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*

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.

Simple Solutions

Nursing your baby is a special bonding time between a mother and child.

You should be able to relax and thank the Lord that your baby is hungry; thus, relieving the sometimes unbelievable pressure that has built up.

However, when your six year old is running around, bouncing off walls, and shrieking just for the fun of it, there is no relaxing.

So, what is a nursing mother to do?

Of course, the answer is simple.

You call your six year old over to you, unfasten the other flap of your nursing bra, and squeeze.

A squirt of breast milk right between the eyes has an amazingly quieting effect on the attitude of your older child.

Silver Lining:

1. I never had to do this because, I didn't nurse for very long and my girls are only two years apart.


2. I can't wait for the Island Luau this summer. I think the nursing moms in the neighborhood may have an unfair advantage in the water gun fight - they don't have to stop to reload.

Jewel of a Find

I had been searching and searching for the right piece of furniture to act as a sideboard in my dining room. I needed something that wasn’t any deeper than 14” and had storage. A charger and serving platters had to fit in it too.

Oh yah, it had to be cheap, but nice. Hubby was a little tired of my decorating expenses. Sometimes you have to give them a little sense of control so I agreed to look for something less than $75.

I found things on Craigslist, but they were either too ugly, too expensive, too deep, too long, too tall, too not storage-y.

Then miracle of miracles, I found one that was nice looking, perfect depth & length, had plenty of storage, a little on the tall-ish side, but it was FREE!

How did I come upon this jewel? Well, it all started one night after dinner.

Ken, Barbie & brood had come over for dinner. The kids were driving us nuts so they were relegated to the upstairs. Hubby & Ken got out Guitar Hero (the one that only cost $5.65 – are we lucky or what?) and started jammin’. So Barbie & I were left alone for chit-chat. That by itself is a miracle.

A few glasses of wine (each) and lots of girly talk led us to the office closet. I can sense the gears in your brain moving. You know all the men reading this leaned forward and went “there”, right?

I just “had” to show her the fabulous curtain material I scammed a deal on (The guys just slumped back in their chairs. Did you hear it? I’ll be lucky if they bother to keep reading).

While poking around, Barbie noticed a bookcase. Cherry in color, glass doors, about 14” deep. Now the gears in our brains got chuggin’. They had totally been slowed down by all the wine.

“Why don’t you use this in the dining room?”

“Because it’s filled with crap.”

“Get a measuring tape, let’s see if it will fit.”

“Barbie, look at all the CRAP. And there’s all this crap on the floor in front of it.”

You could barely walk into the 6X6 closet!!

I rolled my eyes. We measured the bookcase.

“Fine, I guess it will fit. Now where am I going to put all this crap.”

“Worry about that later.” She started taking stuff out and setting it on the futon. Sure, I’ll worry about it later. Like when she’s gone home and doesn’t have to worry about it herself.

The futon was loaded up and we were ready to move the bookcase out of the closet. We needed those moving men thingys – good thing they were part of the crap that was in the bookcase earlier.

As we were pulling/pushing the bookcase out of the closet, we had to turn it right away, but the futon was in the way. Since we had loaded it up with crap, it was heavy. Some of the crap needed to be moved. So we put it by the closed side of the double doors to the room.

With the futon out of the way, we made tracks across the office floor to the door. Crap! We needed the second door to the room opened to get it out. We had to move the crap back to the futon.

To get to the dining room we had to go through the family room. The boys were in the middle of a song so we just stood there letting the bookcase hold us up (remember a lot of wine was involved – our limbs were wobbly enough without the added deprivation of oxygen from all the crap movement).

When they finished (never mind pausing the game), they moved out of the way so we could push it across the room. Did they help us? No. Did they even offer to help us? No. We didn’t really need them, but it would have been nice.

After quarter-inching (you know when you move something just a smidge to the left, right, back, forward, up, down and then move it back again – this drives men nuts, you women should try it sometime for a little fun and/or revenge for whatever manish thing he did) the bookcase about fifty times, we got it right.

Five kitchen cabinet shelves later, all the fancy-wear made it to the dining room.

Barbie & her brood left, and of course, I still had an empty office closet and a futon full of crap.

Hell’s bells, I’ll worry about that later!

Silver lining:

1. I have five empty shelves in the kitchen – whoo who, I can move the miscellaneous kitchen gadgets out of the pantry and into the kitchen. More room for food – we like food so it’s a good thing.

2. Did I mention the bookcase was free? Of course, I paid for it at one point, but in accountant speak, that’s a sunk cost.

3. All the crap made it back into the office closet right before my mom came to visit three weeks later. Did it take me three weeks to move it all back? Oh, no – it took three weeks to come up with the motivation.

4. I managed to use the word crap 13 times in one post. Gee mom, you must be so proud.

Mouthy Housewives

Hysterical site, I just have to share. For all you anti-Dear Abby types, this is the advice column for you!




Enjoy!

Redemption

I normall do not just cut & paste funny stuff, but this was just too good to keep to myself.

Keep in mind, this is not about blondes nor is it about women.

These contractors are installing the steel pillars in concrete to stop vehicles from parking on the pavement outside a Sports Bar downtown. They are now in the process of cleaning up at the end of the day and anxious to go home.

How long do you think it will be before they realize where they parked?

Silver Lining:

1. Girls rule, boys drool! Redemption is ours ladies!

2. The "rescue" is bound to make it to the news and these guys have to explain their dumbass-ness to their wives.

Were You Born In A Barn?

I’m sure spring is just around the corner. It was almost 80 on St. Patty’s day, cooler today, but the weekend looks great! Tulips are starting to come up. The air is fresh & crisp. I have to say “Sorry,” to my Northern friends – your snow may not melt for another three months & I’ll be enjoying the return of my summer color.

The problem with this time of year is exterior doors tend to stay open, especially when you’re just running in & out for “a second.” We have a double standard in our house. Hubby and I can leave the door open, but when the kids do it, that common expression is heard, “What were ya, born in a barn, aye?”

I’ve never heard any one say, “Yah. What’s it to ya?” Fortunately, neither one of my kids can say yes. Although, in anticipation of this expression being uttered, we should have had a cardboard cut-out of a barn over my belly during the birth. That would have been pretty funny – pretty fricken’ weird too.

I could go into a full blown description of the scene, but I’ll let you use your imagination. Tell me about in the comments below.

Anyway, on such a leaving-the-door-open occasion, we ended up with a visitor. As we were all leaving for the day (7:30AM), my oldest daughter had to run back inside because she forgot to feed our bird, George. Hubby went with her; therefore, the adult-leaving-the-door-open-is-ok clause was in affect.

I was busy buckling my youngest daughter into her car seat & my back was to the front door. Hubby & Cupie were at the back of the house feeding the bird. That’s why none of us saw the sparrow fly into the house through the open front door.

To make it worse, no one found out about the sparrow until 11PM that night!

Cupie has a tendency to cry as she’s running to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Hubby & I were still downstairs watching TV so I ran up to make sure she made it and calm her down. I sat on the edge of the tub and stroked her hair & wiped away the tears. When Cupie got off the toilet, in the faint glow of the nightlight, I noticed something BIG in the toilet.

I thought, “For cryin’ out loud. What did Stinkles put in the toilet now?” Good thing I was right there. We have those crappy builder grade toilets that stop up if you don’t flush between pooping & dropping the toilet paper in. I can only imagine the mess this “thing” would have caused.

I had to turn on the light so I could see what I was dealing with. When I did, I yelled down to Hubby, “Hubby, get up here!”

Hubby’s first thought was, “How big a turd could it be? Ooo, maybe it’s psychedelic in color!” Understand, he knew nothing of the bird (bird/turd – that rhymes, hee, hee – gee I’m mature, aren’t I?) so he thought if there was something to see in the toilet, it had to be a GIGANTIC poop or be rainbow swirled with neon colors. Dude, unless you’ve been tripping on magic shrooms, neon swirl should not be the first thing popping into your head.

So that I didn’t freak Cupie out anymore than I already did, I sent her to bed quickly.

Hubby arrived to see the amazing poop. Boy, was he disappointed.

We both stood over the toilet looking down. I don’t know what we were thinking – that the bird would just wake up after being peed on and fly out??? What a mess that would have been. I’m picturing the same effect as a dog getting out of a lake and “shakin’ it out” – water goes everywhere & reaks, right? Bird, pee bath, wings a flappin’ – EEEEWWWWWWW!

How the heck were we going to get it out of the toilet & what were we going to do with it???

I wasn’t sticking my hands in the toilet. They don’t make rubber gloves thick enough to entice me to pick up a pee-soaked, dead bird.

After searching the kitchen, I came up with a pair of barbeque tongs & five Wal-Mart bags.

Up in the bathroom, I handed the tongs to Hubby and held open the five-ply Wal-Mart bag.

“What am I supposed to do with this!?!?”

“Use the tongs to get the bird out & put it in here.” I thrust the bag at him. Like, duh!

He looked in the toilet and slowly reached his hand forward. Then, he quickly pulled back. Slowly reach forward, pull back quickly, slowly reach forward . . .

This went on for a bit before I asked him, “WHAT are you doing?”

“I just can’t do it!”

I grabbed the tongs & gave him the Wal-Mart bag. I dove in, got the bird, put it in the bag, left the tongs in the bag, snatched the bag back & took the whole kit-n-kaboodle down to the trash bucket (the one outside, not the kitchen trash).

Leave it to the woman to ultimately take care of things – GIRL POWER!!

Silver lining:

1. Thank God it wasn’t George – that would have scarred us all for life.


2. Cupie doesn’t really know what was in the toilet so we haven’t scarred her for life (at least not with this incident – there are plenty of other events she can discuss with her therapist later).


3. Hubby’s excited – he’s getting a new set of BBQ tongs!