Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Time to arrange an audition with Maurice Starr

If you heard the muffled screaming coming from my house this afternoon, don't worry yourself, I was only bathing Chumlee, one of my retarded cats.

I haven't had two of my three cats for very long.  As you readers and other hangers on may recall, my neighbor's two kittens came over the fence to my house after being left outdoors at home for several months alone.  They have joined my dumb gay cat Booger in terrorizing all of us.

Like every time I walk into the kitchen they think I should cram more food down their gullets.

Or like every time I attempt to sew they lay down smack in the middle of my project.

Or like every time I sit on my toilet they have to observe and critique, or plain stick their heads where they don't belong.

I only terrorized back. 

Chumlee has probably never had a bath before.  He protested most vigorously.  And this cat never meows.  Never.  He makes sweet little trills when he has something to say but otherwise he pads about silent and sort of brainless.  Throw him in a tub full of warm water and he sounds like a New Kids on the Block concert in 1989.

He brooded and licked himself while I cleaned the hair out of the tub with a spatula.

In the morning I'll discover a big pile of poop in my left house slipper.

On a related note, my 17 year old son went to a school function this evening absolutely drenched in Axe.  Despite any encouragement from us to utilize hygiene for the sake of human decency for the last four years, it looks like something or someone may have caught his attention enough to ensure he smells....pleasant.

I'll have him clean out his own tub with a spatula tomorrow.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Why running through the sprinklers will be a total letdown this summer.

In a reaction to recent events, which you can read about here, and here, and here, my husband and I have decided to stuff our family into our fabulous mini van this summer and drive them all to Disneyland.  It's time and we can sure use a dose of the happiest place on Earth.

We've taken our family to Disneyland once before.  I was asked to babysit two children for a school year and I agreed thinking that visiting Mickey could result from being paid for something I did all day long with my own children anyway.

That school year is why I will not agree to watch anyone else's children as a day job ever again.

Other people's children smell funny.  Meh...I won't write any more than that. 

Despite the daily loaded diapers that paid our way, our last trip to Disneyland was the most perfect family vacation ever taken.  It was a week of blissful family happiness without whining, tantrums, shouting, vomitting, bedwetting, burned dinners or unexpected donkey attacks.  Every second was easy, just easy, and fireworks every night ain't bad either.

I say that remembering that I shared a hot-tub at the Howard Johnson's with Bubba Bosephus and his tow-away cooler full of Pabst and I outdoor showered with a very large Samoan man at the beach.  If any of you wish to share some sort of personal space in a water venue near Disneyland with me, you'll find me very enthusiastic about every aspect of it.  You can fart in the hot tub even.

Disneyland, squee!

I'm expecting this vacation to be like the last one was, dammit, or else I will kick someone's ass.  See if I don't. 

As a bonus this time around, because last time we flew, we'll stop in Vegas on the way there and back.  This is just to get my 17 year old some of those trading cards they hand out on the strip. 

Exotic dancers, squee!

I am so looking forward to easy. 

I am also looking forward to our hotel room with a separate suite for Mom and Dad.

No Pabst necessary.

Monday, March 28, 2011

F You

Excuse me, but can I tell you something?  Something rather personal?  You let me know if I'm a bit too forward...

...but you look like you could use a good Firthing.

I can tell by that dullness in your eyes.  Winter's lingering and what's better to pull you out into a leafy green spring than a long determined Firthing?

You can start with Girl with a Pearl Earring.  Just to rev your motor a bit.

When you are sufficiently tingly, put on something more comfortable with Bridget Jones Diary.

Get  breathless with Love Actually.

Start sweating with Valmont.

Then go from "oh yes..." to "OH MY GOD YOU RAGING BEAST, HARDER HARDER HARDER!" with all six episodes of Pride and Prejudice. 

Then go take a pee and make a sandwich with Nanny McPhee. 

Then hit Pride and Prejudice again, the last two episodes at least, just because you can.

So there it is, put some spring in your step and go get Firthed.  You can thank me for the suggestion later.  Or, if you see me, we can trade knowing smiles.

Too long between Firthings and you'll go crosseyed.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Loading. Loading. Loading.

A beautiful thing happened at my house today, right before lunch.

No, it had nothing to do with the mailman.  I have to pick up my mail at the post office and unless I'm having a large package delivered, I don't see the mailman.  You have to get your large packages over the counter you know.

This thing of beauty is that I got rid of my constipated wireless internet and got shiny new internet wherein I can actually watch YouTubes!

Like this YouTube of me wearing a pair of spring loaded fake breasts...

That 18 second video didn't take 18 minutes to load. Joy!

There was a time where I was happy with my ISP.  I paid my bill on time and got bandwidth that I couldn't shake a stick at.  My web pages loaded in a timely manner and I could stream "Hoarders" reruns until I was satiated.

But then my ISP sold it's interest to another controlling internet providing company and they didn't mind cutting everyone's service to the speed of dial up's bastard cousin.  You know, the one that hasn't discovered any practical uses for soap yet and brags about how his friend knows how to use nun-chucks.

So we called, to complain about the "duh".

They gave us a work order number and a date...which came and went without sight nor sound of anyone who could rectify the issue.

So we called, to complain about that too.

...And we got told something about towers and waves and whatnot.  Still no one came to fix anything nor did our speed improve.

Then they wanted our money.

So I logged into my sludgy internet to bring up their website and go about accessing my account and paying my bill. 

Only to find out that they had no such service on their website.  They barely had a website.  Which makes a bit of sense because it was the only site I'd recently visited that might load through two tin cans and a string.  What internet service provider doesn't utilize the internet to run their business?

An ISP that has an ongoing F on the Better Business Bureau's website since 2006.

That's when their company called to offer a free upgrade from the perfectly adequate speed I wasn't getting despite several complaints to double the speed, which I wouldn't get either, for free. thank you.

Considering that they are a company that I didn't expressly consent to give my custom to, I fired them. 

Many people in my community fired them.  The technician that installed my wiring today has been enjoying the overtime for three weeks and will continue to enjoy it for the next three.  His spring break has gone all to hell.

I'm gonna stream porn during mine because I can!

I'm kidding.

I got done during the 18 seconds above.

Monday, March 21, 2011

Honey Done

Saturday I had every intention of being Ms. Handyman about the house.  I have a desk to refinish and some cove molding to install and a small patch of tile to lay and some cabinet pulls to screw in and raking to do in the backyard and some pre-weeding and spraying for ants.

I'm the Honey in the do list.  It works for my marriage because if my husband was the Honey in the do list, he'd end up staple gunning himself to something....and none of it would be level.  I enjoy it and he doesn't, so there it is.

Didn't cross one single task off my list though.  Instead of doing my chores like a good worker bee, I spent the entire day in bed with my husband.  No, not doing that, but just being in bed.  Being warm, being comfortable, being relaxed, being cuddled, being with my man.

That should have been the entirety of my honey-do list all along.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

I could switch to PopTarts and feel excellent about giving my kids a cookie first thing in the morning....

I am a horrible mother.  I've been a horrible mother ever since my oldest child could wield a spoon and shove food into his own gaping hole instead of me having to do it for him.

That is, for the last 16 years, for six out of seven breakfasts a week about, I've given my children some form of boxed cereal which was not served in the manner in which the back of the box details.  You know, with two slices of wheat toast or a warm buttered bran muffin, a teensy glass of fresh squeezed orange juice,  a bowl of fruit to the side to enhance the berries already sprinkled in the bowl, and maybe an egg, sunny side up.  Wholesome food served in a cheery yellow kitchen highlighted by the morning sunshine which will guide your child through the day and onward to Harvard.  After breast milk there is no meal more complete or nutritious.

Mikey, he likes it, straight up.  So do my kids.  They don't need your stinkin' serving suggestion.

Two weeks ago I sliced a banana into my boys' cheerios and they looked at me like I'd suddenly burst into flames and declared I was the Antichrist.

Let's do some math.  Say my family goes through a box of cereal a week for each kid since the age of one year old.  That's 16 times 52 for the oldest...832.  Next one is 11 times 52...572.  Last one is 5 times 52...260.   Add those all up and over the years our family has purchased 1664 boxes of cereal.

Now lets say the average box of cereal cost me three bucks...rounded up that's 5000 dollars worth of cereal.

I really think we've eaten more cereal than that but it's a good baseline.

It's not like I've necessarily purchased the kind of cereal that requires a cartoon to sell it either.  My kids are not cereal picky.  They'll eat bran flakes, corn flakes and shredded wheat.  Sugar isn't required either.  Lots of carbs and fiber is just as good as the fruity cereal that turns your milk that sickly pepto bismol vomit color.  Oh, there are marshmallows in my cereal?  That's just like a trip to Disneyland!

We draw the line at puffed wheat though.  Who eats that shit?

My apocalyptic tendencies will return tomorrow morning when I serve two of my three children a bowl of oatmeal with nuts and dried fruit in it.  I gots your four horsemen right here, who may also turn up their nose at oatmeal, which means they might not have enough energy to ride very far so I wouldn't worry about the end too much.  The horsemen can bite me.  I'm not their mother.  I stopped at one short.

My oldest child is having coffee and a high dose of testosterone.

So why the oatmeal after such a long and strong family tradition?

Because it's good for them dammit.  Eat it already.  If they can serve oatmeal at McDonald's and it's good for their profit margins then it's good enough for us.

Mama wants a trip to Vegas.

Monday, March 14, 2011

A reason to wear my good shoes.

Tomorrow morning is going to be dedicated to hygiene.  Most days I can get by with enough hygiene go to the grocery store in a hoody and long pants.  Tomorrow I am going to wash grey out of my hair and de-fur my legs.  Then I'll shove my hair into hot rollers and put on eyeliner and mascara.  There may be hairspray involved.

I'm attending a funeral.  Read back a couple posts if you want the details.  Between this and the devastation in Japan I don't have the headspace to re-type the details.  Not that funerals are ever something you look forward to but that this one shouldn't have ever had to happen.  My husband will be speaking and I very much want to look the part of his wife instead of this schlep he lives with.

Even my husband shaved off his beard.  That's something right there.

If he'd shaved his legs too I'd have to find something else to blame it on.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Alright, here's yer funny.

You know why cat videos go viral on YouTube?  Because cats are little turds, adorable little turds.   Most everyone has a soft spot for something so cute yet so retarded.

Today for instance; two of my three cats were perched on my bed waiting for me to come out of the bathroom after my shower.  There was a time when it was a somewhat difficult proposition not to have children waiting for you at the bathroom door, if not outright in the bathroom with you during your constitutional, but now my children have grown out of an urge to intrude.  I've replaced toddler bathroom monitors with feline ones.  My cats want to stick their heads into the toilet bowl while I try to put down the lid so they can watch the toilet paper or anything else in the bowl swirl down the hole when I flush.

So you close the bathroom door and the cats bide their time, trying the door hoping to find it loose, but if not they wait.  Did you shower?  You did?  I dislike water.  You showered.  I'll sit on the bed and think about how disgusting you are for the water. 

I can guess at my cat's thoughts and feel happy that my cats won't talk about my physical appearance when I come out in a towel.  I have never had qualms about drying off in front of them and getting dressed. 

That is, until today...

...when guessing at my cat's thoughts would be useless.  It went down like this.

Both cats had to be shoved off the clothes I'd laid on my bed.  Because when there are clothes on the bed that's where cats need to park their butts.  This is cat law. Then when I bent over to put my panties, one foot and then the other, and whilst drawing them up my legs, my cat Chumlee jumped up off the bed from behind me and attacked the underwear near to middling to my bum, almost shredding my sensitive areas with his claws.

....which was most unexpected. 

Both cats bolted from the room when I screeched, flailing, near naked, my legs bound together by half on underpants, trying not to fall on my face.

Now my elastic has more pops and snags.

There is your image of the day.  You are welcome.

Wednesday, March 09, 2011

The flowers will bloom again soon.

The evil thing that has happened in my little town has made it's way into news outlets nationwide. 

This gives me hope in a way.  People aren't so desensitized that this is beyond notice.  Have a news video.

This girl was one of my husband's favorite students.  The school is still reeling and today the anger has crept in past the numbness.  My husband has told his classes that there will be no making sense of this.  It's senseless.  But talking about it is ok and crying is ok and being angry as hell is ok, even in front of the class, for him and anyone else.

I don't know that it's proper that I represent my town in thanking people who didn't even know my part of the world existed for their empathy.  I know my husband appreciates the thoughts, condolences and grief expressed by many for her family and our little town.  Love is love and you take it when it comes.

It will be a while before the locals stop looking at each other with this unspoken sadness while serving the tourists that are trying to go about having a good time.  It's surreal.

My son, who is in the same class, read a poem he wrote at her candlelight vigil on Monday evening in front of 600 or more grieving people.  I am so proud of him.

How my husband has found ways to serve and help through all this has me as proud of him too, as proud as I've ever been.

Last week I was a bit sad about not building a home.  This week that's nothing.  I love my family.  If you have to take a life lesson from this, that would be it.  

...and hopefully I can be back to the funny before long. 

Sunday, March 06, 2011

Hug Your Kids

I'm sure many of you heard about the teacher who got suspended in Pennsylvania for writing unflattering blog posts about her profession and generally complaining about her students.

Or the teachers in Utah who are in hot water for carrying on a sexual relationship with the same underaged student.

I'm also sure many of you have followed the de-unionizing of state employees in Wisconsin, the teachers union in particular, in an effort to balance that state's budget.  How either teacher's unions are giant sloths or a tool of the under-appreciated and under-compensated.

Did you also hear about the teacher that went with a group of his fellow teachers and community members to help find a student that went missing Thursday evening, tramping miles and calling for the girl?

That teacher was my husband.  The search party went onwards Friday evening and Saturday morning. 

...and that student, this 16 year old child that was nothing but sweet, was found Saturday in a shallow grave in rough desert just outside of town, abducted and murdered.

So teachers, students and community gathered all that Saturday evening and all day Sunday at the high school to cry together, and support one another, and to give love to that girl's family. Our oldest son is part of her class, the class of 2012, consisting of 70 students.

It's cliche to say that "this sort of thing" just doesn't happen here.  But it doesn't.  In our tiny town, where everyone knows everyone, this sort of thing shouldn't happen here.  This was a town where children could spend hours outside playing without worry.  Endless hours riding bicycles or chasing bugs or playing hide and seek.

News is tight and that's as it should be right now.  I won't speculate. 

Justin is shook up.  Misbehaving students, unmotivated students, lazy students are the least of the nightmares in his career.  Having to lead students in his first hour class, her first hour class, and try to get on with the business of learning, is enough to bring him to his knees.  There is no lesson plan other to say that he loves his students.  He loves teaching and he loves his kids.

...and this nightmare isn't even close to the nightmare that her mother is experiencing.

My husband and others like him are the people that teach your kids, and my kids, every day.  They give and give and give.

They care.

More than you know.

Thursday, March 03, 2011

Wearing the Ruby Slippers

Hello, my name is Becky.  I'm a housewife.  I live in Nevada.  Nevada is this place in the western USA where there is much dry air which causes developers to build much real estate in boom times and foreclose on much real estate in recessions.  If you own a home in Nevada, where your mortgage is not upside down, and you have a job which will pay your mortgage as well as afford you some shoes, you aren't doing too bad.

I do have the choice of whether or not to willingly go barefoot and that is why we are going to refuse to purchase this new home that we've been negotiating to build for the last six months.

Yeah, I didn't mention that, did I?  I wanted to surprise my parents when the deal was solid.  I yak about it here and sooner or later a great aunt of an old schoolmate of mine tells my mom's next door neighbor who tells another neighbor and then my sister who also lives next door to my parents who then spills the beans.

However, the deal turned out to not be solid.  We got final numbers today, as modestly as we tried to keep our options, and it's as loose as breastfed baby poop.  It was needlessly more expensive than what we were led to expect.  The bottom line that they thought they might squeak out of us only served to make us shit our pants.  Then there wasn't enough diaper cream to prevent the raw seeping rash afterwards.

Since my parents have built many homes over the years and are experienced in what matters about home construction, we called Dad to confirm what we already knew.  That trading this old shithole with refinanced mortgage payments less than rent for a shiny and expensive new shithole would not be good in this economy much less our personal budget.  The breadwinner in my household is a teacher, aka state employee, in a time where state employees are getting the shaft with some token show of balancing the bloat.

I think I'm done using the word, "shit".  Don't hold me to that though.

Sorry, but if there is anything that living in Nevada has taught me, it's don't sign any papers giving away your soul so you can get starry eyed over granite counter tops, a garden tub and cathedral ceilings.   We. Can't. Afford.  It.   Our house plan included none of those and still the numbers kept on coming...insert another baby poop reference here.

There are ways to make more money, though, right?  Housewife sort of denotes a lack of employment on my part. Solves nothing though.  We'd go from one paycheck making enough to live comfortably to two and only making it paycheck to paycheck considering my earning power.  Everything that makes a home a home being drained away by trying to keep a house.  You can't sit on a mortgage like a nestegg and think it'll hatch.

Had they stayed in the parameters of the house payment we told them we could afford and they said they could deliver we wouldn't be having this problem.

Back to square one then.

Considering where our square one is, it's not a bad place to be.

At least here we have dry butts.  Spread that info around if you like.

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