Knock, knock.

Who's there?

Interrupting cow.

Interrupting co--

Moooooooooooo.

Get it? The interrupting cow, interrupted before you could say "Interrupting cow who?"

Ok, it may be funnier in person. Sue me!

Well, don't.

Not that it matters. I don't have any money to pay you on a frivolous suit such as this.

You'd just make a big, fat, black cloud in our blogging relationship. Do you really want that?

I didn't think so.

Anywho, on with the point of that not-really-all-that-funny-when-you-don't-hear-it-in-person joke.

Interrupting.

My kids do it all the time.

I can't count how many times I've told my kids, "The grown ups are talking, please don't interrupt."

Sometimes it happens so often, you completely lose track of your conversation. It's almost comical because it would have taken less of an interruption to hear what they had to say than it does to make the point that they are INTERRUPTING!

However, most of the time, the interruption is unwarranted and completely fleeting in nature. This, of course, makes it all the more irritating.

Unless you're just an observer in the whole ordeal. Then, it's funny.

Case and point:

MIL (aka Nana) to Hubby: Waaa-waa, waaa, waa-waaaa, waa, waaa, waa-waa

Hubby to MIL: Waaa-waa, waaa, waa-waaaa, waa, waaa, waa-waa

This goes on for a bit, so I'll let you fill in the "waaa, waaa" as necessary. Three minutes should do the trick.

Andi (my niece, age 11): Hey, Nana. . .

MIL: Just a minute, Andi.

MIL and Hubby continue "waaa, waaa"-ing for a bit.

Andi: Um, Nana?

MIL: Hold on Andi.

More "waaa, waaa"-ing.

MIL (with much drama and a tinge of exasperation): Now, Andi, what was so ever-loving important that you had to interrupt us twice?

Andi: I forgot.

Typical.

Silver Lining:

1. My girls' have finally started understanding the meaning of my holding up one finger so I don't actually have to stop my conversation to tell them not to interrupt. Unfortunately, I know they understand this because they do it back to me!


2. My mother-in-law has almost 40 years of child-rearing experience (not to mention the fact that she's the oldest of her six brothers & sisters) so this just rolled off her back, and she declared it was time for ice cream. AWESOME!

Random Things Heard at Bunco Last Night

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Smart-a$$ery (It's A Technical Term)

More than 90% of my readers have never met me.

About 10% of them probably wish they never had.

Except my mom. She didn't really get a choice. She had to meet me at least once.

So, since many of you have not met me, you may wonder, "Does she really talk like she writes? Or is she just making this stuff up?"

Well, even if you haven't, I still have proof that I do, in fact, communicate in real life the same way I write.

This is an actual e-mail from me to my friends concerning Bunco tonight:

Ladies,

Once again time has escaped me and Bunco day is almost upon us.

We were scheduled to play at Alexandra's. Unfortunately, my many attempts over the last two months to reach Alexandra have been unanswered so I will be hosting this month. Lest, we show up at Alexandra’s door, find it locked, have to play on the porch in this heat, and end up with the beer getting warm.

My address is 15 Happy Trails. In case you don’t know, I’m the red two story that sits all by itself at the back of the Island District. If you get lost on the way, you can call me at 123-456-7890.

Because Alexandra hasn’t been responsive, I can only assume at this point she does not want to participate in Bunco anymore. To that end, I have asked Lara to replace her as our 12th member. Thankfully, she’s enjoyed herself enough the past few months and said YES! Whew! I was sweatin’ it because I can be pretty gosh darn scary and could have frightened her away.

Anywho, bring your five bucks and beverages to my house around 6:30 this coming Monday (August 23rd). Good grief, I need to figure out what I’m going to feed you people. Hmmm, liver & onions? No? How about my famous made in the oven in my home (thereby constituting homemade) chocolate chip cookies?

Please, please, please let me know if you are not going to make it. If I don’t hear from you, I will hound you all weekend (part of that whole being scary thing) to find out. Don’t make me do that because I’ve got a whole lot of sittin’ on the couch planned and I wouldn’t want to exert too much effort lifting the phone to call you a couple hundred times.

Can’t wait to hear from you!

Yours Truly,
P, The Maven of Madness

On a side note, I better not get any phone calls from those who "got lost" because almost all of them live within two blocks; everyone else is within a quarter mile. And everyone of them have been to my house before. If they want to see scary, they should call me at 6:25 claiming to be lost.

Silver Lining:

1. Everyone got back to me the same day I sent out the e-mail except for one person. I only had to make one phone call, and thankfully, I made it on Friday so there was uninterrupted couch sittin' time this weekend. Well, not really because I had to pick up a bit since I would be "entertaining" on Bunco night. I'm always entertaining, it's just that I don't do it at my house.


2. After 30-some years I've perfected my communication style. I know this because the responses I got were, "I'll be there." or "See you Monday." There wasn't one, NOT ONE, smarta$$ comment. Perhaps they're saving them all for tonight so I have new material for tomorrow.

My Theme Song(s)

If I Had A Million Dollars

I love that song by the Barenaked Ladies (most awesome band name ever). It's so cute. Back when finances weren't so tight, it was fun and fanciful.

In fact, Hubby and I would drop everything to dance with each other when it came on. I was even late for work once because of it.

I've never bought a green dress, but I know the first thing Hubby better get me when we win the lottery (that we don't play). Well, I guess it would come after he got a monkey. He's always wanted a monkey.

Completely aside from green dresses and monkeys, Travie McCoy has upped the ante with the most recent money song to hit the charts. The one that starts "I wanna be a Billionaire, so fricking bad."

That "fricking" comes from the radio version.

I. HAD. NO. IDEA. it was anything else until Hubby looked it up on U-Tube because he had never heard it. Good thing the kids weren't in the room.

I guess a million dollars is just too passe these days?

Like, if it was, "I wanna be a millionaire, so fricking bad," he would get laughed at?

A la, Dr. Evil in Austin Powers.

I like lasers.

Actually, I just like saying "laay zehrs" with my pinkie finger up by my mouth and "surprise" eyebrows.

OK, enough about that - let's just open a whole bag of "sht" on the laser matter.

Anywho, a more accurate theme song for my life is, "Money, Money, Money" by ABBA.

I work all night
I work all day
To pay the bills
I have to pay

*sigh*

No one said life was going to be a bowl of cherries, right?

Silver Lining:

1. Really, we have been blessed. As the Rolling Stones said, "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need."


2. And it's a good thing you Can't Buy Me Love. Because I wouldn't sell the love I have for or get from my family even if it made me a billionaire.

Under Construction!

Excuse me.

Excuse me.

EXCUSE ME.

I'm under construction. I'll be back to regular blogging shortly.

Silver Lining:

1. Isn't it fun to be fresh & new?


2. Pink is back!

Driving Lessons

Mama Kat's Writers Workshop had a prompt today that was sooooo easy.

If you want to participate, click the pretty poodle button. It's fun!



I started scratching notes but the memory was coming so fast, it was just easier to actually start writing.

"DESCRIBE THE FIRST DATE YOU WENT ON IN A BOY'S CAR."

I'm not sure this was the very first date, but Mick was the first guy I dated that had a car.

It was a BIG car, and not at all cool. It was a funky vomit color - something between brown and tan with a little bit of green thrown in.

I was fifteen. And he was taking me to a dance club known for letting the "under aged" in.

I got out the Aquanet.

The jean skirt that barely covered my butt.

Red pumps.

And every bit of make up I owned.

I headed over to my girlfriend's house. Her parents were never home so no grown up was going to see the final product before I got to the club.

I got myself all dolled up with a look that said, "You should take my money and let me in to this club because I look like I could be at least 18 so checking my ID isn't necessary."

In retrospect, it was probably more of a look that said, "You need to pay me by the hour if you want the pleasure of my company."

You know my mom's heart is stopping right now.

Sorry Mom. I love you! I'll go mow your lawn now. Oh, wait, that was a different time I totally disappointed you. *Hugs*

So Mick picked me up and drove out to no-man's-land.

We pulled into the gravel parking lot and I could hear, "Boom, boom, lacka-lacka-lacka, boom. Boom, boom, lacka-lacka, boom-boom," coming from the building.

I sashayed to the door like I belonged there and got in just fine.

Not so much for Mick. He had such a baby face and couldn't convince them he was 21 even after he pulled out his fake ID.

He was such a nice guy, he said I could go in with out him for a bit. Some friends of his were just pulling up and he was going to chat with them for a while.

As tempting as it was (Come on, Walk the Dinosaur was playing!), I'm a nice girl. So I stayed outside with him.

When his friends found out Mick couldn't get in, they decided to leave. Mick & I sat on the back bumper talking for a bit, and I got an AWESOME idea!

Mick should teach me how to drive!

Never mind I was barely fifteen, had no learner's permit, and had never been behind the wheel of a car before.

Again, being a nice guy (and I think he really liked me and thought this may clinch a kiss at the end of the night), he agreed.

I started the car with a roar because I stepped on the gas while was doing it. I SWEAR, that's what my parents did.

The car wouldn't move out of park unless the brake was pressed - that was a good thing.

Once the car was in drive, I pulled out of the parking space. Thank the Lord, he had backed in.

Of course, there was quite a bit of gravel kicking up because I didn't know the power of a gas pedal. I'm sure the hussy getting out of the car next to me appreciated the parking lot dust coating her zebra print stretch skirt. She thought she was HOT. *sizzle*

Seriously though, I don't think she found all the pieces of gravel that got caught in the rats nest on her head until she took a shower in the morning. Once something penetrates the Aquanet helmet, there is no getting it out without screwing up the entire do. Extraction has to wait until you're ready for the shower to turn your hair into the inevitable melty, gooey mess that requires you to wash, rinse, & repeat more than twice.

Once we get to the driveway of the parking lot, I had the sense to stop and look for cars. And take a moment to ask how to turn on the headlights.

There were a lot of headlights on that state highway. But no street lights.

It was D-A-R-K!

Mick told me to go. But it wasn't a gentle, "It's clear so you can go now."

It was a "IT'S CLEAR! GO! GO! GO!"

I squealed, hit the gas, while turning onto the highway.

The car fish-tailed.

I screamed.

The car lost a hub cap.

And I lost my driving privileges.

Silver Lining:

1. Mick and I dated for several more months and he even let me get behind the wheel again, but only during the day. On really straight streets. With no other cars in sight.


2. Two years later, my dad "officially" taught me to drive so I could get my driver's license before we moved to "The Big City". While I'm sure I gave him a couple of scares, I passed my driver's test with flying colors. The DMV Tester Guy even said, "You are very relaxed behind the wheel." He didn't know I'd been driving for almost two years. Until he reads this, I'm not sure my dad knew that either. Sorry Dad. I love you! *Hugs*

Every Queen Needs A Wand

You may not know this, but I have a home based business. It's one of the home party genre.

So, I earned a tiara for being the queen of recruiting. I've never had a tiara, and I was most excited about it.

I'm such a dork.

I was traveling to Boston for a conference where I was expected to wear my tiara to the formal events. One of the events was on the first night, and I didn't have a good way to pack it. Both my suitcase & carry on were quite full so I thought, "I'll just wear it."

I did up my hair, put on the tiara, arranged my hair around it and headed to the airport.

Before you ask, yes, I put got dressed too. I didn't just flounce around in my tiara.

Going through security, the tiara set off the metal detector. Of course, the guy wanted me to take it off.

In my head, I was whining, "But I have it tucked all nice in my hair . . ."

I pulled myself together and said, "Can't you just wand me?"

He said, "That's your choice."

I said, "OK," thinking he would just pull out some wand and go up one side and down the other.

He had me step to the side and called for "female assistance at security."

Huh???

A female security guard appeared with a wand in hand.

I thought "Surely, he could have done this. It's just a wand."

No.

It's not just a wand.

She went up one side and down the other all right.

She went around each bare foot.

Each arm.

The armpits. Which is where my under wire set off the alarm, and a back of the hand pat down occurred.

She went all around me. E-V-E-R-Y-W-H-E-R-E!

Fortunately, I passed inspection and I went on my way.

Let's just say, I will find a way to pack the tiara on the way home.

Silver Lining:

1. It wasn't degrading in anyway. The gal was very professional.
2. The flight attendant and others did ask about the tiara. I told them I was the queen of recruiting, but I wish I had made up a princess story or something. I'm just not that quick on my feet, I guess.