Monday, May 24, 2010

Got Loops.

There are only so many carpet samples you can look at over in a weekend before you start making lewd carpet jokes.

I'd repeat them here but it turns out that you had to be there.  No one appreciates a lewd carpet joke like flooring patrons in Salt Lake City. 

I didn't even get into Utah being the Meth Capital of the World.  As far as I could see none of my co-patrons were sucking on the berbers or missing teeth.  A little too early in the day for that I suppose.

This summer I get carpet.  I'm looking forward to living like civilized folk.  No more shall my progeny use sidewalk chalk right in the middle of the living room.  No more do I need to wash the floor with a brush after my progeny has written the words they heard at school with sidewalk chalk in the middle of my living room.

And Lo...furious anger shall rain forth from the heavens if any of my progeny spill any body fluids of any sort upon the new carpet. I can keep that from happening.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010


If I use a euphimism about an incredibly frustrating part of my life, do you think I can get away with writing about it?

Because, if I don't use a euphimism and just right out say it, someone might find what I write and have a hissy.  I know this because I've been exposed to hissy fits before and I don't like it none too well.  These are much like the whining and screaming involved in my four year old's tantrums.  More about noise than about logic.

I might be saying too much there but I think I'm an expert in the tantrums of toddlers and I know one when I see one.

Speaking of, the real fussing, whining and tantrums of my real four year old child are getting real old.  Trying to explain why life isn't fair and why he can't play with some of his brother's toys and why one must eat a dinner type meal at the dinner hour and why it's sensible to not keep an obnoxious pile of toys in the middle of every room, is an interaction with this child I could do without on an every fifteen minute basis.  While my other two children have had annoying habits, neither were whiners, and that this last one IS has my head swirling in amazement at the fact.  What in the world did I eat during that last pregnancy to cause such nasal complaining?  Was it craving bad fast food fish sandwiches?  I bet it was.

Back to euphismisms.  I haven't come up with a truly satisfying word or group of words to express exactly why I'm upset in an ongoing way.  In August it ends and then I can use terms everyone will understand.  Maybe.  I'll have to check with someone who hasn't lost their brain cells to this particular euphism first.  Then, watch out, I'm gonna spew and it's going to stick like loogies to every surface in a ten foot radius.

After the spew I can then direct my frustrations in a more satisfying way.

A way which may or may not include D batteries, chocolate and a long hot bath.

I'm just not dealing with my euphemism well anymore and it's become a giant vacuum in the room.  It sucks my creativity and it's caused me to jump on some decisions in my life that I was hoping to have more wiggle room in making.

Like...I dunno...moving from our current corner of rural casino hell to a location that affords me and my family the possibility of not drowning in a corner of rural casino hell.  Yeah, in this economy when my husband is a public school teacher dependent on public tax dollars who doesn't feel qualified to coach an income producing athletic program.  Shit.  When I was a little girl all I could dream of was becoming a 40 year old cocktail waitress in a land where there are no trees.  It would be something to live in a place that has a DMV closer than 120 miles.

Or rushing to finish home renovation so at the very least we can move to another residence in my rural casino hell that has a room where children can be quarantined and mom can sew, or produce other works that enhance my adult sensibilities, without overhearing hours upon hours of the noise of mass produced anime and Mythbusters.

Or finally having the opportunity to explore any of what makes me a whole human woman after sixteen years of 24/7 childraising, by my choice and by our sacrifice.

Also, my husband's mother died on the 30th.  That's not the euphimism.  You know the euphimism has got to be worse when I pull this occurance this far down into the post.  It wasn't exactly unexpected even though she was far too young.  My husband agrees on both parts.

Trying to find a way to write a blog post first thing in the morning, over the rumbling of the hoover, is like trying to ring a bell around a cow's neck by shoving your arm up it's backside and trying to yank on it's uvula....hindered by clogged loogie.  Near impossible, ya know?  So I may or may not get to it in the afternoon after I've had my fill of everything else.

I am starting to feel better about it all though, writing it here, even if I can't flesh out my euphismism just yet.  I wasn't sure how to do such a thing before today and I still don't think I was entirely successful at this attempt.

That's OK though.  One brick at a time tears down a wall.

Thanks folks.  For bearing with me.  I appreciate it

Monday, May 17, 2010

My brain is currently under construction.

If someone could hold this level for me, I'd appreciate it.

Tuesday, May 04, 2010

You mean I don't yell out "Bingo!" when I get dealt a pair of Aces?

It's awful convenient to live in an armpit of a casino town when Texas Hold'em poker is so popular on TV. Any given time of the day is a good time to sit in a smokey room, quietly peeking at just the corners of your cards, trying not to make any gestures whatsoever, and every once in a while bothering the cocktail waitress for skunky beer.

Except for the beer bit, this is what my husband likes to do from time to time. Sometimes he gets a hardcore table where absolutely no one utters a peep and they all suck down camels...or he gets a table full of noobs and he makes a bunch of money off them.

Rarely though, there is a person with boobs at the table.

Scratch that, there are men with boobs at the table most of the time. There aren't any people of the feminine persuasion who could rightfully lay claim to the validity of their breasts.

I'm told that if I went and played poker with my husband that I could make a killing even off my A cups.

If I was sporting what several unconfirmed websites say are 36c's, I could play poker like...

...Jennifer Tilly.

...who counts the odds with her brains and shows off her cleavage just as a matter of course.  They're nice, both the brains and the boobs, so keeping both loosely slung is of benefit to everyone.

However, I'm not one for sitting at a table with a bunch of men with boobs bigger than mine, staring each other down, trying to hide buffet produced skunky beer farts with huge puffs of camels and cigars.  No one will laugh when I quip about skinny dipping in the river.  Shut up woman and don't you dare check raise.

As much TV poker as I've tried to ignore while my husband watches, I don't recall ever seeing Jennifer Tilly checking and then raising.  No one tells her to shut up either.

Oh Jennifer Tilly, you flop anticipating tart!  Why do you attract my husband so?  Sorry, dumb question, it's your strong pocket pair. 

Yes, I said it.  It isn't Jennifer's poker face.   Definitely wasn't that movie she made with Gina Gershon either.

Jennifer, I cordially invite you to Bendover to play a few hands.  All things given, you have permission to figuratively beat the pants off my husband on the felt.  Literally too, I guess, call it a birthday present.

Monday, May 03, 2010

Child Restraints

If I didn't have more resolve you folks would have to convince me into not engaging in some very tempting behavior.

Behavior which has nothing to do with gambling, alcohol, sex or chocolate. There isn't one single baked goodie involved. Fattening is relative with this one.

I want to make fun of someone.


Just because I can and not because this person did anything in particular to deserve it other than existing and that existence being somewhat annoying yet fascinating.

I could do a real job of work of it too. It would be easy to mix a mirthful bit of passive aggressive jabbing with outright blunt observances. If we could put "yo mamma" up on a literary pedestal I would be the one heaving it up there today, that is, if I didn't have any way of controlling myself.

Then all of you would giggle along with the dry little snark-fest that is my words and agree that this person had painted a target right on the center of their forehead. What a putz.

What's stopping me from making fun of someone today, unlike all the other people I've made fun of in the past?

I just don't want you to think it's you.

Though it could be.

But most likely it isn't. Of course not.

However, if I posted the completely random photo that I came across today that prompted this post, a person would know it was them.

Even if I photoshopped a target on it.

Self control people. I has it.


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