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

You Really CAN'T Make This Stuff Up...

I've written before about my husband's feet, and how scary they are to me.

They're really dry, his toes are hairy and extra long---so they look like they have an additional toe-knuckle---and he's getting old-man toenails. You know---so thick that you could use them to make car bumpers or kevlar vests out of.

Plus he doesn't cut his nails often enough. No, this isn't a picture of his feet, but it's like what I imagine they are in my head.

About 3am a few days ago, he wanted to play footsie or something. He reached out with one of those spidery feet in his sleep and STABBED me in the back of the calf, before raking those suckers down to my ankle.

I screamed. And fell out of bed trying to get away from him. Plop! Bent my right ring-finger backwards when I fell into the louvered closet door. It's not broken, but definitely on the hurtin' side.

"You ok, Honey?" he asked sleepily.

YOU STABBED ME!

"You're going to make sandwiches?" Then he started snoring again.

Of course I gave him crap about it for the next two days, and handed him the hedge clippers. If he wanted to sleep in the conjugal bed, then he had some serious pruning to do.

The other night, he was complaining about how nasty and cracked his heels were. It's a recurring problem, and pretty gross. Maybe he was angling for a foot massage with lotion, but I wasn't biting. Especially since I'm out on the injured list with my bent-back finger.

I just handed him the lotion and a pair of cotton socks.

Next day, I went to the local drugstore and talked to the pharmacist. Asked what was the best stuff they had that was over-the-counter. She pointed me to an entire aisle of foot stuff.

Of course, out of all the remedies---most that looked the same, I took the one that tickled my funny-bone.

Crackcare. snarf. Yeah, you guys already know I'm demented that way.

Bought it and brought it home.

Anyhoo, later, after we'd unloaded the bags, I was sitting at the breakfast bar and picked up the package to take a better look at it.

This is what I read was in the active ingredients:

Whaaa??? Pee? Seriously? Pee?

Ok, inquiring minds and all....

Pee helps dry cracked skin?

I remember Madonna ::koff:: going for shock value on David Letterman or some such late-night talk show a decade or more ago advising that standing in your own pee in the shower was good for your skin. If that's so, then you'd think she'd be squatting in the garden and making facial mud packs or something out of it. She's been looking mighty rugged these days.

Other questions:

Who's pee does it belong to? I know they probably pasteurized it or did some kind of process to make it free from impurities, but where did they get it? Is it human? Animal?

Can people make money off their pee? I mean is there a market for it? How lucrative is it? And how do the companies advertise to get people to pee for money? Can they do it at home in a cup and send it Fed Ex in gallon jugs, or do they have to go to some central facility to contribute (which could cause issues if you have to go there 5 times a day). Do they pay for mileage?

Do the pee-ers have to eat something special to add nutrients like asparagus, or avoid things like caffeine or alcohol?

Because on margarita night, I can p*ss like a racehorse. I could wear a catheter and make a quota in 4 hours or less.

I'm not going to let hubby in on the fact that he's applying somebody else's pee to his feet until we see if it helps.

For the sake of science, naturally.

And my finger. It's just begging for justice.

I know, I know. Going straight to hell.

It's a Mad, Mad, Mad World, or Sometimes You Just Gotta Say...

Big ol' list here...What the hell is in the water???? I mean, seriously??

_______________

Ok, two years ago You let your 14-year-old child who had Cerebral Palsy suffer from maggots in her bedsores, and starved her to death. Now you're suing the city of Philadelphia for a gazillion dollars in damages on behalf of your other children because they've been "traumatized" by her death?

The basis? Because the city should have *known* you were unfit parents.

And your oldest, who is 19, has a separate suit that seeks another gazillion because her death caused him "substantial mental pain".

2 years ago, this parasite would have been 17. Like he couldn't have seen she was suffering and starving and said something to somebody--neighbor, teacher, stranger on the street. Where was HIS compassion in the midst of HER pain?

Sheesh! What in the hell is wrong with you people? And your lawyers?

______________

Not excusing this guy for being a criminal, but hey, when the heck does the stupid end?

Guy is arrested for holding a woman down and masturbating on her. Yeck.

Bails out and is issued a "no contact" order.

She comes to HIS house. He calls the police to have her removed.

And is arrested for violating the "no contact order". The judge tells him "it was his responsibility to not have contact with the alleged victim."

Huh?

_________________

In a Michigan nursing home, a patient died and three employees were instructed to prepare her body for pick-up by the funeral home. Before doing this, they "posed" her corpse and took pictures with their cell phones. Other employees witnessed this outrage, and informed management.

After a hearing by the company, the three employees were fired and reported, but the County Health Department couldn't find enough evidence to prove that they violated any public health code.

Criminal charges were filed, but ultimately the Michigan Appellate court found that because the woman was dead, she could no longer be considered a patient, so the statute of "physically mistreating a patient" no longer applied.

So these three dirtbags walked out with their nursing credentials intact.

Oh, and the nursing home---which followed all the correct procedures as soon as it was made aware of this employee misconduct---was cited for violating a patient's dignity.

WTF?

_______________


Finally---and this obit was taken down today along with the guest book---but thank goodness for Google cache....

The old saying "never speak ill of the dead" is finally dead.

Read here. Gak. (well pooh, the link doesn't work anymore---read below)

That leaves me with a couple of options.

Either I should write my own obit and instruct my attorney to send it out at my demise, or I better start sucking up to my kids.

Then again, this woman might have truly been evil. eek.

Sad and scary that this is her legacy:

"Dolores had no hobbies, made no contribution to society and rarely shared a kind word or deed in her life. I speak for the majority of her family when I say her presence will not be missed by many, very few tears will be shed and there will be no lamenting over her passing.

Her family will remember Dolores and amongst ourselves we will remember her in our own way, which were mostly sad and troubling times throughout the years. We may have some fond memories of her and perhaps we will think of those times too. But I truly believe at the end of the day ALL of us will really only miss what we never had, a good and kind mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. I hope she is finally at peace with herself. As for the rest of us left behind, I hope this is the beginning of a time of healing and learning to be a family again.

There will be no service, no prayers and no closure for the family she spent a lifetime tearing apart. We cannot come together in the end to see to it that her grandchildren and great-grandchildren can say their goodbyes. So I say here for all of us, GOOD BYE, MOM."

Seeing Stars

The Perseids Meteor shower peaked early this morning, so I hauled the crew (except for Little Guy who could give a rat's patootie) up at 4am to watch.

Incredible. We wrapped up and sat on the deck drinking decaf, and between the three of us, saw over 60 shooting stars within an hour.

We're in a perfect spot---up around 9000 feet, no city lights to dim the view.

What's really bizarre is that after we got back up later and I was sitting on the deck drinking high-octane coffee at about 9:30am----I could still see them in the blue sky! Never would I have expected that in a million years! Hubby was late to work because he came out and got caught up in it too.

A bit later, while Little Guy was getting his hair cut, I sat outside Great Clips and saw 3 in about 5 minutes.

There's a week or so left of shooting stars. If you get a chance, get up a couple of hours before dawn and catch them if you can!

Asshat of the Week---Ben Stiller

This week's Asshat goes to actor/director/writer/producer Ben Stiller.

I'm not going into a diatribe---I wrote about how I feel earlier this year in my post Language is Powerful. Dave Hingsburger wrote about Mr. Stiller this week and I couldn't say it better.

And for anyone who blithely thinks it's "just a word", I challenge you to substitute the "N" word every time you use the "R" word. You wouldn't? Why ever not?

Many thanks to Jacqui at Terrible Palsy for the head's up, and for posting this:

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

The Good, The Bad and The AAAAAIIIGHHHHHH!!

Finally decided to take a look at the news I missed when I was gone, and for the last week or so while I was hiding out.

Gak!

Why does all the weirdo stuff happen when I'm away???

The Good

I can't stop laughing at farmer Rhett Davis's sense of humor. When home-buyers first built McMansions along the edge of the working farm that his family has owned since he was 7, they loved the idyllic view of his horses, cows and fields.

But then the complaints started rolling in. They didn't like the flies or the mosquitos. They didn't like the dust that was generated during harvest season when his crop of hay was bailed. They didn't invest all that money to have to be subjected to THAT.

Davis tried to do his share. He offered to erect a fence between the homes and his property if the homeowners would split the cost of materials.

They refused. It would "spoil" their view. Of his horses, cows and fields.

So Davis took a backhoe, dug three holes and erected his own fence. Made of old demolition derby cars, buried nose down.

"This is my redneck Stonehenge."

He doesn't plan to keep the cars there, but wanted to prove a point. It's his property and he's going to do what he wants with it.

Think the neighbors will "get" it?

The Bad

I found this over on The Consumerist and it really tickled my funny bone. A disgruntled customer left a large number of foul messages on his cable company's answering machine until they came over and fixed the &^%^&** thing. I guess they compiled them and put them to music.

It reminds me of when my husband found out our sole cable company was not going to carry the pre-season Denver Bronco games and we switched to Direct TV within a couple of days.

NOT safe for work or around small children. Or your mother. Or your minister. Maybe your plumber.



The FUGLY!!! AAAAIIIGGHHHHHH!!!

Apparently a new fad in beautyland----Fish Pedicures.

You put your feet in a tank and let dozens of fish EAT the dead skin and calluses off your feet while you relax.

RELAX??? GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

What demented soulless piece of crap came up with THAT form of torture?

Yes, I know that the fish don't look like this picture. They're tiny little things. But if I was sitting with MY feet in the tank, this is what I'd be imagining.

I would cut off my feet and hobble around on spurting stumps before I would willingly put my tootsies in with things that were going to EAT me.

Because that's what they're doing, you know. Eating you.

GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Pffffttttt....

Aiggghhhh----just haven't had the energy to post this week. Which is sad to say, since we just got back from vacation.

Sunday afternoon, Big Kid went out with Cougar woman. We got a message later that night that he was going to stay over at her place because she had trouble with night vision and driving (like she wasn't previously aware of this?). Of course, our biggest concern was NOT what you might think---hahaha---it was the fact that he hadn't brought any of his night medication with him. Which includes the anti-psychotics.

Typically, if he misses a night, there is a rebound effect even if he takes them first thing in the morning. And Little Guy and I got four hours of fugly later that afternoon---delusional thinking and property damage (amazingly enough, he never gets out of control enough to break anything that belongs to HIM). Big Kid was half an inch from getting his ass thrown in the slammer.

So, with the support of his doctor and disability advocate, we've spent this week exploring some adult group homes in the nearby city to see if this might be an option for Big Kid. As I've said previously, he is very resistant to being a participant in his own life. If we allow him to stay here permanently, we're not giving him wings. And it's not like we aren't going to be loving and supportive and a part of his life if he lives somewhere else.

I just don't think that I can facilitate the whole school/life/treatment thing much longer. It would be one thing if he learned from his mistakes, but he doesn't, and just continues and continues and continues. So I have to be a buffer between him and Hubby. And I have to be a buffer between him and Little Guy. He resents being dependent on us, but isn't going to take steps to be independent on his own. So we've been busy trying to come up with a plan.

TGIF!!

P.S. Did learn something interesting. Cougar woman lives with her MIL (she's widowed). So Big Kid's overnighter was spent on the couch. And since they're crazy cat ladies, he came home covered in fur. I suppose that's better than coming home with Geritol-Breath.

Notes on Our Trip...

Trying to finish up the first leg of our trip with a few anecdotes....

The service at the Del was unbelievable for the most part. With a couple of small exceptions. When we checked in, the bellman brought our bags up, got us ice, asked us if he could have reservations made for dinner (you know ol' anal retentive me, I had a list...LOL). It was first class all the way.

We got a room in the old Victorian part of the hotel. We knew the room would be small, but it was actually a little larger than expected. The king-sized bed? Uh not really king-sized. I spent 3 nights with Hubby snoring in my face. Or into the back of my head, which made my ears vibrate. If we had been at home in OUR king-sized bed, I could have just rolled him over.

In THIS bed, he would have needed dental work once we pried his face out of the floor.

But I have to say that the pillows were absolutely perfect, which is unusual in a hotel, in my opinion.

Secondly, what would be an Attila post without a little doody?

And that was a problem.

There WAS no doody (not the Del's fault, of course).

There was no doody for 3 days. My bowels had completely shut down. I was so blocked up, I couldn't even muster up a one-cheek sneak.

I shoveled quite a bit of fabulous food into the entrance part of my body, but nothing was exiting. I drank a lot of water. I ate my fruits and veggies. Nada. On day three, I was feeling a bit uncomfortable.

Ok, a LOT uncomfortable. I had fantasies of running to a drugstore in town, buying a bottle of Alli, and downing several capsules with a stick or two of butter as a chaser. The only problem with that scenario is that while predictable (makes you sh*t grease like the dickens), you can't set your watch to it.

I could be on one of those raft tours, feel the urge to fart, and spot-weld everybody to their seats with a flying load of lubed squid and tortilla chip shrapnel.

And the bathroom in our room wasn't helping. It was tiny. As in Clueless-Guy-Driving-A-Shiny-Corvette tiny. The toilet was right up against the wall. The toilet paper holder thingy was bolted to the back of the door. While my right leg could spread out a little for some pushing traction, my left was wedged in. On the right side, my shoulder was rammed up against the sink.

Imagine trying to do the 2 with your knees together and your arms crossed over your chest. In this bathroom, everything just had to kind of "fall out" on it's own.

Which just wasn't happening.

When I woke up at 4am on day 4 (wet buzzsaws in my face), I knew THIS would be the day. The night before, I'd overheard another guest talk about the tiny bathroom issue and how her husband just opened the door to dooky so his left leg would have somewhere to go when he dug his heels in.

I figured I could get Hubby out of the room at some point in the morning so I could get to work and void. Yes, yes, I KNOW we've been together for 15 years, but there are just some things we don't feel comfortable doing in front of each other. Laying cable is one of them.

I took a quick pee, and gak. When I flushed, the water went down and didn't come back up. I waited for the toilet to stop running and flushed again. This time it filled up to the rim. Awww crap!

At 6am, I quietly called down to the front desk and asked if they could send somebody with a plunger up.

At 7am, Hubby woke up, and naturally, needed to use the facility. I informed him it was a no-go, so he threw on his swimsuit and sweatshirt, and raced down to the first floor to find a toilet before swimming.

At 7:30am, I called again down to the front desk and asked them to send somebody with a plunger up. Told them that I could plunge the toilet myself, just please send one up.

At 8am, I ran down to the lobby to pee again. And really, don't bother asking why I didn't do the number 2 down there. If I can't do it in the same hotel room as hubby, believe me, I can't do it in a public toilet either. I stopped by the front desk and asked again for a plunger.

At 9am, Hubby was back and ready to go to brunch. We had reservations for the Del's famous Brunch in the Crown Room at 9:30, and were planning to check out at noon.

The situation wasn't yet desperate, but I could tell that the Mayor was going to be ready to hand me the keys to Pooville in the next couple of hours, so I called down again.

This time I was specific.

I haven't taken a crap in almost 4 days and I'm ready to roll! Unless you want housekeeping to have to deal with a very large and nasty surprise in the bowl after we check out, you'll get somebody up here with alacrity!

When we got back from brunch, yes, somebody had been up to clear the drains.

I sent Hubby out to buy himself a t-shirt and was able to lose about 8 pounds.

Whew!
___________________________

Ok, random people watching....

Hubby went down to the pool one morning and noticed a sign in front of one of the conference rooms that said "Private Function: Arizona Trial Lawyers Association".

A little while later, while he was swimming, a young woman came to the pool with 3 small children. Obviously a nanny or an au pair.

He overheard one of the tykes say to her, "If I die, you're going to owe my dad a LOT of money!"

Hubby asked her, "Trial Lawyers Association?"

"Yep".

Hehehe.

P.S. The second photo is from Mc P's Irish Pub pointing out the way to the restrooms. Mc P's is a great little place on Coronado which is owned and operated by a retired Navy Seal. Great margaritas!

More Pics...

Still trying to recover from vacay. As in---take care of the crap that fell by the wayside while we were (blissfully) gone.

Here are a few more pics of the trip---the lobby of the hotel, the miniature elevator operator (straight out of central casting, I swear!), some of the gardens, etc....

We're Baaaaaack!!! (Grrrr)

I want to say that we're tanned, rested and ready (kind of like Nixon for 2008), but that would be a lie. I've never managed to turn into the one big freckle I imagined was possible when I was a youngster to get that coveted all-over tan, and gave up years ago. Let's just say I didn't suffer any serious burns. Other than carpet. he.

Ok, TMI!

And I have to admit that Hubby had to drag me kicking and screaming onto the plane back. Not because I was afraid of flying, amazingly enough---but because I just didn't want to come home!

Speaking of flying---I did it! I've had a serious, I mean SERIOUS phobia about flying which intensified after 9/11 and an incident that happened with Hubby's family. Not going to go into it in this post, but getting on a plane hasn't been an option for around 11 years.

I did it without meds or booze to help me along too! Hubby MIGHT be able to golf again next spring once the crunchy little bones in his hand have mended, but to me, the whole trip was worth a little discomfort on his part.

So on the first leg of our trip, we flew down to San Diego and rented a car to drive out to Coronado Island (it's really an isthmus, but who's counting?). Since this was for our anniversary, Hubby went whole hog and got the luxury sedan. Woohoo!

We stayed at the historic Hotel Del Coronado. I'd been there a couple of times while growing up, but Hubby had never been. This has been on my list of "places I'd like to go someday with Hubby", so it was really exciting for us!


We got a King room (hah--more on that later) in the old part of the hotel, and it truly is a Grand Old Lady, architecturally and historically. And the service was just amazing, for the most part.

The summer is obviously the busy season, and there were a lot of people there. Many groups from all over the country and the world.

Since I haven't traveled afar in the last several years, I guess I just forgot how culturally insulated we've been in our little mountain town. Seeing and interacting with an incredibly diverse array of families and groups was really a joy. A little funny too.

The first day we were there, we spent a little time "people watching", listening to all the different languages and taking in the total ambiance while sitting in the courtyard. Later that evening when we were leaving for dinner, Hubby had to run back up to the room to get our valet ticket so I sat out front and waited.

An Asian family walked by me---and don't ask me to be more specific, because I'm simply not astute enough to recognize all the differences. There was a mom, a dad, another adult female and 5 youngsters, the oldest was about 10. They were all very small (lots of people are small compared to Hubby and I) and wore coordinating summer outfits of t-shirts and shorts. Their little boy, who looked to be about 5 or 6 suddenly broke away and raced ahead full speed.

I waited for one of the adults to call to him, and expected to hear some fabulously exotic language.

Instead, the mom opened her mouth and Fran Drescher fell out: "AWWWWSTIN! STOP! D'ja hear me or what? Red Light! Red Light! AWWWSTIN! Get back heah! Don't make me chase yewwwoooo!"

I laughed so hard at my own doofusness that I almost fell over. ;-)

Life's a Beach!

Hubby and I are leaving tomorrow for the first away vacation we've had alone in the last 11 years.

I haven't been on a plane since then, and anxiety abounds.

...Except I think that spending another year without getting far away has its own special hell built in. I need this downtime.

My ex-MIL is coming to spend quality time with the guys and make sure nobody burns the house down.

So think about us on the beaches in Californ-eye-A! Be back in a week!

Smooches,

ATM

P.S. No parties in here while I'm away. I mean it. If someone so much as cracks a beer in the comments section I'll know. 'Cause I'm the mom. Don't make me hurt you.

The Run Down Cougar Canyon

If you're tuning in late, read the previous post.

Hubby and I are trying not to act too shocked about this whole thing. I suspect that Hubby is saying to himself---like commenter Just Bob---(Damn! Where were all the cougars and horny high school teachers when I was growing up?), so I don't allow him to be very indignant about this.

And since the woman in question is his age, I just don't think it's appropriate for him to comment too much on it.

Not that he would, I don't think---he's really a conservative and somewhat uh prissy guy, but over the years, I've run into ::koff:: "gentleman" (some were friends of my dad who didn't consider that the small fry---mainly me---were listening) pontificate about the wear and tear and saggage of women of a certain age, while complacently ignoring the fact that they had bigger titties, droopier butts and prolly hadn't seen their own peckers that were damply moldering under their beer bellies for at least a decade.

Ever hear the old joke--and truly, I'm not trying to pick on Donald Trump since I made the comment about his hair in the last post---and his divorce from Marla Maples?

Did you know that Donald divorced Marla because she violated their prenuptial agreement?

Yep. She turned 30. Bahahahaha.

But I guess when I cheered Demi and Ivana for marrying their cabana boys, I should have figured that at some point I'd have to put my money where my mouth is. Karma is weird that way.

And Ouch.

Sooooo....knowing first hand how sad and achingly lonely Big Kid has been, I'm not going to put up a full-frontal opposition to any of it. If I do, with his issues, I can't think of anything that will make him more determined to hang in there and see it through.

If it works out and he's happy, then what more could I ask for?

He's been so sad for so long.

If it doesn't work out, then it's a different and hopefully informative life experience under his belt.

I'm pleasant when she calls, but no, I'm not inviting her to Sunday dinner. Nor am I going to facilitate any of it by being his mommy-cab and driving him down to the city for a date. They're grown-ups and can figure it all out for themselves.

By the same token, he has to realize that I'm uncomfortable with this, and if he wants to have hearts-to-hearts about it, he has to be ready to take the flak from everybody. If Ashton Kutcher can do it, why can't he?
________________

Random comments from the peanut gallery so far:

Big Kid's therapist: Run, don't walk away from this!
__________________

Big Kid's Friend: Does she have all of her own teeth?

Big Kid: Do you know how I could find out?
__________________

Big Kid: Did you ever see that movie Harold and Maude (he's apparently been primed on this--and she hasn't heard about Mrs. Robinson)?

Me: Yes. But obviously you haven't.

Big Kid: Well it's about an older woman and a younger man.

Me: Yeah, and after they have sex, she kills herself. You think that will be good for your self-esteem?
___________________

Hubby (to Big Kid): Maybe you're confused about her interest in you. Maybe she just wants someone to do yardwork.

Big Kid: I'm pretty sure that was a date.

Hubby: Are you positive she didn't ask you to trim her bushes?

Big Kid: No, she didn't.

Me: Well if she does, make sure she specifies what bushes she needs trimmed, ok?

Big Kid (not recognizing the whooshing sound over his head): What are you guys talking about?
____________________

Big Kid: I'm feeling sad. She's been working all day and I haven't gotten a chance to talk to her.

Me: Call one of your grandmas. They'd be thrilled to hear from you and you never know---you might just get that same warm, fuzzy feeling.
_______________

Big Kid (to me): I was thinking that maybe the two of you could be good buddies because you're close in age.

Me: My good buddies and I mainly talk about our children and sex. She'll probably want to hear about that poop chunk you left on the back of the toilet seat last week as much as I'll want to hear that you don't know where her clitoris is.
_______________

Bah! Who's going to volunteer to shoot me? Just shoot me now!

The Cosmic Joker

Dear Boss of the Universe,

I'd like to think that we have a pretty good working relationship.

You know I don't spend all our face-time asking for personal stuff---although I suppose asking for world peace does affect me and mine personally. I do ask that you try to change the hearts of people who contemplate doing bad things, and to comfort people who are facing tragedies.

And I spend a lot of time thanking you for my personal blessings and the wonderful creations You provide such as cool breezes on steaming hot days, and now tubs of ready-made Philadelphia Cream Cheese cheesecake filling when I'm tempted to drive a BBQ fork directly into my throat. No bothersome springform pans or graham-cracker crust to wade through. Just hand me a shovel.

You've blessed us all with free will, and I know that at least 90% of my problems are those I've created myself, so I don't try to fob them off on You. Sometimes I ask You for strength in cleaning my own crap up, but the responsibility is mine.

And I appreciate that you have a twisted sense of humor---as shown by Your creation of platypuses, Donald Trump's hair, and KFC's "Famous" Bowls of slop.

We've had quite a few conversations over the last couple of years about Big Kid and his issues.

Ok, honestly, I've talked, You've listened.

He's desperately lonely. Between shyness and panic attacks---and other issues----he simply doesn't have the social skills he needs to develop meaningful relationships. The few friends he maintained from high school have either gone on to away college and jobs, or are loser dopers who he has (thankfully) distanced himself from.

Plus the fact that he doesn't learn from his mistakes is a huge check-mark in the minus box.

So over the last few years, most of his interaction to the outside world has been through stupid social networking sites like Myspace. Oh, and Tru.Com, which has a system that is almost impossible to cancel from and keeps billing his debit card (to an account that has no money in it) although he's called 3 times to cancel it. They keep sending him "so and so winked at you" notices in email, and impulsively he goes to check it out. The minute he logs in, they bill him for another month at 60 bucks a pop or so. :::sigh:::

But You know all that.

He's "hooked up" with 14-year-olds who pretended to be 19-year olds. He's given our home phone number out to several psycho girls who have never learned phone etiquette and if they didn't get an answer from one call, instead of leaving a message and waiting for him to call back, found a need to call every freaking 10 minutes with the hope that at some point he'd pick up the phone. Until I answered and screamed at them.

Then they called every 30 minutes.

And then there are the ones who think that calling at 2am is socially appropriate.

Let's not forget the couple of harpies who are local and recognized his MySpace profile and who have too much time on their hands. They make up fake profiles and pretend to be interested and write to him. Like a doof, he responds, gets all invested and spills his heart out, only to get a big huge Bahahahahaha at some point. You'd think after the first couple of times, he'd be a little more wary.

Of course there's the multitude in between---where he's fudged about himself, or they've fudged about themselves and they talk on the phone for a few weeks and like dumbasses are telling each other "I LURVE YOU!!" Then when they meet in person, it's sad and ugly all around.

I know I've talked to You and admitted that I hoped Big Kid would find somebody a bit older than his 21 years to be friendly with. Someone who is out of school, has some life experience and is beyond the juvenile game-playing stage. Somebody who might take this big lump of boy and give him a few worthy life lessons. Big hope, huh? What does he really have to offer someone who is stable and goal-oriented? Other than his lovely green eyes?

As You know, he met somebody recently. She was tooling around on MySpace and liked his musical choices. They chatted in email for a couple of weeks. She's gainfully employed, drives (HUGE plus, because he doesn't), has her own place. Then they talked on the phone for a week or so. He walked around with a huge smile on his face.

Yesterday, they made plans to meet in the park of the sort-of big city down the pass and go to lunch. I drove him down and dropped him off.

Little Guy and I went shopping and to lunch and picked Big Kid up a few hours later. He was on Cloud 9.

She had kissed him goodbye. And she called him later to tell him what a great time she had. He and I sat down to talk about how good he was feeling about it, and what he hoped might come of it all. Then he filled me in on a few things.

Boss of the Universe, I know I confessed to You that I hoped Big Kid might find someone a bit older and more experienced. And I realize that you have a somewhat odd sense of humor.

But seriously, and please don't smite me, because I ask this with the utmost respect....

5 years older than ME? Are You freaking insane????

ATM





PS---to my blogfriends, will fill you in with the details once I manage to choke them down.

More Stupid for Breakfast

What in the heck is UP with The National Children's Bureau in the UK? They recently issued a 366-page guide to those in charge of pre-school children to root out racism before it can take hold.

Nurseries are '"encouraged to report as many incidents as possible to their local council."

To quote: This could include a child of as young as three who says "yuk" in response to being served unfamiliar foreign food.

You have GOT to be sh*tting me.

I mean it.

Ok, in the U.S. we are the kings of pork barrel spending. 200 dollar toilet seats, 50 dollar widgets, etc, etc.

I KNOW we have no room to talk, because we've spent a bazillion dollars on studies of cow farts, but by the same token, you'd think that some of our UK critics would realize that giving this council 12 million pounds a year (which roughly translates to about 24 million dollars in yankee money, but don't quote me on that) could be better spent on things like fluoridated water or orthodontia for all the good this directive has.

At the age of 3, neither of my guys would eat anything with curry in it. Did it make them prejudiced against people from India or Pakistan? Did they know where India or Pakistan is? Did they know there was such places as India or Pakistan? Doh.

Little Guy wouldn't eat anything orange, including carrots and oranges. What a pig he was, discriminating against rabbits and Floridians. He wouldn't eat cotton candy either, which clearly shows a bias against clowns.

Sometime in the past, I wrote about how in the 6th grade we did a study on Eskimos, or Inuits in North America. We were shown a standardized and locally infamous film where a father killed a caribou, cut out its eyeball and handed it to his toddler son, who took a big bite out of it. When we watched it in my class, the kid named Gregory in front of me (who weirdly enough I was thinking about around a week ago out of the blue) turned around and yarked on my pants and shoes.

Was that racist against Inuits?

In my opinion, no. If somebody handed me a plate with an eyeball on it, I'd promptly hand it back. Maybe with a little pukey added sauce on my part.

You can't account for personal taste.

My husband despises Lima beans, but he doesn't walk around damning Peruvians.

And inquiring minds want to know: People in the UK traditionally eat blood sausage, toad-in-the-hole and Spotted Dick.

If some "foreigner" turned THEIR nose up at those culinary choices, according to the National Children's Bureau, would they be accused of discriminating against AIDs victims, frogs, and men with freckles on their privates (don't EVEN want to go there!)?

Stupid. They eat stupid for breakfast.