Kerplosh!

It's a new year, it's time for a fresh start. Sort of.

I'm not in the mood to change up all the design of my page right now, so that stays the same.

There have been a ton of changes since I last posted here, but we're mostly the same goofy family.

Still married to Hubby and we still live in Pleasantville.

Stinkles is twelve - participates in the Character Council, Girl Scouts, soccer, school musical, and does college level research projects. She's also a good kid, but that drummer in her head is still playing a death dirge - ugh!

Cupie is fourteen - a soccer goalie, cheerleader, member of the National Junior Honor Society, Girl Scout, active member at church, generally a good kid. But, Dude! She has all the snark and attitude that's uber typical of a fourteen year old!

And she's still as klutzy as ever.

So Hubby and I are sitting in the family room watching Shameless and there is a commotion from the kitchen. Like the kind you hear in Scooby-Doo - ZOINKS!

I tried to jump up from the couch, but we have those electric footrests, and putting them down is slower than the old lady with the stair lift in Gremlins (before the Gremlins get to it). By the time I get to the kitchen, Cupie is still standing there dumbfounded. I think she was shocked because her perfectly prepared bowl of cereal was on the floor amongst the lunch crumbs, a stool, and a rogue sock.

Apparently, her feet were on the stool, she went to get up, tangled her feet in the stool legs and KERPLOSH! Cereal on the floor! That's a direct quote.

I looked at the floor again - there was cereal and a bowl, but no milk splatter. WTH!?!?

The kid puts milk on the cereal, dunks all the cereal pieces, drinks the milk out and then eats the cereal. It's to ensure the cereal doesn't get soggy, just moist (ewe, moist).

Genius!

Silver Lining:

1. I didn't have anyone crying over spilled milk.
2. I didn't have to clean up any spilled milk either.

Elevators . . .

They go up.

They go down.

Some are big.

Some are small.

Most are benign.

But a few are soooo much more.

Just read thru chapter five of Fifty Shades of Grey and you'll know how much more I'm talking about. . .

. . .or get in an elevator with me.

No, I've never done THAT in the elevator, but sometimes, I change an uneventful, benign elevator ride into a source of entertainment.

Like the other day, I walked over to the elevator where a co-worker was already waiting. I said, "Going down?"

Did I mention my office is on the top floor?

Did I mention that we don't have one of those cool, burst-thru-the-ceiling glass elevators like in Charlie & the Chocolate Factory?

Hmm, I didn't think so. However, my co-worker was kind enough to try to hide her snicker and say, "Um, yah." You all I'm sure are snickering right to my face the computer screen.

Did I mention I'm a dork? Snicker away, I can't hear you.

Silver Lining:

1. Fortunately, this was between me and a friend, not an executive.
2. No one was in the elevator with me the day I stepped in and pushed the button for the floor I was currently on. I silently waited for the elevator to get moving. It didn't. I know, just sigh and shake your head.
3. Fifty Shades of Grey - if that tie isn't a silver lining in and of itself, I don't know what is.

Trippin'

I can be a good doobey.

I turn the water off while I'm brushing my teeth.

I let in as much natural light as I can during the day.

I plan my errands so that I make a loop instead of a zig-zag, back & forth, curli-que, jacked-up route.

I put cardboard in the recycle bin.

It's that last one that's tricky though.

In our house, there are a few simple steps to be taken in order to effectively (and safely) move cardboard to the recycle bin on the back patio:

1. Gather cardboard near the back door.


2. Break down/flatten cardboard boxes.


3. Move cardboard directly into the recycle bin.

A very simple list indeed.

Three steps. Outlined neatly.

What happens when you skip a step?

Or worse, add a step?

This:


is what happens when you fail to break down a box (step 2) and move the boxes from the back door area to the back porch instead of taking them directly to the recycle bin (step 3).

There is a reason there is no step 2a! Dorks like me catch their foot on the fully assembled box while trying to step over it onto a 12X12 clear space on the back porch.


I landed flat on my back at the bottom of those three little steps.

OUCH!

Silver Lining:

1. I didn't break any bones! Not even a fracture, even though I'm sure I heard some weird crunching noises as I went down.


2. Hubby & the kids were inside so they were able to come to my rescue. Stinkles even hooked me up with a band-aid on my elbow. Oddly, the abrasion on my leg never started bleeding - all that is under the skin. That said, my leg is now my greatest source of pain since something did penetrate and form an infection under the skin - yay!

Smart VS Street Smart

It's official. Stinkles is eligible for Mensa.

She's had an official, indepth IQ test (current Weschler IQ test) administered along with some additional tests which all came back positive for giftedness.

That's all well and good. But explain to me how a six year old child who could write her name by two and multiply & divide at three, couldn't figure out that you have to unlock the patio door in order to open it?

Silver Lining:

1. We still have plenty of time to teach her these important life lessons. She is only six after all.


2. It's a hard pill to swallow that your kid is smarter than you, but on the bright side, there's a really good chance she'll get herself a job where she actually may be able to take care of us when we're old and infirmed. Or she'll end up a weird, recluse with a bunch of conspiracy theories rattling around in that super capacity brain of hers. Let's hope for the "good job" path.

No Laundry For You, One Day!

OMG! I never thought I'd see the day.

The kind of day where the sky is dappled with puffy white clouds (perfect for imagining shapes of dragons pushing shopping carts or a floating Easter bunny head - a little disturbing, but fun none the less), mid-seventies temperature, & a slight breeze.

The kind of day where all is right with the world, there's enough money in the bank to pay the bills, dust ceases to land on every surface as soon as I enter a room.

The kind of day where my children get dressed in the morning and aren't covered in something (toothpaste, milk, all that crazy dust - take your pick) by the time they've started breakfast.

The kind of day where the laundry gets done without me having to lift a finger. . .

eeerrrrrrttt!

I almost saw it! One day, there was a flash of possibility before my eyes. . .

My children are old enough to help with laundry (happy dance). At least I trust them to fold the laundry. I have nightmare images of Michael Keaton in Mr. Mom so I'm not letting them run the wash machine yet.

I got a new "upstairs" chore chart as more of a check list to make sure they brush their teeth, get dressed (including socks - yes, it has to be said), and brush their hair. I put turn out lights & open blinds on there too, and with one space left, I added "Fold & Put Away Laundry.

For each task, the girls get their own magnetic star to place on the chart. We haven't assigned any dollar amounts to these "chores" - they just get to move a star for each completed task.

In the morning, Cupie, as a typical oldest child, wants to please us so she doesn't waste any time getting ready and has time to work on laundry. There's a star at stake darn it, and she's earning one!

Stinkles, on the other hand, likes to daydream. She marches to the beat of her own drummer that's for sure. I'm pretty sure that drummer plays a death dirge because she is slow to do everything. She's the only kid I know who can be happy & smiley & jumpy with a death dirge playing, but anywho. . .

Stinkles likes to get stars too. Just for the sake of getting them. Never mind the fact that she may or may not have earned them. They are pretty and they are stars and they should just be given to her.

Cupie emptied the dryer, folded the clothes inside, put the neat little piles on the beds, and put her own laundry away. Then, she moved a star into it's appropriate place on the chart.

Stinkles, brushing her teeth, took note that laundry had been done that morning and moved her own star into the same slot.

I was downstairs peacefully drinking my coffee & eating a scone while reading the latest gossip rag. Yah, I have time to do that because I get up early enough to shower, primp, get dressed, vacuum the entire house, make lunches, bake fresh scones, grind coffee beans by hand, & publish my own gossip magazine before 7:30AM. NOT!!!!

I was in the bathroom, frantically trying to do something with the frizzy mess atop my head when the squabbling began.

Cupie: You can't just move the star!
Stinkles: But the laundry is done.
Cupie: You didn't do the laundry. I DID!
Stinkles: It's not fair!
Cupie: How is it not fair? I DID THE LAUNDRY!
Stinkles: You did it without asking me first!
Cupie: Why should I ask you?
Stinkles: Because.
Cupie: Because why?
Stinkles: Because it's not fair.

Me (in my calmest thru-the-clenched-teeth-but-somewhat-evil-sounding voice while waving a comb around like a mad woman): WHAT IS GOING ON OUT HERE!!!!!!!

You've already read the situation so I won't repeat it, but the bottom line was that Stinkles didn't think it was fair that Cupie, who gets up at the same time as her and has the same number of morning tasks, doesn't daydream so she has time to laundry; therefore earning a star, while she does not.

Tears were streaming down Stinkles face (add that to the list of "something" to be covered in).

TEARS!!!!

Over not "getting" to do the laundry.

Give me a moment to shed my own tears over this.

TEARS OF JOY!

Silver Lining:

1. I did explain to Cupie that even though she enjoys doing laundry now, she really should involve her sister in the future so Stinkles doesn't start to take advantage of her and just expect her to do the laundry. That's my job, duh!


2. Stinkles got her own load of laundry to fold and put away. In true Stinkles fashion, it took three days for the task to be complete. But it was completed nonetheless.

CYA

CYA - Cover Your A$$

This little acronymn was around long before texting existed. It's a pretty good rule to go by since there have been shysters in the world long before texting too. Also, it should apply to the punks who walk around with their pants hanging below their butts. Buy a belt and CYA!!!

Speaking of punks & shysters, I was visiting the County Assessor's website this morning to see if they had updated the value (or de-value) of our house for 2011. (Actually, I don't know if the County Assessor is a shyster or a punk, that was just in reference to government in general.)

Even though evaluations were supposedly done as of January 1st, there isn't any sign of an update almost three months later. Oh, the speed of government.

Anywho, I took notice of the message on the assessors front page. Apparently, there are even more features and search functions for people to use to nose around in my business.

Yah, if you know my address, you can look up how big my house is, how much I paid for it, what the layout is, how much my taxes are, and a plethora of other busy body information that really isn't any anyone else's business. But in the interest of the "public" at large and people doing their own research before hiring a real estate agent, this is made available for all to see. Remember when you could only get that information from a real estate agent? Then, it was because you had a legitimate reason to know so you could make a decision on whether or not to buy the property. Now, anyone, ANYONE can poke around.

But I did get a little chuckle out of the last part of the message. The part where you can sent them a note about how they're doing or what features you would like to see (click on the pic if you can't see what the arrow is pointing to):



CYA! They even spell it out for you in case you forgot what the A stood for! And they're making sure they cover more than one - Go County Assessor for watching out for your peeps!

Silver Lining:

1. When our valuation doesn't come it at a rock bottom value, I'll be able to look at my neighbors valuations and recent sale prices to fight back. In that regard, I appreciate being part of the public.


2. I wonder if "belts" are part of the official dress code of the County Assessor's office. That makes me chuckle.

Wrong Number Gone Right

Has this ever happened to you?

You show up at an appointment with an acquaintance and she's not there. After a bit, it becomes apparent that she's not just running late.

So you're going to give her a call. Her number is in your planner, but since you used your cell phone to confirm the appointment earlier in the day, you're just going to choose her number from your call history.

She's more of an acquaintance so you don't have her name stored in your contacts list, but there's the number without a name attached to it.

You hit, "Call".

Ring-ring.

Ring-ring.

Hello?

Hey, it's Polly. Where are you? (very friendly and sing-songy and such)

I'm at home now and I really need some of that lotion.

Dead silence on my end.

I can swing by your place on Saturday and pick it up if that's ok with you.

You're racking my brain trying to figure out what is going on! Still not having a clue, you hear yourself saying, "Saturday? Sure, what time?"

I have this and that at noon, but then I've got blah, blah, blah. OMG! Got it! A customer you called three days ago when she happened to be at work and couldn't talk. Must have called you back when you were away from the phone. So how about 11:30?

Yes, yes, yes! [A la When Harry Met Sally] 11:30 is great! I'll have that lotion waiting for you!

You hang up, actually look at the call history, and call the right number.

Silver Lining:

1. I managed to reschedule the original appointment for Saturday at my house.


2. My customer had no idea I wasn't intending on calling her even though I asked where she was. Normally, that would sound like a really out of the norm question, but since I had caught her at work the last time I called, it sounded like I was really being super courteous even though I was actually being a bumbling idiot.


3. I got a sale and she's willing to come to me to get it. Bonus!

Little Parrots

There are a lot of Americans (and I suppose non-Americans too) who have strong opinions on the current President of the United States.

One such person is the mother of a friend of mine. This woman is addicted to the news networks, whether it be CNN, MSN, FOX, etc. AND she watches her grandchildren fairly often.

My in-laws have a rule: What happens at Nana's, stays at Nana's. This includes what is said, watched, done, not done, etc.

It will become very obvious soon, but it seems like the same is true with my friend's mother.

Anywho, my friend, with children in tow, walked in to a VERY crowded McDonald's. One of the nice ones with the big aquarium and TV's everywhere.

As she and her children stood in line, a news story about the POTUS came on the TV.

Her youngest son, taking note of the story, pointed at the screen and very loudly asked, "Is that the man who's going to ruin our country?"

There are only two reactions here: Laugh hysterically. Or die of embarrassment.

Regardless, I'm glad it wasn't me.

Silver Lining:

1. My friend is still alive so that whole "die of embarrassment" thing is a myth.


2. I am seeking new and effective ways of needling information out of my kids so that I can avoid this type of situation. Although, I don't think my parents or my in-laws are quite this opinionated on the subject. But you never know . . .

Ummmmm, No Thanks

I was in Springfield, Missouri a week or so ago. It's a college town. And you know those crazy college kids. Away from the parents, having wild parties, maybe feeling a little too uninhibited. . .

But I had no idea STD's were running so rampant that they had a need for this establishment:


SERIOUSLY!?!?!?!

Especially this little tid-bit of information:


New, Used & Abused?

175 Booths? I didn't know there were so many.

Good grief, I hope they don't offer frequent shopper cards!

That's one variety shop I wouldn't touch with a twenty foot pole (isn't that the length of a stripper pole?). I felt dirty just getting close enough to take the picture.

Silver Lining:

1. I did not see any cars in the parking lot. Then again, when I took the picture it was the middle of the afternoon. Perhaps they only open at night, you know, for anonymity purposes.


2. So sad, but I can only come up with one silver lining notation. But it's a list and you can't have a list of only one item (learned that in 3rd grade grammar or something like that) so I felt the need for another item. So you get me just rambling on about the need for more than one item to make a list. So very, very sad.

The King

Overheard on the elementary school playground:

I'm the King of the Rubbers!

You knew he was talking about his arm full of Silly Bands, right?

Silver Lining:

1. Kids are awesome for these kinds of tidbits.


2. This Silly Bands thing brings back memories of those jelly bracelets I used to have when I was a kid. Too bad the eighties trend is continuing into clothing as well (more to come on that).

You can call me anything you like, but my name is Veronica

I'm in sales. That requires a lot of face to face time. But it also requires a lot of phone time.

And I'm terrible about using my phone.

It's an inanimate object! But for whatever reason, I hated sitting down and making phone calls.

Until someone suggested that I give it a name and make friends with my phone.

It's so much fun to do things with a friend, right?

Ladies, we go to the bathroom together. We compare our kids' poop together. We shop together. We even get in trouble together.

Friends will come and go.

And so will phones.

I had a pink phone. She was great. She was shiny. She had a little butterfly that floated across the display when I closed her up, a slot for cell phone charms, the right ring tones for all my friends, and she was pink.

I named her Lucille.

Hey, Luuuuuucy! Let's go have some fun.

And I'd make my phone calls. I smiled when it was time to hang with Lucille. It meant I hardly had to think about where to put my fingers to dial each number. It meant I would be making a connection with my customers. It meant I would make a sale.

But one day, Lucille broke.

Her data port died. Trapped inside were all my phone numbers, all the ring tones, all the fun.

Lucille's warranty had run out, but my contract hadn't. I couldn't get a new phone until January!

Well, I could, but I'd have to pay full price. I could get an el-cheapo, but that also meant something boring.

No shine.

No butterflies.

No pink.

I was deeply saddened.

But wait! Hubby to the rescue!

He had a phone that didn't hold enough battery power for him so his office had replaced said phone with a fancy-schmancy touch screen, not-an-I-Phone-but-what-ever-got-as-close-as-possible-on-the-Sprint-network phone.

This phone had a touch screen with a keyboard on it. This was Lucille's one downfall. She only had a number pad so she was no good at texting and didn't have internet.

The phone that wasn't good enough for Hubby, but would rescue me from shelling out money on a phone, would text and have the internet. This was exciting!

Hubby charged up the phone and reset everything so it was a clean slate.

Yay! I had a phone!

The phone was black with silver accents. It had a screen and all these buttons right out there in the open. It didn't flip open, it was just there all the time. If you forgot to turn off the screen when you were on a call, you could do all kinds of things by accident.

Set yourself in airplane mode.

Connect to the internet.

Play Bubble Breaker.

It was kind of sleek.

It needed a name.

It's kind of a guy-ish looking phone.

Ramone.

That rolls off the tongue, "R-r-r-r-ramoooone." Kind of breathy and sexy like.

"R-r-r-r-ramoooone."

Purr for me . . .

Ramone and I could lock ourselves in a room for an hour and have a secret rendezvous. Not really since I'd be calling customers, but anywho. . .

I immediately changed my phone plan so I could text and use the internet. Oooo, we were going to jump into the 21st century!

Life with Ramone sounded exciting!

Unfortunately, that never really happened. Ramone has a disappointing interface, you have to use a stylus with the onscreen keyboard and dialing by only touch is impossible.

Ramone has internet, but I can't connect him to my computer for use as an internet connection.

Ramone and I never developed that lovey-dovey relationship.

But, what's this?

Hubby got a new job?

And a new phone?

And the old fancy-schmancy touch screen, not-an-I-Phone-but-what-ever-got-as-close-as-possible-on-the-Sprint-network, has an actual slide-out keyboard, a user friendly icon interface, and hacked built in computer wi-fi connectivity phone could be mine?

And I can get a pretty, shiny case so it doesn't look like a plain, black guy-ish phone?

Well, folks, meet Veronica!




Silver Lining:

1. She's pretty. She's got some pink. She's got shine. She's all mine!


2. Hubby taught me how to make my own ring tones so I know who's calling me before I look at the phone.


3. I'll still get a pretty hefty loyalty credit in January that I can use toward another phone. But I'm so excited about Veronica, I think I'll just hold on to it in case of an emergency.

The Weekly Check

On a weekly basis, I check our bank account online.

Hubby's debit card number has been compromised on more than one occasion and I like catching things like that before we're out of money. Like last year, when we had $700 in charges from a bar in Madrid. Spain.

FYI - we've never been there.

Anywho, I'm just scrolling down the list and I see this:

In case you can't read that, it says, "FKG OIL COMPANY PPD PREAUTHPMT"

I don't know when the oil company started texting their information to the bank, but it must be a recent phenomena. Surely, I would have noticed them using my pet name (albeit in text form) for them before today. Although, I usually use that expletive in the winter when the bill is much higher.

Oh, well. At least they have finally come to terms with who they are.

Silver Lining:

1. It's summer so we're saving money on gas. But that also means the air conditioner has been running non stop so all that savings goes to the electric company. At least it balances out for the most part.


2. I'm not really as old as I feel some days. I was able to decipher the text message so I must still have a little bit of a young person inside.

One Ring

So I'm playing Farmville on my laptop in the dining room.

Hubby has some episode of The Big Bang Theory on in the family room.

I can see the TV from my perch.

And I like this show.

If you've never seen it, you need to make a point of watching a few episodes.

Anywho, in the episode that was just on (a better summary and video is here), the four main characters find a box at a garage sale filled with comic book, movie & TV memorabilia. An A.L.F. doll, an Aquaman, Mr. Spock's head on Mr. T's body, and most importantly a ring.

The scene plays out like this (my comments are in the parenthesis):

Leonard: Why do I always have to carry the heavy stuff?
Sheldon: It’s very simple. In our ragtag band of scientists with nothing to lose I am the smart one, Wolowitz is the funny one and Koothrappali is the lovable foreigner who struggles to understand our ways and fails. That leaves you by default as the muscle.
Leonard: One more floor and I’d be the pulled muscle.
[They enter the apartment, where Penny is]
Penny (the pretty neighbor who is dating Leonard): Oh, it is about time, I am starving!
Leonard: Well, we didn’t actually get Chinese food.
Penny: Why not?
Leonard: Don’t panic, this is better!

(Better if you're a geek)

Leonard: We were on our way to the Chinese restaurant when we thought we saw Adam West, so we followed him.
Penny: Who is Adam West?
Sheldon: What, who is Adam West? Leonard what do the two of you talk about after the coitus?
Wolowitz: My guess is: ‘hey four minutes, new record!‘ [Turns to Raj] That’s why I’m the funny one!
[Sheldon finds a ring at the bottom of the box]
Sheldon: Fascinating!
Leonard: What?
Sheldon: It appears to be a Lord of the Rings ring.
Koothrappali: It even got the Elvishian graving on it.
Sheldon: It’s not Elvish, it’s the language of Mordor written in Elvish script. One ring to rule them all.
Koothrappali: One ring to find them.
Wolowitz: One ring to bring them all.
Leonard: And in the darkness bind them.

At this point I notice that my Husband is speaking out loud. He is quoting Lord of the Rings with them!

Koothrappali: Holy crap we are nerdy!

(No frickin' kidding)

Yeah, just lump Hubby in with that group. I'm so proud.

Silver Lining:

1. I knew he was a geek when I married him and I married him anyway.


2. He knows he's a geek too. It's good to be comfortable in your own skin.

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

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

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.