewart.

I adore Captain Picard. 'Nuff Said.

Rachel Weisz.

Oh Baby. I could become a lesbian over that voice. I'm serious. LOL



Paul Winfield.

Unfortunately, the Emmy Award winning actor and narrator of City Confidential passed away in 2004. Listening to him was like drinking a fine aged whiskey without the hangover.

Roger Whittaker.

Now don't laugh. Many of you prolly have no idea who this is.

Back when I was a kid, my mom was the Muzak queen. No disco or heavy metal allowed in our house. Instead, we had to listen to the gentle instrumental sounds of KLIR, FM 101. Except on the days when they played Anne Murray, Carpenters and Roger Whittaker marathons.

When I became an adult, I bought his Christmas Carol CD and listen to it every year.

So what voices make your teeth grind or send you into raptures?