Thursday, March 31, 2005

Parenthesis

pa·ren·the·sis
n. pl. par·en·the·ses (-sz)

Either or both of the upright curved lines, ( ), used to mark off explanatory or qualifying remarks in writing or printing or enclose a sum, product, or other expression considered or treated as a collective entity in a mathematical operation.

A qualifying or amplifying word, phrase, or sentence inserted within written matter in such a way as to be independent of the surrounding grammatical structure.

A comment departing from the theme of discourse; a digression.

An interruption of continuity; an interval: "This is one of the things I wasn't prepared for - the amount of unfilled time, the long parentheses of nothing" (Margaret Atwood).




How do ya like them apples?

Although I picked the name on the fly, out of my arse, apropos of nothing other than my loose grasp of proper English writing principles, it's pretty appropriate, don't 'cha think?

I thought a little definition was fitting for Day One of my beautiful new blog.

Thank you Seven! Thank you for making me stand out, not stick out.

Click his link people and go give him some love. Tell him I sent you.

If I Smoke a Fatty Will I Still Feel My Ears Bleeding?

Sometimes the headline is all you need.....

"Sinead O'Connor does reggae"

No, mon! NO!!

How Many Licks Does it Take to Get to the Hootie Roll Center of a Hootie Pop?

One

Two

Three


The world may never know.




PS - The TCBCR commercial combined with this leads me to believe that BK's secret sauce is thixotropic crack.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Soooooooo NOT Chubby Hugs

I love my mom, my bro, the hub and my MIL. But I HATE hugging them.

Why? Because I SUCK at it. I zig when I should zag. I think I squeeze to hard. I feel awkward and gigantic. I hate it when the hugee PATS me or rubs my back.

I think of hugs like I think of shopping - get in, get it done and get the hell out.

My own kids are about the only two humans I actually enjoy hugging. But hugging children is tricky business. I want to squeeze them so hard that they goosh back into me and I can carry them around inside of me, tucked away safely, like before they were born. Kids don't CARE what you want. They have their own time table. You don't hug them, THEY hug YOU.

My cousin is the extreme version of me. She has what she calls "the bubble". She pretty much prefers everyone to be at arms length at all times. But she also makes an exception for children. She says she will hug anyone "this height" (leveling hand at waist). She has casually mentioned that dating can be a bit strained. I'm sure.

When we left AZ I didn't even hug my best friend of 20 years goodbye. I don't feel remotely bad about it and, being my BF for so long, I don't think she even thought twice about it. I would probably feel worse if I hugged her.

It's not because I'm cold or remote. I'm a total slosh who can pretty much be counted on to cry at every Hallmark commercial. I am the moron who actually SOBS OUT LOUD in movie theatres (or at least I used to until my husband refused to accompany me to anything that might remotely have a sad spot). Sad spots featuring children are strictly verboten. I am STILL traumatized by "Pay it Forward". Hub refuses to let me even SEE "John Q", even in the privacy of my own home, for fear of the tirade I will go on.

I don't know why I hate hugging. Maybe I'll have a good Jung / Freud pow-wow on the other side and let them figure it out.

PS - I'm getting cremated so no one can hug my dead body.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

By the Pricking of My Thumbs...

.. something WICKED this way comes!

No, GOOD wicked. Not my-mother-is-coming-to-visit wicked.

My blog is getting an EXTREME makeover. The downside being that I will lose all old comments in the switch to Haloscan so...

if you all could just jot down your previous comments and come back and put them in again after the nip & tuck, that would be great.

Really.

Super.

Thanks.

Monday, March 28, 2005

AGAIN With the Gambling Debts?

How exactly DOES one go from lead-singer-in-hot-(relatively speaking)-90's-band to wearer-of-ridiculous-cowboy-suit-singing-songs-to-shill-for-Burger-King?

We KNEW you weren't going to reinvent yourself as a PGA pro but, COME ON Hootie!! BURGER KING??!! COMMERCIALS??!!

Good grief.

Funny, there's no mention of the ad on DariusRucker.com. It is also MIA from Hootie.com. It couldn't POSSIBLY be that he is ASHAMED of it?

Again, maybe he got to bang Brooke Burke at the end of the shoot.

And, again, is that reason enough?

Saturday, March 26, 2005

Ask and You Shall Receive...

Or in my case that should be "Drop hints the size of Pangaea and you shall receive (including, but not limited to, pointing spastically to those catchy green, black and white noisy TV commercials that you think must be for some sort of itch relief cream, but amazingly are not)."

Whatever works my friends.

At the end of the day, by which I mean today, today being my birthday (yes, thank you very much), I am now the proud owner of a shiny new ipod shuffle.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go do some illegal downloading.

Crap!

I just said illegal!

I mean, um, er, (sound of running away).

Phone Home

Another chapter from the "I Don't Fit In Here" files....

I'm in Sam's Club on Friday (discovering that Good Friday must be flock-to-Sam's-Club-Friday here in OK), buying like $250 worth of miscellaneous economy sized "necessities" (because who can live another single day without a case of Sunny Delight in sport top bottles?) and I notice that this guy and his kid in line behind me are buying five gigantic size bags of Reeses Pieces. Just the Reeses Pieces, nothing else (one would think they would want a drink or something, but apparently not).

Finally, as the cashier is ringing up my order (and placing everything incorrectly back in my cart so that she has to constantly rearrange every 30 seconds or so), my inner cat caves in to curiosity's siren's song....

Me: "Okay, I just have to ask, what's with all the Reese's Pieces?"

Man: blank stare

Me: pointing at mounded bags of Reese's Pieces moving down the belt, and smiling best charming smile, "Are you having an ET party?"

Man: blank stare turns to look at Reese's Pieces then blankly back at me.
Kid: Apparently having a petit mal seizure as his expression has not changed once

Me: glutton for punishment, "Seriously, what's with all the Reese's Pieces?"

Man: Blink. Blink. "We have a candy machine."

Me: Relieved Rainman has decided to speak, "Oh! That makes sense!"

Today's solemn vow - I will NEVER eat Reese's Pieces out of a candy machine EVER again.

Friday, March 25, 2005

Jiggity Jig

Home again. Home again.

We just got back from a basically harrowing trip to Arizona. Eighteen hours in a car with a three year old and a four year old (okay, almost five) is nothing to sneeze at. TWO eighteen hour car trips in SIX days is the fifth circle of hell.

Oh, and did I mention that BOTH kids contracted pinkeye and that is why we came home early? Oh yes, it was a joy. A crusty, oozing, highly contagious joy.

We went down for N's spring break to see our new nephew who was born March 9th (p.s. - he was ADORABLE and he has pointed ears so he looks like a little elf, but my favorite thing was that he peed on my mother just about every time she held him - oh yes, he DOES hold a special place in my heart now).

Tuesday my best friend and I tried to go to a spring training game but unfortunately decided to go to the A's thinking that was the easiest venue (Hohokam being out because Cub's tickets are harder to get and Scottsdale is a pain because there is NO parking whatsoever). Little did we know, but the A's were playing the Diamondbacks and apparently HALF of PHoenix decided to turn out and show the home team a little love. After literally hours of sitting in traffic waiting to get there, we find that the game is sold out.

(Side bitch #1 - I e-mailed my friend over a month ago and told her I wanted to go to a game and asked her to get tickets. But did she? No, of course she did not.

Side bitch #2 - We were in the lefthand turn lane FOREVER because all the saps in front of us kept letting other cars cut in ahead. By the time we reached the actual intersection there had been AT LEAST fifty cars cut in ahead of us. That's what you get for being a good driver who plans ahead to get in the proper lane. I can not even TELL you how irate I was getting.)

But on the plus side - I did PLENTY of shopping and got many cute new tops and bottoms for spring. So it was a good trip from that perspective.

Did I mention that my husband left my purse in a shopping cart at IKEA (which, if you haven't been, is a gigantic labyrinth of a store). Fortunately (for him) he found it. Good thing too. Jackass.

We stayed with my in-laws house which smells like old people (yuck) who smoke (double yuck). We brought a bottle of Febreeze in the car so we could hose ourselves whenever we went out, but I had to wash even our "clean" clothes when I got home because everything just stinks. Ugh!

Sooooooooooo glad to be home!

Did you miss me?

Friday, March 18, 2005

Where's the Street Wise Hercules?

My Aunt L and Uncle T, who live in Bumblefuck, Nebraska (no, that's not the real name, I stole it from Nick) have been my relationship heroes for years. They met in high school and fell in love. She was pregnant with my cousin when she received her diploma (total scandal 30-ish years ago) and they got married. To this day they still have such love in their eyes when they look at each other that it amazes me every time I see it. They still admire and respect each other and make each other laugh.

Last summer, when the monsters and I were up visiting, my aunt told me this story.

Uncle T decides that they need a new truck so he and Aunt L drop the kids off at Grandma's and go to the local dealership (probably Bob's dealership, you know Gert and Al's son?, and they know Bob and where every single car on the lot came from, one of THOSE towns). Again, by "dealership" I mean the old building with all the cars parked in the lot that may or may not have a sign designating it as Ford or Chevy or whatever.

Where was I? Oh yes...

So they pick out a truck and get the deal done. Then they drive their old truck back to Grandma's and pick up the kids. Driving away from Grandma's, Uncle T says,

"Let's go see a movie at the drive-in."

Of course the kids, who are young school-age-ish, go bananas. After a few miles he says,

"Well this windshield sure is dirty."

Aunt L says, "Well, let's stop and wash it."

But Uncle T hems and haws and says, 'But it has that big crack in it."

The kids start freaking out because they think their trip to the drive-in is in jeopardy. About this time they are approaching the dealership. Uncle T says,

"Well forget this dirty old truck! Let's take that one!"

and he points at the shiny new truck, sitting in the lot that, unbeknownst to the kids, they have just purchased. So they pull into the lot, unload the kids, who have eyes the size of watermelons and their mouths hanging open, and load them in the shiny new truck and off to the drive-in they go.

THAT is the kind of man I wanted to marry.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Doppelganger

How foolish is my mother-in-law?

Exhibit A - She is moving from Arizona to Oklahoma AS WE SPEAK, and realizes, at about Gallup, that she has neglected to call about having any utilities turned on.

Exhibit B - She asks ME to do it and gives me ALL her information, INCLUDING her SS#

I hope she enjoys the daily Krispy Kreme delivery I signed her up for (heh heh heh)

Monday, March 14, 2005

Accidentally On Purpose

Saturday night, here in the wilds of suburbia, we experienced our first "Progressive Dinner." You have appetizer at one persons house then herd on over to another's for salads, and so on for main course and dessert. Probably about a third of the neighborhood participated and the other two thirds got to hear us noisily tromping hither and yon with open containers in hand. I myself was always on the move with a very large bottle of Merlot in my hand. And I don't even LIKE Merlot.

Anyway, the "dessert house" ended up being probably the nicest home in the neighborhood. All the husbands immediately disappeared upstairs where there is a bar, fooseball, pool, darts and one of those bar shuffle board thingies. I was ready to leave at about 11:30, but hub fervently whispered to me in a gust of beer breath "This is the most fun I've had since we MOVED here!" so I soldiered home without him (but in the comforting companionship of a paper plate wrapped in tin foil and harboring three, count them THREE, pieces of cheesecake).

Hub finally totters on in at about 2:30 like the proverbial bull in the china shop. After knocking on the door and waiting the grand total of about 45 seconds for me to get up and make it down the stairs to let him in, he rings the freaking doorbell. Ass. Then he snarls at me when I chastise him for ringing the doorbell. Again, Ass. I go back upstairs (knowing better than to get into it with a drunk person) and he stomps into the kitchen and proceeds to bang every pot and pan in the place, ostensibly looking for a snack.

When he has thrashed the kitchen to his liking, he proceeds to stomp (as apparently being drunk makes his feet weigh more) his way up the stairs, stomps into the kids rooms to check on them, then stomps over to the bed and drops trou. Suddenly he decides that my open blinds are bothering him (that millimeter of moonlight seeping in is apparently burning his eyeballs) he comes over to my side of the bed to shut them. In the process he knocks my lamp AND my alarm clock off the nighstand in another symphony of clatter.

This man could not be making more noise if he was in a sitcom.

He FINALLY settles into bed when M calls "Daddy!". Before I can even tell him that I got it (as I am OBVIOUSLY awake) he pops up and stomps in her room. Several minutes later he still has not returned, so I go to investigate. All 220 pounds of him is squished around her into her tiny twin bed and he is snoring.

Taking pity on my daughter, I start to untangle him from her grasp so as to wake him and get him into our room (not that I really want him in there, but a mommy's gotta do what a mommy's gotta do). I slowly peel his left arm off of her and he promptly responds by rolling off her bed and landing loudly on top of Dora's Talking House (easily the most painful thing POSSIBLE to land on).

I do what any quick-thinking wife would do in my situation......

I duck.

I hear him crash around a little with muffled swears mixed in with "Hola!" emitting somewhere from Dora's house. He drags himself back up on the bed and, as I stay crouched on the other side of the bed TRYING not to laugh (but small "snkkks" and "ppphts" are escaping anyway), falls back to sleep (as only true drunk people can). I stand back up and POKE him awake this time and get him back to bed where I have to kick him numerous times to that he will stop snoring long enough for ME to get back to sleep (with a smile on my face).

Dora's house seems to have made it through the debacle in tact but has anyone seen Baby Jaguar? He's gone missing. Hmmmmmmm

Friday, March 11, 2005

Like A Rolling Stone

It has come to my attention lately that I am getting uglier every day.

Really.

I'm not sure when this hell-a-morphosis started, but it is reaching epidemic proportions. Seriously people, I don't even like to look in the mirror any more. The only times I do are when I'm getting "ready" in the morning and when I get "un-ready" before bed. If I accidentally glimpse myself at any other time, I flinch AND I think "Who IS that ugly guy?"

Maybe it's my hair. Lately it's been aspiring to be Keith Richards hair and I mean that in every horrible connotation possible.

Maybe it's time to start drinking again.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Wheel of Misfortune

I...........have...........HAD IT...............with my children!!

I am taking drastic measures.

I am so tired of yelling at them and trying to think of punishments, that I came to my trusty friend Enid Internet for a solution. And lo and behold, providence has delivered. Google and ye shall receive.

I just spent the last oh, hour or so, building my latest child torture device - The Spinner.

By completely bastardizing the spinner from a now defunct "Don't Wake Daddy" game (Daddy having become perpetually "awake" by refusing to lie back down in the coffin like bed from whence he came) I will now be removing myself from my "Cats"-like run as "bad cop". My children will now spin for their consequences.

Ingenious, isn't it?

Me: You are whining - go spin the spinner.
Child: Yeah! The spinner! Yeah! I landed on the TV!
Me: That means you lose TV watching privilages for the day.
Child: What? (starting to snivel)
Me: Would you like to spin again and get ANOTHER consequence? No? Then can the water works.
(example dialogue - actual children not used)

Now, now, hold your applause and hang up on the patent office, I can't take credit for it. Some therapist "invented" it, I just cloned her idea as I am unwilling to fork over $14.95 to see what diabolical "must do's" that she came up with.

If this works, hub is getting one too.

Silver Lining Optional

For the second time this week, it is pushing 2:30 and I STILL have not taken a shower.

I imagine myself walking in a delightful Pig Pen-esque cloud of my own filth and noxious gases. If I didn't have to go INSIDE the school to pick up my son at 3:15, I might NEVER get in the shower.

I like showers, really I do, it's the post-shower make-up application and hair tussling that I dislike. If Sinead hadn't ruined bald for the rest of us, I might consider it a viable option.

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

I SAID Shut the *&%@# Up!!

I'm a sharer. A giver. And today I am passing on my hard-earned knowledge on to you.

If you own (as I do) a fancy schmancy Whirlpool Duet Dryer (mine was a consolation prize for having to move to BF Oklahoma - I DO NOT want to know what you had to do to get yours) this lesson is for you......

When you have the "Wrinkle Release" button set so that, upon completion of the dry cycle the unit will turn back on every SIX FREAKING MINUTES to fluff the clothes then beep obnoxiously FOUR FREAKING TIMES to let you know that they are fluffed and ready for removal, that if you IGNORE the beast and it's cranium-rattling beeps for an entire TWO HOURS, it will finally SHUT THE HELL UP!!!

Monday, March 07, 2005

What's Wrong With This Picture?

Today's Breakfast
32oz Glass of Water
Two plain rice cakes

Today's Lunch
Can of Coke served over ice with lime green bendy straw
Bowl of BBQ Baked Lay's bottom-of-bag chip remnants
Four (that's right, I said FOUR) Tagalong Girl Scout Cookies


Any bets on what dinner will be? Did you know that they make chocolate covered pork rinds?

Thursday, March 03, 2005

Castaway vs Spice - Cage Match to the Death

So I was tromping down the stairs, in my usual devil-may-care fashion when

Hub: Are you okay?
Me: Yeah, why?
Hub: You seemed to be coming down the stairs kind of gingerly.
Me: No I was coming down Mary-Ann-ly.
Hub: (walks off rolling eyes)

But last night, as I lie in bed reliving the thrill-a-minute ride that was my day, I started thinking...

Should I have said I was coming down nutmegly?

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

It's Bunco Bucko

In my vain attempt to bond with these people, I agreed to host Bunco at my house last night. $60.00 worth of eats and snacks will surely woo them, I thought to myself.

Whilst we were playing, I won a game at the head table and one of the other "ladies" (when I say "other" I mean all of them, I'm not including myself in that title, obviously) said..

Her: "So the losers have to leave?"
Me: "Yep, just like High School".
Her (to other ladies at table) "Don't you just want to smack her in the head sometimes?"

Then she did

Smack me in the head, that is.

But she still left and I was still at the winning table.

I'm going to ask her boyfriend to prom.