Thursday, June 30, 2005

Ode to The Tree by The Apple

My dad & his wife were just here for a couple of days visiting. I wish it had been longer. They are two of the coolest people to just be around. The are fun and snarky and laid back, all at the same time.

My dad's wife is just one awesome chick. She is one of those Midwest cooks that can whip-up the most fabulously tasty meal, including a variety of homemade desserts, and when you compliment her she gives you a look like "What the hell are you talking about? I just threw some stuff on the table." Truly. Awesome.

She has had to keep the cooking down to a dull roar after my dad has his triple-bypass in 2000. She is the only person I know who can make something out of a Weight Watcher's cookbook and you'll want seconds. It's magic I tell you!

She once made this crockpot ham for my grandmother's 90th birthday party that was so good I just could NOT stop eating it. I was so full I had to stand up and I STILL could NOT stop eating it. I thought I was even being sneaky when I stationed myself around the corner from where I sat on the food table so I could pop out and snatch tasty hunks every 64.5 seconds or so. Sly dog that I am. My step-sister finally came up to me and said, "Are you EVER going to stop eating?".

Um, yes, I am. I'm stopping right now. Thank you for saying that so loudly. Hey! Shouldn't we be singing Happy Birthday or something?

Oh piggies, is there no part of you that is not delicious?

Where was I?

My dad & his wife have received offers from my brother, me and all three of her daughters to come live with us in their twilight years. Yes, that is how just COOL they are people. But, in a move that cemented their coolness into legendary status, they assured us all that as soon as they get sick and crotchety that they will check themselves out. That's right people, they will punch their own clock before they become a burden on anyone.

Dad, please PLEASE try to get mom to come around to this mindset. If I have to live with her I SWEAR I will slowly and painfully feed her into the garbage disposal.

Monday, June 27, 2005


In the latest book I'm reading, the main character finds herself in a moral quandary. Some of the things she has found herself doing lately have flown in the face of some of the morals and values she was raised by. She is alternately confused, alarmed and excepting of these changes.

It made me think about how much of our lives are governed by the "rules" we set for ourselves. I'm not talking about the big societal rules/laws like those forbidding murder or theft. I'm referring to self made decisions like "I won't marry a man who makes less money than me" or "I sex on the first date makes you a slut" or "I have to work out five days a week or I will be a fat pig".

Some of these "rules" are good. They help us to feel good about ourselves, to be able to look that smiling face in the mirror every morning and feel okay. Some them we apparently just make to "test" ourselves.

Everyone's rules are different. Some people think adultery is akin to murder. Some think that humans are genetically programmed to want to stray and who are they to fight nature. Some people refuse to wear white before Memorial Day. Some people think plaid and paisley look good together.

Obviously our upbringing effects all our internal governing rules. It is terrifying, especially as a parent, to realize that sometimes the smallest thing can completely change the direction of a life.

Every decision we make, every day, is another brick in the foundation of who we are. If you "forget" to ring something up in the self-check line at Albertson's you may just figure it balances out the times you have gotten home and something you paid for didn't make it into your bag. Or you may go right back to the store and pay for the overlooked item.

Right and wrong are subject. Sin is a belief. Truth is simply that - truth. It is neither wrong nor right nor good nor bad. That doesn't keep people from spinning the "truth" to their own benefit.

I realize I am just rambling, but stuff doesn't pour out of my head in neat easy to read paragraphs. It gets vomited up in lumpy chunks.

Friday, June 24, 2005

Don't Worry, Be Happy... SHUT UP!!

I just read this last night. It's really sticking in my head.

"'Just go home, and be happy. Be happy, and let everyone around you be happy. Is that so hard?'

When (he) said it like that, it didn't seem hard. In fact, it seemed to make a lot of sense, but inside, it felt hard. Inside it felt like the hardest thing in the world. To just let go, and not pick everything to death. To just let go and enjoy what you had. To just let go and not make everybody around you miserable with your own internal dialogue. To just let go and be happy. So simple. So difficult. So terrifying."

How quiet it would be if the noisy little bastard inside my head would just. shut. up. So peaceful. So wonderful. So, well, happy.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

I Love You, I Love You Not

I *heart* you if I ask you a question and you say something like, "That's a good question! Let me see if I can help you."

I *heart-in-a-circle-with-a-diagonal-line-through-it* you if I ask you a question and you say, "I don't know" like the big dumb gee-what's-this-opposable-thumb-thing-for missing link jackass that you are.

PS - While I don't CONDONE Burt Reynolds hitting stupid people, I sure do understand it.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Dumb Like Clam Chowder

Although it has been a lovely thirty-six years that me, myself & I have been together, I STILL manage, WAY to frequently to astonish and amuse all three of us with the utter limits I take my stupidity to.

Let's use this morning as an example, shall we?

I TiVo workout programs & do them in the mornings. I have a nice little rotation going that includes yoga, cardio & stretching - about six programs in all. On Saturday, my yoga program was dedicated to poses to aid in the relief of constipation. Now I would say I'm as constipated as the next gal (though NOT as bad as some - right Dooce?) so I figure that this looks good. It entailed drinking two glasses of salt water (chugging two glasses really as you are supposed to not dawdle or "sip") then doing a series of poses. Saturday I do all the poses but skip the salt water drinking portion as it was supposed to be done on an empty stomach & I had already eaten.

Fast forward to today.

I decide this morning to skip breakfast with the kiddos and do the program complete with salt water toddies. I slam a quart of salt water (did I mention that it is LUKEWARM salt water) then do the poses. Hmmm. No *magic*. The instructor DOES mention if the train is not leaving the station yet that you can REPEAT the process (as it is, and I quote, "not harmful").

Can you just SEE the stupidity people?

Oh yes. I do.

I chug down ANOTHER QUART of lukewarm salt water, this one not settling in as well as the last, and start to repeat the poses. Halfway through the second set the doorbell rings. Ugh! I forgot the bug man was coming this morning. I let him in & herd the monsters whilst he hoses down the house then write him a check & send him on his way. At this point I'm kinda tired of the poses & I figure "Ah, screw it."

Oh ho ho. Screw it indeed. About fifteen minutes later, I feel the tracks rumbling. The train she is a coming.


Now, you would THINK I would have seen this coming. Where exactly did I think all that freaking salt water was GOING? Apparently I hadn't put the required amount of thought into the FORM it would have taken by the time it reached the end of the line. In other words - THE SAME FORM IT WAS INGESTED IN.

What do AJ and Shamu have in common?
The both shoot salt water out their asses.

And shoot it did. It was a splash-back nightmare! But you know how they say that meat stays in your intestines for YEARS? NOT MY INTESTINES! I think I even finally purged out that gum I swallowed in Jr. High.

Like the penguins in "Madagascar" say when they reach Antarctica? "THIS SUCKS!"

Amen, my little monochromatic brethren. Amen.


Then I went to Target & ate a huge soft pretzel. WITH SALT.

I'm like Lot's wife at this point.

Okay I gotta go get a drink now. I'm REALLY thirsty.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Happy Father's Day

To my husband - who not only made breakfast (pancakes and bacon) but who is also, as I sip root beer and illegally download music, is grilling chicken with my favorite sesame & ginger marinade (Oh Lawry's! Is there no limit to the supremely tasty sodium laden items your company can produce? You had me at Seasoned Salt.)

To my dad - It makes me happy just to be around you. I would never EVER tell you this, but if all three of the step-sisters (and their spouses AND their kids) dropped off the face of the earth tomorrow, I would be so overjoyed I think my head would explode.

If you are reading this and

- you are a good dad - Happy Father's Day!

- you are a shitty dad - Please do us all a favor and go drown yourself.

Friday, June 17, 2005

...Or a Serious Expression, In the Middle of July...

I have a really big secret. A postsecret kind of secret.

Promise you won't tell?

Well, okay....

I'm masquerading as a grown-up.

I have thought (for many years now actually) that there would come a time when I would actually, finally, completely FEEL like a bona fide grown up.

I'm still waiting.

Oh sure, there have been times of grown-up-ed-ness. I'm going to have to say though, in general, it just doesn't seem to be sticking.

I just like to play. Take naps. Goof around. Read the funnies. Not take things seriously.

Is it EVER going to happen? Am I EVER going to feel old?

I'm thinking maybe in my sixties. Or seventies. Not forties or fifties though. That's just too dang young to be old.

I think the main thing is - I just don't WANNA grow up.

And you can't make me.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

Square of Hideous Times Infinity to the Bazillionth Power

Why is it that the odds of you running into someone you know are increased inversely and exponentially by the amount of time you were actually able to spend getting ready to exit your home prior to running said errand?

In other words...

If you spent an hour showering, decorating and anointing your body, you will meet only strangers. Unattractive strangers.

If you roll out of bed so that your hair in back is sticking up like an angry weasel and you still have yesterday's mascara smeared under your eyes and the hamper rummaged clothes you threw on are stained and or / slightly odorous, you will run into your old high school boyfriend. Or Brad Pitt.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Slam Dunk

I'm not even drunk, I swear, yet I feel the time has come to share with you the tale of.....

How Our Heroine Came to Have Sex in the Center Court Circle of Her High School Gym the Summer AFTER She Graduated From Said High School.

My boyfriend at the time (also knows as best-sex-of-my-life-and-quite-possibly-several-other-people's-lives) lived only about a block from the school. One night, probably under the influence of "something", I really don't remember (it's quite possible we could have even been sober. We were young, dumb and in love so who knows. High on love / high on Mary Jane / high on filched alcohol. NOT IMPORTANT PEOPLE, let's move it along.) we decide to walk over and check out the old Alma Matter (whose clutches we had smugly escaped only a few months prior).

When we get there, he tells me that if you pull on BOTH of the gym doors at the SAME TIME, the will open. Sure enough, POP!, they open sesame. I look around nervously for 5-0 because I basically am a good little law abiding citizen. He pooh-poohs my fear and drags me into air conditioned comfort (as anyone who has spent any time in Arizona during the summer, it is H-O-T at night too).

We shoot a couple of baskets, generally goof off a bit, then go back to the wrestling room. After jumping around on the mats and climbing the rope, we start making out. Then we progress around the bases accordingly. Right before he slides into home for the first time, yes people this was our *FIRST TIME* together, I say "If we are going to do it, let's make it memorable." So I hop up and lead him by the hand out to center court. He looked thrilled and stunned and pinch-me-I'm-dreaming and he couldn't wipe the goofy smile off his face. I drag him down to the floor and we do the deed. Yes, I had bruises on my spine, but it seemed like such a good idea at the time, even though I kept waiting for lights to slam on and people to come flooding in.

Then went back in the wrestling room and banged around in there too.

I would also like to mention that they filmed "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure" at my High School (Go San Dimas my ASS!) and I got hit on by one of the actors. He played the bully. Don't remember any bully from "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure"? That's because they CUT ALL HIS SCENES. Heh heh heh. That's what you get for trying to hit on a girl by giving her a signed head shot. Who do you think you are? David Hasselhoff?

And have I mentioned that David Hasselhoff is on video with his hands around my neck strangling me? It's true. I swear. But that is a story for another day......

Sunday, June 12, 2005

The Opposite of Non-Post

What is the deal with non-fiction?

Who was it that decided that fiction was SO important that literature can be broken down only by what IS and IS NOT fiction? Why is it not "fiction" and "reality"? Or "fiction" and "fact"? Because isn't that the definition of non-fiction? Fact?

We don't say that the human race is "men" and "non-men". Pet stores are not broken down by "dog" and "non-dog". Race is not "Caucasian" and "Non-Caucasian". Religion is not "Buddhist" and "non-Buddhist".

Maybe it just bothers me because it confuses me. It just seems like a round-a-bout way of stating something. What if someone wanted a book by Dean Koontz and I told them "It's over there in the non-non-fiction section." THAT is confusing. But only slightly more so than non-fiction itself.

How would it feel like to be completely categorized only by that which you are not? You could be the non-hair guy. I could be the non-breasted woman. She could be the non-tall chick. He could be the non-smart guy. Just when you thought bald, flat, short and dim were bad.

We could change song titles. How would Van Morrison have done with his hit "Non-Blue Eyed Girl"? Or Aerosmith with "Dude Looks Like a Non-dude"? Billy Joel - "She's Always a Non-man." Duran Duran - "Hungry Like the Non-Bear". Eminem - "Non-Knee Like That". Green Day - "American Non-Intellectual".

I could go on and on. You know I can. I know that you know that I can.

I guess what I'm trying to say is the word non-fiction was made by a non-woman.

I am non-continuing now.

Friday, June 10, 2005

A Scooby By Any Other Name...

Yeah, I stole this idea - so sue me. You go to Put in a song lyric. Translate it to another language. Translate that translation to another language then translate THAT back to English. Sounds like hilarity would ensue, right? See for yourself...

First verse -

Scooby Dooby Doo
Where are you?
We've got some work to do now.
Scooby Dooby Doo
Where are you?
We need some help from you now.

English - German - French - English

Are Scooby Dooby Doo, where you? We have work, maintaining to make. Are Scooby Dooby Doo, where you? We require assistance of you now.

Anyone besides me think that kind of sucked? Let's try the second verse -

Come on Scooby-Doo,
I see you...
Pretending you got a sliver
But you're not fooling me,
Cause I can see,
The way you shake and shiver.

English - French - Greek - English

Come in Scooby-Doo, sees that... prospome'nos has been acquired a ribbon but me does not deceit, I cause that I can see, the way you shake and tremble.

Apparently some slacking occured here. "Prospome'nos" wasn't an english word the last time I checked.

Moving on to the Chorus -

You know we got a mystery to solve, so Scooby Doo be ready for your act.
Don't hold back!
And Scooby Doo if you come through
you're going to have yourself a scooby snack!
That's a fact!

English - Italian - French - English

Sapete that we have autoconvaincu a mystery to solve, Scooby Doo east waits for your act. It does not hold behind! And Scooby Doo if you come through you will eat you even one leave scooby! That one is a fact!

Okay, FINALLY something funny. Kind of? Work with me here people. (I'm ignoring the non-translated words now because I think Babelfish is just testing me)

"And Scooby Doo if you come through you will eat you.." Of COURSE he will eat himself! He's a DOG. They are talented that way.

Anyhoo...I think BabelFish tires of my shenannegans. More than likely you do too. But just for kicks, let's finish it off...

Here Are You.
You're ready and you're willing.
If we can count on you Scooby Doo,
I know you'll catch that villian.

English - French - Portugese - English

Scooby-Dooby-Doo, here it is vocês. He is ready and are made use. If we can count on vocês Scooby Doo, I know that villian will apanhará to that.

You know... I thought that would be more fun. Maybe I picked the wrong song? Maybe it's because I'm not under the influence of anything stronger than iced tea. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

The upside is you know know the words to the Scooby Doo theme song.

One of them anyway.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Blog Wars - Episode Three


You know, we Canadians excel at sex in canoes, according to Canadian legend Pierre Berton, but I think I’d need some pointers on the horseback thing, especially since I’ve been thrown from horses before--


If one bee stings, it releases an alarm that smells like bananas.


You don't have to pee any worse than I do.


The preceding has been brought to you by the letters Q and W and the number 32767.


If someone tells you that you are his angel, that he finds God in your eyes, that the stars have told him that you are the one he with whom he is to spend his life forever… does it make you cringe?


Just because you're decaf, skim milk, sugar free raspberry latte's milk wasn't heated exactly to 120 degrees does not mean that the world is going to fall apart.


Okay, sadly I think I am making far too many mistakes (all kinds, you name it, I made it).


The moral: Target’s great, but don’t give your number out to people you meet there.


Thanks to the skills of a very nice lesbian vet and $465.00!


Actually, somewhere along the line, we were attacked with trivia by none other than Mary Poppins.


Julio, the Brazilian bathroom attendent, teaches me how to say "I want to put my tongue in your ass", in Portuguese.


"Yyyyyyyyyeeeaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!" rang out from the crowd, as if they were delighted to see he chose a quality, common sense product over, oh, i don't know, human lard.


I really love fire.


I'm a real nertz when it comes to the icky poohs.


I have fallen into the trap that marketing men set to make me feel outdated and unhip.


Hey. Anything I can do to make your life easier. Well, almost anything. Ok, maybe nothing.


See, by the time you get done shakin' the shit out of a Politician, there ain't nothin' left but an asshole and a briefcase.


Maybe to the rainforest pygmies it's common sense, but not the type of thing a "modernized" person considers all that common.


Has your uvula ever drooped enough to cause you such discomfort you wondered if it would ever firm up again.


And no, I do not need a hug.


Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Red Blech!

I tried Red Bull for the first time today.

Who drinks this crap? My first sip brought to mind the Friends episode when Phoebe tastes one of Monica's mockolate chip cookies and says, "Oh, Sweet Lord, this is what evil must taste like." Apparently evil is a drink as well.

The only thing it "gave wings" to was my lunch, as it seemed so offended by Red Bull's mcnasty taste that it tried to exit the premesis. Only sheer will power on my part kept it in it's place.

But by god, I drank the whole damn can.

The things I do to keep from wasting $1.99.

Friday, June 03, 2005

Attack of Heather DeLoach, et al

We have bees.

In our HOUSE!

WTF?!! Can't they find a nice TREE or something to live in? I consulted our "Complete Works of Winnie the Pooh" and nowhere in there does it mention bees in freaking houses. Seriously, at NO point in the narration does Pooh go poking through someone's ATTIC looking for honey. NOWHERE!

I had just been out in the backyard with my son & I came in & heard buzzing. Loud buzzing. Peering around I noticed there were a couple of bees in the breakfast nook window, pounding their tiny selves against the glass trying to get out. "Well you stupid assholes" I thought to myself, "If you want out so bad why the hell did you come IN in the FIRST place?" So, flyswatter in hand, I commence to smash them both - WHACK! WHACK! (I'm known in the flying-bug circles as "The One" because I always get the kill on the first hit. I know. There is just no END to my talents, is there?)

As I am getting ready to pick up the carcasses I hear more buzzing. "What the...?" More bees in the window. "Where did YOU guys come from? Well it's too late to save your friends, but you can join them." I whack a few more.

Bees -0
AJ - 5

Then I realize I hear buzzing coming from the family room. As I step over to investigate (it's open to the breakfast nook), I see there are bees coming OUT OF THE CEILING (where there WERE speakers but the previous owners took them out and since we left ours in our last house and buying new ones isn't exactly at the top of my list, there are some holes left from the mounting hardware as well as a hole dangling some lovely wires). "Holy shit!"

Did you see The Swarm? Yeah, me too.

I snatched my sleeping daughter up off the couch and carried her, wailing and snorting because I'd interrupted her nap, upstairs where I told her & her brother to shut their doors & leave them shut until I came back. Then I ran to the garage & got some painter's tape & sealed up the holes in the ceiling. I could HEAR them in there! The freaking bee cavalry had been summoned. Gaaah!

Grabbing the phone book, I ran upstairs. There is NO listing whatsoever for Bee Exterminators in the Greater Tulsa Region White & Yellow Pages. NONE of the exterminators" listed "bees" in their add. I finally resorted to calling one of the five places listed under "Beekeeping Supplies" and asking the guy who answered, and coughed in my ear for a full minute, who I could call for bee removal.

Oh good lord, the Bee People.

The Bee Guy answers the phone and after I listen to him cough for a good half a minute (apparently he & the beekeeping guy are smoking buddies) I tell him my tale of woe. I give him directions. He says "Oh, that's far" which I roll my eyes at but let go (moving from the Phoenix area, where my husband had to drive over an hour just to get to work, I am amused/irritated by people here who won't go somewhere 15 minutes away because it's "too far"). He tells me there is going to be a $20 trip charge (Uh, buddy? Did I mention there are freaking bees IN MY HOUSE??? I don't give a SHIT about a $20 trip charge just get your red-neck, loogie-hacking, pushing-50-IQ ass OVER HERE!!). I tell him, "That's no problem."

Bee Guy & Bee Gal, who's combined weight hovers in the 500 range and who's gen-u-ine tooth count is hard to calculate due to my dislike for fractions (1/3 + 1/2 + 1/4 = ???), come rolling up to the house in a giant blue-ish van that I could hear coming from about a mile away (that shit is only cute if you are the ACTUAL Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang).

Luckily (snort) the "Bee People" said they think this is a "swarm" that is just moving in which means the will be easy to get OUT. They will remove the floorboards in the corner of the attic, vacuum out the bees, seal up the exterior cracks that let "the girls" in and replace the floorboards. I tell myself that getting rid of the bees outweighs the issue of having everything stored in the attic tainted with the stench of radioactive B.O. (oh, and did I mention that he ripped a GIANT fart while we were all standing in the attic looking at the bees? Oh yeah. It was a smell-o-vision moment)

Do you want the bad news now (you KNEW there had to be bad news, didn't you? Personally I would think that the bees taking up residence like thousands of little poker-assed squatters would be bad news enough, but apparently - no)? The BAD NEWS is they can't come remove the little bastards, uh bitches, until MONDAY! That's right people - we have three entire fun filled days of twitching at every slight real or imagined movement that passes our peripheral vision.

Bee girl, you're gonna die.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Then I Don't Wanna Be Right

The hub has one of those BBQ spatulas that is rediculously huge.

Manufactured-by-ACME huge.

Who-me-need-to-compensate? huge.

I think the appeal is that you can pick up more than one hamburger at once with it. Or an entire chicken. Or Rhode Island.

Everytime I take it out of the dishwasher I just want to take a giant two-handed swing with it and just SMACK him in the ass.

Is that wrong?