I.C.E. Panties

I was searching through the laundry this morning for a clean pair of underwear for myself.

Some people's dryers eat socks. Mine, apparently, eats underwear.

I don't know what the deal is, but it seems like I have to do laundry every three days because I'M out of clean underwear.

So I'm picking through the laundry, tossing aside the kids t-shirts, thinking to myself, "Well, at least my underwear is smaller than their shirts. That will make it easier to sort out the clothing types."

It would be way cool if this realization came to me because I was going through some awesome weight loss diet. But alas, no. The kids have just gotten bigger. Funny how that happens; kids get bigger. Weird.

Anywho. All I kept finding were the "If I can't find anything else, I'll wear these" pair.

Ladies, you know the ones.

They aren't comfortable because they:

• ride up


• cut in


• fall down


• roll over


• all of the above and then some

But you hold on to them because days like today happen!

My I.C.E. (in case of emergency) panties SUCK!

They are so bad, I actually considered wearing a pair of Hubby's tighty-whities.

Too weird.

Pull a pair out of the dirty laundry?

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

Going without?

I. Just. Can't.

So I will sit here all day in utter discomfort.

Where is the laundry fairy when you need her?

Silver Lining:

1. I will be shopping at lunch today.


2. One hour and counting.

PS - Sadly, I already had "laundry" and "underwear" as labels for previous posts so they both auto populated as I was typing them. *sigh*

Lettin' Loose

I can let loose. Especially when I'm upset about something.

I wouldn't go so far as to say I can "cuss like a sailor", but I've got a mouth on me.

Can't find my keys?

I always put them on the d@mn hook. If he took my . . . Oh, I swear. #*%&! I GOTTA GO! FOR HEAVENS SAKE, WHERE THE H*LL ARE MY KEYS? Crap, here they are. Where's my #*%&ing purse?

I dropped an egg on the floor?

F*ckity, #*%&, #*%&, #*%&!

There's less money in the checking account than I expected?

Where the h*ll are we going to make this up? SH!T, this s*cks!

If I'm not upset, I'm really good at substituting other words:

Shoot
Gosh Darn
Fiddlesticks

I'm sure you all can figure out what those words are substituting. We all have our own substitutions, don't we?

My friend Demi has a substitution too.

We were in the car yesterday discussing the pending refinance of her house. When I told her an appraisal could cost around $200 - $250, she said, "Oh, swear-word!"

Seriously.

That's not me substituting for her, she actually substituted a swear word by saying, "swear-word."

Silver Lining:

1. Turns out the cost of the appraisal was already included in the amount she was paying the mortgage broker so it wasn't over & above what she was expecting.


2. Sorry for the potty mouth post. I'll try to restrain my fingers from only uttering words no more offensive than "crap" from now on.

Elbow Worm?

Within every culture there are expressions that are understood by the members of that culture, but make no sense to an outsider.

For instance:

• Having a melt down


• Getting the short end of the stick


• Brown-noser


• I've got a song stuck in my head

Most adults know what these phrases mean. You could call adulthood a "culture" right?

Perhaps not, but for this blog, we're going to say it is.

None of those phases are to be taken literally. As cultured adults, we know this.

If not, let me just clue you in: a brown-noser is not someone with a brown nose. It's someone who has been kissing someone else's a$$ for so long, their nose should be stained with poop.

As cultured adults, we may shorten the "I've got a song stuck in my head" to "I've got an ear worm".

You know those songs that just repeat in your head over and over.

All. Day. Long.

That song in the Six Flags commercials. The Macarena. Lady Gaga's Poker Face. You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift.

That last one has been really sticking with my children. Distressingly so with my four year old.

She got very upset yesterday and wanted us to stop singing it, "Because it was stuck in my arm!"

For the pre-K culture, remembering that you hear things in your head (where your ears are) and not your arm (where your elbow is) is tough. Thank goodness the song wasn't stuck in her butt!

Silver Lining:

1. She's super cute when she stands on the stool in front of the bathroom mirror singing, "She wears short skirts, I wear T-shirts, she's chear captain & I'm on the bleachers . . ."


2. It's a cute song and not something obnoxious like the song in the Six Flags commercial.

News

In my mind, "News" means that something is basically NEW information. Information that isn't necessarily common knowledge.

Based on my "official" source (dictionary.com), I'd say I'm right on track with this definition.

news   /nuz, nyuz/ –noun ( usually used with a singular verb )

1. a report of a recent event; intelligence; information.


2. the presentation of a report on recent or new events in a newspaper or other periodical or on radio or television.


3. such reports taken collectively; information reported.


4. a person, thing, or event considered as a choice subject for journalistic treatment; newsworthy material. Compare copy ( def. 5 ).


5. newspaper.


6. newscast.

So I'd like to know who thought it was newsworthy to report this:


Really?

Voters Unhappy?

Only the people living under a rock are going to say, "Holy Cr@p! I'm going into shock! How can this be?"

Voters have been unhappy for well over a year now. This is in no way, shape or form NEWS!

Silver Lining:

1. You all should be pleased this is as far as Pollyanna is willing to step into politics. I'd have to put on my witch Halloween costume year round otherwise.


2. I haven't been living under a rock (or a cave) and I occassionally take off the rose colored glasses so I didn't die of a heart attack when I read that headline. You all will be graced with my pressence and or oddball stories for awhile longer :)

Sixth Dear So and So Letters

It's Friday!

I've got a few things I need to get off my chest so I can have a good weekend. So I've written a few letters. I think you may enjoy some of my moments of misery, confusion, and dingy-ness.

Dear Zynga,

Why is Farmville so addicting????? Seriously, I looked back and my blogging totally stopped when I started playing. Who knew the "thrill" of collecting eggs, lost pets, and coins would be so time consuming? I miss writing . . .

Re-balanced blogger,
Pollyanna

Dear Weed-gods,

Please stop visiting my yard. You have the freedom to do whatever you want in the empty lots next to our house, isn't that enough? Really, you all do not need my measly yard and landscape beds as a playground.

Wishing to be weed free,
P.

Dear Mulch-gods,

You are more than welcome to visit. I could really use you to choke out the invading weeds. Please feel free to sprawl out all amongst the bushes & flowers.

Wishing for the time, money & energy to do it myself,
Polly

Dear Buffet Concert Goers,

Hey! You know those guys with the orange vests and flags in the parking lot? Yah, the ones in BLAZE, CAN'T-MISS-IT ORANGE? They were showing you where to park. They weren't putting on a half-time flag show. There were no sequins involved. There was no music and there certainly wasn't any coordination of movement.

People, don't ignore the parking attendants and park where ever you want. You aren't that important. If you were you should have paid for VIP parking.

Glad I'm Not A Parking Attendant,
Parrothead Pollyanna

Dear Jimmy Buffett,

You ROCK! Thirty years and counting!

See You Next Year,
Me

Dear Mother Nature,

Did you really have to choose the moment I ran out to the garage to start a deluge of rain?

I was only going to run out and run back in. I was expecting to come inside with a few rain drops in my hair, not as a sopping mess with no towel in sight.

I know I've written you a letter at least one other time about the weather, and I never got a response. That's poor customer service. Maybe I should just take over for the Pleasantville area.

Wet,
Pollyanna

Dear Self (again),

Don't wear Crocs in the rain. You will slip & fall on a smooth surface. Such as a garage floor.

A Little Ache-y,
Me

Dear God,

Thank you for the "moment" last night when my four year old actually saw the big dipper in the sky. I know sometimes she just plays along and says she sees something, but I knew she saw it last night when the level of excitement in her voice rose and she continually pointed at it.

Life is good,
Me


There are others out there who share my thoughts - I'm sure of it. Why don't we all head over to Kat's place to see who else is writing letters this week?

Silver Lining:

1. George has a sparkly clean cage. I cleaned EVERYTHING! He was so confused when I was all done (because I rearranged the "furniture") that he almost didn't want to get back in.


2. After Hubby drilled a little hole for me, he didn't even tease me about the drill. I knew there was a reason I keep him around. XOXOXO to Hubby.


3. Apparently, I'll live after my little rain run. I eventually dried out. And my arm doesn't really hurt from the fall anymore

Got Wood?

So, Sissy & I drove all the way up to Wisconsin last week (hence the week-long absence) to help Mom get her house ready to sell.

There was much to do - stain a fence, spread mulch, clean a garage, move large stuff into the garage, paint a bedroom, general staging, etc.

All this cleaning/moving resulted in several pieces of wood. Mom pulled out the trusty saw and saw horses, cut them up into manageable, carriable pieces. Since it was trash day and the trash truck hadn't been by, we hauled them to the curb.

Not the curb at the end of the driveway mind you. No, they had to be hauled to the end of the block, and she lives on the "loooooooooong" side of the block. Mom's street was tore up for complete re-paving. (Yeah, we totally had to haul all our luggage and what-not that far too.)

After two or three trips, it was all down there, kind of hanging into the street a bit. Definitely taking up a preemo parking space right at the corner.

We worked all day in the 90 degree heat, cleaned ourselves up and headed out for the evening.

We walked aaaaaallllllll the way down to the car.

The trash was gone.

The recycling was gone.

The wood was not gone.

We left anyway.

When we got back - around 9:30 - the wood was still sitting there. Not even the rubbish scavengers were interested.

We made our way aaaaaallllll the way back to the house. After we got inside, my mom was just beside herself fidgeting.

We really should go get that wood. It's taking up a space where someone could park. I don't want anyone getting upset at me.

[Eye roll]

Mom, I don't think anyone knows you left the wood down there. We can just go get it tomorrow if it's still there.

No, someone might know I put it down there. And there isn't a lot of parking. And I'm just not going to sleep tonight knowing . . .

[Eye roll]

I looked outside.

It was dark.

No one was around.

No one was going to see us going down to get the wood. No one would know my mother left the wood down there if we went and got it tonight. If we waited until morning, we would definitely be seen and anyone who may have gotten upset about the wood taking up a perfectly good parking space would know it was her. Blah, blah, blah.

[Sigh]

Fine, let's go get it.

There was a lot of wood so we decided to take the wheelbarrow to haul it back. My mom's house is over 60 years old and I swear so is the wheelbarrow we were using. It very well could be, it used to be my grandfather's and he died almost 20 years ago. So it creaks and groans even when it's empty.

Every bump in the sidewalk (and there are many because it may also be 60 years old) makes the wheelbarrow jump. When it lands it makes that "thunder" noise. You know the sound, the one every kid loves to make it by shaking a found piece of sheet metal. It's friggin' loud!

Here we are, in the cloak of darkness, taking the wheelbarrow aaaaaalllllll the way down to the corner to pick up the wood.

Gah-gong.

Gah-gong.

Gah-gong.

For crying out loud. Get out the metal trashcan lids, pots and pans and some wooden spoons. We could have had an old fashioned parade! The neighbors would be thrilled!

So much for going quietly.

As we approached the end of the street, I noticed a beacon of light showing us the way.

No it wasn't the moon.

It was a street light.

Shining right down on the pile of wood.

So much for our cloak of darkness too.

Silver Lining:

1. On the way back, because there was some weight in the wheelbarrow, it didn't make as much noise.


2. We only had to make two trips to get all the wood back to the house. Since the wheelbarrow was so noisy, I didn't even bother taking the wood out, I just dumped it (with a loud clatter) into a pile on the driveway.


3. We are only aware of one neighbor witnessing our "stealthiness" - they just happened to get home later than we did, like while we were retrieving our contraband wood.


4. Mom's house was in pretty good shape when we left. Hopefully, she'll have the house sold and be moved down near us by Halloween.