The kids and I watched It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown today and now it can turn October tomorrow with no problem. I am a firm believer that you must watch Great Pumpkin as much as humanly possible in order to usher in October properly. Who knows what would happen if we didn't and I don't want to find out, so I just keep on rewinding and rewatching.
When we were kids, movies and cartoons were much more sacred, ya know? We would hear the commercials heralding the upcoming SPECIAL TELEVISON EVENT and would beg our parents to not make us go to the bowling alley or to church or to whatever else might possibly be coming up in our lives, just so we could be home to watch a SPECIAL TELEVISION EVENT. As kids we lived for that once-a-year viewing of The Easter Beagle, The Great Pumpkin and whatever other holiday or event Charles Schulz came up with for his Peanuts gang. (Abby said last year their class watched a Peanuts film about a kid with leukemia. How depressing is that.)
I remember that for the rest of the evening after we watched a Charlie Brown special - remember we called 'em "specials" because they were? - we'd try to talk like the adults in the cartoon. "Muah muah muahmuahmuah muah" and when Dad told me that was really a muted trumpet (or was it a trombone?) I was disappointed because I wanted there to be a real person who could make that noise all by themselves and I wanted to be that person when I grew up. That seemed like a noble profession to a 6 year old - adult voice muah-muah-er for Peanuts cartoons.
The next day at school we all felt sorry for the poor kid who ended up at the bowling alley with his parents and missed out on the SPECIAL TELEVISION EVENT that would not be around again for 364 more days. Poor kid had probably seen the cartoon every year of his life, just like the rest of us, but somehow, in our minds, that child was borderline abused and certainly neglected.
Saturday morning cartoons were a big event at our house, too. Heck, they were at everyone's house because that was the only day of the week that cartoons were on - well, not counting SPECIAL TELEVISION EVENTS, of course. We got up at the buttcrack of dawn even though the only toons on at 6 were the stupid ones. But by 7 we were la-la-la-ing with our blue friends, the Smurfs, getting utterly cracked up stupid over that ornery mouse Jerry and his stupid archnemesis Tom and oh, by 9:30 is was time for Looney Tunes.
Overture, curtain, lights
This is it, the night of nights!
No more rehearsing and hearsing our parts -
We know every part by heart!
Overture, curtain, lights
This is it, we'll hit the heights -
And oh what heights we'll hit.
On with the show, this is it!
Over the years, ol' Bugs had various co-hosts, Road Runner and Tweety I believe were the two during my childhood, but Daffy tried a time or two, if recollection serves me right.
I say, I say, boyyyy....those were the cartoons.
My dad was (still is) a pretty no-nonsense kind of guy, but Dad watched Bugs Bunny with us every Saturday he could. I don't really remember him laughing, but they obviously amused him since he watched them every week.
After I got over my disappointment that I couldn't be a muah-muah-er for Peanuts, I then decided I wanted to work for Acme because Acme had everything! If you wanted a robotic girl coyote, they had one. Portable rabbit holes, they had those, too. Virtually any need could be filled by Acme and I wanted to be a part of such an up-and-coming business. Alas, my bubble was burst there, too.
The Wizard of Oz came on about once a year, too. Mom said the first time I watched it I was about 4. She said I laid on our lovely green floral couch (which felt strangely like burlap and would give you hickeys if you laid on it too long - yes, it was that comfy) and didn't move for 3 hours. She said I didn't show excitement at the Munchkins or fear at the flying monkeys or anger at that horrible wicked witch - she said I just laid there, mesmerized, and took it all in.
One year, I was probably 10 or so, they played The Wiz during prime-time. Funny, they never did that again.
Going to the show was a hugely big deal because we didn't go all that often. We weren't poor, but I guess it just seemed extravagant or my dad didn't want to fight a crowd or whatever reason. I remember one of the moms that traded babysitting with Mom too about 8 or 10 of us kids to see Bambi at the Coleman Theatre. We sat on the front row - a first for me - and threw popcorn into the orchestra pit. I'd kill my kids if they did that now, but when you're 11, it's big fun to get away with something like that.
My Nana took me to see all three Star Wars movies - the first two we saw in the Coleman and by the time the third one came out, the Coleman was closed so we saw it at the Thunderbird Twin. I know in my heart of hearts that Nana didn't like Star Wars but she knew I did and she sat through them all with me. She also bought me anything I wanted from the concession stand, something my parents just didn't do, but she was the Nana and she did. Because she could.
My Mom and Dad really wanted to see the movie Airplane! and for whatever reason, took me, too. Nana was there, also, which I've never understood why, unless she just really wanted to see it, which is weird in my mind because she always watched us kids if Mom and Dad went somewhere. I was 7 and obviously very naive - or else my parents were. I still won't let Abby watch it and she's nearly 11. I will never forget the scene where the plane is going down and Leslie Nielsen's vomiting all over his shirt, the cabin is in total chaos and here come naked boobs right across the screen. I think Nana nearly broke something trying to get her hands over my eyes before my innocent mind was further tainted by the vision of big bouncy boobs on the big screen.
Up until I was about 7 or so, movies in the theatre were always started with a cartoon beforehand. And it was usually Pink Panther cartoons. I loved those things. I didn't always get them, but the fact that there was no talking just got me.
But now....now we watch The Great Pumpkin for weeks on end, Pink Panther is on Boomerang every day and The Wizard of Oz is punctuated with trips to the bathroom, microwave popcorn
and shrieks that the flying monkeys will give someone "nightmawes." And I pre-screen everything beforehand for big bouncy boobs.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Bask in the glow of their aviary greatness
We live not far from Grand Lake and being on the creek and incredibly close to the river helps, too - every year around this time we see pelicans. Not dead people like that Haley Joel Osmont kid, but pelicans. The city of Grove hosts the Pelican Festival and it's a big ol' deal, lemme tell ya.
Today the kids were playing outside and I was doing - what else - homework when all of the sudden I heard hollers of "GO GET MOM!!" Of course, I broke two toes, turned over a chair, hurdled four piles of laundry and a recliner to get to the front door right about the time two kids came busting in screaming, "OH MY GOSH MOMTHEREARESEAGULLSINTHESKY!!!" as if they weren't mere birds, but flying fiery missiles of doom and destruction. I remembered reading on Stacie's blog that it's pelican time again, so I calmly told the kids that they weren't Seagulls of Doom, but pelicans. Just plain pelicans.
The kids watched in fascination as they swooped and swirled and probably pooped fishy bird poop all over the area and I had to grab the camera. Oh, not because I was particularly mesmerized by the birds, but because the kids were practically begging me to video the majestic creatures in all of their glory aloft as if there was a moratorium on pelicans going into effect at 5pm and we must capture this moment for the sake of our children, mother, don't you care about your grandchildren?!
So I did. But the best part of the video is at the end when you get to watch my oldest daughter - does she not remind you of Olive Oyl with those skinny long legs? - walk across the rocks in the driveway. That's the whole reason I posted this. She didn't know I'd gotten her hobbling like a firewalker short on concentration and when she saw me putting it up at YouTube she said, "Ohhhh man, you are so mean and dangit, MOM, DON'T BLOG THAT!"
"Okay, I won't."
It's a good thing she doesn't read my blog.
Today the kids were playing outside and I was doing - what else - homework when all of the sudden I heard hollers of "GO GET MOM!!" Of course, I broke two toes, turned over a chair, hurdled four piles of laundry and a recliner to get to the front door right about the time two kids came busting in screaming, "OH MY GOSH MOMTHEREARESEAGULLSINTHESKY!!!" as if they weren't mere birds, but flying fiery missiles of doom and destruction. I remembered reading on Stacie's blog that it's pelican time again, so I calmly told the kids that they weren't Seagulls of Doom, but pelicans. Just plain pelicans.
The kids watched in fascination as they swooped and swirled and probably pooped fishy bird poop all over the area and I had to grab the camera. Oh, not because I was particularly mesmerized by the birds, but because the kids were practically begging me to video the majestic creatures in all of their glory aloft as if there was a moratorium on pelicans going into effect at 5pm and we must capture this moment for the sake of our children, mother, don't you care about your grandchildren?!
So I did. But the best part of the video is at the end when you get to watch my oldest daughter - does she not remind you of Olive Oyl with those skinny long legs? - walk across the rocks in the driveway. That's the whole reason I posted this. She didn't know I'd gotten her hobbling like a firewalker short on concentration and when she saw me putting it up at YouTube she said, "Ohhhh man, you are so mean and dangit, MOM, DON'T BLOG THAT!"
"Okay, I won't."
It's a good thing she doesn't read my blog.
Feeding Back
Okay, the new header is up, the new colors are up - anyone vomited yet?
Yes, yes, it's very pink and purple, but well, I am a diva. I, however, am not married to the colors and haven't decided yet on the final color scheme. I guess I'm test-driving this one until y'all start commenting to tell me you love it or hate it. Or that I owe you a new keyboard because you just barfed all over yours.
If it's hard to read, makes your head hurt or gives you any other non-desirable symptoms, please let me know. To quote Bryan Adams, "Everything I do, I do it for you."
Many, many thanks to Lil for the kickin' header. When I opened my email last weekend and saw what she had created for me, I squealed so loud the dog barked. No kidding. Paul came a'runnin' because he thought there was either a mouse on my desk or I was being murdered (the two are not that far from each other in regards to how much I'd scream) and, once he made sure I was going to be around to finish raising his children, busted out laughing and said, "Wow, Lil sure does know you!"
Oh and by the way, if the t-shirt thing comes to fruition, the header above is what will be on the front of the shirts. No, I know it's not guy friendly, but if you're a guy and you want to wear a shirt that has the word "diva" and a clothesline with a pair of pink panties on it......well, you'll probably have no problem with it. (Sixty, buddy, would you wear it to the next Mary Kay party?)
Yes, yes, it's very pink and purple, but well, I am a diva. I, however, am not married to the colors and haven't decided yet on the final color scheme. I guess I'm test-driving this one until y'all start commenting to tell me you love it or hate it. Or that I owe you a new keyboard because you just barfed all over yours.
If it's hard to read, makes your head hurt or gives you any other non-desirable symptoms, please let me know. To quote Bryan Adams, "Everything I do, I do it for you."
Many, many thanks to Lil for the kickin' header. When I opened my email last weekend and saw what she had created for me, I squealed so loud the dog barked. No kidding. Paul came a'runnin' because he thought there was either a mouse on my desk or I was being murdered (the two are not that far from each other in regards to how much I'd scream) and, once he made sure I was going to be around to finish raising his children, busted out laughing and said, "Wow, Lil sure does know you!"
Oh and by the way, if the t-shirt thing comes to fruition, the header above is what will be on the front of the shirts. No, I know it's not guy friendly, but if you're a guy and you want to wear a shirt that has the word "diva" and a clothesline with a pair of pink panties on it......well, you'll probably have no problem with it. (Sixty, buddy, would you wear it to the next Mary Kay party?)
Friday, September 28, 2007
It's official!
I spent my day today moving my little sister out of the farmette only to come home and MOVE MY BLOG TO ITS NEW HOME!!! I've been a busy girl today, huh?
Please change your bookmarks to http://www.theredneckdiva.com/. The blogspot address will still redirect, but I'd still like to get direct hits, ya know?
And to celebrate the moving and whathaveya, I took some really awful pictures of myself. It's 88' right now here in NE Oklahoma and we turned out AC off. I don't want to turn it back on, so we're suffering through the weekend in hopes that things cool off by next week. Annnnyway, the minute I walked in the door I pulled my hair back in a big humongous curly poufy ponytail and didn't think about taking pictures of my new bling. I'm not taking it down, but I had so many (three!) requests for the bling, I took the pictures anyway.
Those of you who will be seeing me next weekend at the Okie Blogger Roundup, please don't change your plans and decide not to go now. I swear I won't be so scary next Saturday.
I love taking pictures in the mirror.
I am also easily amused.
Look.....a hint of bling on the ear piece.....makes you long for more....I mean long for more bling, less forehead. (Thanks, Dad, for that lovely piece of DNA)
Oh look - less forehead, MORE BLING!!
Glaring white cheek.....need blush......
Please do not be frightened of my glowing white face - I look much better in candlelight. That's why I carry candles with me everywhere I go.
Please change your bookmarks to http://www.theredneckdiva.com/. The blogspot address will still redirect, but I'd still like to get direct hits, ya know?
And to celebrate the moving and whathaveya, I took some really awful pictures of myself. It's 88' right now here in NE Oklahoma and we turned out AC off. I don't want to turn it back on, so we're suffering through the weekend in hopes that things cool off by next week. Annnnyway, the minute I walked in the door I pulled my hair back in a big humongous curly poufy ponytail and didn't think about taking pictures of my new bling. I'm not taking it down, but I had so many (three!) requests for the bling, I took the pictures anyway.
Those of you who will be seeing me next weekend at the Okie Blogger Roundup, please don't change your plans and decide not to go now. I swear I won't be so scary next Saturday.
I love taking pictures in the mirror.
I am also easily amused.
Look.....a hint of bling on the ear piece.....makes you long for more....I mean long for more bling, less forehead. (Thanks, Dad, for that lovely piece of DNA)
Oh look - less forehead, MORE BLING!!
Glaring white cheek.....need blush......
Please do not be frightened of my glowing white face - I look much better in candlelight. That's why I carry candles with me everywhere I go.
Ecotards rule
But by the grace of God I got a 75% on my Macro test. A 75%!!!! I never in my wildest dreams thought that I'd be thankful and ecstatic about a C. Never. Paired with the 100% I got on the homework assignment (turning in 7 chapters of notes, which thankfully, I took plenty of) I have a rip-roaring 77.5% in the class AND (oh, it just keeps getting better, folks) because of The Curve which is friend to mathtards and ecotards everywhere, that 77.5% is not a high C. Oh no, it's a HIGH B!!!
I was so excited about the C on the test (which I got about 5 minutes before class started) I called Paul right then and there, then promptly sent Tater a text message. Another guy in the class came in right about the time I was squealing about the 75 and as soon as I hung up asked how I got my score. I directed him to the computer lab so he could check his email and get his, then I went back to the classroom. In the meantime another girl came in and I asked how she did. She got a 50. And when the guy came in the room he reluctantly announced his 45. They both looked sick and it made me feel bad for gushing about my 75 to anyone who would listen. Fortunately The Curve helped them, too, and they're not failing the class.
It was decided that the three of us would be getting together to study for the next test. Three ecotards in a meeting of the minds could very well be dangerous. The instructor said if we wanted to stay after class he would go over what we missed and help each of us individually, but considering that, of the 5 people in the classroom, 4 stayed I opted to just make an appointment to go over mine in his office next week.
I overheard conversations from the satellite classes and they all bombed it, too. I feel so much better knowing that.
Misery loves company, huh.
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And now I'm off to help Tater move! WHOOHOO! Can this week get any better? I now have the chance to sweat and break nails and possibly have a stroke in my sister's new house! Awesome.
It's a good thing I love her as much as I do.
I was so excited about the C on the test (which I got about 5 minutes before class started) I called Paul right then and there, then promptly sent Tater a text message. Another guy in the class came in right about the time I was squealing about the 75 and as soon as I hung up asked how I got my score. I directed him to the computer lab so he could check his email and get his, then I went back to the classroom. In the meantime another girl came in and I asked how she did. She got a 50. And when the guy came in the room he reluctantly announced his 45. They both looked sick and it made me feel bad for gushing about my 75 to anyone who would listen. Fortunately The Curve helped them, too, and they're not failing the class.
It was decided that the three of us would be getting together to study for the next test. Three ecotards in a meeting of the minds could very well be dangerous. The instructor said if we wanted to stay after class he would go over what we missed and help each of us individually, but considering that, of the 5 people in the classroom, 4 stayed I opted to just make an appointment to go over mine in his office next week.
I overheard conversations from the satellite classes and they all bombed it, too. I feel so much better knowing that.
Misery loves company, huh.
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And now I'm off to help Tater move! WHOOHOO! Can this week get any better? I now have the chance to sweat and break nails and possibly have a stroke in my sister's new house! Awesome.
It's a good thing I love her as much as I do.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Blogging From Work Volume 3
30 minutes until class. I've got killer, nuclear, monster butterflies. I'm so silly that way - the test is over, yet I'm still nervous. Go figure.
I'm considering buying Stewed Hamm a plane ticket and taking him to one of my Macro classes so he can see WHY the entire class is clueless. Maybe it's just us, maybe it's Economics in general. Either way, I want Stewed Hamm to go to class with me. I'd buy him a beer afterwards, too.
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I got new arm and ankle bling today to go with the new bling on my glasses. I am blingalicious. And because I think would be Fergie if I could, I will spell it for you.
B-l-i-n-g-a-l-i-c-i-o-u-s
You're welcome.
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A little over one week to go until the Okie Blogger Round-up! I'm getting so excited!
The other night we were sitting in my living room discussing the upcoming event. Tater said, "Well, I just want you all to know, I'm wearing a boobie shirt. Just in case there is some single Oklahoma blogger there." I told her I thought that was a good call.
Paul, not to be left out of the conversation, said, "Okay, and I'll wear my penis pants! You know, just in case......well.....just in case."
I don't think it'd be possible to love him any more than I do right now.
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Today at lunch there were 8 of us ladies sitting around the table at the Mexican restaurant. The conversation turned to TV shows and everyone started talking about a show they'd watched last night. It was a crime show, not a clue what it was. They also discusssed a new one called "Life" on NBC. I sat there quietly eating my chicken nachos el charro while they lamented over a particular character leaving and how someone was going to commit suicide. Finally I said, "Yeah, and I can't WAIT for the premier of Cavemen next week."
Crickets chirped. 14 eyes looked upon me as if I'd sprouted my very own cavemen right out of my right breast. And they think they can make a social worker outta me. It is very clear that by my television watching preferences alone, I am not cut out for a career in social work.
I want to be entertained by laughing at my television programming. Folks, I have so little time for TV these days, I make sure that what I watch is going to make me chuckle, laugh or even snort. Watching the characters blacklight for semen and scrape brains off of bedspreads doesn't make me snort. Like watching Wayne Newton dance - THAT made me snort. And kind of feel a little bad for him, too.
Although.... I doubt Cavemen is going to make me snort, but I'm willing to give it a try.
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Every day someone in my bulk mail folder asks me if I'm satisfied with the size of my manhood and every day I stop and think, "Yes. Yes, I am. My penis is just fine, thanks."
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Benjamin Franklin is bor-ring.
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I'm still with Fred.
I'm considering buying Stewed Hamm a plane ticket and taking him to one of my Macro classes so he can see WHY the entire class is clueless. Maybe it's just us, maybe it's Economics in general. Either way, I want Stewed Hamm to go to class with me. I'd buy him a beer afterwards, too.
----------------------
I got new arm and ankle bling today to go with the new bling on my glasses. I am blingalicious. And because I think would be Fergie if I could, I will spell it for you.
B-l-i-n-g-a-l-i-c-i-o-u-s
You're welcome.
---------------------
A little over one week to go until the Okie Blogger Round-up! I'm getting so excited!
The other night we were sitting in my living room discussing the upcoming event. Tater said, "Well, I just want you all to know, I'm wearing a boobie shirt. Just in case there is some single Oklahoma blogger there." I told her I thought that was a good call.
Paul, not to be left out of the conversation, said, "Okay, and I'll wear my penis pants! You know, just in case......well.....just in case."
I don't think it'd be possible to love him any more than I do right now.
--------------------
Today at lunch there were 8 of us ladies sitting around the table at the Mexican restaurant. The conversation turned to TV shows and everyone started talking about a show they'd watched last night. It was a crime show, not a clue what it was. They also discusssed a new one called "Life" on NBC. I sat there quietly eating my chicken nachos el charro while they lamented over a particular character leaving and how someone was going to commit suicide. Finally I said, "Yeah, and I can't WAIT for the premier of Cavemen next week."
Crickets chirped. 14 eyes looked upon me as if I'd sprouted my very own cavemen right out of my right breast. And they think they can make a social worker outta me. It is very clear that by my television watching preferences alone, I am not cut out for a career in social work.
I want to be entertained by laughing at my television programming. Folks, I have so little time for TV these days, I make sure that what I watch is going to make me chuckle, laugh or even snort. Watching the characters blacklight for semen and scrape brains off of bedspreads doesn't make me snort. Like watching Wayne Newton dance - THAT made me snort. And kind of feel a little bad for him, too.
Although.... I doubt Cavemen is going to make me snort, but I'm willing to give it a try.
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Every day someone in my bulk mail folder asks me if I'm satisfied with the size of my manhood and every day I stop and think, "Yes. Yes, I am. My penis is just fine, thanks."
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Benjamin Franklin is bor-ring.
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I'm still with Fred.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Conquerer
I have spent my entire evening setting up my new! wireless! printer!
I add those exclamation points in an effort to make it seem wayyyyy more exciting than it was because believe me, it was not.
I got it set up from the desktop and it worked great. The laptop, however, was another story entirely. At 10:30 I got that blasted thing to print for the first time. (I got home at 3:30. Yeah.) (Darn you, Vista! Darn you!) There was much jubiliation and praise to God at that point because He had to have seen the fact that I was ready to throw something - namely the printer - out the door and it was His Divine Intervention that printed that page.
So now here it is 10:52 and I'm starting my homework for the night.
Let no one say my priorities aren't in order.
And as a footnote: I had a moment of utter maternal glee this morning when I heard my 5 year old singing "Jenny - 867-5309" -- and she got the phone number perfectly right. That's my girl.
Oh yeah, another footnote: Picked up my new glasses this afternoon. They are quite bling-y and very much scream DIVA at anyone who gazes upon my face. And yeah, there are tons of folks lining up for that, lemme tell ya. I'd take a picture, but I've had my makeup on since 6:30am and I'm so shiny the glare would shatter the camera, not to mention my mascara is riding somewhere around my nose right about now. But trust me when I say, I am gorgeous.
Tune in tomorrow for Volume 3 of "Blogging From Work" - the edition where I'm moments away from getting the results of my Macro test and the diarrhea is back.
I add those exclamation points in an effort to make it seem wayyyyy more exciting than it was because believe me, it was not.
I got it set up from the desktop and it worked great. The laptop, however, was another story entirely. At 10:30 I got that blasted thing to print for the first time. (I got home at 3:30. Yeah.) (Darn you, Vista! Darn you!) There was much jubiliation and praise to God at that point because He had to have seen the fact that I was ready to throw something - namely the printer - out the door and it was His Divine Intervention that printed that page.
So now here it is 10:52 and I'm starting my homework for the night.
Let no one say my priorities aren't in order.
And as a footnote: I had a moment of utter maternal glee this morning when I heard my 5 year old singing "Jenny - 867-5309" -- and she got the phone number perfectly right. That's my girl.
Oh yeah, another footnote: Picked up my new glasses this afternoon. They are quite bling-y and very much scream DIVA at anyone who gazes upon my face. And yeah, there are tons of folks lining up for that, lemme tell ya. I'd take a picture, but I've had my makeup on since 6:30am and I'm so shiny the glare would shatter the camera, not to mention my mascara is riding somewhere around my nose right about now. But trust me when I say, I am gorgeous.
Tune in tomorrow for Volume 3 of "Blogging From Work" - the edition where I'm moments away from getting the results of my Macro test and the diarrhea is back.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
A few thoughts
Cavemen were tough. And while I am fascinated with watching them on the Science Channel, I am afraid I won't be so fascinated with the upcoming sitcom.
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I need a device that will automatically detect the background noise in the room and then turn the TV volume up or down accordingly. The volume is fine until the AC kicks off, then it's freakin' blaring. So then you turn it down to avoid permanent hearing loss only to find that about a minute and a half later you can't hear it because the AC is back on again. And you kind of, for about a second or two, think that that last blare of volume finally went and did it and destroyed your hearing, then you remember that it's the dang AC again.
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"Kady, if you think you need to tootie, DON'T. Okay? Got it? Seriously, whatever you do, do not toot unless you are on the toilet."
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Seventy-five pages of reading about Benjamin Franklin and the things he wrote is not my idea of fun. I mean, I like to read and all, but ol' Ben Frank isn't my number one choice. Now, put him at Hogwart's and let's see how he fares - then you'd have a reader here, by cracky.
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Why can't all children's TV programming be as awesome as PBS? There are some killer kid shows on PBS. Right now, Kady and I are enamored by Super Why and Word Girl. Just a few minutes ago she figured out that the word needed to finish a game was "deactivate." She's five. I was impressed.
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I think for lunch Kady's going to have a cheese and rice sandwich on white bread with a side of banana-flavored applesauce. That way I'll cover all the parts of the BRAT diet and more than likely constipate her so well that by week's end I'll be having to give her a laxative.
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I wish I could work from home. I really like staying at home. But somehow, I don't think the friendly folks at DHS would let me bring home the lateral files and house them in my bedroom or anything.
Don't get me wrong, the job is fine, but I just really like staying at home. I like being a housewife. Tater went berzerk when the kids went to school and she was staying at home because she said it was too quiet, but man, I love quiet. I'd also cook and bake and my homework would always be caught up.
Now....to go rob a bank.....or find a job that will let me stay at home.....
I just don't think I'm suited to work in a traditional sense. Cousin Stacey says I don't play well with others and man, she's right. I don't really like people all that much. Oh, I like visiting with people I see at Wal*Mart and auctions and stuff like that, but I don't like seeing people on a daily basis on their terms. I don't like having to play by someone else's rules, I don't like wearing uncomfortable shoes and peeing in the office restroom because man, I pee a lot I've discovered. I like making people laugh, but I prefer to do it through my writing. I'm a mess, aren't I?
Go ahead, tell me to grow up, tell me "Welcome to the real world, babycakes" and secretly think to yourself that I'm really just lazy, but I might cry if you actually tell me, so be prepared for that. And know that I'm not lazy - I have no problem earning money and working to do it, I just don't want to do it anywhere but in my house.
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It's a long time until LOST starts again and frankly, that makes me a bit frustrated and edgy.
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A few weeks ago, Kady crawled up in her Grammy's lap and said, "Gwammy? I'm a wittle hungwy. Do you have someting I could eat or swallow?"
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After Abby's baptism on Sunday, as we were leaving the church one of the deacons said, "Hey, Abby! No bath tonight, huh?" We laughed and went on after hugs and congratulations. Later that night when I told Ab to hit the showers she said, "Nuh uh. Dale gave me permission to skip tonight, remember?" I gave her that look and said, "Yeah, well Jesus washed away your sins, but sweetie, you smell like butt. Go take a shower." I have a feeling she's going to have a talk with that deacon.
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I need a device that will automatically detect the background noise in the room and then turn the TV volume up or down accordingly. The volume is fine until the AC kicks off, then it's freakin' blaring. So then you turn it down to avoid permanent hearing loss only to find that about a minute and a half later you can't hear it because the AC is back on again. And you kind of, for about a second or two, think that that last blare of volume finally went and did it and destroyed your hearing, then you remember that it's the dang AC again.
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"Kady, if you think you need to tootie, DON'T. Okay? Got it? Seriously, whatever you do, do not toot unless you are on the toilet."
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Seventy-five pages of reading about Benjamin Franklin and the things he wrote is not my idea of fun. I mean, I like to read and all, but ol' Ben Frank isn't my number one choice. Now, put him at Hogwart's and let's see how he fares - then you'd have a reader here, by cracky.
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Why can't all children's TV programming be as awesome as PBS? There are some killer kid shows on PBS. Right now, Kady and I are enamored by Super Why and Word Girl. Just a few minutes ago she figured out that the word needed to finish a game was "deactivate." She's five. I was impressed.
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I think for lunch Kady's going to have a cheese and rice sandwich on white bread with a side of banana-flavored applesauce. That way I'll cover all the parts of the BRAT diet and more than likely constipate her so well that by week's end I'll be having to give her a laxative.
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I wish I could work from home. I really like staying at home. But somehow, I don't think the friendly folks at DHS would let me bring home the lateral files and house them in my bedroom or anything.
Don't get me wrong, the job is fine, but I just really like staying at home. I like being a housewife. Tater went berzerk when the kids went to school and she was staying at home because she said it was too quiet, but man, I love quiet. I'd also cook and bake and my homework would always be caught up.
Now....to go rob a bank.....or find a job that will let me stay at home.....
I just don't think I'm suited to work in a traditional sense. Cousin Stacey says I don't play well with others and man, she's right. I don't really like people all that much. Oh, I like visiting with people I see at Wal*Mart and auctions and stuff like that, but I don't like seeing people on a daily basis on their terms. I don't like having to play by someone else's rules, I don't like wearing uncomfortable shoes and peeing in the office restroom because man, I pee a lot I've discovered. I like making people laugh, but I prefer to do it through my writing. I'm a mess, aren't I?
Go ahead, tell me to grow up, tell me "Welcome to the real world, babycakes" and secretly think to yourself that I'm really just lazy, but I might cry if you actually tell me, so be prepared for that. And know that I'm not lazy - I have no problem earning money and working to do it, I just don't want to do it anywhere but in my house.
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It's a long time until LOST starts again and frankly, that makes me a bit frustrated and edgy.
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A few weeks ago, Kady crawled up in her Grammy's lap and said, "Gwammy? I'm a wittle hungwy. Do you have someting I could eat or swallow?"
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After Abby's baptism on Sunday, as we were leaving the church one of the deacons said, "Hey, Abby! No bath tonight, huh?" We laughed and went on after hugs and congratulations. Later that night when I told Ab to hit the showers she said, "Nuh uh. Dale gave me permission to skip tonight, remember?" I gave her that look and said, "Yeah, well Jesus washed away your sins, but sweetie, you smell like butt. Go take a shower." I have a feeling she's going to have a talk with that deacon.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Icky
How can one be hot and cold at the same time? I don't get it. You're freezing so you get a blanket because a blanket sound so good and comfort-y, but as soon as you get all cozy it becomes clear that putting that blanket on your body is suddenly the equivalent of putting a blanket of molten lava on your body, so you throw the blanket off only to find yourself chittering and chattering and shaking and wondering where the hell that blanket went.
I ended up sleeping with the blanket curled around one arm and that arm tucked under my chin, the other arm thrown out and not touching anything but the bed and only touching it because I couldn't defy gravity. One leg was wrapped up in blanket and the other was uncovered from hip to ankle, but I had to have my foot covered.
Being sick bites. Hard.
I slept a lot today.
And why am I so fascinated by those shows about cavemen on the Science Channel?
The one about the killer, human-flesh-chewing ants this morning was nightmare fodder, I'm tellin' ya.
By 2 I was feeling moderately human again and the house felt cold and claustrophobic, so I went to pick the kids up at school. Kady, after throwing her body into me at warp speed and hugging me so fiercely I thought I was going to break or at the least dent, informed me that her belly had hurt all day. I tried to remember what they served in the cafeteria for lunch because through careful research I've discovered that most bellyaches after school come from hunger when one or more of my children opt out of lunch, but my brain was still melted/frozen from the fever/chills thing I'd had going on earlier, so I instead just patted her on the head and said we'd get a snack when we got home.
Tot One spent Saturday night puking and performing various other unpleasant bodily functions that involve toilets. She apparently had the same thing Sam and I had back before school started - she was so dizzy she couldn't walk. Bless her little heart. I kind of knew, in the back of my mind, that we were long overdue for a hostile germ takover.
I got everyone home, they attacked the snack bowl, then bam - one fruit snack and a sip of grape juice and Kady was gagging. Bad idea, that snack. Baaaad idea. I told her to spit the fruit snack out, for Pete's sake, and please don't puke on me, child. I told her to go to the toilet if she was going to hurl and man, she high-tailed it. After I cleaned up the half-chewed fruit snack that had oh-so-elegantly missed the trashcan, I found Kady in the bathroom, kneeling before the ol' porcelain throne. She was pale and had big circles under her eyes. Oy vey.
With Ab's help I fixed Kady up the usual pallet on the couch - I drape my couch in sheets so that if the ailing child does happen to miss the trashcan, they at least won't get my couch with a direct hit. I'd rather wash a sheet than a couch. She laid there awhile, moaned and groaned, curled her knees up under her chin and moaned some more. Then, bam she was fine.
Agh, I was frustrated. But at the same time, too tired to tell her the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf. So I sent her outside to play, which is what she wanted to do.
She played outside with the other kids for about 15 minutes then was back on the couch, curled up with her knees under her again. Within a few minutes she was sound asleep. I called my supervisor and left a voice mail that I might not be in again tomorrow. Kady slept through dinner, a rather rowdy and loud game (or seven) of PacMan between Tot Two and Sam, four showers, three out-loud readings by Tots One and Two and Sam, and then the bringing-out of every Littlest Pet Shop critter my kids own and the building of a critter town in my living room floor. I sat in a stupor and watched them, watched my pale 5-year-old sleep in the midst of the noise and wondered how much filing would be on my desk come Wednesday if I miss yet another day of work.
She woke up around 7:30 and seemed fine, but still pale and complaining of a headache. I fixed her a piece of toast, she ate it, put on her pajamas, got her woobie, Mimzy, both Build-a-Bears, curled up on the couch and said, "I fink I'll go back to sweep now."
I ended up moving her to my bed after draping it with the sheets that had previously draped the couch. I'll sleep in a raincoat so if she barfs toward me and not the trashcan I'll be somewhat protected. Paul's camped out on the couch because he's spent the entire day with (oh he's gonna kill me for writing this out loud) a case of the runs.
I love it when school starts and the germs are new and fresh and eager to infect.
I ended up sleeping with the blanket curled around one arm and that arm tucked under my chin, the other arm thrown out and not touching anything but the bed and only touching it because I couldn't defy gravity. One leg was wrapped up in blanket and the other was uncovered from hip to ankle, but I had to have my foot covered.
Being sick bites. Hard.
I slept a lot today.
And why am I so fascinated by those shows about cavemen on the Science Channel?
The one about the killer, human-flesh-chewing ants this morning was nightmare fodder, I'm tellin' ya.
By 2 I was feeling moderately human again and the house felt cold and claustrophobic, so I went to pick the kids up at school. Kady, after throwing her body into me at warp speed and hugging me so fiercely I thought I was going to break or at the least dent, informed me that her belly had hurt all day. I tried to remember what they served in the cafeteria for lunch because through careful research I've discovered that most bellyaches after school come from hunger when one or more of my children opt out of lunch, but my brain was still melted/frozen from the fever/chills thing I'd had going on earlier, so I instead just patted her on the head and said we'd get a snack when we got home.
Tot One spent Saturday night puking and performing various other unpleasant bodily functions that involve toilets. She apparently had the same thing Sam and I had back before school started - she was so dizzy she couldn't walk. Bless her little heart. I kind of knew, in the back of my mind, that we were long overdue for a hostile germ takover.
I got everyone home, they attacked the snack bowl, then bam - one fruit snack and a sip of grape juice and Kady was gagging. Bad idea, that snack. Baaaad idea. I told her to spit the fruit snack out, for Pete's sake, and please don't puke on me, child. I told her to go to the toilet if she was going to hurl and man, she high-tailed it. After I cleaned up the half-chewed fruit snack that had oh-so-elegantly missed the trashcan, I found Kady in the bathroom, kneeling before the ol' porcelain throne. She was pale and had big circles under her eyes. Oy vey.
With Ab's help I fixed Kady up the usual pallet on the couch - I drape my couch in sheets so that if the ailing child does happen to miss the trashcan, they at least won't get my couch with a direct hit. I'd rather wash a sheet than a couch. She laid there awhile, moaned and groaned, curled her knees up under her chin and moaned some more. Then, bam she was fine.
Agh, I was frustrated. But at the same time, too tired to tell her the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf. So I sent her outside to play, which is what she wanted to do.
She played outside with the other kids for about 15 minutes then was back on the couch, curled up with her knees under her again. Within a few minutes she was sound asleep. I called my supervisor and left a voice mail that I might not be in again tomorrow. Kady slept through dinner, a rather rowdy and loud game (or seven) of PacMan between Tot Two and Sam, four showers, three out-loud readings by Tots One and Two and Sam, and then the bringing-out of every Littlest Pet Shop critter my kids own and the building of a critter town in my living room floor. I sat in a stupor and watched them, watched my pale 5-year-old sleep in the midst of the noise and wondered how much filing would be on my desk come Wednesday if I miss yet another day of work.
She woke up around 7:30 and seemed fine, but still pale and complaining of a headache. I fixed her a piece of toast, she ate it, put on her pajamas, got her woobie, Mimzy, both Build-a-Bears, curled up on the couch and said, "I fink I'll go back to sweep now."
I ended up moving her to my bed after draping it with the sheets that had previously draped the couch. I'll sleep in a raincoat so if she barfs toward me and not the trashcan I'll be somewhat protected. Paul's camped out on the couch because he's spent the entire day with (oh he's gonna kill me for writing this out loud) a case of the runs.
I love it when school starts and the germs are new and fresh and eager to infect.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
A proper dunking, among other things
Friday I was off, as I usually am on Fridays. I had an eye doctor appointment at 9, so I dropped the kids off at Mom's auction so they could bug her instead of me (her idea, not mine) and got my eyes dilated and peered into.
Turns out I'm less blind than I used to be. The last three times I've had my eyes examined, they've had to lessen my prescription. The doctor said that as a teenager I used too much power and wanted to see things boldly and now that I'm older, I don't need to do that anymore and therefore, my eyes say, "Hey, I'm incredibly lazy now and you are using me too much. Back off, dude!" He said my constant studying and computer use made it all the more obvious and that's why I've been having such frequent headaches.
And just wait'll you see the glasses I got! Months ago I checked with EyeMasters and they offered me two pair for $230 and I was totally sold because my last ONE pair from the optometrist cost me just under $600 and I didn't want to do that again. But I figured it wouldn't hurt to, you know, just see what the eye doctor had -- The glasses I picked out have rhinestones down the earpieces and the sunglass clip has rhinestones all-freakin-over them. They just scream "I may be blind, but I am still a diva!" And they weren't $600. Whew.
The whole time I was trying them on I couldn't help but think of the scene in the movie Grease where Marty loses one of her diamonds off her glasses in her mac and cheese.
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Friday evening Mom watched the kids overnight. The original plan was that Abby was just going to stay and we'd pick her up at Saturday's auction, but then Paul was actually open to the idea of going to the show so I called Mom to see if she'd take two more kids. We dropped the kids off the went to the Stables to, you know, eat. It just so happens that there's also a casino there. Hmh. Pretty coincidental, if you ask me.
We drove the yard barge - aka the big truck, a Dodge Ram the size of Mt. Rushmore - and two other yard barges parked on either side of us, one of them incredibly crooked. Before it was said and done, I was standing in the parking lot, arms over my head, directing Paul while he inched his way out. Just so happens there was a freakin' Jag behind us and we weren't keen on denting it. I felt like I needed an orange vest and some lighted cones, but turns out my hands and gray t-shirt were enough.
We saw Superbad and it was okay. Not supergood, but not superbad. Definitely not as good as The 40-Year Old Virgin or Knocked Up, but still pretty funny in parts. There was one part that I snorted, so if it gets a snort out of me, it's not a total waste of money. I probably would've laughed more had I seen it with Tater, though, to be honest. We just laugh more together. Plus, there was a row of about 5 college guys behind us who found it utterly hiLARious to fart loudly throughout the movie. Not just little poots that you could smell and wonder what in the world is that SMELL, but I'm talking disgustingly liquid-sounding bun-rattling farts that made them laugh hysterically and caused my husband to snicker and me to shake my head at their stupidity. Hmh, wonder why they were the movies on a Friday night with each other and not girls.....
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Saturday night I wrote a paper over the relevance of computers in the world of journalism. Whoo hoo.
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Today was Abby's Baptism. I cried like a baby. She was so precious and innocent, yet so grownup and wise-looking at the same time. Before, during the service, she leaned her head on my shoulder and looked off my Bible, her legs crossed like a young lady, but then when she stepped down into the baptistry in that white gown, she looked like a little girl again.
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I took a 2-hour nap this afternoon. I haven't taken a Sunday nap in ages. Paul and the kids conqured PacMan like three times. Like, PacMan used to seem so hard, yet my 8 year old was the first one to clear the entire game. Go figure.
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The design for the new look of Redneck Diva is complete and being prepared for the web. My license plate will be done in a week and she's going to make a t-shirt for me to test wear, make sure I'm satisfied with the quality and then we'll decide how many to print after that.
Tonight I bought a domain and over the next few days will get the blog settled in there. Maybe some gingham valances and a bean bag or two to make it feel like home.....
I am a dot com.
Turns out I'm less blind than I used to be. The last three times I've had my eyes examined, they've had to lessen my prescription. The doctor said that as a teenager I used too much power and wanted to see things boldly and now that I'm older, I don't need to do that anymore and therefore, my eyes say, "Hey, I'm incredibly lazy now and you are using me too much. Back off, dude!" He said my constant studying and computer use made it all the more obvious and that's why I've been having such frequent headaches.
And just wait'll you see the glasses I got! Months ago I checked with EyeMasters and they offered me two pair for $230 and I was totally sold because my last ONE pair from the optometrist cost me just under $600 and I didn't want to do that again. But I figured it wouldn't hurt to, you know, just see what the eye doctor had -- The glasses I picked out have rhinestones down the earpieces and the sunglass clip has rhinestones all-freakin-over them. They just scream "I may be blind, but I am still a diva!" And they weren't $600. Whew.
The whole time I was trying them on I couldn't help but think of the scene in the movie Grease where Marty loses one of her diamonds off her glasses in her mac and cheese.
----------------------------
Friday evening Mom watched the kids overnight. The original plan was that Abby was just going to stay and we'd pick her up at Saturday's auction, but then Paul was actually open to the idea of going to the show so I called Mom to see if she'd take two more kids. We dropped the kids off the went to the Stables to, you know, eat. It just so happens that there's also a casino there. Hmh. Pretty coincidental, if you ask me.
We drove the yard barge - aka the big truck, a Dodge Ram the size of Mt. Rushmore - and two other yard barges parked on either side of us, one of them incredibly crooked. Before it was said and done, I was standing in the parking lot, arms over my head, directing Paul while he inched his way out. Just so happens there was a freakin' Jag behind us and we weren't keen on denting it. I felt like I needed an orange vest and some lighted cones, but turns out my hands and gray t-shirt were enough.
We saw Superbad and it was okay. Not supergood, but not superbad. Definitely not as good as The 40-Year Old Virgin or Knocked Up, but still pretty funny in parts. There was one part that I snorted, so if it gets a snort out of me, it's not a total waste of money. I probably would've laughed more had I seen it with Tater, though, to be honest. We just laugh more together. Plus, there was a row of about 5 college guys behind us who found it utterly hiLARious to fart loudly throughout the movie. Not just little poots that you could smell and wonder what in the world is that SMELL, but I'm talking disgustingly liquid-sounding bun-rattling farts that made them laugh hysterically and caused my husband to snicker and me to shake my head at their stupidity. Hmh, wonder why they were the movies on a Friday night with each other and not girls.....
---------------------------
Saturday night I wrote a paper over the relevance of computers in the world of journalism. Whoo hoo.
--------------------------
Today was Abby's Baptism. I cried like a baby. She was so precious and innocent, yet so grownup and wise-looking at the same time. Before, during the service, she leaned her head on my shoulder and looked off my Bible, her legs crossed like a young lady, but then when she stepped down into the baptistry in that white gown, she looked like a little girl again.
-------------------------
I took a 2-hour nap this afternoon. I haven't taken a Sunday nap in ages. Paul and the kids conqured PacMan like three times. Like, PacMan used to seem so hard, yet my 8 year old was the first one to clear the entire game. Go figure.
-------------------------
The design for the new look of Redneck Diva is complete and being prepared for the web. My license plate will be done in a week and she's going to make a t-shirt for me to test wear, make sure I'm satisfied with the quality and then we'll decide how many to print after that.
Tonight I bought a domain and over the next few days will get the blog settled in there. Maybe some gingham valances and a bean bag or two to make it feel like home.....
I am a dot com.
Do they have meetings for this?
I have found my new obsession. Rather than taking any extra money I might happen upon and throwing it away in the casinos, I now throw it away on other people's discarded crap.
Yes, I am addicted to auctions.
My mother has worked for a particular auction company for several years now and would tell us if we needed to come check things out. While we'd occasionally visit one if there were good tools or some specific item of furniture we wanted, we never made it a huge priority on a regular basis.
But now....oh now, I have reached the pinnacle of redneckness and every Saturday you'll find me amidst a crowd of used furniture dealers, old ladies with flea market booths, farmers in bib overalls and various other people you'd never dream you'd be hanging out with and engaging in a meaningful conversation about vintage Christmas ornaments.
My intestines are becoming quite accustomed to the Frito pie it gets every seven days and is washed down with a lukewarm can of Coke.
Yesterday I got a cement frog for $6. Yes, a cement frog for only $6!! You're jealous, aren't you? Yep, I thought you were. Kady was as excited as I was.
I also got a teddy bear in a Santa hat the rides a tricycle while it plays a Christmas song. (Not sure what song it plays, the kids have kidnapped that poor bear and he's somewhere in the back of the house.) I gave $12 for it, which was probably too much, but I had waited around all day to bid on that thing and by golly, I was getting it.
I bid on a won a lot of baskets for $3 and normally I am a basket-hater, but the main basket in the lot was one shaped like Oklahoma. You know, the state I live in? Yeah, that Oklahoma. I got it for Mom. She was utterly ecstatic - well, as ecstatic as one gets over a basket shaped like their home state - and I was happy I could do that for her. And more than likely I'll be able to sell the other baskets in the flea market booth for a couple of bucks each and actually make money on the deal. I'm such an entrepreneur.
There were more Christmas ornaments and decorations I wanted, but Paul and the kids were hot and tired and hungry and since they'd been outside virtually the entire day, I obliged and did what they wanted to do, which was go home and strip down to as few clothes as possible and play PacMan on the PS2.
The auctioneer and his wife are Paul's aunt and uncle. This was a big auction with a lot of nice items so Paul's entire family was notified and was in attendance. At one point during the morning when I was going outside to hang Paul another box of crap I'd won, there was just this huge circle of Winscotts all standing around not talking because that's the kind of family he comes from. Oh, they're wonderful people, but they are not talkers. It's nothing to be sitting around the living room during a holiday and everyone is in one room and no one's saying a word. This is sooooo opposite from my family where there is never a moment where someone isn't talking, laughing or entertaining in some way. While I love 'em, I didn't hang around in the big non-talking circle too much - there were too manyarticles of crap items to bid on anyway.
I totally get into "auction mode" when the lots and items I want are coming up. I send the kids off to be with their daddy, I clear my throat to make sure my voice is good and strong so I can holler "HEY!" when I bid and then I make sure I'm firmly planted where I want to be so that the ol' blue hairs I'm bidding against don't think they can shove me out of the way. Oh no, I'm fatter'n you, old woman and I've got my eye on that Black and Decker Scum Buster and you are not going to distract me with your perfume that smells like furniture polish and the inordinate amount of cat hair all over your clothes. Oh no....I am in the zone.
I didn't get that Scum Buster, though - I'm cheap and I figure if I can't get a Scum Buster for less than $15 when it's already busted someone else's scum in their mildewy bathtub, then I'd just rather pay full price.
But that cement frog looks so dang cute out there next to the cement garden gnome. Kady had the auspicious honor of placing him in his new home. Then the five of us stood there in the yard and admired the rock bed (rock bed because I can't grow flowers and hey, rocks don't die) and that's when I decided that I need an old toilet to put out by the fence to use as a planter.
Hey, we already have a pink bathtub in the field to water any animals we might someday own, so I think the toilet flower pot will only add to the ambience. If rednecks have ambience, that is.
Yeah, I think we do.
Yes, I am addicted to auctions.
My mother has worked for a particular auction company for several years now and would tell us if we needed to come check things out. While we'd occasionally visit one if there were good tools or some specific item of furniture we wanted, we never made it a huge priority on a regular basis.
But now....oh now, I have reached the pinnacle of redneckness and every Saturday you'll find me amidst a crowd of used furniture dealers, old ladies with flea market booths, farmers in bib overalls and various other people you'd never dream you'd be hanging out with and engaging in a meaningful conversation about vintage Christmas ornaments.
My intestines are becoming quite accustomed to the Frito pie it gets every seven days and is washed down with a lukewarm can of Coke.
Yesterday I got a cement frog for $6. Yes, a cement frog for only $6!! You're jealous, aren't you? Yep, I thought you were. Kady was as excited as I was.
I also got a teddy bear in a Santa hat the rides a tricycle while it plays a Christmas song. (Not sure what song it plays, the kids have kidnapped that poor bear and he's somewhere in the back of the house.) I gave $12 for it, which was probably too much, but I had waited around all day to bid on that thing and by golly, I was getting it.
I bid on a won a lot of baskets for $3 and normally I am a basket-hater, but the main basket in the lot was one shaped like Oklahoma. You know, the state I live in? Yeah, that Oklahoma. I got it for Mom. She was utterly ecstatic - well, as ecstatic as one gets over a basket shaped like their home state - and I was happy I could do that for her. And more than likely I'll be able to sell the other baskets in the flea market booth for a couple of bucks each and actually make money on the deal. I'm such an entrepreneur.
There were more Christmas ornaments and decorations I wanted, but Paul and the kids were hot and tired and hungry and since they'd been outside virtually the entire day, I obliged and did what they wanted to do, which was go home and strip down to as few clothes as possible and play PacMan on the PS2.
The auctioneer and his wife are Paul's aunt and uncle. This was a big auction with a lot of nice items so Paul's entire family was notified and was in attendance. At one point during the morning when I was going outside to hang Paul another box of crap I'd won, there was just this huge circle of Winscotts all standing around not talking because that's the kind of family he comes from. Oh, they're wonderful people, but they are not talkers. It's nothing to be sitting around the living room during a holiday and everyone is in one room and no one's saying a word. This is sooooo opposite from my family where there is never a moment where someone isn't talking, laughing or entertaining in some way. While I love 'em, I didn't hang around in the big non-talking circle too much - there were too many
I totally get into "auction mode" when the lots and items I want are coming up. I send the kids off to be with their daddy, I clear my throat to make sure my voice is good and strong so I can holler "HEY!" when I bid and then I make sure I'm firmly planted where I want to be so that the ol' blue hairs I'm bidding against don't think they can shove me out of the way. Oh no, I'm fatter'n you, old woman and I've got my eye on that Black and Decker Scum Buster and you are not going to distract me with your perfume that smells like furniture polish and the inordinate amount of cat hair all over your clothes. Oh no....I am in the zone.
I didn't get that Scum Buster, though - I'm cheap and I figure if I can't get a Scum Buster for less than $15 when it's already busted someone else's scum in their mildewy bathtub, then I'd just rather pay full price.
But that cement frog looks so dang cute out there next to the cement garden gnome. Kady had the auspicious honor of placing him in his new home. Then the five of us stood there in the yard and admired the rock bed (rock bed because I can't grow flowers and hey, rocks don't die) and that's when I decided that I need an old toilet to put out by the fence to use as a planter.
Hey, we already have a pink bathtub in the field to water any animals we might someday own, so I think the toilet flower pot will only add to the ambience. If rednecks have ambience, that is.
Yeah, I think we do.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Bombs away
I was third person to turn in my test and walk out of the classroom.
The instructor told us last week that he was going to lecture after the test because we're already a week behind, but tonight he decided to have mercy on us. His words were, "I think lecturing after the exam would just be too much on you tonight." Oh, that just built up my hopes - built 'em all the way up from the possibility of failure to probability of failure.
Some of the questions were easy and I didn't have to think about the answer - I just knew them. Others were worded so strangely that I wanted to scream. I ate the eraser off of my pencil during that test. Maybe that eraser will stop the diarrhea....
Paul told me last night that I've been downright ridiculous what with all the fretting and fussing I've done this week over that test. He said, "You've studied. You've studied a lot. You're either going to pass or fail. So quit making yourself sick." He's wise, my husband. Not really a touchy-feely-cry on my shoulder kinda guy, but still wise. So as soon as I got down the stairs and into the lobby I called him. He hadn't been expecting to hear from me until after 9, so upon hearing my voice he said, "Wow. You're done early. It must not have been as bad as you thought it was going to be, huh? Now....I made a pizza and I'm putting some for you in the microwave right now. Get home to me and the kids."
And that right there pretty much assured the fact that he's getting laid tonight.
And I'm really glad I didn't divorce him 8 years ago when I realllllly wanted to and I think he wanted me to as well.
The instructor told us last week that he was going to lecture after the test because we're already a week behind, but tonight he decided to have mercy on us. His words were, "I think lecturing after the exam would just be too much on you tonight." Oh, that just built up my hopes - built 'em all the way up from the possibility of failure to probability of failure.
Some of the questions were easy and I didn't have to think about the answer - I just knew them. Others were worded so strangely that I wanted to scream. I ate the eraser off of my pencil during that test. Maybe that eraser will stop the diarrhea....
Paul told me last night that I've been downright ridiculous what with all the fretting and fussing I've done this week over that test. He said, "You've studied. You've studied a lot. You're either going to pass or fail. So quit making yourself sick." He's wise, my husband. Not really a touchy-feely-cry on my shoulder kinda guy, but still wise. So as soon as I got down the stairs and into the lobby I called him. He hadn't been expecting to hear from me until after 9, so upon hearing my voice he said, "Wow. You're done early. It must not have been as bad as you thought it was going to be, huh? Now....I made a pizza and I'm putting some for you in the microwave right now. Get home to me and the kids."
And that right there pretty much assured the fact that he's getting laid tonight.
And I'm really glad I didn't divorce him 8 years ago when I realllllly wanted to and I think he wanted me to as well.
Blogging from work, Vol 2
Tee hee....it feels so scandalous when I do this. Even though I have permission, there's just something scathingly brilliantly scandalous about blogging on your boss's computer.
-------------------------------
I have my first test in Macro tonight. If the relentless diarrhea and inability to eat all day says anything at all, I am going to flunk this test miserably. Actually, I don't think I'll flunk, but I am not deluding myself into thinking I'll get anything higher than a C, probably something lower. It's killing me to admit that, by the way.
I took practice tests all day yesterday and got an 80 on one and in the 60's on the rest. Last week the instructor told us that when he was in college, on the very first test he ever took in Macro, he answered all the questions completely opposite of what they were supposed to be. And sure enough, he jinxed me and I'll be danged if that's not what I did on the practice tests. Stewed Hamm graciously gave me some pointers for Economics on the whole and it helped, but I think I'm just too mathtarded to understand the graphs. I did, however, master which direction the shift in the supply and demand curves go. I think. We'll see. I may not, in reality. I think I have a handle on the terminology, though.
I think.
----------------------------
Goinglikesixty wanted to know Mrs. Weese's reaction to "We wook at my butt! See it?" According to Kady, she "just busted out waffing and waffing at me and said my daddy is funny!"
Mrs. Weese has told me several times how impressed she is at Kady's ability to convey humor, so I think she appreciated our ingenuity. We're not doing anything out of the ordinary - we're just a bunch of tacky, unrefined rednecks trying to help our kid learn her sightwords.
----------------------------
Several years ago my mom bought Tater's kids and my kids each a set of Schoolhouse Rock videos. Remember watching Schoolhouse Rock between cartoons on Saturday mornings? I loved those cartoons and still get "I'm Just a Bill" and "Conjunction Junction" stuck in my head from time to time. And who can forget "Interjection"? Our kids, however.....not so much impressed. The question I got once was, "Can we watch something that doesn't teach us so much?" Needless to say, the kids don't watch them very often.
At Parent/Teacher Conference this week Abby's teacher asked how Ab was doing on memorizing the Preamble to the Constitution. I was clueless as to what she was talking about, so putting Abby on the spot, I asked her right in front of her teacher how that was going for her.
"Oops" was her answer.
Sam's working on his 3's in multiplication and just cannot seem to grasp that concept. Oh the 2's were easy enough, but those 3's are killin' him.
Then it hit me the other night - we have all those Schoolhouse Rock videos! And we must put them to use! And use lots of exclamation points!
All day yesterday I had the song "3 is the Magic Number" on my head and today I have successfully sung the entire Preamble about 1627 times.
Sam was so entirely stoked to take his 3's test today - I hope he did good. I can sing you those 3's like nobody's business. And if only I'd remembered the Preamble song last semester when I was taking History, I'd have probably gotten an A.
Wonder if there's an Economics rock....
-------------------------
The Okie Blogger Round-up 2007 is OFFICIAL! In two weeks Tater, Paul and I will be yukking it up with other Okie bloggers from all over our great state. I can hardly wait! Last year was a blast and it was so wonderful meeting everyone - it looks like there will be even more there this year!
I asked Paul awhile back if he would go with me and he adamantly and instantly replied, "NO." So I asked Tater to escort me, as she did last year. She was on board because she's single now and hey, you never know if there's some cute Okie blogger who's just itchin' to date my little sister. Then all of the sudden Paul changed his mind and said he wanted to go, but Tater still wanted to go, so now it looks like the three of us are going. And since it's over so early this year we're thinking that the Cherokees might call to us and we might want to, you know, gamble a little....just to get in touch with our Native American roots.....
-----------------------
Which reminds me.....if you're an Okie blogger, don't forget to vote!!
----------------------
And for those who are curious: GDP = C + I + G + (X-M)
Real income = Nominal Income divided by the CPI x 100
And now you know.
-------------------------------
I have my first test in Macro tonight. If the relentless diarrhea and inability to eat all day says anything at all, I am going to flunk this test miserably. Actually, I don't think I'll flunk, but I am not deluding myself into thinking I'll get anything higher than a C, probably something lower. It's killing me to admit that, by the way.
I took practice tests all day yesterday and got an 80 on one and in the 60's on the rest. Last week the instructor told us that when he was in college, on the very first test he ever took in Macro, he answered all the questions completely opposite of what they were supposed to be. And sure enough, he jinxed me and I'll be danged if that's not what I did on the practice tests. Stewed Hamm graciously gave me some pointers for Economics on the whole and it helped, but I think I'm just too mathtarded to understand the graphs. I did, however, master which direction the shift in the supply and demand curves go. I think. We'll see. I may not, in reality. I think I have a handle on the terminology, though.
I think.
----------------------------
Goinglikesixty wanted to know Mrs. Weese's reaction to "We wook at my butt! See it?" According to Kady, she "just busted out waffing and waffing at me and said my daddy is funny!"
Mrs. Weese has told me several times how impressed she is at Kady's ability to convey humor, so I think she appreciated our ingenuity. We're not doing anything out of the ordinary - we're just a bunch of tacky, unrefined rednecks trying to help our kid learn her sightwords.
----------------------------
Several years ago my mom bought Tater's kids and my kids each a set of Schoolhouse Rock videos. Remember watching Schoolhouse Rock between cartoons on Saturday mornings? I loved those cartoons and still get "I'm Just a Bill" and "Conjunction Junction" stuck in my head from time to time. And who can forget "Interjection"? Our kids, however.....not so much impressed. The question I got once was, "Can we watch something that doesn't teach us so much?" Needless to say, the kids don't watch them very often.
At Parent/Teacher Conference this week Abby's teacher asked how Ab was doing on memorizing the Preamble to the Constitution. I was clueless as to what she was talking about, so putting Abby on the spot, I asked her right in front of her teacher how that was going for her.
"Oops" was her answer.
Sam's working on his 3's in multiplication and just cannot seem to grasp that concept. Oh the 2's were easy enough, but those 3's are killin' him.
Then it hit me the other night - we have all those Schoolhouse Rock videos! And we must put them to use! And use lots of exclamation points!
All day yesterday I had the song "3 is the Magic Number" on my head and today I have successfully sung the entire Preamble about 1627 times.
Sam was so entirely stoked to take his 3's test today - I hope he did good. I can sing you those 3's like nobody's business. And if only I'd remembered the Preamble song last semester when I was taking History, I'd have probably gotten an A.
Wonder if there's an Economics rock....
-------------------------
The Okie Blogger Round-up 2007 is OFFICIAL! In two weeks Tater, Paul and I will be yukking it up with other Okie bloggers from all over our great state. I can hardly wait! Last year was a blast and it was so wonderful meeting everyone - it looks like there will be even more there this year!
I asked Paul awhile back if he would go with me and he adamantly and instantly replied, "NO." So I asked Tater to escort me, as she did last year. She was on board because she's single now and hey, you never know if there's some cute Okie blogger who's just itchin' to date my little sister. Then all of the sudden Paul changed his mind and said he wanted to go, but Tater still wanted to go, so now it looks like the three of us are going. And since it's over so early this year we're thinking that the Cherokees might call to us and we might want to, you know, gamble a little....just to get in touch with our Native American roots.....
-----------------------
Which reminds me.....if you're an Okie blogger, don't forget to vote!!
----------------------
And for those who are curious: GDP = C + I + G + (X-M)
Real income = Nominal Income divided by the CPI x 100
And now you know.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Learning to learn
Kady has sight words in Kindergarten. Each week when the teacher sends home the weekly letter, I write the new ones on a notecard and add them to the pile that we store in a ziplock bag. We go over them occasionally. Like, when I'm not crying over my Macroeconomics book.
Her sight words up to this point are:
look
but
see
at
it
my
we
can
Kady was really struggling with these words and was getting to where she would cry before we'd even get them out of the bag.
So we made her laugh. Because that's what we do - what we can't control, we laugh at.
Kady went to her teacher today to take her sight word test and told Mrs. Weese that her momma and daddy showed her how to remember her sight words -
"We can wook at my butt! See it?"
We were sitting at the dinner table when she told us that she had told Mrs. Weese our little trick. Paul choked on his macaroni and I think corn shot out of Abby's nose.
Fortunately, she didn't moon Mrs. Weese like she did us last night.
Her sight words up to this point are:
look
but
see
at
it
my
we
can
Kady was really struggling with these words and was getting to where she would cry before we'd even get them out of the bag.
So we made her laugh. Because that's what we do - what we can't control, we laugh at.
Kady went to her teacher today to take her sight word test and told Mrs. Weese that her momma and daddy showed her how to remember her sight words -
"We can wook at my butt! See it?"
We were sitting at the dinner table when she told us that she had told Mrs. Weese our little trick. Paul choked on his macaroni and I think corn shot out of Abby's nose.
Fortunately, she didn't moon Mrs. Weese like she did us last night.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Math Ain’t Our Strong Suit
Of course, I would never say this to their faces, but my two oldest children are not good at math. Just like their mother. There's a special place in Heaven for us. Or at least, that's what I tell myself.
Tonight was Parent/Teacher Conferences at school.
5:00 - Conference with Sam's teacher, one of the sweetest women to ever exist. My mom met her when she had lunch with Sam for Grandparent's Day. She said, "Honestly, Kristin, I think I got a cavity just from talking to her! How can someone be that sweet??"
Sam has always been the one I haven't had to worry about regarding school - always nearly perfect grades, socially stellar, all-around good student. The teachers and kids love him. But this is 3rd grade and 3rd grade is when Abby started going to Hell in a handbasket. (Not literally, because you know she got a Come to Jesus Cake and all) 3rd grade is hard. It's a transitional year; it's when they start learning skills they need to succeed in Middle School and beyond. So when 3rd grade started for Sam, I expected some problems. Fortunately, they've been minor. Those multiplication tables are gonna get him yet. Hey, I started learning them in 3rd grade and it didn't click for me until 6th grade. See where they get it? See?
Poor guy, Sam scored low enough on his Iowa Basic Skills Test last year that he's one of the chosen few (and by "chosen few" I mean "bad at math") who gets to attend "8th Period" during the 3rd semester. Apparently the entire school's math scores were low and I totally applaud the administration and faculty for getting a handle on it and trying to change it. I would've applauded louder, maybe, had I not spawned a mathematical freak of my own who just can't understand why numbers exist, but that's neither here nor there. Fortunately, the school is planning on providing bus transportation home, which was my why my face initially screwed up into something that probably looked like an anus when she told us - because I could see me forgetting to pick him up, what with all the self-centered stress I seem to behold lately.
Other than that, Sam is just a nice, normal B student. Normal being a completely relative term, of course. He is my child, after all.
5:15 - Conference with Kady's teacher, the Best Kindergarten Teacher in the World By Default Because We Couldn't Have Cousin Courtney.
I have been stressing this week (No? Me? Really? And I'm normally so calm!) because, after visiting with another mom with a kid in Kady's class, I learned that her child had a reader and my child did not.
Now, Abby was a stay-at-home kid. She did not go to PreK or preschool other than a few days a week of Lab School at the college. So, when she was the first kid in her class to get a reader I totally attributed it to my mad parenting skillz. Then Sam, my only child to go to PreK, was one of the first in his Kindergarten class to get a reader and I attributed it to my mad parenting skillz AND my choice to put him in PreK. But now here's Kady. Have you met Kady? My child who was a diva from birth, who my mother swears is going to be a politician and I'm leaning more toward Evil Ruler of the Free World, my child who coins a clever and witty Kadyism at least 400 times a day? And also my child who doesn't have a reader and is nowhere close to getting one. Gasping, are you? Well, me too.
Mrs. Weese (it's actually Reese, but she'll always be Mrs. Weese to me forever and ever because I swear to you, after hearing how "wondowfol" Mrs. Weese is 67 times a minute, you'd call her Mrs. Weese forever and ever, too) assured me that she's sharp as a tack and brilliant and a good kid and just all-around amazingly amazing, but there's just some letters she doesn't know yet. And I'm okay with that. On the outside. On the inside, however, I am freaking the hell out, blaming myself for her not reading in the first month of school and wondering now if she'll end up pierced and leather-clad before she's 14 and will date a guy named Tread and will paint her bedroom black and vote Democrat. All because she didn't get a reader in the first month of school.
So far, she doesn't seem to be a bad at math, though. Of course, they're not really doing much with numbers yet, so there's still time.
5:45 - Conference with Abby's teacher, the woman who is preparing my daughter for the Big Bad Middle School that she'll be attending across the street next year, the woman who puts up with 18 stinky, buddingly hormonal tweens for 7 hours a day and the woman who has my utmost respect.
Abby is a good, solid B+ student. She's bad at math, though. (Betcha didn't see that one coming.) Yep, she scored low on her Iowa Tests, too. Her scores, however, were high enough on the low side that she doesn't qualify for 8th Period. The JOM lady (Indian lady, for you white folks) had an opening in the Native American Bad At Math program during school, though, and she's doing that 2 and 3 hours a week. Other than that, Abby is doing great. She's average and well-adjusted and giggly, which I hear is normal.
Paul was concerned about the kids's math scores as well, but he tends to not run around in circles, waving his arms in the air, screaming like a banshee. (Not that I know anyone who tends to overreact to stressful situations...) He tends to internalize his angst. He's quiet. Always has been, always will be. Oh, but boy howdy when we hit that parking lot, he let loose. It seems that if Paul has any say in it, our children will now be attending Mathematics Boot Camp. It's a new reality show on the Nerd Channel. I'm hosting. Once a week, the kids get in a big circle and start shouting out numbers in an attempt to take control of what is controlling us and then we all cleanse our chakras and do counting exercises.
Oh, and I also run around in circles, wave my arms in the air and scream like a banshee.
Tonight was Parent/Teacher Conferences at school.
5:00 - Conference with Sam's teacher, one of the sweetest women to ever exist. My mom met her when she had lunch with Sam for Grandparent's Day. She said, "Honestly, Kristin, I think I got a cavity just from talking to her! How can someone be that sweet??"
Sam has always been the one I haven't had to worry about regarding school - always nearly perfect grades, socially stellar, all-around good student. The teachers and kids love him. But this is 3rd grade and 3rd grade is when Abby started going to Hell in a handbasket. (Not literally, because you know she got a Come to Jesus Cake and all) 3rd grade is hard. It's a transitional year; it's when they start learning skills they need to succeed in Middle School and beyond. So when 3rd grade started for Sam, I expected some problems. Fortunately, they've been minor. Those multiplication tables are gonna get him yet. Hey, I started learning them in 3rd grade and it didn't click for me until 6th grade. See where they get it? See?
Poor guy, Sam scored low enough on his Iowa Basic Skills Test last year that he's one of the chosen few (and by "chosen few" I mean "bad at math") who gets to attend "8th Period" during the 3rd semester. Apparently the entire school's math scores were low and I totally applaud the administration and faculty for getting a handle on it and trying to change it. I would've applauded louder, maybe, had I not spawned a mathematical freak of my own who just can't understand why numbers exist, but that's neither here nor there. Fortunately, the school is planning on providing bus transportation home, which was my why my face initially screwed up into something that probably looked like an anus when she told us - because I could see me forgetting to pick him up, what with all the self-centered stress I seem to behold lately.
Other than that, Sam is just a nice, normal B student. Normal being a completely relative term, of course. He is my child, after all.
5:15 - Conference with Kady's teacher, the Best Kindergarten Teacher in the World By Default Because We Couldn't Have Cousin Courtney.
I have been stressing this week (No? Me? Really? And I'm normally so calm!) because, after visiting with another mom with a kid in Kady's class, I learned that her child had a reader and my child did not.
Now, Abby was a stay-at-home kid. She did not go to PreK or preschool other than a few days a week of Lab School at the college. So, when she was the first kid in her class to get a reader I totally attributed it to my mad parenting skillz. Then Sam, my only child to go to PreK, was one of the first in his Kindergarten class to get a reader and I attributed it to my mad parenting skillz AND my choice to put him in PreK. But now here's Kady. Have you met Kady? My child who was a diva from birth, who my mother swears is going to be a politician and I'm leaning more toward Evil Ruler of the Free World, my child who coins a clever and witty Kadyism at least 400 times a day? And also my child who doesn't have a reader and is nowhere close to getting one. Gasping, are you? Well, me too.
Mrs. Weese (it's actually Reese, but she'll always be Mrs. Weese to me forever and ever because I swear to you, after hearing how "wondowfol" Mrs. Weese is 67 times a minute, you'd call her Mrs. Weese forever and ever, too) assured me that she's sharp as a tack and brilliant and a good kid and just all-around amazingly amazing, but there's just some letters she doesn't know yet. And I'm okay with that. On the outside. On the inside, however, I am freaking the hell out, blaming myself for her not reading in the first month of school and wondering now if she'll end up pierced and leather-clad before she's 14 and will date a guy named Tread and will paint her bedroom black and vote Democrat. All because she didn't get a reader in the first month of school.
So far, she doesn't seem to be a bad at math, though. Of course, they're not really doing much with numbers yet, so there's still time.
5:45 - Conference with Abby's teacher, the woman who is preparing my daughter for the Big Bad Middle School that she'll be attending across the street next year, the woman who puts up with 18 stinky, buddingly hormonal tweens for 7 hours a day and the woman who has my utmost respect.
Abby is a good, solid B+ student. She's bad at math, though. (Betcha didn't see that one coming.) Yep, she scored low on her Iowa Tests, too. Her scores, however, were high enough on the low side that she doesn't qualify for 8th Period. The JOM lady (Indian lady, for you white folks) had an opening in the Native American Bad At Math program during school, though, and she's doing that 2 and 3 hours a week. Other than that, Abby is doing great. She's average and well-adjusted and giggly, which I hear is normal.
Paul was concerned about the kids's math scores as well, but he tends to not run around in circles, waving his arms in the air, screaming like a banshee. (Not that I know anyone who tends to overreact to stressful situations...) He tends to internalize his angst. He's quiet. Always has been, always will be. Oh, but boy howdy when we hit that parking lot, he let loose. It seems that if Paul has any say in it, our children will now be attending Mathematics Boot Camp. It's a new reality show on the Nerd Channel. I'm hosting. Once a week, the kids get in a big circle and start shouting out numbers in an attempt to take control of what is controlling us and then we all cleanse our chakras and do counting exercises.
Oh, and I also run around in circles, wave my arms in the air and scream like a banshee.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Two guys walk into a bar
And I wish I was walking in with them.
(rimshot)
Annnnyhoo....being the moody psychopath I am these days, I'm going to be happy tonight. Even if it kills me.
Isn't it funny how one R/C monster truck and one R/C helicopter can make three kids insanely happy? The truck is old and I bought the helicopter at an auction on Saturday for $3. Paul was so mad at me for bidding on that thing, but I have totally gotten my $3 out of it already.
The place up the road had the auction Saturday and we went up mainly because, hey there was an auction in the neighborhood and what redneck can pass up the opportunity to buy other people's used stuff? Well, certainly not us, by cracky.
I spent $29, $15 of which was for a quilt for Paul. The rest was pure, unadulterated crap. And I was ecstatic. For $14 we got:
*an Operation: Brain Surgery Game which is just creepy. It's just disturbing to watch your kids dig around on a plastic head. Especially when the head talks.
* a game of Fib Finder, which has a crazy-annoying plastic device that apparently can detect fibbing in elementary school children. I've heard such questions as, "Do you pick your nose?", "Do you stick your fingers in the peanut butter jar?" and to both of those I hollered into the other room, "YOU BETTER NOT!"
* a leopard print choo-choo bag that I just love and now I need to plan a trip to go somewhere so I can walk into my motel carrying that adorable thing.
* a microscope. I didn't know that was in the box. I got a box of crap and a kids' rolling suitcase for $3 and the microscope was in the box. So far, I haven't had the energy or patience to get it out and let the kids play with it. Maybe in.....oh.....2009?
* one of those girly-girl craft kits to make - get this, all you girls of the 90's - SLAP BRACELETS! They outlawed those suckers in my high school because we kept beating the snot out of each other. Good times, good times.
* a game called "Careers" which looks like it's from about 1965. The kids haven't even touched it. They're non-motivated about their futures, just like their mother.
* the aforementioned rolling suitcase. And like a true auction goldmine, it had (drum roll) ANOTHER SUITCASE INSIDE!! We have got to plan a trip! All this luggage is just beckoning to be used.
* a ficus. For Festivus. Because we've talked of getting a Festivus Ficus for a year or two, but never did. Well, Saturday I just went and did it. Here's the best part - I bid on the Ficus and another potted tree thing that I totallly didn't want, but they came together. Later on in the morning, a woman offered me $2 for the potted tree. And I only gave a buck for both of 'em!! AND I didn't have to throw away the potted tree. Bonus!
* a MyScene Barbie styling head. I gave a buck for that thing and it kept Kady occupied for the rest of the day. We had been losing her all morning and after I got her that goofy head, she stayed put. Best buck I spent all day.
* a jar of marbles. Because I lost mine. (rimshot)
* a box that had 3 Bibles and two 3-ring binders in it. The choo-choo bag was in it. Mom took all that to sell in the flea market.
I bid on a 5-foot tall, light-up plastic Santa, much to the chagrin of my husband. I had my heart set on that gaudy thing, even moreso the more Paul griped about it. Unfortunately, a guy outbid me and got my Santa AND a saddle rack for the low, low price of $16. I'd have gone higher, except Paul kept kicking me and frankly, that hurt. So because of that, I bought a Frito pie from the concession stand. The chili had beans in it. Revenge is sweet.
(rimshot)
Annnnyhoo....being the moody psychopath I am these days, I'm going to be happy tonight. Even if it kills me.
Isn't it funny how one R/C monster truck and one R/C helicopter can make three kids insanely happy? The truck is old and I bought the helicopter at an auction on Saturday for $3. Paul was so mad at me for bidding on that thing, but I have totally gotten my $3 out of it already.
The place up the road had the auction Saturday and we went up mainly because, hey there was an auction in the neighborhood and what redneck can pass up the opportunity to buy other people's used stuff? Well, certainly not us, by cracky.
I spent $29, $15 of which was for a quilt for Paul. The rest was pure, unadulterated crap. And I was ecstatic. For $14 we got:
*an Operation: Brain Surgery Game which is just creepy. It's just disturbing to watch your kids dig around on a plastic head. Especially when the head talks.
* a game of Fib Finder, which has a crazy-annoying plastic device that apparently can detect fibbing in elementary school children. I've heard such questions as, "Do you pick your nose?", "Do you stick your fingers in the peanut butter jar?" and to both of those I hollered into the other room, "YOU BETTER NOT!"
* a leopard print choo-choo bag that I just love and now I need to plan a trip to go somewhere so I can walk into my motel carrying that adorable thing.
* a microscope. I didn't know that was in the box. I got a box of crap and a kids' rolling suitcase for $3 and the microscope was in the box. So far, I haven't had the energy or patience to get it out and let the kids play with it. Maybe in.....oh.....2009?
* one of those girly-girl craft kits to make - get this, all you girls of the 90's - SLAP BRACELETS! They outlawed those suckers in my high school because we kept beating the snot out of each other. Good times, good times.
* a game called "Careers" which looks like it's from about 1965. The kids haven't even touched it. They're non-motivated about their futures, just like their mother.
* the aforementioned rolling suitcase. And like a true auction goldmine, it had (drum roll) ANOTHER SUITCASE INSIDE!! We have got to plan a trip! All this luggage is just beckoning to be used.
* a ficus. For Festivus. Because we've talked of getting a Festivus Ficus for a year or two, but never did. Well, Saturday I just went and did it. Here's the best part - I bid on the Ficus and another potted tree thing that I totallly didn't want, but they came together. Later on in the morning, a woman offered me $2 for the potted tree. And I only gave a buck for both of 'em!! AND I didn't have to throw away the potted tree. Bonus!
* a MyScene Barbie styling head. I gave a buck for that thing and it kept Kady occupied for the rest of the day. We had been losing her all morning and after I got her that goofy head, she stayed put. Best buck I spent all day.
* a jar of marbles. Because I lost mine. (rimshot)
* a box that had 3 Bibles and two 3-ring binders in it. The choo-choo bag was in it. Mom took all that to sell in the flea market.
I bid on a 5-foot tall, light-up plastic Santa, much to the chagrin of my husband. I had my heart set on that gaudy thing, even moreso the more Paul griped about it. Unfortunately, a guy outbid me and got my Santa AND a saddle rack for the low, low price of $16. I'd have gone higher, except Paul kept kicking me and frankly, that hurt. So because of that, I bought a Frito pie from the concession stand. The chili had beans in it. Revenge is sweet.
Something's gotta give
I know I'm not the first woman to go to college in her 30's (much like Hillbilly Mom's not the first women to ever get a cold, bless her heart), but seriously people, when does this get easier?
I lost my ever-lovin' shit Saturday night right in front of my children. I bawled and I hollered and I all but threw myself in the floor and pitched a hissy fit right there.
Kids should not see their mother lose her shit. It traumatizes them.
Great, now I have something else to worry about.
Something has to give. Can't be school because it's already paid for. Can't be work because we need the money. Can't be my social life because I never had one anyway. Can't be the family because well, I love them. Can't be the housework because it's already gone and there's no coming back, I'm afraid.
Guess it'll be my sanity.
I'll be insane, but I'll be an educated, employed, social recluse with great kids. What's not to love about that prospect?
I lost my ever-lovin' shit Saturday night right in front of my children. I bawled and I hollered and I all but threw myself in the floor and pitched a hissy fit right there.
Kids should not see their mother lose her shit. It traumatizes them.
Great, now I have something else to worry about.
Something has to give. Can't be school because it's already paid for. Can't be work because we need the money. Can't be my social life because I never had one anyway. Can't be the family because well, I love them. Can't be the housework because it's already gone and there's no coming back, I'm afraid.
Guess it'll be my sanity.
I'll be insane, but I'll be an educated, employed, social recluse with great kids. What's not to love about that prospect?
Friday, September 14, 2007
The Randomator
I am in a very strange mood tonight. Not sure if it's atmospheric or hormonal. Regardless, I'm just going to start typing. We'll see where it goes.
My internet is so slow tonight that this is one of those times I wonder why the heck I'm paying $50 a month for it.
Crock Pot is driving us all nuts. The barking was better last night, but today alone he has chewed up one baseball, one cardboard box (multiple times), a plastic toy pot, a plastic gear magnet that I'm not sure why it was outside to begin with but now the dog keeps slamming into the truck when he walks by it, 47,000 sticks, four pieces of sidewalk chalk (talk about colorful poops), the pedal of Kady's bike and that's just the stuff we've found. There's probably a lot more. We got Jake when he was only 6 weeks old and he NEVER chewed on anything. A friend told us today that if we can just keep from killing him while he's in the puppy stage, he'll be one of the best dogs we ever had. I'm not convinced and am still thinking the non-chewingest dog is the best dog.
Every time I listen to the soundtrack from Hairspray I can envision myself on stage playing Tracy Turnblad. Then I remember that I can't sing as well as I used to and what if I really did bad during an audition, but I would be like the perfect fat chick to play the part and then I start wondering if they would let me lip sync and let my sister sing for me. Because this is where my brain goes sometimes.
Sometimes I really want a cigarette.
Today I took a nap with Abby. She stayed home from school today because her sinuses are so full of mushy goo that her face was swollen and she was running a fever. She felt like hammered poop and didn't even argue when I told her to lie down for awhile. She was snoring in like, a minute. So I felt obliged to snore with her. It was awesome. I'll probably never get to sleep tonight.
Tomorrow I have to write a paper for Computers, take a test in AmerLit, transpose three chapters worth of Macro notes and squeeze in a few Algebra problems here and there. I remember when Saturdays were full of fun things like housework and cleaning off the carport.
I love all of my kids equally, but when Abby is sick it bothers me more for some reason. You'd think it would be Kady I'd worry about more because she's the one with asthma and you know, occasionally turns blue from lack of oxygen and stuff, but no, it's my oldest, healthiest child that my heart hurts for when she's sick. Please don't misinterpret - when any of the kids are sick, I worry, but I don't know, when Ab's sick it's different somehow. Please don't call my office and report me or anything.
I just put a text messaging package on my husband's cell phone. He is freakin' hilarious with it because he has NO CLUE how to send a text message. He can reply if you send him one, but as far as just picking up his phone and saying, "Hey, I think I'll text my lovely wife while she's at work today," it ain't happening. My sister just sent him a whole bunch of 'em and it took me AND Abby showing him step by step how to forward them. His 10 year old daughter can text and he can't. I didn't teach her - a girl on the school bus taught her. The times they have a'changed.
I just took a gander at the songs on my computer. I have very eclectic taste in music. I have everything from Andy Williams to SpongeBob on there.
I just ripped some songs from Ab's Hannah Montana 2 CD and omg, is it wrong that I have an itsy bitsy like, almost crush on Hannah Montana? I mean, in a totally not creepy way, but in a totally I SO wanna be her! kinda way. Billy Ray Cyrus is going to be in concert at Buffalo Run in October and there is major discussing amongst the tween set at the kids' school as to whether he'll bring Miley along for an adventure into NE Oklahoma. I gotta say, the thought crossed my mind, too. Once or twelve times. Abby and I are going. Just in case.
I used to think about my high school boyfriend quite a bit. Not like I wanted him back or anything because no, I don't, but maybe because he was my first love or something. Anyway, he was on my mind a lot for awhile, but once I found out he has a daughter I don't think about him anymore. I still thought about him even after I had kids of my own, but once I found out he had one I stopped. That's kinda weird.
Why did they feel compelled to call the naked mole rat naked? I mean, technically all animals are naked. And the naked mole rat is certainly not the only hairless animal. So what made someone say, "You know, this poor little fella needs to have the embarrassing title of 'naked' because being ugly and looking like a deformed penis isn't enough."
Sometimes when I see my kids doing stuff, normal stuff like talking on the phone or pouring a glass of milk, I tear up. Last week Abby straightened Kady's hairbow that had gotten knocked crooked by the new dog and I cried. She didn't say anything, just turned Kady around, fixed that bow, then patted her on the back like she was sending off her own child. I think I got a glimpse of my child as a mother.
Once, when I was probably 14 or 15, DeLisa, Mom, Tater and I were sitting in a booth in the Tastee Freez having one of those new-fangled concoctions (new-fangled for then anyway) where someone got the brilliant idea to mix candy and cookies into a milkshake and create heaven in a styrofoam cup, and we got to laughing so hard that I farted really loud. I mean, like rattle your buns loud against that hard plastic booth in the Tastee Freez. Then we laughed even harder. But I didn't fart again because I had my buttcheeks really clenched from that point on.
Last week, for three solid days I had the word "concoction" in my head. You know how sometimes you get a song stuck in your head? Well, I get words stuck in my head. Plus, I'm a typer and I type every word you say, I say, I think, etc. Seriously. I have since I learned how to type. On more than once occasion Paul has woke me up in the middle of the night because I was typing on his arm. Last week I typed "concoction" about 5000 times. Abby asked me once why my fingers jump so much, but I didn't have the heart to tell her that her mother suffers from some freaky OCD that causes her to type words and dialogue over and over. It's best that she thinks I'm somewhat normal.
Last Saturday I bought the kids a used PS2 game at GameTraders. It has PacMan, Galaga, Pole Position, and Dig Dug on it. They play it constantly and can't believe these are old games because they're so cool, how could they be old? I told them I used to play those games on an Atari and they all went, "OOoooooooh."
Remember when we played on the old Ataris and they had one joystick and one button? The PS2 controllers we have have more buttons and joysticks on 'em than you can shake a stick at. Funny how kids these days can't tell you the subject or predicate of a sentence but they know, without looking, what every button on a video game controller does.
This time last year we still had Papa. Sometimes I wanna go back to last year. There were a lot of things I didn't get to say.
There have been many, many times in my nearly 15 years of marriage that I have wanted a divorce. There have been many times that, had it not been for the kids, I'd have sworn I made a mistake. Now, the thought of losing that man in that recliner in the next room makes me panicky. In the last year we seem to have reached this point where we don't want to kill each other on a daily basis. It's more like every two or three days now.
I'm with Fred.
You know how sometimes you feel like you've got a booger in your nose and you can't really pick it because you're in public or something, so you think that maybe if you rub your nose or even pinch your nostrils and kind of sniff a little it'll dislodge and go careening into your sinuses? And then you do that and it turns out that that particular booger is as sharp as a razor blade and pokes you and your eyes water? And then people ask why you're crying and you just wish you'd gone ahead and picked your nose? I hate that.
When someone puts posessions above people that makes me mad.
When some little girl in my daughter's Kindergarten class pinches my daughter (hard enough that she still has a bruise today) when they were lining up to go in from recess a few days ago and my daughter didn't defend herself, but instead cries, I want to bang my head on something. Gosh, it's hard to make a 5 year old understand that the lecture you gave her about tattling last week doesn't apply when someone hurts you and in that case it's okay to tell someone. Because no other time in her life will she listen so intently to something you tell her and take you so literal. Any other time she'd be like, "Oh tattling? That's wrong? Oops. My bad." But noooo, this time she was like, "But you (hic) said not (sob) to (sob) tatttttllllllllle!"
Ever wonder why y = mx + b? Me either.
My internet is so slow tonight that this is one of those times I wonder why the heck I'm paying $50 a month for it.
Crock Pot is driving us all nuts. The barking was better last night, but today alone he has chewed up one baseball, one cardboard box (multiple times), a plastic toy pot, a plastic gear magnet that I'm not sure why it was outside to begin with but now the dog keeps slamming into the truck when he walks by it, 47,000 sticks, four pieces of sidewalk chalk (talk about colorful poops), the pedal of Kady's bike and that's just the stuff we've found. There's probably a lot more. We got Jake when he was only 6 weeks old and he NEVER chewed on anything. A friend told us today that if we can just keep from killing him while he's in the puppy stage, he'll be one of the best dogs we ever had. I'm not convinced and am still thinking the non-chewingest dog is the best dog.
Every time I listen to the soundtrack from Hairspray I can envision myself on stage playing Tracy Turnblad. Then I remember that I can't sing as well as I used to and what if I really did bad during an audition, but I would be like the perfect fat chick to play the part and then I start wondering if they would let me lip sync and let my sister sing for me. Because this is where my brain goes sometimes.
Sometimes I really want a cigarette.
Today I took a nap with Abby. She stayed home from school today because her sinuses are so full of mushy goo that her face was swollen and she was running a fever. She felt like hammered poop and didn't even argue when I told her to lie down for awhile. She was snoring in like, a minute. So I felt obliged to snore with her. It was awesome. I'll probably never get to sleep tonight.
Tomorrow I have to write a paper for Computers, take a test in AmerLit, transpose three chapters worth of Macro notes and squeeze in a few Algebra problems here and there. I remember when Saturdays were full of fun things like housework and cleaning off the carport.
I love all of my kids equally, but when Abby is sick it bothers me more for some reason. You'd think it would be Kady I'd worry about more because she's the one with asthma and you know, occasionally turns blue from lack of oxygen and stuff, but no, it's my oldest, healthiest child that my heart hurts for when she's sick. Please don't misinterpret - when any of the kids are sick, I worry, but I don't know, when Ab's sick it's different somehow. Please don't call my office and report me or anything.
I just put a text messaging package on my husband's cell phone. He is freakin' hilarious with it because he has NO CLUE how to send a text message. He can reply if you send him one, but as far as just picking up his phone and saying, "Hey, I think I'll text my lovely wife while she's at work today," it ain't happening. My sister just sent him a whole bunch of 'em and it took me AND Abby showing him step by step how to forward them. His 10 year old daughter can text and he can't. I didn't teach her - a girl on the school bus taught her. The times they have a'changed.
I just took a gander at the songs on my computer. I have very eclectic taste in music. I have everything from Andy Williams to SpongeBob on there.
I just ripped some songs from Ab's Hannah Montana 2 CD and omg, is it wrong that I have an itsy bitsy like, almost crush on Hannah Montana? I mean, in a totally not creepy way, but in a totally I SO wanna be her! kinda way. Billy Ray Cyrus is going to be in concert at Buffalo Run in October and there is major discussing amongst the tween set at the kids' school as to whether he'll bring Miley along for an adventure into NE Oklahoma. I gotta say, the thought crossed my mind, too. Once or twelve times. Abby and I are going. Just in case.
I used to think about my high school boyfriend quite a bit. Not like I wanted him back or anything because no, I don't, but maybe because he was my first love or something. Anyway, he was on my mind a lot for awhile, but once I found out he has a daughter I don't think about him anymore. I still thought about him even after I had kids of my own, but once I found out he had one I stopped. That's kinda weird.
Why did they feel compelled to call the naked mole rat naked? I mean, technically all animals are naked. And the naked mole rat is certainly not the only hairless animal. So what made someone say, "You know, this poor little fella needs to have the embarrassing title of 'naked' because being ugly and looking like a deformed penis isn't enough."
Sometimes when I see my kids doing stuff, normal stuff like talking on the phone or pouring a glass of milk, I tear up. Last week Abby straightened Kady's hairbow that had gotten knocked crooked by the new dog and I cried. She didn't say anything, just turned Kady around, fixed that bow, then patted her on the back like she was sending off her own child. I think I got a glimpse of my child as a mother.
Once, when I was probably 14 or 15, DeLisa, Mom, Tater and I were sitting in a booth in the Tastee Freez having one of those new-fangled concoctions (new-fangled for then anyway) where someone got the brilliant idea to mix candy and cookies into a milkshake and create heaven in a styrofoam cup, and we got to laughing so hard that I farted really loud. I mean, like rattle your buns loud against that hard plastic booth in the Tastee Freez. Then we laughed even harder. But I didn't fart again because I had my buttcheeks really clenched from that point on.
Last week, for three solid days I had the word "concoction" in my head. You know how sometimes you get a song stuck in your head? Well, I get words stuck in my head. Plus, I'm a typer and I type every word you say, I say, I think, etc. Seriously. I have since I learned how to type. On more than once occasion Paul has woke me up in the middle of the night because I was typing on his arm. Last week I typed "concoction" about 5000 times. Abby asked me once why my fingers jump so much, but I didn't have the heart to tell her that her mother suffers from some freaky OCD that causes her to type words and dialogue over and over. It's best that she thinks I'm somewhat normal.
Last Saturday I bought the kids a used PS2 game at GameTraders. It has PacMan, Galaga, Pole Position, and Dig Dug on it. They play it constantly and can't believe these are old games because they're so cool, how could they be old? I told them I used to play those games on an Atari and they all went, "OOoooooooh."
Remember when we played on the old Ataris and they had one joystick and one button? The PS2 controllers we have have more buttons and joysticks on 'em than you can shake a stick at. Funny how kids these days can't tell you the subject or predicate of a sentence but they know, without looking, what every button on a video game controller does.
This time last year we still had Papa. Sometimes I wanna go back to last year. There were a lot of things I didn't get to say.
There have been many, many times in my nearly 15 years of marriage that I have wanted a divorce. There have been many times that, had it not been for the kids, I'd have sworn I made a mistake. Now, the thought of losing that man in that recliner in the next room makes me panicky. In the last year we seem to have reached this point where we don't want to kill each other on a daily basis. It's more like every two or three days now.
I'm with Fred.
You know how sometimes you feel like you've got a booger in your nose and you can't really pick it because you're in public or something, so you think that maybe if you rub your nose or even pinch your nostrils and kind of sniff a little it'll dislodge and go careening into your sinuses? And then you do that and it turns out that that particular booger is as sharp as a razor blade and pokes you and your eyes water? And then people ask why you're crying and you just wish you'd gone ahead and picked your nose? I hate that.
When someone puts posessions above people that makes me mad.
When some little girl in my daughter's Kindergarten class pinches my daughter (hard enough that she still has a bruise today) when they were lining up to go in from recess a few days ago and my daughter didn't defend herself, but instead cries, I want to bang my head on something. Gosh, it's hard to make a 5 year old understand that the lecture you gave her about tattling last week doesn't apply when someone hurts you and in that case it's okay to tell someone. Because no other time in her life will she listen so intently to something you tell her and take you so literal. Any other time she'd be like, "Oh tattling? That's wrong? Oops. My bad." But noooo, this time she was like, "But you (hic) said not (sob) to (sob) tatttttllllllllle!"
Ever wonder why y = mx + b? Me either.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Noisy friggin' appliance
Crock Pot barked all night.
Not just a random bark here and there, but literally all. friggin'. night.
I'm changing his name to Shithead.
Not just a random bark here and there, but literally all. friggin'. night.
I'm changing his name to Shithead.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Because sometimes a title doesn't do it justice
Let's see....
My last post was from work. Work #2, that is. (I can't blog from Work #1 because that's a no-no due to the fact I work for The Man, aka The Gub'ment.) Anyway, when I last blogged I was on my way to my Macro class with a gut full of a turkey/cheese/Miracle Whip sandwich that was questionable. Thank the Lord my class was cancelled because hooooooeeeee, that Miracle Whip was a baaaaaaad idea. I'm just sayin'.
We were all so thankful that class was cancelled. At first. Until the instructor said we'd just have to work extra hard to make up for a lost week ofhell class time. Oh boy. We're already missing a class for Fall Break and one for Thanksgiving so he's going to put it to us hard now. As if we weren't being challenged enough.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
I have discovered hair nirvana. I mean, absolute utter hair freakin' nirvana. Folks, it's all because of Miss Zoot and this post. I'm telling you, this woman is a guru. She has saved me from a bald head.
I have gone a week and a half now without shampoo. My hair is AWESOME. You have never heard that phrase on this blog ever before. Until now. In case you need me to repeat it - MY HAIR IS AWESOME. If you haven't read the post that led to this phrase please go read it now before you start thinking I'm a total skank and that I stink and that now you will avoid me in person if you see me. Go read it. I'll wait.
Okay, good. Now you will speak to me in public. And you will notice my hair and how awesome it is.
The night I made my conversion I was telling Paul about this revelation. He was SO not convinced. He listened, but I could tell he was very not much comfortable with the idea. He finally asked, "Well, could you just wash it with shampoo once week? For me?" I told him I would consider it and heck, after a few days I might even decide that shampoo is really the way. But a week and a half in now, I can safely say that no....I will not even shampoo my hair once a week for him.
And I really love him. But shampoo is not part of my life now. Bye-bye shampoo and frizz....hello AWESOME hair.
Seriously.
I was sitting at a peewee football Saturday night and it was humid, folks. I mean, so humid you just kind of wore the air. Everyone around me was either flat or frizzy. I sat there with my awesome hair and Tater's friend said she hated me.
That felt good. Someone hates me for my hair. Because it's that awesome.
=-==-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Sunday after church we went to Mom's and saw, for the first time in nearly 30 years, some friends. Old friends. Not old like Grandma Moses old, but like old friends are the best old. We laughed till we hurt, laughed till we cried. It was wonderful.
At the peewee game Saturday night I ran into a woman that I did a Pampered Chef show for back in my direct sales days. She was a wonderful host, she's an amazing woman and I stayed in touch with her for awhile. Then, of course, we lost touch.
Turns out, the little girl in Kady's class that Kady is the "bestest fwiends wif" is her granddaughter. We said we're going to get together to visit. I hope we do. She will be impressed with my awesome hair.
=-==-==-=-=-=-==-=-=
I took Abby to the dentist in Tulsa today. Headgear rocking along as always. We go back in November for all three kids's 6 month checkups and cleanings and they'll also do impressions for Abby's new bite expander. It's pretty much like a retainer in that it's plastic and covers the roof of her mouth, except not removeable. That should be fun. She's not happy, but I'm all about avoiding the braces and still coming out with a kid with gorgeous teeth. This should do it.
The ride to Tulsa was filled with the songs and dialogue of Annie because Abby took along my laptop to watch movies. I normally am against DVD players in the vehicles, but occasionally will relent and let them take the laptop. The ride home was better because we talked. We talked about boys, school and stuff.
I will file that ride home from Tulsa away and remember it on the days she thinks I'm stupid and lame and boring and mean.
=-=-=-=-=-==-==-
When I left for work this morning there was a strange dog in the yard. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes a stray will show up at the house. We always run them off because we're usually overrun with cats and we're usually broke and don't want to buy more animal food than we already are. But I didn't run this one off - for one thing I was wearing white pants and big chunk heels and figured kicking it would result in me either having to change clothes or me falling on my ass in the yard and then having to change clothes.
When Abby and I got home from Tulsa the dog was still there and the kids were dying to go out and play with it. Mom caught the other kids off the bus and said she wasn't going to let them play outside because she wasn't sure if it was friendly. I looked over to find the dog drooling on the storm door, looking oh so cute and after a quick test-pat, deemed the dog friendly and let them go outside.
He's brown and quite homely and being the unoriginal children they are, they immediately started calling him "Brownie" and "Spot" and "Brownie Spots" and several other names that involved brown and spots. After they'd shout out a name I'd yell "LAME!" and they'd shout out another. Someone hollered something that sounded like "Crock Pot!" to me and well...
We now have a dog named Crock Pot.
We have a black Lab/Chow named Jake and we now have a weimeramer mutt named Crock Pot.
And they live on Brokeback Mountain. Because Jake humps his new appliance-named friend every stinkin' chance he gets.
When Paul got home from work the kids ran out into the yard to beg their daddy to not run off their new dog. They excitedly told him his name and then Kady said, "Cwock Pot wikes to give Jakey hugs! Wike dis!" and then started to show how that special hug goes. And I quickly said it wasn't necessary, that Daddy probably already knew how dogs hug. After the kids went in the house Paul and I stayed outside to pet the dogs awhile and discuss just how expensive the dogfood bill is going to be from now on. Paul said, "Does Jake really hump him?" I nodded. He said, "You named him Crock Pot, Kristin. Of course, the other dogs are going to try to rape him."
=-=-=--==-=-=-=-=-=-
It's no secret that my mother does not approve of the blogging by me, her eldest child. She fears for my safety because she's quite certain I will end up hacked up in a 55-gallon drum, buried in someone's backyard and she'll end up raising my kids because Paul doesn't know how to fix hair in a ponytail or cook anything more than a frozen pizza. I learned a long time ago that the less I say about my blog around Mom, the better.
Saturday night at the ballgame we were talking and I was telling her that I knew for certain that quite a few teachers at the kids's school read the blog. Her eyes got huge and she put her hand on my leg and said, "Then you should not be writing about the kids having chocolate donuts and meth for breakfast! What will those teachers think??" And as soon as the words came out of her mouth she knew she was so busted.
She read my blog. My mother read my blog.
This week cannot get much better.
I laughed because she was busted and then said, "Mom, I am a humorist. I write humor. I strive to make people laugh because I feel it's my civic duty to do so. Those teachers know that I don't give those kids meth. They know we are strictly a cocaine kind of family." That's when she declared the conversation over and started talking to Tater, the child she expects to not hear about on the evening news.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-
And to clarify - my kids really did not have meth for breakfast that day. They've never had meth for breakfast.
Because we only serve meth at dinner. You know, because dinner time is family time and the family that does meth together ends up in the state prison system together. And I'm all about makin' those memories.
My last post was from work. Work #2, that is. (I can't blog from Work #1 because that's a no-no due to the fact I work for The Man, aka The Gub'ment.) Anyway, when I last blogged I was on my way to my Macro class with a gut full of a turkey/cheese/Miracle Whip sandwich that was questionable. Thank the Lord my class was cancelled because hooooooeeeee, that Miracle Whip was a baaaaaaad idea. I'm just sayin'.
We were all so thankful that class was cancelled. At first. Until the instructor said we'd just have to work extra hard to make up for a lost week of
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
I have discovered hair nirvana. I mean, absolute utter hair freakin' nirvana. Folks, it's all because of Miss Zoot and this post. I'm telling you, this woman is a guru. She has saved me from a bald head.
I have gone a week and a half now without shampoo. My hair is AWESOME. You have never heard that phrase on this blog ever before. Until now. In case you need me to repeat it - MY HAIR IS AWESOME. If you haven't read the post that led to this phrase please go read it now before you start thinking I'm a total skank and that I stink and that now you will avoid me in person if you see me. Go read it. I'll wait.
Okay, good. Now you will speak to me in public. And you will notice my hair and how awesome it is.
The night I made my conversion I was telling Paul about this revelation. He was SO not convinced. He listened, but I could tell he was very not much comfortable with the idea. He finally asked, "Well, could you just wash it with shampoo once week? For me?" I told him I would consider it and heck, after a few days I might even decide that shampoo is really the way. But a week and a half in now, I can safely say that no....I will not even shampoo my hair once a week for him.
And I really love him. But shampoo is not part of my life now. Bye-bye shampoo and frizz....hello AWESOME hair.
Seriously.
I was sitting at a peewee football Saturday night and it was humid, folks. I mean, so humid you just kind of wore the air. Everyone around me was either flat or frizzy. I sat there with my awesome hair and Tater's friend said she hated me.
That felt good. Someone hates me for my hair. Because it's that awesome.
=-==-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Sunday after church we went to Mom's and saw, for the first time in nearly 30 years, some friends. Old friends. Not old like Grandma Moses old, but like old friends are the best old. We laughed till we hurt, laughed till we cried. It was wonderful.
At the peewee game Saturday night I ran into a woman that I did a Pampered Chef show for back in my direct sales days. She was a wonderful host, she's an amazing woman and I stayed in touch with her for awhile. Then, of course, we lost touch.
Turns out, the little girl in Kady's class that Kady is the "bestest fwiends wif" is her granddaughter. We said we're going to get together to visit. I hope we do. She will be impressed with my awesome hair.
=-==-==-=-=-=-==-=-=
I took Abby to the dentist in Tulsa today. Headgear rocking along as always. We go back in November for all three kids's 6 month checkups and cleanings and they'll also do impressions for Abby's new bite expander. It's pretty much like a retainer in that it's plastic and covers the roof of her mouth, except not removeable. That should be fun. She's not happy, but I'm all about avoiding the braces and still coming out with a kid with gorgeous teeth. This should do it.
The ride to Tulsa was filled with the songs and dialogue of Annie because Abby took along my laptop to watch movies. I normally am against DVD players in the vehicles, but occasionally will relent and let them take the laptop. The ride home was better because we talked. We talked about boys, school and stuff.
I will file that ride home from Tulsa away and remember it on the days she thinks I'm stupid and lame and boring and mean.
=-=-=-=-=-==-==-
When I left for work this morning there was a strange dog in the yard. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes a stray will show up at the house. We always run them off because we're usually overrun with cats and we're usually broke and don't want to buy more animal food than we already are. But I didn't run this one off - for one thing I was wearing white pants and big chunk heels and figured kicking it would result in me either having to change clothes or me falling on my ass in the yard and then having to change clothes.
When Abby and I got home from Tulsa the dog was still there and the kids were dying to go out and play with it. Mom caught the other kids off the bus and said she wasn't going to let them play outside because she wasn't sure if it was friendly. I looked over to find the dog drooling on the storm door, looking oh so cute and after a quick test-pat, deemed the dog friendly and let them go outside.
He's brown and quite homely and being the unoriginal children they are, they immediately started calling him "Brownie" and "Spot" and "Brownie Spots" and several other names that involved brown and spots. After they'd shout out a name I'd yell "LAME!" and they'd shout out another. Someone hollered something that sounded like "Crock Pot!" to me and well...
We now have a dog named Crock Pot.
We have a black Lab/Chow named Jake and we now have a weimeramer mutt named Crock Pot.
And they live on Brokeback Mountain. Because Jake humps his new appliance-named friend every stinkin' chance he gets.
When Paul got home from work the kids ran out into the yard to beg their daddy to not run off their new dog. They excitedly told him his name and then Kady said, "Cwock Pot wikes to give Jakey hugs! Wike dis!" and then started to show how that special hug goes. And I quickly said it wasn't necessary, that Daddy probably already knew how dogs hug. After the kids went in the house Paul and I stayed outside to pet the dogs awhile and discuss just how expensive the dogfood bill is going to be from now on. Paul said, "Does Jake really hump him?" I nodded. He said, "You named him Crock Pot, Kristin. Of course, the other dogs are going to try to rape him."
=-=-=--==-=-=-=-=-=-
It's no secret that my mother does not approve of the blogging by me, her eldest child. She fears for my safety because she's quite certain I will end up hacked up in a 55-gallon drum, buried in someone's backyard and she'll end up raising my kids because Paul doesn't know how to fix hair in a ponytail or cook anything more than a frozen pizza. I learned a long time ago that the less I say about my blog around Mom, the better.
Saturday night at the ballgame we were talking and I was telling her that I knew for certain that quite a few teachers at the kids's school read the blog. Her eyes got huge and she put her hand on my leg and said, "Then you should not be writing about the kids having chocolate donuts and meth for breakfast! What will those teachers think??" And as soon as the words came out of her mouth she knew she was so busted.
She read my blog. My mother read my blog.
This week cannot get much better.
I laughed because she was busted and then said, "Mom, I am a humorist. I write humor. I strive to make people laugh because I feel it's my civic duty to do so. Those teachers know that I don't give those kids meth. They know we are strictly a cocaine kind of family." That's when she declared the conversation over and started talking to Tater, the child she expects to not hear about on the evening news.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-
And to clarify - my kids really did not have meth for breakfast that day. They've never had meth for breakfast.
Because we only serve meth at dinner. You know, because dinner time is family time and the family that does meth together ends up in the state prison system together. And I'm all about makin' those memories.
Friday, September 07, 2007
??
Ever sit down at your computer to write a blog post and find that you have so much to say that you have nothing to say?
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Blogging at work
It is 30 minutes until my Macro class starts. I am sitting in my college boss's office at her big fancy desk, typing on her computer, eating a turkey and cheese sandwich that I'm wondering if the Miracle Whip was still safe and edible, but no matter now because 2/3 of it is in my belly right now, popping a grape or two in my face every now and then, too, which is weird because I don't really like grapes, but they sort of sounded good this morning for some reason, and while I'm doing all that, I'm successfully typing one of the longest runon sentences ever. If only I'd had a preposition to end it with.
I normally don't eat before my night class, so now that I've eaten 2/3 of a sandwich and some grapes it's a sure bet that I'm going to have to poop during class. It's Murphy's Law of the Bowel.
Today at my DHS job I got to schmooze a gal at the Social Security office. I like schmoozing. The caseworker I did the schmoozing for was impressed and called me her favorite little liar.
I had to buy a scantron for the first time in my life today. We have a test in Macro next week and we have to use scantrons to answer. For those of you not in the know, scantrons are little pieces of paper with the little circles on them that you get to fill in with a #2 pencil just like when you were in elementary school when they asked you the question about the train that left Cinncinnatti at 2:32pm and the other train that left Albuquerque at 1:54 pm and then they wanted you to figure out when the two trains would collide thus causing mass casualties and what you really did, rather than figure out when the collision would occur, you just played connect the dot with the little dots on your answer sheet or you spelled your name by coloring in the appropriate dots and oh my gosh, another runon sentence. Anyway, I bought a scantron today. Actually I bought ten. Why did I buy ten? Because the mother in me thought that there might be some young whippersnapper in the class next week who partied too hard the night before and forgot to go to the bookstore to buy their own and I will be the old married lady in class who will pass out scantrons to anyone who needs one. And possibly knitted sweaters and homemade oatmeal cookies. Gosh, I'm old.
Okay, time to go to class. Actually it's still 23 minutes away, but the class is up two flights of stairs and I need extra time before anyone else gets into the classroom so I can stop huffing and puffing. Because I'm not only old, I'm fat.
Tomorrow's my day off. I think I need it. Hopefully I can go the entire day without one runon sentence. I'll be doing Algebra, so I don't think there's a real big risk there anyway.
I normally don't eat before my night class, so now that I've eaten 2/3 of a sandwich and some grapes it's a sure bet that I'm going to have to poop during class. It's Murphy's Law of the Bowel.
Today at my DHS job I got to schmooze a gal at the Social Security office. I like schmoozing. The caseworker I did the schmoozing for was impressed and called me her favorite little liar.
I had to buy a scantron for the first time in my life today. We have a test in Macro next week and we have to use scantrons to answer. For those of you not in the know, scantrons are little pieces of paper with the little circles on them that you get to fill in with a #2 pencil just like when you were in elementary school when they asked you the question about the train that left Cinncinnatti at 2:32pm and the other train that left Albuquerque at 1:54 pm and then they wanted you to figure out when the two trains would collide thus causing mass casualties and what you really did, rather than figure out when the collision would occur, you just played connect the dot with the little dots on your answer sheet or you spelled your name by coloring in the appropriate dots and oh my gosh, another runon sentence. Anyway, I bought a scantron today. Actually I bought ten. Why did I buy ten? Because the mother in me thought that there might be some young whippersnapper in the class next week who partied too hard the night before and forgot to go to the bookstore to buy their own and I will be the old married lady in class who will pass out scantrons to anyone who needs one. And possibly knitted sweaters and homemade oatmeal cookies. Gosh, I'm old.
Okay, time to go to class. Actually it's still 23 minutes away, but the class is up two flights of stairs and I need extra time before anyone else gets into the classroom so I can stop huffing and puffing. Because I'm not only old, I'm fat.
Tomorrow's my day off. I think I need it. Hopefully I can go the entire day without one runon sentence. I'll be doing Algebra, so I don't think there's a real big risk there anyway.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Why being a mom is so durn cool
Yesterday was my first Federal Holiday as a government employee. It would've been awesome had I not spent the entire day at my desk, which is something I'd have done if I was at work anyway.
I got up with Paul at 6:30 and when the kids hadn't gotten up by the time he left a little before 7, I said screw this and laid down on the couch. I faintly remember one of the kids asking if they could have donuts and meth for breakfast and I think I said yes. Or I mumbled something that they construed as yes and went for it. Nothing says breakfast like donuts and illegal street drugs. I woke up at 10:15. It's a good thing my kids are just addicted to fried pastry and drugs and are not juvenile delinquents. They know what they can and can't do and they know those rules still apply when Momma is comatose.
By 10:30 I had peed and had eaten my own donut (minus the meth, the kids had used it all apparently) and threw in Laundry Load #1. Then I sat my pajama-clad ass in my computer chair so I could tackle the ginormous task of re-writing four chapters worth of notes from my Macro class. Now, normally such a task could be completed in a few hours, but considering I had three kids in the house and a washing machine with a partially clogged drain hose, the task took all day. All freakin' day.
I'd just get settled into a good pace of tranposing my chicken scratch that comes from trying to write every single word the instructor says and I'd hear the washer start to drain, so then I'd have to run (yes I said run) out of my office, through the living room dodging my son's sleeping bag which puts Linus's blanket to shame and hurdling all 8 throw pillows from the couch that Kady had set up as an obstacle course, turn the corner into the kitchen, slip in some spilled Kool-ade then burst into the utility room right about the time the water was spilling over the drain pipe. After I'd turn off the water and let the thing drain, I could turn it back on and go back through the kitchen to mop up the spilled Kool-ade, yell at Kady to pick up those friggin' pillows, kick Sam's sleeping bag out of the way and ask him WHY he feels compelled to carry that thing up front on a daily basis, make it back to my office to start the whole thing over again.
Abby filled up thestock tank pool early in the morning, so the kids swam twice yesterday. Paul positioned the tank pool so that I can see it from my desk, thus eliminating my need to ever see the sun on the weekends. I think they fixed their own lunch yesterday. I hope the nominating committee for Mother of the Year is reading this post.
The kids each took turns on the desktop, playing at funbrain.com and Barbie.com and any other annoying .com that involves loud sounds, dialogue and the need to ask me a gazillion questions in order to get to the next level. I thought having the two computers side-by-side was a good idea until I remembered I have children.
In a moment of utter Macroeconomic euphoriadelirium, I totally agreed to letting Abby invite 12 little girls to her birthday slumber party which is about one month from now. I totally will be calling my Macro instructor during that particular night and will be holding the phone so he can hear the giggles and the High School Musical soundtrack and the squealing and then I will say, "THIS? THIS? You hear this? YOU caused this!" And then I will hang up and load up all 13 girls so we can toilet paper his house.
At one point during the day Kady came in and rested her elbows on my desk, put her little chin in her hands and breathed on me until I finally said, "WHAT?" She asked, "Whatcha doon? Are you studying Psycho-wo-gee?" I sighed and answered, "No, Economics." She sighed as well and said, "I hate Ego-mo-nomics." I put down my pencil and pulled her onto my lap. I kissed her little head that smelled faintly of sunscreen and summer and said, "Me, too, Sissy. Me, too." She put her hands on my face and said, "You Algebwa is stupid, but Ego-mo-nomics is stupider."
I sure love that kid.
I got up with Paul at 6:30 and when the kids hadn't gotten up by the time he left a little before 7, I said screw this and laid down on the couch. I faintly remember one of the kids asking if they could have donuts and meth for breakfast and I think I said yes. Or I mumbled something that they construed as yes and went for it. Nothing says breakfast like donuts and illegal street drugs. I woke up at 10:15. It's a good thing my kids are just addicted to fried pastry and drugs and are not juvenile delinquents. They know what they can and can't do and they know those rules still apply when Momma is comatose.
By 10:30 I had peed and had eaten my own donut (minus the meth, the kids had used it all apparently) and threw in Laundry Load #1. Then I sat my pajama-clad ass in my computer chair so I could tackle the ginormous task of re-writing four chapters worth of notes from my Macro class. Now, normally such a task could be completed in a few hours, but considering I had three kids in the house and a washing machine with a partially clogged drain hose, the task took all day. All freakin' day.
I'd just get settled into a good pace of tranposing my chicken scratch that comes from trying to write every single word the instructor says and I'd hear the washer start to drain, so then I'd have to run (yes I said run) out of my office, through the living room dodging my son's sleeping bag which puts Linus's blanket to shame and hurdling all 8 throw pillows from the couch that Kady had set up as an obstacle course, turn the corner into the kitchen, slip in some spilled Kool-ade then burst into the utility room right about the time the water was spilling over the drain pipe. After I'd turn off the water and let the thing drain, I could turn it back on and go back through the kitchen to mop up the spilled Kool-ade, yell at Kady to pick up those friggin' pillows, kick Sam's sleeping bag out of the way and ask him WHY he feels compelled to carry that thing up front on a daily basis, make it back to my office to start the whole thing over again.
Abby filled up the
The kids each took turns on the desktop, playing at funbrain.com and Barbie.com and any other annoying .com that involves loud sounds, dialogue and the need to ask me a gazillion questions in order to get to the next level. I thought having the two computers side-by-side was a good idea until I remembered I have children.
In a moment of utter Macroeconomic euphoria
At one point during the day Kady came in and rested her elbows on my desk, put her little chin in her hands and breathed on me until I finally said, "WHAT?" She asked, "Whatcha doon? Are you studying Psycho-wo-gee?" I sighed and answered, "No, Economics." She sighed as well and said, "I hate Ego-mo-nomics." I put down my pencil and pulled her onto my lap. I kissed her little head that smelled faintly of sunscreen and summer and said, "Me, too, Sissy. Me, too." She put her hands on my face and said, "You Algebwa is stupid, but Ego-mo-nomics is stupider."
I sure love that kid.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Doesn't everyone get drunk on Labor Day?
I was rocking along good in Algebra until tonight. Now I am ready to take my laptop and throw it out the window. It's not the laptop's fault, but it makes more sense than throwing a bed or the dishwasher out the window. If I could throw the creator of Algebra out the window I would smile. And laugh maniacally.
I am four chapters behind in rewriting my notes in Macro. Probably doesn't matter, though, because I don't get it anyway.
I haven't even begun to read the 33 pages of Lit and ponder the 8-10 questions/comments about those 33 pages.
I finally fell asleep at 4am this morning only to hear the utterly annoying sound of the alarm clock at 7. I bet I peed 9 times during the night - not because I really had to pee, but because it sure as hell beat lying in the bed trying to decide if the reason I wasn't sleeping was because I was too cold or too hot. I also ate a Little Debbie brownie - not because I was remotely hungry, but because, like Mt. Everest, it was there. It also gave me heartburn.
We didn't go to church this morning. We should've. I've said some really bad words tonight.
Earlier today I scared the piss out of my two innocent daughters who were playing on the desktop next to me when I screamed, "NO NO NOOOOO!" and threw my pencil across the room, slammed my notebook into the wall and banged my head on the desk. It had nothing to do with them, but everything to do with slopes and points and motherfucking graphs.
My husband doesn't understand why I haven't shaved my legs or any other region that was previously, up until two weeks ago, shaved. I will probably kill him before I get my degree. "You see, detective, it's like this: He said something about 'cavewoman' and I snapped."
My kids don't understand why I freaked the hell out when they wiped PopTart crumbs onto the kitchen floor this morning. I'm not entirely sure why I freaked out either. Oh yeah, wait...I remember now. Because I just mopped it for the first time in God knows when on Friday. You know, Friday? The day I don't work on so that I'll have plenty of time to catch up on schoolwork, but instead felt compelled to mop that disgusting floor that each step caused you to either crunch or stick? Yeah, that Friday. So yeah, that's why I freaked out. How silly of me to forget.
I want to quit. Quit everything. Work. School. Shaving. Wait. I've already quit that one.
I'm going to bed. Probably to not sleep. Yay.
I hear that most college Freshmen gain the "Freshman 15" when they start school. I did that last semester, so this semester I've decided to gain an addiction. Alcohol's looking like the winner at this point. Drugs are too expensive and I have to save my money to buy a new printer because lightning killed my old one last weekend.
I bet you all will be so glad when I either get comfortably drunk each and every day or else find some antidepressants. I bet I'm annoying.
I am four chapters behind in rewriting my notes in Macro. Probably doesn't matter, though, because I don't get it anyway.
I haven't even begun to read the 33 pages of Lit and ponder the 8-10 questions/comments about those 33 pages.
I finally fell asleep at 4am this morning only to hear the utterly annoying sound of the alarm clock at 7. I bet I peed 9 times during the night - not because I really had to pee, but because it sure as hell beat lying in the bed trying to decide if the reason I wasn't sleeping was because I was too cold or too hot. I also ate a Little Debbie brownie - not because I was remotely hungry, but because, like Mt. Everest, it was there. It also gave me heartburn.
We didn't go to church this morning. We should've. I've said some really bad words tonight.
Earlier today I scared the piss out of my two innocent daughters who were playing on the desktop next to me when I screamed, "NO NO NOOOOO!" and threw my pencil across the room, slammed my notebook into the wall and banged my head on the desk. It had nothing to do with them, but everything to do with slopes and points and motherfucking graphs.
My husband doesn't understand why I haven't shaved my legs or any other region that was previously, up until two weeks ago, shaved. I will probably kill him before I get my degree. "You see, detective, it's like this: He said something about 'cavewoman' and I snapped."
My kids don't understand why I freaked the hell out when they wiped PopTart crumbs onto the kitchen floor this morning. I'm not entirely sure why I freaked out either. Oh yeah, wait...I remember now. Because I just mopped it for the first time in God knows when on Friday. You know, Friday? The day I don't work on so that I'll have plenty of time to catch up on schoolwork, but instead felt compelled to mop that disgusting floor that each step caused you to either crunch or stick? Yeah, that Friday. So yeah, that's why I freaked out. How silly of me to forget.
I want to quit. Quit everything. Work. School. Shaving. Wait. I've already quit that one.
I'm going to bed. Probably to not sleep. Yay.
I hear that most college Freshmen gain the "Freshman 15" when they start school. I did that last semester, so this semester I've decided to gain an addiction. Alcohol's looking like the winner at this point. Drugs are too expensive and I have to save my money to buy a new printer because lightning killed my old one last weekend.
I bet you all will be so glad when I either get comfortably drunk each and every day or else find some antidepressants. I bet I'm annoying.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
What To Wear
It's time for a moment of seriousness here at Redneck diva. Sit here at Auntie Diva's knee and be still and listen, children, while I ask this question of you:
Would you wear a certified "Redneck Diva" t-shirt, complete with Certificate of Authenticity from the Franklin Mint?
(Note to self: contact Franklin Mint about getting some Certificates of Authenticity...)
Would you wear one in the house?
Would you buy one for your spouse?
Would you wear one at the store?
Would you buy one or two more?
Do you like to wear diva shirts?
Do you rhyme like I, in spurts?
Would you buy one for your brother?
Would you put one on your mother?
Would you wear one at the mall?
Would you hang one in the hall?
You should wear one to the store!
Then you will not be a bore!
Buy one, buy one, if you may.
Buy one, buy one, because if you don't I'll hunt you down and boil your pet rabbit.
Okay, all Seussing and psychopathic tendencies aside, I'm working with an amazing designer on an amazing design for some possible amazing t-shirts and before I go any further into the amazing process, I want to know if there's an actual demand for such an amazing thing. I mean, I bought a DadGoneMad t-shirt, but it's only because I secretly have a crush on Danny and don't dare tell him because his Hot Wife will kick my not hot redneck ass. So instead, I bought a t-shirt. And took a picture of myself in it and he posted it and now his wife is 100% positive she can break me clean in two.
Anyway, would y'all wear Redneck Diva t-shirts if they existed?
Would you wear a certified "Redneck Diva" t-shirt, complete with Certificate of Authenticity from the Franklin Mint?
(Note to self: contact Franklin Mint about getting some Certificates of Authenticity...)
Would you wear one in the house?
Would you buy one for your spouse?
Would you wear one at the store?
Would you buy one or two more?
Do you like to wear diva shirts?
Do you rhyme like I, in spurts?
Would you buy one for your brother?
Would you put one on your mother?
Would you wear one at the mall?
Would you hang one in the hall?
You should wear one to the store!
Then you will not be a bore!
Buy one, buy one, if you may.
Buy one, buy one, because if you don't I'll hunt you down and boil your pet rabbit.
Okay, all Seussing and psychopathic tendencies aside, I'm working with an amazing designer on an amazing design for some possible amazing t-shirts and before I go any further into the amazing process, I want to know if there's an actual demand for such an amazing thing. I mean, I bought a DadGoneMad t-shirt, but it's only because I secretly have a crush on Danny and don't dare tell him because his Hot Wife will kick my not hot redneck ass. So instead, I bought a t-shirt. And took a picture of myself in it and he posted it and now his wife is 100% positive she can break me clean in two.
Anyway, would y'all wear Redneck Diva t-shirts if they existed?
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