Sh*ts and Grins

I've read some funny stuff this week and I wanted to share:

First is from Special K over at Idle Thoughts of an Idle Person.

I don't know why I find poo humor so funny---8 straight years of changing diapers, having two brothers and two sons, being adopted---take your pick, but I was simply rolling over this. Especially since a very similar situation happened to me in the grocery store the other day. No, I didn't soil myself. I didn't roll the dice. ;-)

Check it out! It's some funny sh*t!

Second came from tAnYeTTa at Tanyettasedit-That's right! Drop by and say hi if you get the chance.

Now you too can be like me and learn how to bounce the "Bunny Slipper of Doom" off the back of your kid's head! You got the powah, baby!

More Things That Make Me Go Aiiigghhhh!!!

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post about things that make me go "aiiigghh", and thought I got it out of my system.

Apparently not. Lately there have been quite a few items I've read that give me the huzz. I've been walking around in a state of constant huzzness.

The first is people who swallow parasitic worms in order to lose weight. I read an article about it, then someone sent me an email with old ads and there was one in there. What the heck? How could anyone be so desperate as to voluntarily introduce a batch of worms that can grow up to 15 inches in your intestines (or pancreas, or lungs)?

I remember a friend whose cat had a bad case of worms. Every time she lifted her tail, you could see them playing peek-a-boo from her anus. They'd pop out and wave "hi" for a second and then pop back in. It took a long LONG time for me to visit my friend's house after that.

Good Lord, my butt is itching just thinking about it. 'Scuse me for a minute.

The second has to do with eyeballs again. I found the commercial that scares the crap out of me on YouTube. They've been playing it a lot lately.




Anyway, I was reading an article about a fisherman in Britain who hooked a deadly giant snakehead fish which is not indigenous to the continent, because they're usually found in Asia. Apparently they eat just about anything (including people), can hop around a bit on land, and live for up to 4 days out of the water. I suppose any "normal" person would say, "Holy Crap, look at those teeth!" when they look at the picture.

Not me. My first words were, "OMFG, look at those EYEBALLS! AAAAAAAIIIGGHHHHHH!!"

This last one is one of those ideas that look good on paper, but freak me out in a "what could go wrong" kind of way. Remember when I wrote about the scientists who grew a replacement penis on some guy's arm?

Scientists in Australia are developing a radio-controlled vasectomy, which involves silicone implants that expand to block the flow of sperm. I guess in theory, it seems like a workable idea, because there really ARE no long-term birth control devices for men.

On the other hand, I have visions of it getting WAY out of control. What if some car manufacturer accidentally programs their remote car key chains to the same frequency? Some poor doof in the Home Depot parking lot could be trying to open the trunk of his Hummer to load it with fertilizer and inadvertently set the weasels jumping in the trousers of half the men in a 3-block radius.

Or what about at the beach? Some kid with a remote-control lil' dune buggy could start a riot. Creepy men who wear speedos is bad enough. Creepy men wearing undulating speedos is enough to make the wimmins race like lemmings into the surf face first to drown themselves. Or make them bleed from the eyeballs.

Ew. Eyeballs.

Gonna go scrub my brain now before it explodes.

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I got my rantipants on about bad parenting over on Disaboom if you feel like stopping by...

The Marital Mind-Meld

I've heard all the jokes about aging, where people laugh a little nervously when they forget things and call it a case of "CRS" (Can't Remember Sh*t)---as if we're giving the stink-eye to the future possibility of dementia or Alzheimer's.

My Hubby, who is probably one of the smartest, most compassionate and most articulate of persons I've ever been fortunate enough to know has the wit of a steel trap. He also has the memory of a steel sieve, for a lot of things (Not according to him, of course). Hah.

Over the years we've been together, there have been multiple times that he's misplaced his wallet, his cell phone, his keys, or certain credit cards. He's insisted that he put them in xxxxx place, and either I, or the kids, or the evil hiding-stuff-just-to-mess-up-my-day genie must have MOVED whatever item because he KNOWS where he last put it.

And of course, I can walk into our bedroom or bathroom, and find the item either on top of his dresser, or in the pocket of the pants he wore the night before. Then he gets pissy and practically accuses me of hiding the item just to mess with him. Hmph. If he wasn't so darn cute he'd be spending a LOT of nights on the couch.

Ok to be fair, yes, once....he left his cell phone at the customer service desk at the grocery store. Couldn't solve that problem. But at least it wasn't caused by me, the kids, or the evil-mess-up-my-day-genie.

But there's another kind of forgetfulness that I never hear that much about. I'm calling it the Marital Mind-Meld. It's when you've been together so long with your partner, or you're so in tune to each other that you start sharing memories even if they aren't yours.

For example: Back when we were living in sin, about 15 years ago, we lived in my little house south of Denver close to a highway which is kind of a back way to get to the ski resorts. One late spring evening I was coming home from somewhere (Hubby-then-boyfriend was at the house watching the boys) and stopped to get some gas about a block from the highway.

As I was filling up the tank, I glanced around. A woman was pumping gas on the other side. I did a double-take. Was it? Could it be? She looked just like a famous international sports star. She had the signature "mulletish-do" she wore back then (except I don't think I knew to call it a mullet), but she was a bit shorter than I had imagined she'd be. I was trying to figure out how to strike up a conversation with her (she was completely oblivious to my presence) because the star had a somewhat distinctive accent, when her companion came out of the convenience store and did it for me.

She asked her if she wanted anything and they chatted for a minute while they were finishing up with their gas. Yes! I was sure that it WAS her! Wow! Her companion gave me a little smile and a wave as they pulled out. I rushed home.

You would NOT believe who I saw at the 7-11! Hubby was excited because he's a huge fan.

We told the "pumping gas across from sports star" story often enough over the years for it to become part of our family lore. One of our very few brushes with fame.

A year or so ago, we had friends visiting that we hadn't seen in awhile. We were chatting about this and that, and in the middle of a story, hubby told them about the time "we" pumped gas across from famous sports star. I raised my eyebrows a little, but thought maybe he was just caught up in the story. I wasn't going to correct him in front of our friends either, because well, I hate people who do that to their spouses. Made a note to mention it later, but never got around to it.

So a few months ago, we were laughing at something on the TV, and Hubby says, "That reminds me of the time I was pumping gas across from famous sports star."

Whhaaaaa??? You weren't even there!

"What are you talking about? Of course I was there!"

No you weren't! You were taking care of the boys and I came home and told you about it!

He was completely befuddled. Disbelieving and disturbed. He clearly has a memory of the incident, although he can't tell you what famous sport star was wearing or what side of the pump her vehicle was on. I can, because of course, I was the one who was there, and got a good eyeball of what she was wearing while trying to figure out if she was indeed, the sport star.

How weird is that?

Parents Behaving Badly

On the days I feel like my parenting skills have crapped the bed, I feel like I need a little dose of smug. At least things could be worse...

This lovely mother (using the term loosely) actually strapped in her case of beer on the front seat, but left her 1-year-old baby unsecured without a seatbelt or car seat in the back. How do you mistake your baby for a case of beer?

And how exactly do you comment on the awfulness of that?
____________________________

Two teenagers snatched a 9-year-old girl scout's cookie money bag outside a grocery store. Then they came back the next day to taunt her. That time they got caught.

Any remorse? Oh hell no. In fact they bitched about it on a news program. (if you go the article, click on the "teens rob scout" video link).

"We went through all that effort to get it, we got all these charges and we had to give the money back. I'm kind of pissed."

Huh?

"I'm not sorry, I'm just pissed that I got caught."

You have GOT to be kidding me!

Thankfully, one of the teens had been in trouble before and they were able to slap her with a probation violation on top of all that.

And NOW she's sorry. Boo-freaking-hoo.

Where in the hell are their parents? Stealing quarters from the collection plate?
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This last one really takes the cake.

Elderly homeowners were watching TV one night with their adult son when they heard a commotion outside. 7 people were on their front porch trying to kick in their front door. They dialed 911.

While they were waiting for the police, the would-be "home invaders" kept kicking the door and screaming that they were going to "kill" them. As the door was coming off the hinges, Don Ashby grabbed a shotgun and shot it through the lower half of the door, striking 18-year-old Glen Lilly in the foot.

The suspects fled, but 4 were apprehended.

After the arraignment, Glen Lilly's mother actually had the nerve to call up the Ashbys to tell them that "I don't appreciate you shooting my son in the foot."

Would she'd rather Ashby shoot through the UPPER half of the door and put a bullet in the kid's head?

What an idjit. Sheesh!

_________________

I wrote a little about Little Guy's surgery over on Disaboom. He's just fine. Thanks for all your kind wishes!

Happy Valentine's Day!

It's been a busy week, and I'm so sorry I haven't been checking in.

Little Guy had to have some minor surgery, and I've been all tangled up in taking care of him and other things.

Wanted to pass on a really sweet act of kindness that a friend sent to me the other day.

It's called the Ugly Beard Contest. I didn't get this up in a timely manner (ok, I only received this a week ago, and I've been busy), so the contest is over, but they're still accepting donations.

The male teachers of the Jordan-Elbridge High School started a contest to see who could grow the ugliest beard. They're in a rural school district which serves a lot of families in need. It costs a dollar or a can of food to vote on which staff member is growing the ugliest beard.

Lots of people feel the spirit of giving around the holidays, which is really great, but sometimes we forget that the families who need help often need it all year round. Their food bank is very low, so they're requesting donations.

This seems to be like a great fundraising project for schools! The male teachers don't have to shave for 2-3 months, so it's almost like casual Friday every day!

But it leaves the ladies out. Can't they include Ugly Armpit or Calf-hair contests too?

This and That

Ok, just a few random thoughts...

I've been getting a lot of new readers/commenters lately, and have to go through their profiles to get to a link back to their blogs so that I can reciprocate.

It's been simply amazing how many bloggers are Accountants! I was wondering if they are just really busy between Jan 1st and April 15th so they spend a whole lot of time reading blogs the rest of the year?

Then I happened to look at MY profile. It says that my job description is Accounting. How in the heck did that happen? Yeah, I can balance my checkbook, but....

Do you think it's a default setting? How many of YOU are Accountants by default?

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Ok, this is kind of weird. You guys remember that old sleepover trick/legend that says if you put a sleeping person's hand in warm water, they'll pee their pants? It wouldn't have happened when I was a kid, but I'm not so sure now.

Even if I take a tinkle before turning on the water in the shower/tub, EVERY SINGLE TIME I test the water with my hand, my bladder suddenly decides has to whiz again NOW. And comes up with extra pee that just must have been hiding for the particular moment.

While I was fretting over the fact that maybe I've got some bladder control issues and might need meds or something like that I noticed that it NEVER happens when I'm washing the dishes in warm/hot water.

What the heck is up with this? Any ideas?
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The other day, I was talking to my Mom, and told her it was time to have "the talk" with her. You know...the "sex" talk.

She said, "I thought we had this talk a long time ago. You haven't figured out where everything goes yet?"

I said, well no, I was reading an article about how middle-aged kids should have this talk with their parents, because it seems there is a rise in STDs in the senior community. You are all getting your freak on without protection and spreading crotch-rot willy-nilly!

She laughed her ass off.

But I have to say that my mom has become the hoochie of her senior community. Listening to her, it's almost like re-living high school again. It kind of cracks me up.

After my step-dad passed away a few years ago (lung cancer--never smoked a day in his life, he was one of the eh--what do you call them---downwinders of the nukes---and Alzheimer's), Mom got out and got moving. She'd always been really active, but had spent the last three years of Pop's life nursing him. Immediately she got into the senior scene (and the senior singles scene) and hooked herself a beau. Who was 15 years or so younger.

He'd been going with a gal for 4 years or so, but dumped her for my Mom. She liked him because he'd drive her everywhere, but got a little freaked out when he'd just show up at her house every morning expecting to spend the day with her. She needed space.

My brothers were initially a little worried (they live up there where she is), thinking that he might be some predatory--koff--younger guy looking to prey on an older woman. Even though she looked younger than he did. LOL

He wasn't predatory. He was a really good guy and we all liked him a lot.

He kept asking her to marry him, she kept refusing, and finally cut him loose because she didn't think he was "getting it". They're seniors, and she didn't want him to waste any more time getting his hopes up. I mean, how many years did they all have left? He was looking for a wife, and she doesn't intend to get married again, and besides...he has diabetes that he doesn't take care of and she "isn't interested in taking care of any more sick old men."

LOL You go girl!

Anyway, she can't get away from it. She goes to different senior centers to play cards, or backgammon, or attend lectures or outings, and every time she's friendly with a guy, the gossip mill tries to pair them off. And everyone is always trying to find out how old she actually is in order to categorize her.

Mom refuses to say. She doesn't wear make-up (except for a little mascara, maybe), doesn't dye her hair (gorgeous shade of pure white). She's got good genes, clean living and Oil of Olay on her side, and she's just smokin'!

So in the middle of this "sex" conversation, she told me a couple of things about my dad (TOO MUCH INFORMATION!!!). She also read a couple of years ago that men who smoke in their early years can suffer from impotence even as early as their 40's. Apparently this was one of the problems my dad had when he went searching for younger trophy poon after 24 years of marriage. Again TMI!! TMI!!!

Every time she and her girlfriends get together and discuss the prowess of their "boyfriend of the month" and someone mentions---uh---erection problems, she asks, "did they ever smoke?"

This has become kind of an obsession with her. She gave Big Kid "The Big Limp Penis" lecture last year, which completely freaked him out (she'd already given it to my brothers). Even though she is a retired minister, I think she still has a huge need to illuminate, because she has an urge to stop every male she sees smoking on the street to inform him of the future risks to his schwanging health.

I wonder what would happen if she really did that. I wouldn't put it past her.

She needs to have a special cape. She has a mission. She is The Penis Protector.

Don't you men feel really special? LOL

Pimpin' With the Dogg...

I know I haven't Pimped in awhile, and as always, I so do apologize!!

Lot's of things have being going on in our house that have just taken a lot of time and energy to deal with.

Bad bad me made fun of Hubby and the boys when I was ill and they were sort of sick-by-proxy and demanding mommy-care.

A few days later, Hubby WAS struck down---with a large and painful blood clot. Had to administer shots of blood thinner into his belly every day for 10 days, and now he's waiting for the two weeks to end (have to wait two weeks after the 10 days of shots) to visit a cardiologist.

His elderly mom back east isn't doing that great, and he had hoped to fly down there to be with her until this came up. Of course, he absolutely can't fly, so in addition to the medical stress, he's worrying about her too. Send good thoughts, would you?

This is going to be a real shortie, but I promise (yeah I know, I'm always promising) to do a bigger one soon. I've added a lot of really great blogs to my roll, and every one deserves a look-see!

First off, my good friend Dutchylicious is having a really fun contest. She's had a few (contests, I mean), and from what I hear, the prizes she sends from Holland are to die for! Bow down and worship at the Dutchaplooza!

Jump in and enter!

Miss Litzi arranges pictures like she would flowers in her tearoom chat. Unfortunately, she turns her comments off half the time so I can't tell her how much I enjoy her bouquets!

Funny story. Some months ago, Ashley's Mom at Pipecleaner Dreams wrote a post about a company who is owned/run by a guy who has a disability and does t-shirts, etc for individuals and organizations. He had an "Attila the Mom" t-shirt and she sent me a note about it.

I wrote last month about a really fabulous present we did for our family members and friends.

Little Guy is an incredible artist. His work has been displayed in a couple of shows. He hasn't chosen a specific medium, but he loves to work with fabric and paints. When he was 13 he learned how to sew in school (I remember it as being Home Ec, but they call it Consumer Family Studies now) and made 10 quilts for a local homeless shelter. He saw something on TV about a quilt project, and the thought of people who didn't have moms or dads to tuck them in at night, or even beds touched him.

Anyway, after reading Ashley's Mom's post, I contacted the company about making a t-shirt out of a piece of Little Guy's artwork since he's graduating this year from high school. I thought that all our friends and family members could wear it to his graduation, and we could do a "wave" when he gets his diploma.

The idea grew a bit. The list ended up including teachers, fellow students, paras, bus drivers, doctors, therapists, ladies in the grocery store, and neighbors who have been a part of his "village" over the years. And there were a few extras for special friends.

The most lovely and gracious Beth from Books, Etc. wrote a really nice post about the t-shirt.

Thanks so much, Beth! And thanks, Ashley's Mom!

Language is Powerful

Lately I've been writing most of my posts about disability over on Disaboom, and inviting you guys to check it out if you've got a moment.

But I've been thinking about a couple of things for awhile, and to be perfectly honest, if I was to write it over there, I'd be preaching to the choir, and it wouldn't change a thing. And since today is my birthday, I'm just going to speak my mind.

If you're not interested, please, please back out. This is going to be a bit of a rant.

Let me just start this off with...

Language is powerful.

A couple of days ago, Little Guy and I were in the grocery store. One of his gifts is that he never forgets a face or a name (once he ran out of Great Clips to greet a substitute teacher he'd had in 3rd grade), and he's so sweet and friendly, that he's pretty unforgettable too. So every time we go into town, he probably stops and talks to 10 or so people.

We ran into a lady who worked as a para-educator in his transitions-skills class for several years, but who had left the school system last year. She'd never been his particular para, so I didn't recognize her. They chatted for a minute, and then she asked ME how he was doing. That should have been a clue. I turned to Little Guy, and said "how you doing?"

He told her about his girlfriend, about his classes, and his part-time job doing data entry. He told her about his artwork. Then he told her that his transitions leader Mrs. P. was going on maternity leave and he was really excited about it.

Mrs. B (the ex-para) said to me, "Oh, so SHE'S pregnant? I hadn't heard."

I assured her that Mrs. P was planning on coming back in the fall. Now for a little back-story---this is the 2nd year that Mrs. P has been the transitions leader. Mr. R, who was our first transitions leader and a wonderful, wonderful man moved to a different position. So I guess Mrs. B only lasted one year under Mrs. P, but I'm only speculating why.

Mrs. B continued with some seriously caustic comments on how she thought the severe needs program was going to hell under the direction of Mrs. P. I was neutral (remember I didn't know this woman from Adam) and said, "well it seems to be working out ok for Little Guy."

And my son chimed in, "I like Mrs. P. She's my friend."

Mrs. B. continued on the subject for a little more, and I managed to extricate us. Obviously it was a personal problem. We said our goodbyes and Little Guy and I went on shopping. A few minutes later, Mrs. B circled around and came up to us.

"This was between you and me, right?"

I looked at her in astonishment. As someone who worked with teens in the transitions class for at least a couple of years, did she really imagine that they were invisible? My son was standing next to me during our entire exchange and soaked in every word. If she didn't intend for him to hear it, why in the world did she open her yap?

Did she expect me to sit him down and tell him to keep it a secret? I don't do that with any of OUR family life, good or bad, no matter WHO he talks to (even if it results in embarrassing moments for us), and I wasn't going to start now.

I said shortly, "I'm certainly not going to say anything, but you can probably bet that your views aren't going to be a secret in the transitions class for very long. Little Guy may have autism, but he can hear and speak quite well, in case you forgot."

Many people made New Year's resolutions this year to quit smoking, or lose weight, or stop fighting with their in-laws, etc.

I made one that I admitted to publically. It was to learn how to make the perfect authentic chili relleno. Egg batter and all.

But to be honest, I had another resolution.

In the past, I've read blogs whose authors liberally use the term "fucktard" (which is a ::koff:: "trendy and cool" term, but is really short for "fucking retard") or just "retard". Some make jokey comments about "short bus riders". If I didn't like their blog that much, I just backed out and never came back.

If it was someone whose blog I liked, I wouldn't comment on those posts. But my heart shriveled a little inside. I dropped a couple of people notes, but I wasn't vigilant about doing it with everyone. And I have to say that the people I dropped notes to were completely receptive and appalled at how their language affected me.

My New Year's resolution is to step up and say something. In every case.

I'm not trying to be the language police. Write your blog however you want. But please be aware that to those of us who have friends or family with cognitive disabilities, the terms "retard" or "fucktard" aren't funny or trendy. You might as well be sporting a white hood and using the "n" word. It's as equally as offensive.

So be on notice. I like to think that I've got a great sense of humor, I'm open-minded, and somewhat intelligent.

But language is powerful. And this stuff hurts me. It really really hurts me. If you read my blog on a regular basis you know that my kids have issues, so why put me on your blogroll or elicit comments if you think that these terms are benign or humorous? They aren't. They're like a stab in the heart.

And for everyone who is reading this. I just ask you to notice and let other writers know that you also feel that language is powerful. If you see it, please take a stand.

I don't think these writers are setting out to be hurtful. They think they're being funny. Please let them know that they aren't. My guy isn't "less", and doesn't deserve to be reduced to some trendy word that the "I'm-so-edgy" have adopted.

Last week, Jacqui at Terrible Palsy linked to a powerful post about tone as well. If you don't feel too beat up by my post, give it a look. It really brought tears to my eyes.

xoxox

ATM

Aerogarden Update

Well, it's been a month since I plugged in my--uh--"snowpea" garden, and here are the results!

Week 1, they started to sprout. Except that bugger on front right.

Week 2, they're all growing at a pretty good clip, but that guy on the right never did anything, so I replaced him with some herbs. Chives, that is. ;-)

Week 3, I took some pictures, but they have somehow disappeared. At least I thought I did, but I was sick that week. Maybe I dreamed it.


Week 4---look how huge they've become so far! The snow peas are pretty aggressive and aren't being very nice to the little chive guy. When I wake up in the mornings, there are little tendrils around the chives as if the snow peas are trying to strangle the life out of them.

So far, it's been a pretty painless experience. You can almost sit and watch the stuff grow!

As you can see, the crap on the counter has grown as much as the plants have. I'm off to do some tidying!

Here's my latest faux-pas on Disaboom if you feel like checking it out!

Things That Make You Go AIIIGGGGHHHHH!!!!

Do any of you have a list of things that literally give you nightmares? Not just "ewww" stuff, but things that make you wake up in a cold sweat with a scream stuck in your throat?

Big Kid's list used to just include 2 things---the water pipes in the basement and clowns. He'd wake me up in the middle of the night, "Them pipes is chasing me!". Poor kid.

Maybe it's because I'm more neurotic (I prefer to think it's because I've had more years on the planet), but my list is quite a bit longer.

Eyeballs (that new commercial where the guy gets his car stolen and there's a wall of eyeballs looking at him made me want to poke my own out)

I think that movie they made all the kids watch in the 6th grade here in Colorado where the Eskimo guy cuts out a big-ass caribou eyeball and hands it to his tyke to take a bite out of is responsible for a great deal of eyeball phobia in the Rocky Mountains. I never quite got the vomit stink out of my suede tennis shoes either (courtesy of the kid sitting in front of me).

Spider toes Like the ones attached to my husband's feet.

Dogs licking me Back in junior high, I used to go to my best friend's house after school. Her mother (who would probably be called a MILF today), used to lay out on the back porch in her bikini to soak up the rays. We'd go out and chat with her and tell her about our day.

She'd cover herself in almond oil (this was pre-skin-cancer warning days) and let her five---YES FIVE!---dogs lick it off her. One for each limb, and one on the belly. Bloop, bloop, bloop, bloop, bloop. Skeeved the heck out of me. I STILL have nightmares about it from time to time.

Loogies Self-explanatory.

And the list goes on.....

I was catching up on my reading and ran into a few more things I think I can safely add to my list of things I'll probably have nightmares about:

Toofies in my foo foo.

Remember that old bad joke about the mother who wanted her son to stay pure and told him that girls had teeth in their girly parts? Well some guy has made a movie about a teenage girl with that very same condition, called Teeth.

I KNOW I'm going to start having nightmares about this without ever watching it. What if I wake up with toofies? What do I do about dental hygiene? Crotch cavities? What if they were crooked? Would I have to find an orthocologist? Gives new meaning to the term "butt floss". AAIIGHHHH!!!
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Sometimes I dream about people breaking into the house and having to find some place to hide. Recently, a young woman in West Jordan, Utah hid in her closet when three intruders broke in and tried to burgle the place. Luckily, she had her phone and was able to call 911.

The burglars even opened the closet and rummaged through it, but by some stroke of luck didn't see her. Then they heard the sirens and the police at the door.

One of the burglars ACTUALLY GOT IN THE CLOSET WITH HER to hide, not knowing she was there.

"He was just standing right next to me. I could have put my arms around him." Aiiighhhh!!!

The young woman waited until the police were in the room before screaming, "He's in here!"

The burglar was so startled that he crapped himself and ruined her best pair of shoes.

Well no, not really, but that's the part I'd probably have a nightmare about. Trying to replace my nice shoes.
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Big Kid has been feeling pretty lonely. He has a hard time meeting girls, and when he does, he doesn't know whether to run, sh*t or go blind.

So he's done some stupid stuff, like signing up for the trial period of dating sites and using the debit card to an account that probably has $25.00 in it. Then he forgets to cancel before the trial period and the card gets billed $59.99, prompting letters from the bank and nasty emails from the dating sites. And a kick in the pants with a bunny slipper, because I have to go down to the bank and cover the shortage.

But when a friend sent me this site, I realized that yes, it could be worse. He could find one of these "hotties" and give me nightmares forever. AAAIIGHHHHH!!

What's on your scary list?

Asshat of the Week----2-for-1!

I couldn't decide between these two Asshats, so this week I decided to do a twofer!

Trees messing up your view?

Just hire a crew to come and cut them down!

That's what Lake Tahoe resident Patricia Vincent did. The Asshat hired a professional crew to cut down 3 ponderosa pines---estimated to be 80 to 100 years old---to enhance her scenic view.

Except that it was on someone else's property.

Whose property, you my ask?

Well OUR property. Yours and mine (and well, I guess, theoretically as a taxpayer, hers too). The trees were a part of a special lot of national forest designated by the Forest Service as environmentally sensitive.

She faces up to 10 years in prison and a $250,000 fine. And I hope a good public shunning from her neighbors as well.

I think the second Asshat deserves an extra-special Richard Cranium award.

Water board member Xavier Alvarez bragged at a public meeting that he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor while serving as a Marine, which is the military's highest honor.

I don't know who keeps track of that stuff, but apparently it's a pretty serious offense if you lie about it. Especially if you're an elected official.

Alvarez was later charged with the Stolen Valor Act of 2005 after admitting that he not only didn't win the medal, but had never served at all.

You'd think that after getting caught with his pants down, the doofus would just take his lumps like a big boy.

But no.

His defense?

The Stolen Valor Act "violates" his right to be a lying douchebag. It's a free speech thing, you know.

So in Alvarez's mind, the soldiers who risk life and limb to protect his First Amendment rights are doing it so that he can benefit from the respect and reflected glory by claiming the award if he damn well feels like it.

"...But government prosecutors said in their opposition submitted Wednesday that the First Amendment does not protect deliberate falsehoods."

And I bet there are a few soldiers who'd like a private word with you too, Mr. Alvarez.

As an afterthought, my campus bookstore deserves an honorable mention for some Asshattery as well. I wrote about it over here on Disaboom.

Naughty, Naughty!!

Well, I've gotten a couple of days of sunshine, even though it's been cold has heck. Gotta shake myself out of the apathy because school started this week for both Big Kid and I.

In honor of Little Guy's favorite TV show coming back after hiatus---Super Nanny, which features the "naughty corner"---I've saved a couple of eye-rolling "naughty bits" to comment on.

The first is from the UK, where some whiny boob is complaining about his chesticles, and the refusal of Britain's national (socialistic) medical system to give him a free breast reduction. It's not that they're actually telling him to take a hike, mind you---they told him to drop a bunch of stones before they would consider him (I think that's some weird British term for pounds---not the money pounds, I think it's fat pounds---but I don't have a lard conversion table on hand).

So this young guy, who is 23, claims he can't leave his house and work because he's afraid that people will look at him and say, "Yo! You need a 'bro'! (a man-bra)"

He's not willing to do what it takes for his medical system to consider him for surgery (laying off the mac and cheese), because he doesn't feel like he has too many stones (translated as pounds, but that's confusing to me) to lose.

He asked for the surgery back in 2005, but those unreasonable doctors told him to lose weight. Now he's so depressed he has to take anti-depressants. And of course, he can't work.

Well he could get the surgery if he was willing to go private and pay between 5 and 9000 pounds (this is the British money pounds, not the stone to lard pounds and converts to about 12 to 22, 000 dollars).

To be honest? After looking at his pic (he's so ashamed that he posed with his miniscule hooters for the rag), I have half a mind to invite him here to the lake for the 4th of July. I know of at least 6 guys who proudly strip down and display their big ole titties on a regular basis. UK guy should just get over himself.

But you know, then he'd probably want a pension for being awarded 1st place on the "Itty Bitty Titty Committee".

Ok, here's the link with the pic. I know you've been dying to see it. LOL

The second "Naughty Bit" eyeball roll goes to Virginia State delegate Lionel Spruill who introduced a bill to ban "trailer testicles" in the State of Virginia.

Let's see. Osama is still on the loose. Inner city schools need up-to-date textbooks, not to mention plumbing that's been updated since 1940, and roofs that don't leak. People are homeless. Families can't afford adequate health insurance or health care. Cancer and AIDS haven't been cured and are still killing folks right and left.

And Lionel thinks it's crucial to spend tax-payer time and money on some doofusy Larry-the-Cable-Guy's fans having rubber gonads swinging off their trailer hitches?

Who are the idjits who voted this POS into office? I mean seriously!

Dulldroms

Thanks everybody for all your kind wishes for healing. I'm definitely feeling much better now!

I got a heckofa cold which settled into my sinuses and both ears. But as most Mom's know, you can't EVAH be sick on your own. The creeping crud goes round and round. Usually.

You got to weed out the--uh--fakers--or more kindly, those struck with "mental colds by association which renders them completely helpless so they expect to be waited on hand and foot".

In other words, the men in my house. I'll give them a foot.

With a bad cold, for the most part, on day one, you start feeling a little punky. Day two, you realize you got issues, but you hope that popping 12 vitamin C tablets will ward it off (too little, too late, and then you get acid burny butt on top of it).

Day three is when it really kicks in and makes you feel like death on a platter. Day four and five---if it's a really bad cold---is when you might end up with bronchitis, an ear or sinus infection.

So those of you who are familiar with the characters in my family might think this is pretty amusing. Yes, I exaggerated a bit. Maybe. A little. But in my feverish state, I swear this is a true happening. ;-)

Day three into my cold, Little Guy came home from school. He asked if he could take a nap. This is the kid who NEVER tells you he's sick until he's got a 104 fever.

"You ok?" I croaked.

My throat is a little sore. Can you ask Dad to bring home orange juice?

I call Hubby and tell him that I think Little Guy is sick. Could he bring home orange juice? Me? Still in the throes of heinie of fire, not going to touch anything citrus with a 10-foot-pole.

I'm feeling a little sniffly too. I think I have what you have. I can't be sick now. I have too much stuff to do!!

An hour or so later, Big Kid emerges from his cave, where over the last 3 weeks, with birthday and Xmas money, he's upgraded his Xbox 360 so he can play online with people all over the world who are a lot better at the games than he is.

Is Little Guy home from school?

"He's sick and he's taking a nap."

I sneezed a couple of hours ago. Do you think I might have pneumonia? Can I wake Little Guy up to go out to the garage to bring me in some soda? I'd feel better with soda, and if I expose my frail pneumatic body to the cold it would make it worse. Some guy said so on his MySpace page. And you know that everything you read on the Internet is true!

I didn't have enough energy to respond verbally, but he ran off back to his room after I bounced a hairbrush off his head.

Curled up next to the woodstove, wrapped in a blanket and reading a book (just couldn't seem to keep warm), the phone rang. It was Hubby.

I had to blow my nose, so I'm leaving the office. I know I caught what you have! I can't be sick now! I have too much work to do! Do we need anything besides orange juice from the store? Do we have Nyquil? Do we have cough drops? I can't believe I'm sick! &*^%$$!!

I said I didn't know and I'd be damned if I was going to go and hunt it all out. I'm wrapped up, I'm finally warm, and I ain't moving an inch. Might as well buy it at the store, we'd probably use it at some point during the cold and flu season.

Big Kid comes back out of the Bat Cave. Was that Dad? Is he coming home? Could you ask him to pick me up some cigarettes?

"WTF? You had a new pack this morning? You smoked a whole freaking pack in 9 hours?"

I've been feeling stressed out! And my chest feels really heavy. Do you think I might have a lung tumor? Since I probably have pneumonia, can I smoke INSIDE the house because it's really cold outside and as you know, experts say that cold temperatures can make pneumonia worse! I probably got pneumonia because I have to smoke outside in the freezing cold!

He didn't run fast enough out of the room. I'm sure my book left a good dent on his head next to the one left by the hairbrush. If he'd even GOTTEN the irony over that exchange, I might have just thrown my slipper from hell. The entire stupidity of it deserved the force of a big hard-backed book.

I'd stuck a huge pork roast in the oven that morning to slow cook over the day without anybody having to watch over it. Like I could. Saute a little peppers and onions, throw on some sauce, BBQ sandwiches for everybody who is up to eating.

Hubby came home loaded for bear. Bottles of Nyquil. Several bags of cough drops. Gallons of orange juice. Lubricated kleenex for his sensitive widdle nose.

I can't believe I'm sick! I can't afford to catch this crap right now! I've got too much work to do! I'm really starting to feel like sh*t! I know I'm on the verge of being horribly sick, and I just don't have the time for it!

Oh....do I smell BBQ?

Big Kid came out of the Bat Cave again and forgot to mention that he couldn't breathe any more.

MMMMmmmm!

Little Guy woke up, and I asked him how he was feeling. His throat was a "little sore", but he had bright red cheeks and Charles Manson crazy eyes. Would he like some soup? Some jello maybe?

Did you make BBQ?

Hubby and Big Kid chowed down. Little Guy had a bit. Then he started walking into walls.

"Honey, can I make you a cup of Theraflu?"

In a little bit, Mom. As soon as my dinner taste goes away.

Snarf.

Got him dosed, and I fell into bed without dinner. Woke up the next morning to unopened Nyquil and bags of cough drops on the counter. My "sick"--ha--and noisy guys hadn't even touched them. And they were both fine when they woke up.

Little Guy had the full whammy though.

I don't know if it's been the gray and freezing days, or trying to bounce back from my cold, but I've just been suffering from a really crushing depression, in which I feel almost paralyzed.

I haven't felt like writing. I haven't felt like reading. I don't want to get out of bed at all.

I have a mountain of paperwork to do, which I wrote about here in Disaboom a week or so ago. It's partially done, which is a good thing.

I truly thank you Friends, for all your lovely comments. You really are the best!

Love,

ATM

Pfffft!

I godda bat code. Be back soon. Achoo!

ATM

The Good, the Bad and the Fugly

Now that the holidays are over, I can take a breath and catch up on the silliness in the news.

Peeps. They just boggle the mind, don't they?

The Good:

Woman Finds Skaters Scott Hamilton and Kristi Yamaguchi Trapped in a Potato.

Well, not really. She thought she found Jesus. But since I don't think anybody really knows what Jesus looks like, it's just as likely to be Scott Hamilton and Kristi Yamaguchi, isn't it?

The Bad:

This woman is my kind of bad.

She and her boyfriend are about to take a shower together.

Except that he wants to include his dog in the bathroom for some reason (my mind doesn't EVEN want to go to some of those places). She says no. He insists.

She says, "I don't think I want to be your girlfriend if we have to have your dog in the bathroom while we're taking a shower together."

He says, "I think my next girlfriend will appreciate my dog more." And calls her a name.

So she punches him in the mouth. He gets hurt in the ensuing melee.

She ends up with a second-degree assault charge.

He ends up being known as the creepy guy who got his ass kicked by a naked girl.

I'm sure he and his dog will be very happy together.

The Fugly:

Geraldine Magda went to the nursing home to say goodbye to her terminally ill sister.

After she left, other relatives noticed that the dying woman's wedding ring was gone from her left hand---the hand that Magda had been holding shortly before. So they called the police.

Later that day, the police confronted Magda, asked to search her purse, and found the ring inside an empty prescription bottle.

"I have no idea how that got there!" she exclaimed. She's been charged with two felonies.

Fugly is probably the kindest word I could use. Sheesh!