Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Let's Learn Together

Let's face it, times, they are a changin'.
It's hard to keep up.

Do you find yourself thinking,
"What did she just say?"
"That makes no sense!"
"I don't get it."

It may be that you simply haven't spent
enough time studying the urban dictionary.

It's important to stay informed.
Even if it's only to know what our kids are saying about us.
I'll help you get started by showing you some of the new phrases
that have been recently added.

Text Purgatory
The time period one waits for a response to a flirtatious text.

Someone who is a shy introvert in real life,
but turns into a full-on extroverted party animal
on Internet forums and social sites.

Curb Shame
Embarrassment at waiting on the curb obediently
as other pedestrians ignore the "don't walk" signal in the absence of traffic.

When an elderly person, such as yourself,
complains incessantly about nothing.

Caller VD
When your caller ID identifies someone
with whom you definitely don't want to talk,
and you avoid answering them like the plague

The consumption of food undertaken to avoid
a dull or arduous task, irrespective of hunger levels or the time of day.

Cold Finger
Similar to cold shoulder, except a cold finger is done by
ignoring someone's text or facebook message--
usually when said person's comment is pointless or uncalled for.

Screen Saver
the blank expression that comes across a person’s face
when day dreaming.

Geriatric Bypass
The act of denying your actual age in order to give
others the impression that you are younger.

The regret you experience when you leave home hastily
without relieving yourself.

Postmodem Depression
The feeling you get when you haven't had access to the internet
(i.e. facebook and twitter) for a long time, like several minutes.

Immaculate Congestion
When traffic is backed up for miles on a highway,
crawling along -- and then suddenly everyone returns
to normal high speeds without passing an
accident, stalled car, or road construction.

To follow any type of car for any period of time
to watch the tv inside of the car.

Let's all try to use some of these in our every day conversations.


Tuesday, August 30, 2011

What We're Looking For Wednesday

Catchy Title
Or Not

My friend Kris is looking to add
to a set of dishes she found.
She put this info on her blog
and I thought it was such a great idea
to get everyone involved.

I mean, who knows thrift shops
better than your fellow bloggers?
You just never know who might run into these.

I've also been looking for plates
to complete a set I found at Goodwill. 
 Kris and I are both looking for bird themed

I figured it can't hurt to send word out
and see if anyone has seen these anywhere.
If you live in the Phoenix, Arizona area
or in the Corona, California area
and have seen any of the dishes that are
pictured below, please let me know.

Here's the set that I'm looking for:

Kris lives in the Corona area in California.
She's looking for these:
I will be heading to California to see Kris
next month so if you live in the Phoenix area or
Corona area, let us know and we can
go grab either set.

Also, let me know if you're looking
for anything in particular and I'll post it
on my blog.

This could be fun.
Or it could be a big pain.

We shall see.

addendum:  I just realized that today is Tuesday.
I'm leaving it.


Saturday, August 27, 2011

The Post Where Bev Puts Her Toe In The Water But Doesn't Get Wet

Remember my Blurry Friend Bev?
The one from yesterdays post?
Yup, that's her.

I've been telling her for months that she needs her own blog.
And she's been refusing.

Adjective: Bad-tempered, argumentative, and uncooperative.

Ok, maybe not Bad-tempered but definately uncooperative.
So I figured it might be a good idea to have her guest post on my blog
so she can see what the deal-ee-o is all about.

I would like to say that I do not agree
with her account of the email conversation
that she claims we had.

She makes me sound completely controlling.
Hard to believe, even though Jan
called me Miss Bossy Socks in the comments yesterday.

So, Bev did a guest post for me.

And here it is:

A few months ago, when Holly and I “met”,
she told me to start a blog.
I gave her a whole list of reasons why that isn’t a good idea -thought that was the end of it.
Evidently I underestimated her determination because
 yesterday I clicked on her blog and found my picture and her version of the truth.

And then you nice people completely overwhelmed me
with the kindest (and funniest) words ever.
Holly sent me a note last night telling me that if I’m not going to blog,
then it was up to me to explain it to you wonderful people
who had taken time out of your day to encourage me,
because she is washing her hands of the whole affair.

She also said that I should include pictures in my explanation,
otherwise blog posts are boring.
And she has standards.
But I’m no photographer (also on my list of reasons I can’t blog),
so I’ll just include pictures I’ve saved of stuff I want from Pottery Barn.

So…here goes…written in Holly-style formatting…

Why I can’t blog. Reason #1:

I FOLLOW quite a few blogs.
In fact, I may have a serious addiction to decorating blogs.
 I used to FOLLOW many more than I do now.

Several months ago I noticed a disturbing trend in a few of these blogs.
People who probably wouldn’t even open the door to a stranger,
were having major, life-changing, hormonal breakdowns on their blogs.
Sometimes with hundreds of followers along for the ride.
I’m not talking about a bad day or a bad week here and there.
But day after day and week after week of telling all their business.

In detail.

Naming names.

Filters had left the building, y’all.

One week they were demonstrating chalk paint methods
and decoupage in their picture-perfect homes
and the next week we hear that their husband
is a low-life, scumbucket s.o.b. who never appreciated
a single thing they ever did even after I bore his enormous children
and I should have known better because
I’ve always thought his eyes were too close together
and what did I expect after I met that cold controlling witch
who called herself his mother and last night I dreamed
that I was flying away on a cloud and he and his
whole trashy falling-down-drunk family
were stranded on a desert island and I was blah blah blah blah

Oh my word.

Somewhere around the third day of this,
the tone of their posts would change.
Instead of focusing on the low-life scumbucket, you, the follower, became the focus:

“You’re going to leave me – my followers!
This is too much! You’re all going to leave me just like everyone else.
I just know that’s what you’re thinking. I just know it!”

Although I hadn’t been thinking that, now it’s all I can think about.

It’s just like that situation with the boyfriend in the 11th grade all over again.
The one you found out too late was needy and had no self-confidence.
Who took everything as a sign you were about to break up with him.
“Just like every girlfriend before you”, he would whine.
For the first dozen or so times he brought it up, you sweetly reassured him.
Eventually you started wondering if he didn’t have something there.
And then you started trying to figure out
exactly when you could gnaw your arm off to get out of the trap.
And you felt really bad about it, because he gave you that cool 8-track player for Christmas.

Or a kidney.

But you did it anyway. And you still feel like crap about it.

So for days, my finger would hover over the UNFOLLOW button
until one day I could resist no longer.

It’s the 11th grade all over again.
So how does this relate to anything? I’ll tell you how.

Filters. And hormones.

Or lack of both in my case.

Make me afraid to blog.

Suppose I start a blog and then I end up in the midst
of one of those downward emotional spirals that happen to all of us?
I mean, who hasn’t told too much of their business to
50 or 75 of their closest friends at one time or another?
You know.
Like telling about the time your brand new husband
“forgot” Valentine’s Day,
then panicked at the last minute and ran out
 at 7:00 p.m. and bought you a waffle iron for crying out loud?

That time.

(totally fictitious example)

But this blogging stuff is a whole different ball of wax
than sobbing uncontrollably on the shoulders of your girlfriends
and the stranger in the waiting room at the oil change place.

Suppose I started a blog and that totally fictitious situation
happened right after I just got my 999th follower
and Pottery Barn had just signed on as my sponsor?

And suddenly instead of giving you tutorials
on how to make completely useless non-absorbent linen dish towels,
I’m giving my family all the evidence
they’ll need for my (in)competency hearing …
documented in my very own words on a blog.

Lack of filters, lack of hormones and a public forum. A really bad combo.

And this is just one of the reasons I can’t start a blog.


Friday, August 26, 2011

I Should Make You Sign a Waiver

I should make you sign a waiver
because when you see this
you could die from the cuteness!
And if that doesn't do it,
you could die from the disappointment.

I have a stalker.
I know, you're jealous right?
Bev has been blog stalking me for quite some time.
And we email back and forth.
I've been calling her Gladys Kravitz
and she calls me Samantha.
And she is hilarious.

She doesn't look like that though.
She looks like this:

But in real life, she's probably not this blurry.
But I've never met her so I can't be sure.
I took this pic from her Blogger profile.

But from looking at this picture you can tell that
1) She reads books
2) She plays the piano
3)  She only wears black slacks
4)  She weaves giant rugs

Actually I have no idea if any of that is true.
Just work with me here, people.

Anyway, I received a package from her in the mail today.
Look what she made for me.
Ready to die from the cuteness of it all?

Tea Towels!
Or as Bev calls them,
Completely useless non-absorbent towels.
Click on the images to see them up enlarged.

Look Closer:

Embroidered in Aqua and Red!
My two favorite colors.

I am in love with these.
I would marry them if I could.
Shoot, I would even marry Bev if I could.

***Awkward Pause***

So, did the cuteness kill ya?

Here's the disappointment.

Bev does not have a blog.

I know, right???!!

I've been trying to convince her to get started
and join the ranks.
But she's holding out on us.

So, what I am asking you to do is,
if you leave a comment on this post,
can you write it for Bev.
And tell her she needs to start a blog?
And an Etsy shop?

Because, really, who wouldn't buy one of these?
Or two?
Doesn't every blogger need a completely useless
non-absorbent tea towel with your name on it?

I know I did.

You are awesome!
Thank you! Thank you! Thank You!


Thursday, August 25, 2011

The Post Where I Sing You a Lullaby and Almost Die.

Ok, so yesterday I posted about
 how I may never become a Grandmother.

I didn't tell you the whole story.
The story about my lunch with Daniel was true
but I didn't explain why my daughter
does not want to be a mother.

It's not that she doesn't like children.
She does.
The fact is, she decided years ago
that she would never do to a child what I did to her.

We have a family tradition here.
There is a lullaby that is sung to the babies in this family.
I sang it to my children.
My grandmother used to sing it to me.
Her grandmother sang it to her.

We lovingly refer to it as "The Dead Baby Song."
And it's meant to be soothing.
And it always puts the babies right to sleep.
I have no idea the origin of this song.
Or why someone thought it would be
a good idea to sing this to a child.
But tradition is tradition.
And so we sing.

I was going to just write the words down for you
but then I decided that I would try to sing it for you on my webcam.
Because I don't have a fancy video recorder.

Here is the debut of the first ever video blog post
where I wow you all with my amazing video skills
and you can see how natural I am in front of the camera.

Son of a Biscuit Eater!
Did you see that??!!
I just choked on my own spit
and almost died.
Thank you to all of you who stopped immediately to pray for me.

Those of you who laughed should
 pray now because you're
probably going to hell.

Let's try that again, shall we?

So there ya have it.
Do I deserve to be a grandmother
or not?

Am I being cruel and unusual?


Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Why I Need to Learn to Knit Booties.

My Dear Darling Daughter, Katie,
has always said that she never wants children.
She doesn’t want to be a mother.

That alone isn’t the real tragedy.
The tragedy lies in the fact that I fear
that I may never become a grandmother.
Because, really, isn’t this about me?

Did you hear me??
I may never become a grandmother!
No one will ever call me Meemaw!
It’s just tragic.
And too sad for words.

So of course, as I always do
when I'm faced with the possibilityof one door closing,
I look around for the next one to kick down.

And I met my son for lunch yesterday.

Immediately after receiving my salad I started in.

Me: “Do you think you’ll ever have kids?”

Dan: “Sure.”

Me: “Really??!! You plan on having children?”

Dan: “Well, yeah. After I get married and turn 30.”

Then I get all nonchalanty-like.
Like it’s no big deal.
Like the rest of my life doesn’t depend on this conversation.

Me: “Oh, that’s nice.”

And then I go one step too far.

Me: “So, can I name your first child?”

Dan: “Only if it’s a girl.”

Me: “Why only if it’s a girl?”

Dan: “Because I have my son’s name picked out already.”

Seriously, how sweet is that?
My son has actually given this some thought.
He has lovingly pictured this child in his mind.
And chosen a name for my grandson.
I want to pull out my scissors and take
a lock of his hair and paste it in a book
so that I'll remember this moment forever.

Me: “So, what are you going to name your son?’

Dan: “Optimus Prime.”

And you know what?
There are worse things in the world
than being called Opie.
I hear Ron Howard is doing just fine.


Tuesday, August 23, 2011

I Joined A Gym Once

My daughter is at the gym right now.
Trying to get her size 2 body into shape.
Yes, she has really let herself go.

I just went out and bought a swimsuit
that was on clearance.
And that got me thinking
about the time I joined a gym.

My children were still young and I was a stay at home mom.
I still carried that baby fat and decided
that I could kill two birds with one stone.

I could lose some weight and get in some "me" time.
I would go after my husband got home from work.

I signed a two year contract,
for $29.99 a month.
Yes, young people,
you had to sign contracts then.

I got my fitness assessment by someone that could
only have been named Candy, or Barbie, or something else
with an ee sounding name.

Had my BMI measured with the pinchy things - 97%
or something equally as humiliating.
And then on to my training.
Where I ran, and stretched, and sweat, and cried.

If we're going to be friends,
you should know this about me.

(Dad, stop reading now!)

I hate to sweat and will only do so voluntarily,
for sex.
And sometimes not even then.

So, after that first session, I was pretty miserable.
Until I walked past the Smoothie Bar.
I could totally be a gym person!

You had never met a more dedicated gym goer. 
I would pack my gym bag with
a good book, and my swim suit.

I would sit in the Jacuzzi for 30 minutes and then sit
and read my book
while drinking a smoothie.
And enjoy the cool frostiness without any children
begging for anything.

The Smoothies were $4.95 each.
I went 4 days a week.

Including my gym membership,
I spent $110.00 a month
to gain 15 lbs.

And that's why I don't work out anymore.
And why the swim suit I just bought has a skirt on it.


Monday, August 22, 2011

One of Life's Best Lessons

I once had a bowl
of two week old macaroni and cheese under my bed,
a bird's nest with an unhatched smelly brown egg in my closet,
and enough Snicker's wrappers in my underwear drawer
to wallpaper my bedroom.
And I didn't care who knew it.
That was who I was at the age of 13.
Just ask my Dad.

I don't remember anything significant in my life
that changed me from Grody Girl to OCD Lady.

I just know that at some point, I liked a clean house.
I liked my floors clean.
And my bathrooms spotless.

I would spend hours each day cleaning,
waiting for someone to make toast so I could wipe up the crumbs.
Vacuuming my carpet over and over again,
and making sure the vacuum lines made a pretty pattern on my floor.

There were nights that I couldn't fall asleep knowing
that the dishwasher needed to be unloaded.

The thought of entertaining would throw me into a tailspin.
Sleepless nights prior to people arriving.
Worry some more.
Everything had to be perfect.

And then something happened.

I went to Indiana to visit a friend I hadn't seen in several years.
Her home was beautiful.
But it was much more than that.
It was homey, and comfortable, and slightly messy.
There were a few dishes in the sink.
She was in the middle of folding laundry in the living room
when I got there.

Nothing was pristine,
yet it was just so perfect.
She didn't apologize for the mess.
She ignored it and paid attention to me.

Instead of feeling like I'd made some grand arrival as a house guest
it felt more like she was my next door neighbor.
The kind of house where you walk in through the back door
without knocking.
And help yourself to something in the fridge.

And everything changed for me then.
I still like a clean house,
always will,
but my house is now comfortably messy.
I don't worry about it any more.

I'm comfortable with people coming over without calling first.
I'm fine with people seeing how we really live.
We're messy at times.
It just doesn't matter.
Truly, it doesn't matter.

If you want to come to my house,
just come.

I may run the dust mop over the kitchen floor,
I may wipe the dog hair off the couch,
and I'll definately make sure there are
no short curlies on the toilet seat.

Other than that, what ya see is what ya get.
And isn't that refreshing?


Saturday, August 20, 2011

To Tell the Tooth

This is a true story.
Possibly the truest story ever told.

My son is now all grown up
but when he was a little snot goblin child
he always did the strangest things.
For no apparent reason
other than to see me freak out.
One day I got a call from his preschool teacher
that I needed to come and pick Daniel up
because he had fallen and cut his lip.

When I got to the school
he was sitting there with an ice bag on his face.
And his shirt was covered in blood.

I asked him what had happened
and he said that he fell on the sidewalk
and his tooth cut his lip.

"Let me see", I said pulling the ice away.
The lip was bloody and swollen
but didn't look too bad.

I looked inside his mouth and his front teeth
had obviously been hit pretty hard
because they were starting to turn black.

I got him into the car
and rushed to the dentist.
I asked him several times on the way
if his teeth were hurting.
He said no, they weren't.

I got to the dentist
and told the receptionist that we needed
to see the dentist immediately.
She asked if we had an appointment because
they were extremely busy that day.
I told her we did not but that it
was an emergency.

I showed her Daniel's teeth and she
asked him if his teeth hurt.
He told her that they did not.
She then went back to get the dentist.

When the dentist finally got in to see him,
he wasn't very happy that he had to
arrange his schedule to accommodate my child,
which ticked me off.

This was a flipping emergency!

He looked at his blackened teeth
and said, "Ouch, that looks like it hurts!"
Daniel told him that no, it didn't hurt.

The dentist left the room saying something about
getting some xrays.
I sat alone with my poor baby boy
still wearing his bloody shirt.

I told Daniel,
"I don't know why your teeth don't hurt.
They're turning black."

Daniel smiled at me and said,
"I colored 'em wif a pencil."


"I colored 'em wif a pencil when I got to school."

We left under the pretense of
being upset with the entire staff, stating,
"We'll find a dentist who cares!"
as I pulled Daniel out the door.

And then I called the insurance company
and changed our dentist. 

The End


Friday, August 19, 2011

Still Not Martha

I went to Dollar Tree yesterday because I needed
poster board for my garage sale signs.
While I was there I looked around at
the new school supplies.

I found this magnetic holder
that was designed to put inside a locker.
The back has two pretty strong magnets.
I used some scrapbook paper and ribbon
to pretty it up.
And now I have it hung
on the side of my refrigerator.
It holds my notebook and pen
for my grocery lists.

Still not Martha.
But I like it just fine for $1.00!

I'm linking up to
At Under the Table and Dreaming.

You should too!


Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Well Grassy-Ass to You Fella!

An unsuspecting redhead (UR) 
emerged from the corner Circle K
with the obligatory Diet Coke
into the blinding hot Arizona sun.

Up walks a tall Hispanic male (HM)
 with a pony tail and a tattoo of a tiger on his neck.
He hands her a CD before she can utter a word.
 On the cover is a picture of an old tennis shoe
laying on a gravel road.

HM: Dees is a CD of my freends band.
         Day jes won choo to leesen to dare music.

UR: (trying to hand back the CD) um, no, but thanks.

HM: But ees free!

UR: I only really listen to Country music but thanks.

HM: Its has two Country songs een it.

UR: Oh, well, okay, thanks.

HM: We jees wan a $5 donation.

UR: (trying once again to hand back the CD)
          Really, you can take it back. I won’t listen to it.

HM: But they is reeel good.

UR: How about a dollar?

HM: Ok, you leesen to it tonight.

She gave him a dollar
and jumped into the Jeep and locked the door.
Turned the CD player on and popped it in.
There were about three beats of music
then just some scratching noises.
The man was standing next to another car
 talking to someone else.
She got out and walked up to him.

UR: Um, this doesn’t work.

HM: Choo got a receipt?

UR:  Why did you give me a CD? 
          Why didn't you just ask for money?

HM:  Hey Lady, I'm a beesnus man.


Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Yellow Thunder and Clutter Busters

At about 5:30 last night
there was a deafening roar above our house.
A helicopter hovered about 15 feet above our roof
for 10 minutes.
Yellow Thunder.
And then landed in the parking lot behind our home.
The parking lot belongs to a Senior Recreation Center.
We like not having neighbors behind us.
It's always quiet back there.
Old people are pretty low-key.
They sat there for about 5 minutes.
And then took off again.
I have no idea what was going on back there.
But they headed straight
for a major trauma center.
Scary stuff Maynard.

Subject Change:

I've been going through my house
and sorting through what I can get rid of.
It's ridiculous the amount of stuff we have.
I'm not a hoarder.
Not by a long shot.
I don't need a lot of stuff,
but it does tend to accumulate.

Our plans are to move in one year,
so I'm getting a head start.
I want to live more simply.

I'm considering getting rid of most
of my scrapbooking materials.
They take up so much room.

I think I'll either try to sell it on Craigslist
or have a garage sale.
Crazy, Right?
That's not even a quarter of it.

I also have lamps,
and Fiestaware Dishes,
kitchen goods,
Just too much stuff.

I'm hoping to buy a much smaller home.
It will be just the two of us.
We only need two bedrooms.
I'm tired of cleaning this one.

We are wanting to simplify our lives
and buy cheap and get it paid off before we retire.
When I say we, I mean me.
Brian still has the wants.
"I want that!"
"I want that!"

Ninety percent of the stuff in the
attic is his.
And it hasn't been used in two years.
But he believes he still needs
every single thing up there.
What do I know?
Maybe he does.

But I have my doubts.

I want to live in one of these
teeny tiny houses.

Photos from here.

But have you seen my husband?
The rather large truck driver dude?
He's like a happy buffalo.
Walking through the house and
bouncing off the walls.
Those houses probably wouldn't work
for us.

But I'm still on a mission to
get back to the basics.
Room by Room.
Closet by Closet.
Drawer by Drawer.
It's gotta go.

And that's all I have for today.