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.