I don’t like big BUTS and I cannot lie! Thursday, Jul 28 2011 


I don’t like lines. There are all sorts of lines, and while I get that lines are necessary for maintaining law and order, it doesn’t mean I actually have to like them. I just have to accept them, right? There has to be a system for people to orderly take their turn otherwise there would be mass chaos, but have you ever heard people say I can’t WAIT to stand in that line for the roller coaster? Of course not! The worst part about an amusement park is the long lines which drag on FOREVER during the hot summer months. The best part – the actual thrill of the ride – is usually much shorter but SO worth the wait if you’re lucky. The only time people have fun standing in lines is when they are at the FRONT of the line because that’s when the excitement and anticipation are at its highest.

We went to a water park this week on vacation and God love em’, some of these people can really make your head spin. Standing in line at the water park can reveal a lot about people. I mean A LOT. LITERALLY! I think some of these people can’t wait to peel off the clothes every summer to show the tattoos that would otherwise be hidden by proper attire. CONGRATULATIONS! Anything goes at the water park Honey, and I can’t help but wonder if that dolphin on the bosom will be a bit deflated and swimming a little down stream next year. That’s OK though because one quick look around proves that ANYTHING can be re-inflated for the right price. I didn’t actually ride any of the giant slides this year. The twists and turns of my daily life lately are enough for me thankyouverymuch, so I laid around in the lazy river and wallowed in the wave pool. I did inflate the beach ball for the kiddie area though and after getting a little light-headed, I decided perhaps I’m just not full of enough hot air.

There is another kind of line I don’t like either, though I usually bite my tongue politely. I can’t help but cringe when I hear people throw out clichés in place of proper apologies or as an excuse to say something offensive. I’ve TOTALLY caught myself doing it, BUT I try not to. SEE!!! I just did it right there. I gave an excuse for why I sometimes do something that completely irritates me when other people do the exact same thing. I cannot STAND to hear “I’m sorry, BUT…” or “No offense, BUT…” Those are such cop-out phrases. I hear the first few words, and then I simply can’t see around your big ol’ BUT! I’d rather stand in line behind Sir Mix A Lot and his bevy of big butt babes in bikinis baking in the heat and basking in all their ghetto glory than listen to a line for an apology that ends in “but.”

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.

Here’s MY theory though… Some people think that the easiest way to get from Point A to Point B is to throw out a line; a straight up line! By this, I mean people use clichés, half-truths and straight up LINES as an easy way to either get what they want or make themselves feel better. When you say to me, “I’m sorry, BUT,” you just shucked some of the responsibility and genuineness from your apology because you are not truly owning your own actions. Bless your heart, but there’s a strong likelihood that somebody’s going to tune you out the next time you say, “No offense, BUT…” What are you really saying there anyway? Are you not TRYING to be offensive? Do you just not want the other person to be mad at you for having your own opinion if it’s legitimate and appropriate? Maybe you’re just repeating a line that comes out naturally for a lot of us a lot of the time, but I’m thinking we’d do better by broadening or vocabularies and lines of communication by speaking simply, honestly and truthfully from the heart. You really might as well say, “I know this may come out all wrong, but I’m going to try and say it anyway,” if you want me to listen. Shake that big ol’ BUT loose and mix it up a bit with some NEW and GENUINE words! Because if you don’t, I may listen, but I may also talk about you and pick on you too for not saying what you really mean. Because I just can’t help myself. I’m like an animal, and here’s my scandal/what I’m going to say:

Oh. My. GOD! Becky, look at her BUT!

Sir Mix-A-Lot - Baby Got Back

Advertisements

My Friend GEOFF Friday, Jul 22 2011 


It’s Summertime. And a few weeks ago I signed up for a Post A Day challenge that encourages writers to post every day about what inspires them. For the uninspired, the nice people at wordpress.com even provide a question, sentence, or topic designed to spark some thoughts or musings on a random daily topic. While I think that’s nice, I’ve rarely if ever done things the easy way while accepting help from others. It’s a total character flaw, I know. Believe me, I have PLENTY to say EVERY day. It’s just that sitting down at the computer with time to myself isn’t easy to come by during the summer, and IF that were to happen I’m afraid not all of my sentences would be coherent. I don’t want to write about what everyone else is writing about, but I guess that’s OK since I’ve missed a few daily posts. I keep waiting for a BIG RED X to pop up on my screen lately when I hit the publish button like I’m a contestant on a game show that’s going to get kicked off for non-compliance. Question for today:

People are too dependent on technology: agree or disagree

Answer: ABSO-FREAKIN’-LUTELY!!!!!

Today, I had the bright idea to head out to the book store and let go of a few precious dollars all in the name of Good Educational Old Fashioned Fun! G.E.O.F.F. was supposed to be my friend. GEOFF was supposed to provide for good kid-friendly face-to-face interaction that Wii are too often missing in today’s world. GEOFF dropped the ball and cost me a fortune therefore GEOFF sucks! I dropped forty bucks on a modern-day Monopoly board game that the kids agreed to play with me ONLY because Mario and Luigi were on the cover. Let me please point out that I did NOT know that the game was supposed to be worth its weight in gold until I arrived at the register and the smart-looking-Harry-Potter-Fan cashier requested $68 for two paper-back books and a family board game. I’m pretty sure when the marketing genius behind THAT endeavor presented his idea FOR the board TO the board, we were all called SUCKERS and the fat cat toy execs had a few laughs and cigars at our expense. At least I thought, I won’t walk in on another conversation like THIS again like I did this morning with the Wii:

No, Sis! PLEASE!!! MOM, Sis is trying to make me kill myself!!

But I’m doing it to help all of us. Why can’t you see that??

You think you’ll get farther without me?

Of course! I keep telling you that {eye roll}

Fine. I’ll do it then. I’ll kill myself, but next time you have to be the one to do it, OK?

Fine. Whatever.

Seriously. This can’t be good. It certainly can’t be healthy. I guess the teamwork they were discussing by having one player fall on the virtual sword in order to keep the other player alive in the game WAS a plus though, right?? Perhaps a board game with ZERO technological stimuli would be really beneficial, and we could stare into each other’s game face rather than blankly at a television screen like zombies of the 21st century. Oh, yeah!! It’s ON like Donky KONG! I’ll take my roll with the dice on this one.

We played the board gamed, and the kids got bored but not before money was embezzled, names were called and screaming ensued. GEOFF let me down, and you know who I think was behind it?? MARIO. And LUIGI. My kids have learned to expect immmediate gratification and when things don’t go well, there’s always a reset button, right? Wrong! Not in this real version of the game of Life. Maybe that’s the game I’ll try next and they’ll listen to my words of wisdom. And if that doesn’t work, I’m bringing GEOFF outside with scooters and a fishing pole and he’s going to prove how fun he can be among the sweat, mosquitoes and mud I’ve been trying to avoid. It will be good and educational! It’ll be old-fashioned fun at its finest! Wish me luck.

Something To Talk About Tuesday, Jul 19 2011 


Seven weeks ago I left my little “perfect” life that I had created and set out to do things on my own and in my own way. I left with an extra set of clothes for myself and the kids. The only other things I brought (other than makeup and a toothbrush of course) were my ancient laptop and my cute little monogrammed bag that held all of my tabbed and organized binders for my various volunteer committees. It was on my mind that in exactly one week I had a huge volunteer leadership retreat to pull off for some very talented women, and this was the first big event of the year for all of our committee chairs and board members to come together and plan. I had spent time and effort planning this with some really great gals and did not want to disappoint them, or more importantly myself, by dropping the ball. I had a Camping theme for the big event and had coordinated other people to present their ideas and activities around it. When I planned the theme and activities months before however, I hadn’t ACTUALLY planned on camping out at other people’s houses when this all went down. HA! Maybe they would just all think I was some sort of method actor who had to get into character by camping out with my kids for inspiration. Geez! Who was going to know about my recent hike from home and start fishing for answers. I was nervous, but I kept this old movie in my mind the whole time.

Does anyone remember that movie, Something to Talk About? The fabulously neurotic, Grace has a marriage which is falling apart, volunteer commitments and a family business to run and hilariously struggles to keep all of the balls she is juggling in the air.

I have a cookbook to put out, and a daughter to raise, and the God damn winter Grand Prix. And I just don’t have time for the nervous breakdown I deserve, so please, don’t ask me to stop and think! -Grace

Whoa! I didn’t have the whole cookbook thing since I’m not on THAT committee this year, but I was trying to pull together my big retreat for the year, manage the family business and raise my kids while being a little bit center stage as my marriage fell apart. When I left, I didn’t even tell my best friends, much less the glorious group of women that I would be facing exactly one week after my surprise flight. What if they all stared at me and actually knew everything already through the grapevine and were actually WAITING for me to fall apart as if EVERYONE would do that like they don’t have their own lives to lead and struggles to face?!?! Awesome!!!!! Just a few minutes into indulging that fantasy I had just proved myself to be conceited too by thinking anyone would CARE. Ohmygod! What if I lost my mind and stood up in front of everyone and had a super-massive-stress-induced-temporary-loss-of-sanity like Grace does and started pointing out flaws in everyone else’s marriages?!?! That would most CERTAINLY not be graceful. Or, maybe, what if, I dunno, I vomited in front of everyone when words tried to come out?? Even worse, what if I cried. Hard to believe I guess for most people, but crying in front of everyone would have been the worst case scenario for me. It would have shown some vulnerability that I was struggling to keep at arm’s length. Isn’t that CRAZY!?! I WOULD HAVE CHOSEN TO VOMIT PUBLICLY!!! I didn’t barf, though that would’ve been funny, and I think the event was a success thanks to a lot of great people. The parallels with the movie have continued though.

Somewhere in the movie, Grace’s mother tells her to stop making a spectacle of herself and to just accept how things commonly are. Return to life as normal and don’t set her expectations too high. Don’t cause any waves, right? Don’t make anyone else feel uncomfortable or God forbid awkward around her when they see her. She should DEFINITELY not question her place in life lest someone else feel inspired to do the same.

You’re telling me that if I just eat shit politely with a knife and fork and learn to swallow the handfuls of bullshit I’m served, then everything will be A-Okay? – Grace

Guess what I think? Eating SHIT makes you fat. It’s true! I should know. It works in two ways. First, listening to everyone around you tell you what you should want and should believe and should allow starts to get a little mind numbing. After a while, you quit being numb when life just doesn’t work that way for you and you get sad. Numb is easier than sad any day, so wine and another late night lonely dinner work to numb some people. Then you just start to feel like shit yourself and take the easy route… right through the drive through when everyone is hungry because it’s easier than listening to the kids complain about your culinary capabilities. Billy’s mom must actually feed her kids nuggets and jelly beans for every meal because the way I get looked at with my SOUP can NOT be normal, and THAT lady never looks tired. Before you know it, everyone is eating crap – both from the “truths” we’re fed by other people AND the fast and fried food that takes less effort – and we’re all FAT.

Let me tell you what I won’t do anymore; eat the shit that I’m served from other people around me even if it’s sugar-coated. A glass of wine to wash down the taste isn’t going make it any tastier either, and I’m pretty sure about that now. That’s the worst kind of crap to take, isn’t it? I mean, it’s all cleverly disguised, but it still stinks to high Heaven no matter what fancy china you choose! If you invite me over to a sugar-coated turd, bringing out the china just ends up making feel awkward and inferior anyway like I’m going to mess up and use the wrong fork if I even pretend to taste your delicacy. Please don’t get me wrong though. It really isn’t my place to stop YOU from eating the unpalatable. I will mind my manners and let you eat without saying a cross word, but someone please tell me how in the world am I supposed to trust you and your ideas about what is good and healthy when you’ve just eaten a turd the size of Texas and gone back for more! Now you are LITERALLY full of it! And your breath stinks too. And when you start to get all gassy and full of hot air by telling me everything you know to be true, I’m going to see it for what it is: a shitty burp. Go away and come back another day because lucky for me, my mama taught me that the only time it’s acceptable to eat excrement is when you’ve been in an earthquake and have to lay in the rubble waiting for rescuers. She meant that literally too, so your “perfect” marriage and “perfect” world crumbling down around you don’t count.

People are always going to find something to talk about, and the Bird People never run out of things to say. Something else will come along though, and I KNOW it’s gotta be more scandalous than me. I’m just a girl in a new little castle with bunnies and birds and a couple of dwarfs to entertain me. Here’s hoping that if this fairy tale ever hits the big screen, Julia Roberts herself will play me because SOMEHOW her movies keep ending up in my blog! Someone should call her. 🙂

Miracles & Luck Tuesday, Jul 12 2011 


It’s been about six weeks now since we moved into our little castle – long enough for us to get acclimated and learn to stand on our own feet. We passed a couple of milestones just the last couple of days. I’m not big on numbers. As a matter of fact I HATE numbers, and I am the very last person on the planet you would ever want balancing your checkbook. I’m not a big gambler either, though I live in an area where a lot is tied to the gaming industry. From what I know, there are certain combinations of numbers that are considered lucky. 7 and 11 are usually lucky numbers while 13 has always been considered unlucky. There is a wealth of information for anyone interested in the whole superstition, but the actual term for the phobia or fear of Friday the 13th is friggatriskaidekaphobia. I don’t believe in lucky or unlucky numbers but then again I’ve never won the jackpot either. I do know this though, anyone who trusts their life to dumb luck or a crap shoot is a friggan idiot. I don’t believe in luck, but I do believe in signs. And I believe in Miracles as well, ESPECIALLY when Miracles can serve as a sign. When I left six weekes ago, I really had no idea where this journey would take me, but someone once told me that life is about the journey not the destination. If I’d have known where I was going I might not have seen the signs along the way.

Anyone who was following the blog a few weeks ago will probably remember Our Little Miracle. She doesn’t know it, but I learned a lot from watching and speaking with Miracle. She was my little cheerleader, literally. I moved out on my own uncertain of what the future would bring, but I found a little Miracle next door. More than once, she brought out a pom-pom or doll to show me and never just talked about herself. She asked a LOT of questions and freely gave her own answers and advice whether we asked for it or not. One day when she and my son were having popsicles outside, the boy complained about how hot it was and that his popsicle was dripping everywhere. The girl responded matter-of-factly, “Suck it up!” He literally sucked up the melting juice, but I think she meant for him to quit his whining or take his pity party somewhere else.

On her balcony cheering me on...

Miracle told me that her favorite doll is Tiana from The Princess and The Frog. Of course it is! All the little girls, and even the boys around here love that movie. The film is set in New Orleans and just down the bayou where the characters talk like we do, though not all of us practice voodoo. The story is different from most fairy tales though, and that is exactly why I think it is so great. Fairy tales evolve over time and change their cultural relevance, and the Disney version of the tale is the one that holds the strongest meaning to me. Unlike the early versions where a princess kisses a frog who then turns into her prince and they live happily ever after, the Disney animated version shows a hard-working Tiana in control of her own destiny. It was when Tiana chose to try the easy route to fulfill her dreams by kissing the frog that she found herself lost in the swamp. I think I know a lot of girls around here my age who could relate to that! And guess what – I wouldn’t want to be the poor prince responsible for fulfilling someone else’s dreams either. That’s the kind of pressure that bubbles up and pops on the surface of a seemingly stagnant swamp. You’ve got problems and troubles like the rest of us? Well as Miracle would say, “Suck it up.” We make our own choices, and we live by the consequences. When we make a bad decision, life’s not over. Paddle yourself out of the swamp. You’re welcome to just sit there on your lily pad sulking and waiting for someone to come along and pull you out too, but I’m willing to bet my own lily white you-know-what that you’ll be waiting for a while. There are no guarantees that what comes along will be a prince, and if he is who’s to say he’ll want to carry you. Our little Miracle moved away this weekend, but miracles always come and go don’t they? I think I’m strong enough to navigate the swamps and bayous around here on my own now anyway.

Miracle with her Tiana doll from The Princess & The Frog

Yesterday was 7/11. Those are supposed to be lucky numbers, but 13 years ago on 7/11 my dad died. I wrote my first blog post, My Hail Mary, for Facebook in the wee hours of the morning of Friday the 13th, and it was good for me. Maybe the whole numbers/luck thing is backwards which would explain my backwards figures in the checkbook too where I am most certainly NOT lucky. Maybe even God forced my hand, and I’m finally taking charge of my own destiny. Either way you roll the dice, the only safe bet you have is to rely on yourself. How can anyone else count on you if you can’t even do it yourself. I hope my kids at least take that lesson from my fairy tale regardless of how it turns out, and I’ll take notes about my signs along the way for them to read and learn from later.

Walt Disney

Mama’s Hobo Handouts Sunday, Jul 10 2011 


I’ve been thinking this morning over coffee, and I think I may have come up with an idea that’s going to make me & Mama rich. I haven’t exactly worked out all of the kinks in the plan yet, but the wheels are turning and I think I may have stumbled onto something brilliant. Allow me to think out loud here.

When I was away at school my last two years of high school and the four years following for college, my mom used to send me makeup and money in care packages. If she had time, she’d even put a sticky note in there saying, “Love, Mama.” Never home-baked cookies or long drawn out letters or anything because Mama was busy. She looked out for her girls though and would sometimes cut articles out of the newspaper warning us of life’s dangers with headlines like, “Why Women Should Always Carry Mace,” or “Pitt Bull Mames and Scars Well-meaning Dog Lover at Festival,” and stuck to the article would be a sticky note that said, “SEE! That’s why you never go around petting OTHER PEOPLE’S dogs!!! Love, Mama.” One time when I was “studying” in Spain for a summer, I called Mama collect and told her I needed her to send me some deodorant STAT. I was running out and decided not to purchase a foreign tube because the same-looking packages must contain different chemical compositions since too many people had offended me with their B.O. She apparently understood the gravity of the situation and high tailed it to K&B and subsequently the post office. When my package arrived a week later, I excitedly opened it in front of my friends and the gravity hung my head in shame when my friends saw the contents. Not one but TWO sticks of deodorant and…. well, no “and.” That was it. No cookies and not even a note this time, but I knew she loved me anyway despite the barren box.

My mama is one of those people who has a very hard time saying no. She also has a very big heart, so the combination doesn’t always produce desirable consequences. Take the homeless people, street corner hobos and the panhandlers from The WalMarts. We really have no way of distinguishing who is truly in need of a hand up and who is simply a con artist and when you walk away. Whether you have donated or not, you leave feeling a little disheartened. Were you duped and therefore perpetuated a practice that the businesses in the area frown upon because it drives away customers? Did you say no and may have just left a needy person hungry? Did you refuse to give money and give someone a box of pop tarts you happened to have with you only to be scolded by your lack of generosity from the guy requesting? I’ve done all three. Mama’s done all three. Mama went so far in a restaurant one time to give a guy $20 for the part he needed to fix his car in the parking lot only to have the staff approach her later and tell her not to do that again since the same guy has been run out of the restaurant many times before always leaving with a wad of cash from his con. “But he looked so nice and honest. He was all nicely dressed and well spoken!,” declared Mama. “That’s why it works for him,” declared the manager. Maybe she feels bad when she sees someone drooling because their mama didn’t catch the Seal A Meal correlation early enough.

One of my friends posted a picture a while back of her little “Hobo Bags – The Halloween Edition.” This girl is the cutest, peppiest thing to walk the planet. She has more energy that the Energizer Bunny and she never slows down. She always manages to take care of the kids, husband, house, business AND herself and she looks great doing it too! She sat down with the kids and made Hobo Bags for the homeless filled with little travel size wet wipes, toiletries, snacks and water and I thought it was a FANTASTIC idea! Win-win! She kept the kids busy and also taught them how to be charitable at the same time while providing something that’s useful and I’m sure appreciated by those who receive the little bundles from the back of her car. If she can figure out how to monogram a Ziploc bag, I wouldn’t put it past her to do it too.

Hobo Bags - The Halloween Edition

Here’s where my mind is going now though.I know a whole helluvalotta people who simply don’t have the time or don’t THINK they have the time or don’t want to SPEND the time doing this. BING! Why couldn’t Mama and I mass produce these little bags of joy and then sell them at a small mark-up to the LAZY charitable people?? I think there’s a whole market there that hasn’t been tapped yet. I mean, we’ve all learned to give back through time, effort and money aimed at charitable causes, but we’re still stuck wincing and walking around people sometimes at The WalMarts and city street corners. What if we ALL had Hobo Bags in our cars – even the Lazy Givers? Mama and I could make an assembly line at the kitchen table with Kendall Jackson and churn out a bunch of these puppies that the LGs (Not lesbians and gays although I’m sure there are plenty of lazy giving lesbians and gays too because I know some) could then PURCHASE from US to keep in their cars!! The LGs would feel good about handing out their bags, the truly needy people would be appreciative, the con artists would be PISSED, and Mama and I would make a nice little profit. Everybody wins!!! And then we could put a nice little sticky note in there that said something like, “Love, Mama ♥” People would get all warm & fuzzy, and Mama could make up for all the “practical” care packages she sent me and my sisters in college that I’m sure she feels just terrible about, bless her heart.

Y’all get ready because I think this is gonna happen. I’m going to get my people on it (as soon as I get “people”) so be looking for them on the shelves at The WalMarts. I think I’ll call them Mama’s Hobo Handouts!

Mayhem and Me Sunday, Jul 3 2011 


You know that guy from the Allstate commercials, Mayhem? Well I’m friends with him on Facebook. He’s with me in all my states of waking consciousness in life. I think one the best decisions I’ve made was finally accepting him as a friend and quit running away from him. He’ll chase you through the house, embarrass you in the carpool line and make your kids throw their chicken strips across The Olive Garden resulting in total mortification when the THUD hits the floor in front of the Cleavers at the next booth leaving you with the stabbing pains of guilt and humiliation. Just when I think I’m about to lose my ever-loving mind – which by the way I must say often enough that my boy has taken to repeating my tag line verbatim to Mario every time he crashes – Mayhem comes in and says something funny to break the tension.

Here’s the deal. Mayhem will let you embrace him. He just wants to be recognized. I pretended for a long time like he wasn’t there standing next to me pulling at my strings like a puppet master that caused me to look like some comedic poltergeist had taken over my body and those of my family for far too long. We hid him away like a crazy Aunt Edna that we kept in the closet so that we could all look perfect and proper. Well, guess what. Not anymore! Dude is coming along with me EVERYWHERE because he’s funny. He’s WAY funnier than his cousin Despair. I’ve made the mistake of actually INVITING that guy in and I’ll never do it again. It was my own fault really because I was the one the let that guy into our castle. The husband and the kids and even the dog had to pick up his mess. That’s the guy that you do NOT want around. He’s the one who makes you cry and sleep and cry again until you fall asleep. He’ll plop his tush on the couch and settle in with a bag of Cheetos and then have the nerve to ask you to bring him a beer and wipe his orange fingers on your lovely upholstery and there won’t be anything funny about it. (more…)

Our Town Friday, Jul 1 2011 


I woke up this morning to my very own custom-made publication. No, I have not been published YET, but it seems that my daughter has taken an interest in writing as well. In her version of the local crime blotter, the cub has taken to reporting the words and actions of her brother. I’m thinking this is NOT going to win her a Pulitzer, however a Pull-At-Her (hair) may be in store once little brother can read. The headline read, “Vampire In Town” so I’m not sure if this implied that he bit her or what, but she had been sure to clearly depict the villain in his superhero pajamas. There was a Style section, Sports section, and even an Entertainment section with movies and show times gathered from my little iPhone app. We seem to have created our own little city of sorts and every city needs a Town Crier. We have two, quite possibly three if I finally break by the end of Summer.

What got me going on this was my discovery a couple of days ago. A fight of sorts had broken out in the street, or hall, or whatever you want to call it. Sister was screaming that Brother had locked himself in his room with all of the checkers, and she could hear them clinking together as he counted his stash. That’s what I said – CHECKERS. This should NOT be cause for alarm on a normal day because she is usually TRYING to get him to stay out of her room and in his own. So WHAT was the problem? As best I could tell through the tears and high-pitched siren-like cries, Brother had stolen all of the “checkers” from the Connect Four game and was hoarding them in his room. She then explained to me that this meant she could no longer Do anything, BUY anything, or have FUN of any kind until she recovered her rightful portion of the loot. Slowly I began to understand. It seemed these two had reverted back to caveman days in more ways than one and devised a bartering system for goods and services here in Our Town. How civilized! Unexpected? Yes. Brilliant? Right on! I was so proud! This discovery meant there was hope for law and order in the Wild West after all. When one child wanted to borrow something from another, a price was set. If that price was mutually agreeable, then a deal was sealed, you checked out at the registers where checkers were exchanged and everyone was happy without calling in The Law, ME. “Now I get it! THAT’s what the little price tags posted in the bedrooms meant,” I thought. It was further explained to me that “reds” were worth $100 and “yellows” were a mere $1, and Sister had slowly accumulated ALL of the checkers. This was where I was going to have to mosey in and reclaim my town however.

I interrogated Brother for a few minutes after dismissing the complainant and found he had an understandable reason for stealing the checkers. The poor kid was literally poor. He had spent all of his checkers purchasing goodies from The Sister Store and had priced his own items in Brother’s Market unreasonably high. There was actually little demand for his supply of goods as the only thing he had become willing to sell or part with was broken pieces of toys and pictures of himself. It had become a buyer’s market and Sis wasn’t buying his wares. He also wasn’t willing to sell any of his alloted time on the Wii as he was in desperate pursuit of some special badge or title or trophy or something in his rat race with Mario. I had to feel sorry for the kid, but I couldn’t let The Village People run amuck. The was not the Y-M-C-A and boarders had to obey the law of the land. Once the situation had been explained to Sister, she took pity on the defendant and allowed him into her saloon with no hard time served. (Actually it’s really more of a Salon since she doesn’t serve the hard stuff – only Koolaid- and  Barbie Doll heads and nail polish are scattered about.) (more…)

Guys and Their Trucks Monday, Jun 27 2011 


I woke up this morning with BURNING PAIN in my hands. I think I’m going to have to face the fact that I have arthritis. There. I said it. And my first thought was, “How am I going to write today? I’ve gotten on a roll here, and doubt I can even sit down at the computer much less type out my thoughts on my iPhone which is primarily where I take notes.” Are you FREAKING KIDDING ME?! I just got going here, found a gift that I want to share, and have now gotten to where it HURTS to share it. I think if I were in a self-conscious or insecure stage right now, I’d take it as a sign, and y’all KNOW how big I am on signs now. I’ve gotten to where I don’t really force things anymore. I don’t look for the signs, because when I actually look for them, I miss what’s right in front of me. I guess, just thinking out loud here, that PERHAPS my sisters may be a little right about me being obsessed with my blog? Nah! Not me. Not ever. I just need to quit typing everything on a teeny tiny keyboard because it’s screwing up my mojo. I am not getting older either. This hand cramping thing is just a sign that drugs are good and I’m gonna get some. That’s all it is. Because I’m writing a book here, and the blog is just a teeny tiny portion of what I write every day. I’m living a dream, literally, and I’m documenting it as I go. And I’ll SIGN my book of SIGNS for the sisters when it gets published.

Before our big New Kids On The Block concert, we passed a giant truck just a few BLOCKS from my sister’s house. It said “Viva la Waffle.” I was SOOO wanting to jump out and take a picture in front of this cool truck/bus parked in the middle of a residential neighborhood, but my sisters wouldn’t let me because they thought I’d put it on my blog. There were cars behind us anyway. It stuck in my mind though. The BIG waffle truck. And it rolled right back through my mind later when my sister actually googled it and found that it is a new business that some guy is starting. Very cool, Man! I dig it! Viva la Waffle and viva the dream. I am going to live my dream too, and when I have my big book release party, YOU GUYS are gonna cater it for sure! I don’t know these guys from Adam – never met them. But I like their site and I’m pretty sure I’d like their story, too. Check ’em out.

http://vivalawaffle.com/

Yesterday when I was leaving my sister’s house in my dad’s truck, I was contemplating guys. And their trucks. And why they like them so much. Around here, I would say most guys drive trucks. Some are flashy, big, and expensive, and they serve as a sort of status symbol. Others are simply workhorses that aren’t really pretty to look at and may have lots of miles on them, but they get the job done. The trucks are often like the guys who drive them, huh? I remember one time in college going to a bar and dancing with a REAL cowboy. Here was his line, “You know that big white truck outside with the pink and blue pinstripes? Well, That’s mine.” And he grinned. “Um. OK,” I said. “Have fun with that,” I thought. And went back to my girlfriends. I think the line was supposed to impress me when his line dancing didn’t, and perhaps for some girls, it might. Not this chick though. Dude was BRAGGING about a pink and blue striped truck which sounded to me like something a hillbilly stork would use to deliver babies in some animated country bumpkin movie. Thanks anyway. NO babies, and NO guys with pink & blue trucks for me.

As I was stopped at a stoplight, still pondering GUYS and TRUCKS, you would not EVEN believe what passed by. (Maybe you would after hearing my bunny and Miracle stories though.) I was idling next to a funeral home and a guy walked into the street to stop traffic and THIS is what passed: (more…)

“One Shoe Can Change Your Life” – Cinderella Friday, Jun 24 2011 


After yesterday’s post, a few friends from my Fame-like high school responded to me in one way or another. One former classmate, now current friend, said she could only vaguely remembers me dancing and must’ve blocked my smooth moves from her memory. Gee, you think she’s jealous much? I don’t think she actually remembers anything at all because she was a year behind me following in MY footsteps at this junior and senior level school, and I don’t think I danced that year. By then, I had tippy-toed onto other things. She got me going on something here though, and I thought about the little plaque that hangs by my closet. It says, “One shoe can change your life.” I had this back at the old house, but it carries new significance with all of the changes and little creature friends now at this castle.

I grew up dancing – ballet, tap, jazz, modern. My first teacher was an inspiration and that inspiration came from her panties. Hear me out here. She was a BEAUTIFUL woman and as eccentric as she was beautiful. She used to complain about the humidity here messing with her hair and how she would probably have been better suited for a drier climate. When she wasn’t wearing flowers in her hair or a turban of some sort, she was actually known to wear a pair of panties on her head for rehearsals. She claimed that the inspiration went in one hole and the perspiration went out the other. I have GREAT hair, but I think I picked up a thing or two from her. My panties are worn in the proper place however, thankyouverymuch!

My sisters grew up dancing as well, and my mom spent hours a week on the road between the dance studio and the house since we were there every day of the week and usually weekends as well. One year we TOTALLY dominated the Christmas Rudolph performance. It was a Sister Act because from beginning to end, at least one of us was in every scene and surely as entertaining as Whoopi herself. My most memorable performance however was Cinderella. I got to perform a pas de deux as one of the Autumn Fairies with my friend. As only I would do, I found myself chatting it up backstage with one of the cute stage hands and missed my cue. What made me realize that I had missed my grand entrance you ask? Well, it was the giant THUD that came with the landing of Cinderella’s pumpkin. My partner was performing and tossed the big orange ball into the air blindly behind her expecting me to be there to catch it as rehearsed. Guess what. I was not. MORTIFIED, I galloped onto the stage and attempted to save the show. Remember the big Saturday Night Live performance when Ashley Simpson got cold busted lip syncing and did that bizarre little thumbs-out-wiggle attempting to save face and then blamed her BAND? I guess my scene unfolded a little like that. I flew in from the wings and faced the BACKDROP. And CRIED. But I still SMILED through the tears at NOBODY and MADE UP a bizarre little ditty like some comedic poltergeist had taken over my body while my teacher stared in total HORROR. I couldn’t even look at her. Eventually her voice broke through my fog, and I finished the second half of the dance as choreographed. God! It was like watching an awkward Ben Stiller movie, I’m sure. Picture him now in pink tights and a tutu and pointe shoes pirouetting. Not a pretty sight, but back to my point. Not a soul could cushion the fall from grace in those pink soles. I call that vivid memory, The Great Pumpkin Dance. And the first sounds of my teachers instructions were garbled like the Teacher from Charlie Brown. God, what a nightmare. Boy, I bet she misses me now, huh? If I have you on overload with my wordsmithing here, then tough. My brain works like that Bing! commercial and this is MY blog so you can keep up or step away. (more…)

Down With O.P.P.ossum Wednesday, Jun 22 2011 


This morning you’ll never guess what I was doing. Sitting on the balcony drinking coffee!! (You saw that one coming, didn’t ya?) And you know what I saw?… An OPOSSUM!!! Now I KNOW you didn’t see that one coming! And you know what else I did? That’s RIGHT!!! I got a video, of course. And in it, you can see the beast moving around scavenging. (or whatever opossums do) While I was shooting, (NOT Ellie Mae Clampett-style mind you. I was shooting with my iPhone, OK?) I heard the sirens in the background from a police car and that got me going on the whole Law & Order thing from yesterday. (The show AND God’s natural law and order of things) Let me present my case here:

I guess if the video isn’t working here, you can check back if you’re DYING to see what this creature looks like walking around. Someone’s going to have to explain to me why this video thing takes so long to process :-/

Oh Dear God. That thing is U-G-L-Y.!!! And it ain’t got no alibi. I can tell this even though I was far away and two flights up. From my little castle balcony it didn’t bother me tremendously to focus on it, but I’m thinking that would not be the same up close and personal. You know how when you have to clean up vomit? (Someone elses. Not your own. Actually, I’ve never had to clean up my own so I guess I wouldn’t really know now would I? I’ve always just flushed it down. OK. FOCUS HERE!! Back to the story) Vomit. When you clean it up, you do so out of your peripheral vision so that the mere sight of it doesn’t induce vomiting yourself thereby setting off a chain reaction that would rival the big blueberry pie scene in Stand By Me. Imagine it! The smell alone could set things off, and I’m thinking that the varmint out in the grass stinks to high heaven too. Like barf. Well, nobody really likes to look their problems straight on either do they? Sometimes they are ugly, and we’re scared of what’s going to happen if we do. What kind of chain reaction could follow? So we sweep them up, and sometimes under the rug, quickly and without REALLY looking at them. (more…)

« Previous PageNext Page »