My house is in total chaos as I try to complete my classes early, make some career decisions, and get ready for Christmas. Since I work from home and know nobody, I have been looking forward to meeting many of my coworkers at the Christmas party. It occurred to me this morning that I have never been to a company Christmas party in my life, so I went all WHATDOIWEAR because I don't really dress up much and I also hate to be cold. The articles I found stressed modesty, so I have decided on blankets. Lots and lots of blankets. I'll be warm, modest, and within my budget. Also some jazzy earrings to add festivity.
I didn't actually find as many articles on how to dress as I did on how to act. This is why I've made for you, Interwebz, a list.
The 15 Tips for Your Office Christmas Party
(according to the Internet):
1. Under no circumstances are you to drink anything that is offered to you. Beer is too informal and anything else is too intoxicating. Water will insult your host. Instead, keep a flask (of WATER) to sip from when nobody is looking to prevent dehydration.
2. Dress as you would for work, but exchange one accessory for something glittery. So go ahead and wear your power suit, but add a sequined blouse. For men, apparently belts are a big deal. I've never noticed a belt on a man in my life, but according to the internet, it's ok for your belt to be a just a leetle extra shiny for a holiday party. Rock on, dudes.
3. "Don't act like a slut." This seemed to be a pretty big deal on the internet, so I have to assume that people acting slutty is fairly common at office parties, even as its frowned upon by higher ups. Most of the articles seemed to place all the work in this department on the women, as "men are pigs" (not my words -- the Internet told me) and there is clearly nothing we can do about that.
4. While slutty behavior is a no-no, it seems that the office party is THE ONLY chance you'll ever have to find out if your office crush is crushing back. The only solid advice I could find on this one was "try to stick with singles to avoid that 'deer-in-the-headlights' look come Monday morning." Ya think, Internet?
5. I did read one article that allowed drinking, but only after every other coworker is completely wasted. In this way, you will avoid any recollection of your bad behavior and from my understanding, the boss is supposed to show up in your office the next day to promote you directly after he's done firing everybody else.
6. Your shoes must contain glitter. This HAS to happen or you'll have to give up all tax exemptions in the new year. (Women only on this one, fellas...but don't forget your festive belt!)
7. You are not allowed to talk about work, religion, politics, or anything too personal, but somehow karaoke has been deemed acceptable. This means that the only time your mouth is moving is when it's embarrassing you into a microphone. I can't tell you how much I love this.
8. Every article I read warned not to forget your dance moves. This, along with karaoke, makes me question the maker of The Rules. I know I am new to this, but does a world really exist where one cannot imbibe of drinks in the presence of one's coworkers, but is allowed -- nay, expected -- to dance? Also, in my case, if there is public dancing involved people are pretty much going to assume I've been drinking no matter how well I followed the rules.
9. Do not either lavish praise on or complain about your boss. These areas of conversation are to be confined to the workplace.
10. Bring your spouse, but only if they also follow the rules on drinking and not speaking.
11. Don't do anything that anybody will remember. We have social media now. Not only will you go down in office gossip history, but you'll most likely go viral as well.
12. Your entire outfit should fit into a briefcase to eliminate crowding the bathroom. I don't know why, yo. I guess if the party is directly after work, people are all in there trying to glitter up their wardrobe so it's best to keep you glitter at your desk. Or something. It definitely involved glitter, though. And briefcases. I don't have a briefcase, but I also have my own bathroom so I think I can skip this one.
13. You are supposed to make conversation with your boss's wife. I am not sure how you are to do that what with all the rules about what not to talk about. Maybe you could do some kind of karaoke duet with her. I don't know. I didn't make the rules, guys.
14. If your boss gets drunk and falls off the table he's dancing on, you are NEVER allowed to speak of it. This is kind of a bummer, but don't do it. Career suicide, that one. Seriously. Don't talk about it. Also, check to see if you've friended him on Facebook before posting the pictures.
15. This one was a shocker to me, but apparently, you are NOT to sneak leftovers into your pockets to take home for later. I thought this was the traditional means of asking for a raise, but it is apparently a pretty big item on the Do Not list. Who knew?
Dec 6, 2011
Nov 24, 2011
Happy Thanksgiving, Interwebz!
Oh, HAI Interwebz! heh I guess I didn't see you there. I've been meaning to call, you know. I've just been so busy. You know me! Busy, busy, busy! Sorry 'bout that! haha I mean, I've only casually been seeing this other blog and it's not like it means anything. It's just better for me. My only true love is you, of course. heh
So anyway, how are you Interwebz? I want to hear alllllll about you. I have a turkey sitting in the oven getting all cooked without any intervention from me, so I have approximately four more hours to hear about you.
Oh, who am I kidding? Blogging = self-centered chit-chat about me, right?
I have been very busy working and also I hate school now. I wanted to quit, but instead I'm just trying to get done super fast so I don't have to go anymore. My new need to spend all spare time on homework has brought out the crazy in my kids. For every hour I spend working on that, they spend two either making messes or learning new words they aren't allowed to say.
At church on Sunday, Donovan was being a terror as usual. He was making noise and running through the pews and banging the kneelers and hitting his siblings. I took him outside and had a Big Talk with him about being good. He promised me he would. We sat back down and he climbed behind me in the pew while I was kneeling down. It occurred to him that I may need a child to hang from my back, so he made a flying leap onto me and used my sweater to hold on. Only my sweater was designed more for a quiet day at the office rather than flyingmonkey children, which didn't occur to Donovan until he slid all the way down to my feet, taking my sweater with him.
We come from a fairly traditional parish, and people losing clothes halfway through mass is frowned upon to say the least. I was glaring at him, trying to telepathically convince him that he was in HUGE amounts of trouble as soon as I could put my clothes back together. He crawled into my lap, put his arms around my neck, looked deep into my eyes with this innocent little expression on his face, and ever so sweetly whispered the one word he knew would get a reaction out of me: "Butthole"
So anyway, how are you Interwebz? I want to hear alllllll about you. I have a turkey sitting in the oven getting all cooked without any intervention from me, so I have approximately four more hours to hear about you.
Oh, who am I kidding? Blogging = self-centered chit-chat about me, right?
I have been very busy working and also I hate school now. I wanted to quit, but instead I'm just trying to get done super fast so I don't have to go anymore. My new need to spend all spare time on homework has brought out the crazy in my kids. For every hour I spend working on that, they spend two either making messes or learning new words they aren't allowed to say.
At church on Sunday, Donovan was being a terror as usual. He was making noise and running through the pews and banging the kneelers and hitting his siblings. I took him outside and had a Big Talk with him about being good. He promised me he would. We sat back down and he climbed behind me in the pew while I was kneeling down. It occurred to him that I may need a child to hang from my back, so he made a flying leap onto me and used my sweater to hold on. Only my sweater was designed more for a quiet day at the office rather than flying
We come from a fairly traditional parish, and people losing clothes halfway through mass is frowned upon to say the least. I was glaring at him, trying to telepathically convince him that he was in HUGE amounts of trouble as soon as I could put my clothes back together. He crawled into my lap, put his arms around my neck, looked deep into my eyes with this innocent little expression on his face, and ever so sweetly whispered the one word he knew would get a reaction out of me: "Butthole"
Nov 2, 2011
Five Minutes
Hi, Interwebz!
It's been awhile, but that's because the new Interwebz I work for pays me to write stuff, and you guys, sadly, do not. But this Interwebz is nicer than the other because I don't have to be all worried about "facts" and "spelling" and "where to put quotation marks." In short, I missed you guys.
Yesterday, I had a meeting at work, class and an interview I decided to skip (for the real-people job), and six parent-teacher conferences. I nearly DIIIIIED, yo. But it was still better than last week when I choked on a cough drop in front of an entire office full of new coworkers.
The kids' dad is going to have surgery in a couple of weeks to remove tumors from the pituitary gland. I was trying to explain this to the kids, and hoping they wouldn't freak out. They asked me where the pituitary gland is, and I hesitantly told them it was in the brain. I explained that they would do the surgery through the nose, I thought it might make it easier for the kids to accept.
I held my breath at the silence that filled the car while they processed this new bit of information. Warrick grasped it first, "So...they go in his nose, and pull out tumors?" "Yes," I said, "but you don't have to worry..." He interrupted, "So the doctor is gonna be like 'Man, why don't you try blowing your nose every once in awhile? You'd save everyone a lot of trouble!'"
As the car erupted into giggles, I quit worrying about my kids. They got this. They are very hopeful that their dad is going to be better when this is done, but they are realistic in their expectations. More importantly, they can still find the humor in anything. If there was one lesson I wanted them to take over the last two years, it was this. There is always fun, there is always laughter, and we are always blessed -- we just have to give those things the attention they deserve.
It's been awhile, but that's because the new Interwebz I work for pays me to write stuff, and you guys, sadly, do not. But this Interwebz is nicer than the other because I don't have to be all worried about "facts" and "spelling" and "where to put quotation marks." In short, I missed you guys.
Yesterday, I had a meeting at work, class and an interview I decided to skip (for the real-people job), and six parent-teacher conferences. I nearly DIIIIIED, yo. But it was still better than last week when I choked on a cough drop in front of an entire office full of new coworkers.
The kids' dad is going to have surgery in a couple of weeks to remove tumors from the pituitary gland. I was trying to explain this to the kids, and hoping they wouldn't freak out. They asked me where the pituitary gland is, and I hesitantly told them it was in the brain. I explained that they would do the surgery through the nose, I thought it might make it easier for the kids to accept.
I held my breath at the silence that filled the car while they processed this new bit of information. Warrick grasped it first, "So...they go in his nose, and pull out tumors?" "Yes," I said, "but you don't have to worry..." He interrupted, "So the doctor is gonna be like 'Man, why don't you try blowing your nose every once in awhile? You'd save everyone a lot of trouble!'"
As the car erupted into giggles, I quit worrying about my kids. They got this. They are very hopeful that their dad is going to be better when this is done, but they are realistic in their expectations. More importantly, they can still find the humor in anything. If there was one lesson I wanted them to take over the last two years, it was this. There is always fun, there is always laughter, and we are always blessed -- we just have to give those things the attention they deserve.
Oct 17, 2011
Jail Time
So all three of me have been very lazy about writing these days, mostly because I write for work now. I am trying, though, Interwebz, I really am. Please keep me famous until I get back!
I have a job opportunity to make some normal-people money, but I'm not sure I want to take it because I'm pretty sure there would be a boss involved. It's not that I don't like bosses, it's more the whole people-telling-me-what-to-do that bothers me. But oh well, I guess to make normal-people money, you have to have a normal-people boss. (I also hate business attire and offices and anything that requires me to drive on pavement.)
We shall see.
Things are going much better with the kids' teachers, although we had a little bullying issue that made me go all HULKSMASH on the ten year olds. I am trying to clean up my language on this blog, but let me tell you something: I may be the parent fighting with the teachers, ignoring the PTA, skipping field trips and parties, and NOT caring how many SmartBoards are available to my children, but at least my kid isn't an A-hole.
It's a good thing I couldn't find that little snot, 'cause mama be goin to jail if you start picking on her kids.Can someone tell me what would happen if I skip smashing the fifth grader and just go straight to smashing his parents? That's not as much jail time, is it? Maybe some community service? And does community service involve having a boss?
If all else fails, I'ma teach my kids this move.
I have a job opportunity to make some normal-people money, but I'm not sure I want to take it because I'm pretty sure there would be a boss involved. It's not that I don't like bosses, it's more the whole people-telling-me-what-to-do that bothers me. But oh well, I guess to make normal-people money, you have to have a normal-people boss. (I also hate business attire and offices and anything that requires me to drive on pavement.)
We shall see.
Things are going much better with the kids' teachers, although we had a little bullying issue that made me go all HULKSMASH on the ten year olds. I am trying to clean up my language on this blog, but let me tell you something: I may be the parent fighting with the teachers, ignoring the PTA, skipping field trips and parties, and NOT caring how many SmartBoards are available to my children, but at least my kid isn't an A-hole.
It's a good thing I couldn't find that little snot, 'cause mama be goin to jail if you start picking on her kids.Can someone tell me what would happen if I skip smashing the fifth grader and just go straight to smashing his parents? That's not as much jail time, is it? Maybe some community service? And does community service involve having a boss?
If all else fails, I'ma teach my kids this move.
Oct 16, 2011
A Talk with Myself
Me: :::looks at the messy house::: What do you DO all day?
Myself: Excuse me? I am in school every day.
Me: So? I am working two jobs and getting roughly three hours of sleep per night. I don't think it's a huge expectation for the floor to be mopped once a year.
Myself: What about you? Why don't you ever help out around here?
I: Seriously? Like getting six short people dressed for school, hauling them all over town, waiting in lines for them, emailing teachers, dealing with bullies, brushing hair, feeding everyone, changing poopy pants, washing all the laundry, making the beds,putting everyone to bed, and taking care of the dog and two cats is 'not helping'? School is only three hours a day, what's up with that, Myself?
Myself: Is it only three hours a day? Is it? It adds two hours just for driving, not to mention homework and the utter STRESS that goes into trying to complete all these hours in half the time allotted. If you want me to be finished with school this semester, you're going to have to be more supportive. This should have been a three-year undertaking.
I: Me, you work from home...would it be so hard for you to mop the floor every once in awhile?
Me: Would it be a big deal for you to quit whining? I am going to go get a drink. I can't listen to this anymore.
I: No, I'm getting a drink. Give me the keys. You guys are always going out and leaving me to watch the kids.
Myself: Nobody is going anywhere. Everyone just calm down and get back to work.
I: Let's just all agree that it's a good thing there are three of us. We should all be helping each other and not fighting and threatening to leave all the time. Even "intact" families only have two adults -- I don't know how they do it!
Me: This is true, I don't know how I'd get through the day if I had to do all the work for Me, Myself, and I. Let's get a sitter this weekend and we can all go relax a little.
Myself: We can't, we have to fix the hole in the wall the kids made and paint over all the crayon. Also, I have to work.
I: Ok, let's just split a couple bottles of wine later.
Me: Awesome.
Myself: Three. Make it three bottles...one each.
Myself: Excuse me? I am in school every day.
Me: So? I am working two jobs and getting roughly three hours of sleep per night. I don't think it's a huge expectation for the floor to be mopped once a year.
Myself: What about you? Why don't you ever help out around here?
I: Seriously? Like getting six short people dressed for school, hauling them all over town, waiting in lines for them, emailing teachers, dealing with bullies, brushing hair, feeding everyone, changing poopy pants, washing all the laundry, making the beds,putting everyone to bed, and taking care of the dog and two cats is 'not helping'? School is only three hours a day, what's up with that, Myself?
Myself: Is it only three hours a day? Is it? It adds two hours just for driving, not to mention homework and the utter STRESS that goes into trying to complete all these hours in half the time allotted. If you want me to be finished with school this semester, you're going to have to be more supportive. This should have been a three-year undertaking.
I: Me, you work from home...would it be so hard for you to mop the floor every once in awhile?
Me: Would it be a big deal for you to quit whining? I am going to go get a drink. I can't listen to this anymore.
I: No, I'm getting a drink. Give me the keys. You guys are always going out and leaving me to watch the kids.
Myself: Nobody is going anywhere. Everyone just calm down and get back to work.
I: Let's just all agree that it's a good thing there are three of us. We should all be helping each other and not fighting and threatening to leave all the time. Even "intact" families only have two adults -- I don't know how they do it!
Me: This is true, I don't know how I'd get through the day if I had to do all the work for Me, Myself, and I. Let's get a sitter this weekend and we can all go relax a little.
Myself: We can't, we have to fix the hole in the wall the kids made and paint over all the crayon. Also, I have to work.
I: Ok, let's just split a couple bottles of wine later.
Me: Awesome.
Myself: Three. Make it three bottles...one each.
Sep 27, 2011
How Emma got Madilynn's Birthday Present
For Madilynn's seventh birthday last week, the only thing she wanted was to have her ears pierced. After school today, I surprised her with a trip to the mall to get it done. She was so excited on the way there that it got to be contagious; Emma, and even the boys, were begging to be allowed the coveted ear-holes.
I finally agreed (for Emma, not the boys) (I told the boys they had to wait until they were old enough to handle being called a punk by all our friends -- and only after their first tattoo), and Madilynn asked for Emma to go first so she wouldn't be so scared.
Emma bravely climbed up on the chair, sat down, and dealt with the pain. For a second. I think it hurt her more than she expected, and she didn't want to have the second one done. I had to appeal to her sense of vanity (by telling her the one earring would make her walk crooked for the rest of elementary school) to get her to do the second one.
As soon as she was done, she was was thrilled, and looked at herself in the mirror at the store for the rest of the time we were there. Madilynn was less than impressed. She immediately started screaming and running around the store, hiding behind display racks as if a crazed ear-piercing monster were on the loose.
When I managed to catch her, I told her that the drama wasn't needed. She could either sit down and do it, or we would leave. She decided to go through with it. Until the girl doing it showed her how it worked.
The running and screaming resumed, and I finally found her under a stack of wide-brimmed leather hats. She was terrified. I told her that I was, under no circumstances, coming back to the mall any time within the next two years (I was only being honest -- I hate the mall). That convinced her to climb back in the chair.
For an entire five seconds.
The look on her face was so classically terrified (wide eyes, ends of the lips drawn way down) that I couldn't continue to let her try. I paid for Emma's and tried not to go all HULKSMASHMADILYNN for dragging me to the mall for no reason.
I fully expected some serious jealousy on on the way home, complete with all the drama my little seven year old girly girl can muster, but it didn't happen. I see no future of pierced ears for the child -- she has been traumatized enough by the experience of watching her sister (who didn't even cry) and doesn't want any part of it -- even for vanity.
My Madi: Can do rounds and rounds of vaccinations just to prove to her brothers she isn't as big a wuss as they are, but she can't sit for some sparkles in her ears.
I finally agreed (for Emma, not the boys) (I told the boys they had to wait until they were old enough to handle being called a punk by all our friends -- and only after their first tattoo), and Madilynn asked for Emma to go first so she wouldn't be so scared.
Emma bravely climbed up on the chair, sat down, and dealt with the pain. For a second. I think it hurt her more than she expected, and she didn't want to have the second one done. I had to appeal to her sense of vanity (by telling her the one earring would make her walk crooked for the rest of elementary school) to get her to do the second one.
As soon as she was done, she was was thrilled, and looked at herself in the mirror at the store for the rest of the time we were there. Madilynn was less than impressed. She immediately started screaming and running around the store, hiding behind display racks as if a crazed ear-piercing monster were on the loose.
When I managed to catch her, I told her that the drama wasn't needed. She could either sit down and do it, or we would leave. She decided to go through with it. Until the girl doing it showed her how it worked.
The running and screaming resumed, and I finally found her under a stack of wide-brimmed leather hats. She was terrified. I told her that I was, under no circumstances, coming back to the mall any time within the next two years (I was only being honest -- I hate the mall). That convinced her to climb back in the chair.
For an entire five seconds.
The look on her face was so classically terrified (wide eyes, ends of the lips drawn way down) that I couldn't continue to let her try. I paid for Emma's and tried not to go all HULKSMASHMADILYNN for dragging me to the mall for no reason.
I fully expected some serious jealousy on on the way home, complete with all the drama my little seven year old girly girl can muster, but it didn't happen. I see no future of pierced ears for the child -- she has been traumatized enough by the experience of watching her sister (who didn't even cry) and doesn't want any part of it -- even for vanity.
My Madi: Can do rounds and rounds of vaccinations just to prove to her brothers she isn't as big a wuss as they are, but she can't sit for some sparkles in her ears.
Sep 26, 2011
Tweets and Emergencies -- Both Fake
If you are on Twitter, you have to check out this site. It mashes up your previous tweets and makes them into wonderful things...I first saw it on The Bloggess, so props to her for giving me a new internet toy! Here are some of the suggestions I got:
The return of Huston's blanket fort, children to vote!
New Truck needs a chicken attack.
There comes a name! Working and do what I say already.
So far, today involved broken windows, the two?
Time to take a time in melted crayon, and putting children covered in life when you have to take a time. (I vote this one Most Profound)
There comes a time in the two thumbs, speaks a good look at yourself and putting children to vote!
Time to take a little French, and a name!
Working and putting children to take a liquor license? (This one I vote for Best Life Hack EVER)
Time to take a good look at yourself and wonder...how did I get here? And do what I say already. (This one is just true.)
Ok, so that was fun.
I took the kids to the fair the other day, and we were there for ten whole hours. It was so much fun! I don't know if all fairs are like this, but in our state, you get a People of Walmart parade as you walk around. Since that site already exists, I don't have to go into detail about that.
But I do have to tell you guys my one People of the Fair story. We were walking through a building when the alarm system sounded. It was a pretty tame alarm sound -- some beeping like when the security thing gets you at Walmart even though you didn't steal anything; then a woman's voice asking everyone to calmly leave through the nearest exit, there had been an emergency. Not really a big deal, I figured someone pulled the fire alarm or something. None of the employees were freaking out, so I was just doing what the robot told me: walking calmly to the nearest exit.
The next thing I knew, some woman came crashing through my family, using my children's heads to propel herself forward and yelling, "I don't know WHAT it is, but there's an emergency and I'm GETTIN' OUTTA HERE!" My kids were like, "Chill, yo." And I was trying to be mad at her, but I was too busy laughing at her. There is nothing worse than proving that you are a horrible person in the face of a fake emergency.
The return of Huston's blanket fort, children to vote!
New Truck needs a chicken attack.
There comes a name! Working and do what I say already.
So far, today involved broken windows, the two?
Time to take a time in melted crayon, and putting children covered in life when you have to take a time. (I vote this one Most Profound)
There comes a time in the two thumbs, speaks a good look at yourself and putting children to vote!
Time to take a little French, and a name!
Working and putting children to take a liquor license? (This one I vote for Best Life Hack EVER)
Time to take a good look at yourself and wonder...how did I get here? And do what I say already. (This one is just true.)
Ok, so that was fun.
I took the kids to the fair the other day, and we were there for ten whole hours. It was so much fun! I don't know if all fairs are like this, but in our state, you get a People of Walmart parade as you walk around. Since that site already exists, I don't have to go into detail about that.
But I do have to tell you guys my one People of the Fair story. We were walking through a building when the alarm system sounded. It was a pretty tame alarm sound -- some beeping like when the security thing gets you at Walmart even though you didn't steal anything; then a woman's voice asking everyone to calmly leave through the nearest exit, there had been an emergency. Not really a big deal, I figured someone pulled the fire alarm or something. None of the employees were freaking out, so I was just doing what the robot told me: walking calmly to the nearest exit.
The next thing I knew, some woman came crashing through my family, using my children's heads to propel herself forward and yelling, "I don't know WHAT it is, but there's an emergency and I'm GETTIN' OUTTA HERE!" My kids were like, "Chill, yo." And I was trying to be mad at her, but I was too busy laughing at her. There is nothing worse than proving that you are a horrible person in the face of a fake emergency.
Sep 19, 2011
I Don't Even Know
School has started and things have become crazy again. It's 10:00 and we just got done with homework. :::sigh:::
In other news, I got a job. Did I tell you that? I got a job playing pranks on Google. Or something like that. Also there is writing, so it's pretty much awesome. The un-awesome thing is that jobs want you to work and stuff. So for the last few weeks, I've been working from homework time (10 pm) to bedtime (2 am), and on Saturdays until I am done. This leaves little time for remember the funny stuff that happened to me while I was doing homework and Google pranking.
My sister sent me a picture of my little niece Boo, all dressed up in a Wonder Woman costume. Since my niece isn't as old as I, she doesn't know who Wonder Woman is. So she's going by...
Du-du-du-DAH!!!! SKIRTY GIRL! This continues to crack me up every time I think of it. Change the rules all you want, society, my niece is still Skirty Girl.
My kids' school has been totally screwing with me. Shocker, right? If you wonder why they want to mess with me, I will totally admit it's because I'm still a rebel and I hate their rules. Probably if I would just let my kids to go class in peace there wouldn't be a problem. But I just can't do it, yo. I think that over nine hours a day of sitting in a desk is forboring people grown-ups. Not for children. But hey, that's just my opinion.
Anyway, so the school has me pegged as a troublemaker and they are determined to make me see things their way. Except I hate when someone makes me do anything. And it causes a switch to flip in my brain which keeps me from being able to wake up to an alarm clock. See how this works? The more I get griped at, the later we will run each morning, because my brain HATES RULES.
I am going to take the kids to the fair tomorrow. We are skipping class, and we gonna party. As long as party means eat fried things on sticks and come home with aching feet cotton candy in our hair. But if my kids don't stop their bedtime party, I'm not taking them anywhere. This is why I have time to blog right now -- I can't work if six people are sitting right by my desk whining about how they can't sleep.
I have to ask, why would standing up and whining make is easier to fall asleep? I want to know. I asked the kids, but they just whined even more. They suck at philosophical questions. But for now, they are whining in bed instead of at my desk, so I'm back to work.
In other news, I got a job. Did I tell you that? I got a job playing pranks on Google. Or something like that. Also there is writing, so it's pretty much awesome. The un-awesome thing is that jobs want you to work and stuff. So for the last few weeks, I've been working from homework time (10 pm) to bedtime (2 am), and on Saturdays until I am done. This leaves little time for remember the funny stuff that happened to me while I was doing homework and Google pranking.
My sister sent me a picture of my little niece Boo, all dressed up in a Wonder Woman costume. Since my niece isn't as old as I, she doesn't know who Wonder Woman is. So she's going by...
Du-du-du-DAH!!!! SKIRTY GIRL! This continues to crack me up every time I think of it. Change the rules all you want, society, my niece is still Skirty Girl.
My kids' school has been totally screwing with me. Shocker, right? If you wonder why they want to mess with me, I will totally admit it's because I'm still a rebel and I hate their rules. Probably if I would just let my kids to go class in peace there wouldn't be a problem. But I just can't do it, yo. I think that over nine hours a day of sitting in a desk is for
Anyway, so the school has me pegged as a troublemaker and they are determined to make me see things their way. Except I hate when someone makes me do anything. And it causes a switch to flip in my brain which keeps me from being able to wake up to an alarm clock. See how this works? The more I get griped at, the later we will run each morning, because my brain HATES RULES.
I am going to take the kids to the fair tomorrow. We are skipping class, and we gonna party. As long as party means eat fried things on sticks and come home with aching feet cotton candy in our hair. But if my kids don't stop their bedtime party, I'm not taking them anywhere. This is why I have time to blog right now -- I can't work if six people are sitting right by my desk whining about how they can't sleep.
I have to ask, why would standing up and whining make is easier to fall asleep? I want to know. I asked the kids, but they just whined even more. They suck at philosophical questions. But for now, they are whining in bed instead of at my desk, so I'm back to work.
Sep 13, 2011
The Votes Are In
Thank you all for your submissions and your help naming the truck.
I really liked both final names, even though they were vastly different.
The winner is....
OPTIMUS PRIME!
First things first, right? After ball joints comes the semi grille....it'll be EPIC.
Also, a note to the reader who submitted "Greg". I never replied to your supportive post a few weeks ago, and I want to publicly thank you. Your comments have repeatedly lifted my spirits, made me laugh, and even shed a few tears. You are an AWESOME Interwebz friend. Also? Greg still cracks me up every time I think about it. Because, you know, obviously.
And to the rest of you, thank you as well. You guys have kept me cheerful when I was trying so hard not to be. I appreciate that, and in return, I will try to lay off the truck talk and bring back The Funny in the coming weeks. I love you all!
I really liked both final names, even though they were vastly different.
The winner is....
First things first, right? After ball joints comes the semi grille....it'll be EPIC.
Also, a note to the reader who submitted "Greg". I never replied to your supportive post a few weeks ago, and I want to publicly thank you. Your comments have repeatedly lifted my spirits, made me laugh, and even shed a few tears. You are an AWESOME Interwebz friend. Also? Greg still cracks me up every time I think about it. Because, you know, obviously.
And to the rest of you, thank you as well. You guys have kept me cheerful when I was trying so hard not to be. I appreciate that, and in return, I will try to lay off the truck talk and bring back The Funny in the coming weeks. I love you all!
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 11, 2011
C'mon Guys
So far, I have a bunch of name submissions and no actual votes. So...since the Interwebz closes for the weekends, I am going to update the list, and everyone can vote on the names.
Smurfburban
Cobalt Cab
True Blue
Mania Mobile
Boy Blue
Blue Lightning
Muscle Buster
This is the final list...you can cast your vote in the comments or go "like" your favorite on Facebook. You have until ten tomorrow evening.
Thanks!
Blue Burb of Happiness (A take on Blue Bird of Happiness)
George Straight (because he's awesome)
Optimus Prime (do I have to explain this one?)
Blue Pickle II (my mom's old blue kid-hauler - a 12 passenger van - was nicknamed "The Big Blue Pickle" by two of my friends from driver's ed)
Sammie the Suburban (another obvs one)
Greg (because why not??)
Super Sexy Hot Mama Suburban Machine (And yes, it IS.)Smurfburban
Cobalt Cab
True Blue
Mania Mobile
Boy Blue
Blue Lightning
Muscle Buster
This is the final list...you can cast your vote in the comments or go "like" your favorite on Facebook. You have until ten tomorrow evening.
Thanks!
Sep 9, 2011
Time to Vote!
Ok, the final submissions are in!
It should be noted that "The Truck" had a proper initiation into the family last night, when two hours after we bought it, Donovan pooped in it, Madi stepped in the poop, then walked literally on every square inch of the truck including five seats, two armrests, and many square feet of carpet.
This does NOT mean that anyone gets to call it anything having to do with poop. My life is already nicknamed after poop, so the truck doesn't get it.
I am not saying who came up with any names (Even if some of them have already been given away), just to be fair. I will explain a couple of them so you have the whole story. AND, if the name I came up with (and I won't tell which) wins, the prize will go to the first person who stuck with it on the Facebook feed.
BTW, if you aren't "friends" with LLB on Facebook -- WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? Seriously, though, just search the fan pages for "Life's Laundry Basket". And the Twitter name is MannyTheRee. I demand followers.
Now :::drumroll::: cast your vote in the next 24 hours!
And here is a picture (that I tried to upload last night) to help you decide. You can cast your votes in the comments or on Facebook. I can't wait to see what you guys pick -- make it a good one, because his name is going in big letters on the back window!
It should be noted that "The Truck" had a proper initiation into the family last night, when two hours after we bought it, Donovan pooped in it, Madi stepped in the poop, then walked literally on every square inch of the truck including five seats, two armrests, and many square feet of carpet.
This does NOT mean that anyone gets to call it anything having to do with poop. My life is already nicknamed after poop, so the truck doesn't get it.
I am not saying who came up with any names (Even if some of them have already been given away), just to be fair. I will explain a couple of them so you have the whole story. AND, if the name I came up with (and I won't tell which) wins, the prize will go to the first person who stuck with it on the Facebook feed.
BTW, if you aren't "friends" with LLB on Facebook -- WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? Seriously, though, just search the fan pages for "Life's Laundry Basket". And the Twitter name is MannyTheRee. I demand followers.
Now :::drumroll::: cast your vote in the next 24 hours!
Blue Burb of Happiness (A take on Blue Bird of Happiness)
George Straight (because he's awesome)
Optimus Prime (do I have to explain this one?)
Blue Pickle II (my mom's old blue kid-hauler - a 12 passenger van - was nicknamed "The Big Blue Pickle" by two of my friends from driver's ed)
Sammie the Suburban (another obvs one)
Greg (because why not??)
Super Sexy Hot Mama Suburban Machine (And yes, it IS.)And here is a picture (that I tried to upload last night) to help you decide. You can cast your votes in the comments or on Facebook. I can't wait to see what you guys pick -- make it a good one, because his name is going in big letters on the back window!
Sep 8, 2011
First Ever LLB Contest
Ok, Interwebz. It's official. We gotta come up with a name for my truck.
The winner will receive a fantastic (or not) gift, and an autographed photo of the new truck (autographed by him, of course).
These are the names that have been submitted via Facebook:
The winner will receive a fantastic (or not) gift, and an autographed photo of the new truck (autographed by him, of course).
These are the names that have been submitted via Facebook:
Blue Burb of Happiness
George Straight
Optimus Prime
Blue Pickle II
Sammie the Suburban
If you want to enter the contest, please put your submission in the comments below or comment on FB, and I'll have the final list available for voting tomorrow. Twenty-four hours, guys, because this is an emergency...I'm not sure I even feel comfortable driving it without a name.
We will vote on Saturday and the winner will be announced the following day.
Sep 7, 2011
Guess What? Chicken Butt.
Living in the county has its perks. I don't have to worry if the kids ride their bikes down the road, I know everyone around me, and if I hear a gunshot I feel more safe rather than less.
But there are also a few things that make life far more interesting than city life.
Like chickens.
Today, the weather was incredible and we had all the doors open while dinner was cooking. The kids were in and out of the house, riding bikes and checking in on their waffle status (because waffles for dinner? Heck yeah) The chickens (who don't belong to us) were running around the yard chasing grasshoppers and ignoring Shucks' requests to get in his belly.
Until one fowl rebel decides to come in the house and see what's up. The kids started freaking out "There's a CHICKEN IN THE HOUSE!!!!! MOMMMAAAYYYY!"
The chicken wasn't scared of the kids at all, but joined in on the freaking out because everyone else was doing it and she figured there must be a good reason. She also figured that reason was outside, so she ran further into the house. When chickens get freaked out, they also poop. So, quite naturally, she ran through Dalton's bedroom pooping all over the floor. When that got boring, she jumped up on his bed and pooped there too. Because really, why not???
We tried to shoo her outside, but she hadn't forgotten that the Thing About Which To Be Freaked Out was out there, and didn't want to go. So she ran into the girls' bedroom.
When I had a kid, we had a rooster named Loodle-Loo. Sometimes, to escape from our dogs, he would run into the house. Natural laws for the rooster, lined up exactly with my two year old brother's, including the "if I can't see you then you clearly can't see me" rule. So Loodle-Loo would hide his head in a corner and make worried clucking sounds until the dogs gave up.
I guess this is universal, because this chicken also hid her head in a corner. I tried to make her leave and go out, so she hopped into the girls' wardrobe and stuck her face in that corner. Eventually, I had to pick her up and take her outside and set her down. She glared at me without moving for a good thirty seconds, then strode away in a huff. I thought that would be the end of that.
Little did I know.
Halfway through dinner, I hear noises at the front door. Our little chicken friend had gone and told all her buddies that I was having a chicken tea party or something, because the entire flock was lined up on my front porch waiting to get in. I told them no, but one chicken didn't like that and I had to physically take her house of my house twice before I finally chased her all the way home and shut my gate and my front door.
And the moral of the story is: No matter how old my kids get, how well-trained my dog is, how many animals/children I don't let move in with me, I will -- forever and always -- be dealing with crap.
But there are also a few things that make life far more interesting than city life.
Like chickens.
Today, the weather was incredible and we had all the doors open while dinner was cooking. The kids were in and out of the house, riding bikes and checking in on their waffle status (because waffles for dinner? Heck yeah) The chickens (who don't belong to us) were running around the yard chasing grasshoppers and ignoring Shucks' requests to get in his belly.
Until one fowl rebel decides to come in the house and see what's up. The kids started freaking out "There's a CHICKEN IN THE HOUSE!!!!! MOMMMAAAYYYY!"
The chicken wasn't scared of the kids at all, but joined in on the freaking out because everyone else was doing it and she figured there must be a good reason. She also figured that reason was outside, so she ran further into the house. When chickens get freaked out, they also poop. So, quite naturally, she ran through Dalton's bedroom pooping all over the floor. When that got boring, she jumped up on his bed and pooped there too. Because really, why not???
We tried to shoo her outside, but she hadn't forgotten that the Thing About Which To Be Freaked Out was out there, and didn't want to go. So she ran into the girls' bedroom.
When I had a kid, we had a rooster named Loodle-Loo. Sometimes, to escape from our dogs, he would run into the house. Natural laws for the rooster, lined up exactly with my two year old brother's, including the "if I can't see you then you clearly can't see me" rule. So Loodle-Loo would hide his head in a corner and make worried clucking sounds until the dogs gave up.
I guess this is universal, because this chicken also hid her head in a corner. I tried to make her leave and go out, so she hopped into the girls' wardrobe and stuck her face in that corner. Eventually, I had to pick her up and take her outside and set her down. She glared at me without moving for a good thirty seconds, then strode away in a huff. I thought that would be the end of that.
Little did I know.
Halfway through dinner, I hear noises at the front door. Our little chicken friend had gone and told all her buddies that I was having a chicken tea party or something, because the entire flock was lined up on my front porch waiting to get in. I told them no, but one chicken didn't like that and I had to physically take her house of my house twice before I finally chased her all the way home and shut my gate and my front door.
And the moral of the story is: No matter how old my kids get, how well-trained my dog is, how many animals/children I don't let move in with me, I will -- forever and always -- be dealing with crap.
Aug 30, 2011
Death of Ninja Truck
It looks as if Ninja Truck has met his doom. He went to the new mechanic yesterday, and after lots of looking and talking and a few tears on my part, I have decided that I just can't risk fixing him and having him possibly let me down again.
This is not a happy day. But more because the girls came home from school with lice. This means hours of combing and washing and laundry and I don't really even know what else because I can't even think about it right now. I soaked both their heads in vinegar, then again in olive oil, then wrapped them up in plastic wrap. They are actually pretty adorable, but I am completely overwhelmed.
After one dose of olive oil, I started combing through Madilynn's hair, just a few strands at a time. I realized that the first round hadn't worked and had to start over. I poured it all over their heads. They are going to have some shiny hair when this is all over with. And also really great shoulder skin, if olive oil is good for skin. If not, then really bad shoulder skin.
After the plastic wrap turbans were in place, the olive oil began to seep out all over their faces and down their backs. I just told the girls to put socks on and now they are walking wood floor polishers.
My mom made the late-night Walmart trip for me to secure tiny combs, bug spray, and whatever else you can use in a war with tiny bugs. I'm glad she did, because my girls' plastic beehive 'dos would have garnered more attention that I probably need right now.
They are excited because they got to stay up late, play hair all night, and they get to skip school tomorrow. Not shockingly, Warrick managed to develop a stomach ache as soon as staying home from school was mentioned. After all the trouble I got into last year with sick kids, that school isn't sending my kids back home without a doctor's note.
The search is on for a new truck, yo. We aren't going to name this one until we buy it this time, guys...I completely ran out of names for the last truck. What I want y'all to do is to start thinking of a really good name for my truck (and don't be all lame about it, ok?) It's probably going to be another Suburban, if I can afford it. Otherwise, it'll be a Scooby van, in which case we are SO calling it the Mystery Machine. But if I get the Suburban, you guys have to help me think of a name. We can vote and everything, yo. It'll be fun.
This is not a happy day. But more because the girls came home from school with lice. This means hours of combing and washing and laundry and I don't really even know what else because I can't even think about it right now. I soaked both their heads in vinegar, then again in olive oil, then wrapped them up in plastic wrap. They are actually pretty adorable, but I am completely overwhelmed.
After one dose of olive oil, I started combing through Madilynn's hair, just a few strands at a time. I realized that the first round hadn't worked and had to start over. I poured it all over their heads. They are going to have some shiny hair when this is all over with. And also really great shoulder skin, if olive oil is good for skin. If not, then really bad shoulder skin.
After the plastic wrap turbans were in place, the olive oil began to seep out all over their faces and down their backs. I just told the girls to put socks on and now they are walking wood floor polishers.
My mom made the late-night Walmart trip for me to secure tiny combs, bug spray, and whatever else you can use in a war with tiny bugs. I'm glad she did, because my girls' plastic beehive 'dos would have garnered more attention that I probably need right now.
They are excited because they got to stay up late, play hair all night, and they get to skip school tomorrow. Not shockingly, Warrick managed to develop a stomach ache as soon as staying home from school was mentioned. After all the trouble I got into last year with sick kids, that school isn't sending my kids back home without a doctor's note.
The search is on for a new truck, yo. We aren't going to name this one until we buy it this time, guys...I completely ran out of names for the last truck. What I want y'all to do is to start thinking of a really good name for my truck (and don't be all lame about it, ok?) It's probably going to be another Suburban, if I can afford it. Otherwise, it'll be a Scooby van, in which case we are SO calling it the Mystery Machine. But if I get the Suburban, you guys have to help me think of a name. We can vote and everything, yo. It'll be fun.
Aug 28, 2011
Meatball Eggs and Other Nonsense
Today was Walmart day. :::Queue scary dramatic music::: I didn't even have the kids with me and it was still ridiculous.
There were about eleventy billion people in there, and they were an awful sort. They seem to want to claim the aisle. If their cart is parked in the aisle, they are the only one allowed access to that aisle until they choose to move on. I asked one woman to please let me by, and she scoffed and moved her cart a quarter of an inch. For the record, this quarter of an inch did NOT let my cart through. So I said "Thanks, lady, that was just awesome of you" and bumper carted her cart out of the way. Seriously? Why can't I just get some darn toothpaste in peace?
Then I overheard this conversation between a woman and her little boy, about seven years old:
Mom: No, I'm not buying those eggs. They're not vegetarian.
Boy: :::literally breaking into a screaming wail::: But I don't caaaaaaaaaaaare! I'm NOT A VEGETARIAN! I don't care if the eggs are vegetarian!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mom: I'm not buying them...they're not the vegetarian ones.
Boy: But who cares? Why can't we just get them anyway?
Mom: :::voice dripping with horror and disgust::: Because! Who wants to eat eggs that come from chickens that are fed MEATBALLS? That's just disgusting.
Boy: ME! I want to eat them!
I'm not into all the organic blah, blah, blah, but are people really feeding their chickens meatballs? I mean, is this woman trying to tell me that the chickens which produce the eggs at my local Walmart eat better than my kids? And this is a problem why? Clearly I am out of some loop I probably don't want to be in anyway.
I ran into them later in the cookie aisle. This made me giggle, because I rarely let my kids eat packaged cookies. Not because of meatballs or anything, but because they'd rather have a piece of fruit or something, and find any cookies not homemade to be below their tastes. The mother was screaming, "I'm going to buy cookies ONE MORE TIME. But if you eat them like you did last week, you NEVER GET COOKIES AGAIN!" I'm like, Woman! If you're so concerned about giving your kid meatball eggs, then why not monitor the cookies a little bit?
I mean seriously...if the kid has free access to eat as many cookies as he wants, is it really going to kill him to get a meatball egg every once in awhile? The funny thing was, the kid was throwing a much larger tantrum over the eggs than over the cookies.
I honestly don't understand people in this town. Or maybe people anywhere, but definitely not people from here. Poor kid...all he wants is a meatball omelet and instead he gets processed cookie rationing and a screaming mother in Walmart.
There were about eleventy billion people in there, and they were an awful sort. They seem to want to claim the aisle. If their cart is parked in the aisle, they are the only one allowed access to that aisle until they choose to move on. I asked one woman to please let me by, and she scoffed and moved her cart a quarter of an inch. For the record, this quarter of an inch did NOT let my cart through. So I said "Thanks, lady, that was just awesome of you" and bumper carted her cart out of the way. Seriously? Why can't I just get some darn toothpaste in peace?
Then I overheard this conversation between a woman and her little boy, about seven years old:
Mom: No, I'm not buying those eggs. They're not vegetarian.
Boy: :::literally breaking into a screaming wail::: But I don't caaaaaaaaaaaare! I'm NOT A VEGETARIAN! I don't care if the eggs are vegetarian!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mom: I'm not buying them...they're not the vegetarian ones.
Boy: But who cares? Why can't we just get them anyway?
Mom: :::voice dripping with horror and disgust::: Because! Who wants to eat eggs that come from chickens that are fed MEATBALLS? That's just disgusting.
Boy: ME! I want to eat them!
I'm not into all the organic blah, blah, blah, but are people really feeding their chickens meatballs? I mean, is this woman trying to tell me that the chickens which produce the eggs at my local Walmart eat better than my kids? And this is a problem why? Clearly I am out of some loop I probably don't want to be in anyway.
I ran into them later in the cookie aisle. This made me giggle, because I rarely let my kids eat packaged cookies. Not because of meatballs or anything, but because they'd rather have a piece of fruit or something, and find any cookies not homemade to be below their tastes. The mother was screaming, "I'm going to buy cookies ONE MORE TIME. But if you eat them like you did last week, you NEVER GET COOKIES AGAIN!" I'm like, Woman! If you're so concerned about giving your kid meatball eggs, then why not monitor the cookies a little bit?
I mean seriously...if the kid has free access to eat as many cookies as he wants, is it really going to kill him to get a meatball egg every once in awhile? The funny thing was, the kid was throwing a much larger tantrum over the eggs than over the cookies.
I honestly don't understand people in this town. Or maybe people anywhere, but definitely not people from here. Poor kid...all he wants is a meatball omelet and instead he gets processed cookie rationing and a screaming mother in Walmart.
Aug 25, 2011
Westboro and Train Horns and other Thursday Stuff
Today some friends of ours buried their cousin, a young man with a family who died serving our country. The Westboro Baptist Church cult decided to show up in our town for the second time in the last month. This is not cool with us.
My little sister and I, along with a friend, drove by with my dad's truck, and there may or may not have been some train horn usage. We may or may not have made Westboro popcorn.
We joined a line of people leading up to the church who stood outside and waved their flags in support of this soldier and his family and friends. We got to see a lot of cool stuff, including these guys:
You can't tell from the picture, but there were about five or six of these, plus a few smaller ones. Very cool. These guys and the Patriot Guard are my new favorite people.
After that, I went home to get ready for class, and Shucks was freaking out. He was telling me that there was a member of the WBC in my backyard. I thought that was crazy, because how can popcorn follow you home? But he insisted, so I went to check, and sure enough....right in the middle of my backyard...............
Aug 22, 2011
Bergershnerger, Interwebz
I get a lot of advice for some reason. Perhaps I seem to need it.
For instance -- divorce. People see you're in a bad situation. They know that it's not really safe for you. They argue with any protestation of standing for marriage.
Then you finally do it. You leave.
Then you realize that you're doing everything you can and it's just not good enough. Nothing will ever meet anyone's standards again for the rest of your life. Your kids misbehave, they have crap on their faces, they rip their jeans and lose their shoes. Your can't fix your stupid truck no matter how hard you try. It takes two weeks to fix the dryer because you sometimes have to stop being the dad and be the mom. You eat chicken nuggets for dinner because there isn't time in the day to use the stove or the oven. You decide between going back to work for minimum wage or going back to school and trying to be successful. You work your ass off at school because you know that you have to be dependent on other people until you're done. You try to balance raising your children and cleaning your house and mowing your yard and getting your oil changed and feeding the dog and making sure there are groceries in the house and you never even have a chance to find out how your son's first day of school really went because you had to worry about keeping everyone else from ripping your head off.
Because you know what? Leaving a marriage takes about a week. But I'm going to be doing this job FOREVER.
So guess what? I'm sorry, Interwebz. I will never be good enough. I never was, and I never will be. I'm ok with that. I'm even more sorry that you're not. But this is what you get. I can't do any more, and I can't even do what I've been doing for much longer. Thanks for all the support -- it's really awesome to that people will always be available to tell me HOW everything should be done. It's more awesome that people can be so smugly assured of how much better than I they would handle my situation. I'm sure they would -- I am the LEAST qualified person in the world to be raising these kids and trying to keep everything from caving in. I mean that. But I'm who I'm stuck with, so please lay off. I'm doing the best I can.
For instance -- divorce. People see you're in a bad situation. They know that it's not really safe for you. They argue with any protestation of standing for marriage.
Then you finally do it. You leave.
Then you realize that you're doing everything you can and it's just not good enough. Nothing will ever meet anyone's standards again for the rest of your life. Your kids misbehave, they have crap on their faces, they rip their jeans and lose their shoes. Your can't fix your stupid truck no matter how hard you try. It takes two weeks to fix the dryer because you sometimes have to stop being the dad and be the mom. You eat chicken nuggets for dinner because there isn't time in the day to use the stove or the oven. You decide between going back to work for minimum wage or going back to school and trying to be successful. You work your ass off at school because you know that you have to be dependent on other people until you're done. You try to balance raising your children and cleaning your house and mowing your yard and getting your oil changed and feeding the dog and making sure there are groceries in the house and you never even have a chance to find out how your son's first day of school really went because you had to worry about keeping everyone else from ripping your head off.
Because you know what? Leaving a marriage takes about a week. But I'm going to be doing this job FOREVER.
So guess what? I'm sorry, Interwebz. I will never be good enough. I never was, and I never will be. I'm ok with that. I'm even more sorry that you're not. But this is what you get. I can't do any more, and I can't even do what I've been doing for much longer. Thanks for all the support -- it's really awesome to that people will always be available to tell me HOW everything should be done. It's more awesome that people can be so smugly assured of how much better than I they would handle my situation. I'm sure they would -- I am the LEAST qualified person in the world to be raising these kids and trying to keep everything from caving in. I mean that. But I'm who I'm stuck with, so please lay off. I'm doing the best I can.
Aug 20, 2011
Trickery
Remember awhile back when I joined Aunt Becky in a giant prank on you, Interwebz? And anyone who Googled Jason F. Brown got me instead? (As a matter of fact, if you Google it now, I'm still the second link -- poor guy.)
Apparently, their are people who get paid for doing stuff like that. I wuvs me some Internet.
I think I need to quit worrying so much about numbers and start looking for classes in Internet Trickery.
School is going well, though -- four days back and I haven't completely lost it. I finished two tests and the only class I am taking so far is Financial Accounting (I HATE Financial Accounting!!), so I really need to pick up some more classes in fun stuff like Speedy Calculators to break up the monotony. I swear I'm going to have a degree in Cool when this is all over with.
This is my weekend with the kids, and I've already missed two awesome parties. On the other hand, my kitchen is clean and I learned a lot about Internet Trickery, so I've still got a couple things going for me. And it's nice having a full weekend with the kids, too -- Donovan has only pooped his pants once, and Emma told me not to worry about it, because grown ups are supposed to have big butts. All-in-all a pretty fantastic Saturday, wouldn't you say?
Apparently, their are people who get paid for doing stuff like that. I wuvs me some Internet.
I think I need to quit worrying so much about numbers and start looking for classes in Internet Trickery.
School is going well, though -- four days back and I haven't completely lost it. I finished two tests and the only class I am taking so far is Financial Accounting (I HATE Financial Accounting!!), so I really need to pick up some more classes in fun stuff like Speedy Calculators to break up the monotony. I swear I'm going to have a degree in Cool when this is all over with.
This is my weekend with the kids, and I've already missed two awesome parties. On the other hand, my kitchen is clean and I learned a lot about Internet Trickery, so I've still got a couple things going for me. And it's nice having a full weekend with the kids, too -- Donovan has only pooped his pants once, and Emma told me not to worry about it, because grown ups are supposed to have big butts. All-in-all a pretty fantastic Saturday, wouldn't you say?
Aug 19, 2011
First Day of School
School started today (for the rugrats), and it went very well. It took about an hour to get from the road to the parking lot, prompting phrases like "Oh sure, just park right there, SNOB...your kid is WAY more important than the eight thousand other people waiting out here." And the hallways were jammed -- not with kids finding their classrooms, but with parents who decided to stand right between all the boxes of school supplies to catch up on the summer gossip. I may or may not have yelled "Everyone please find a doorway and just STAND in it -- CLEARLY you didn't graduate from the elite school you are sending your children to!" I don't know why I don't have friends there. But if having friends means getting in the way of people trying to claw their way through their damn day, then I don't want friends anyway.
Today, I heard a story about Huston standing up for Emma on the playground. I was so proud! Big brother defending little sister from some (stupid-face-booger-butt) kid punching her....makes me want to take him to Disney World or something. So he was telling me how the kids was saying that it was an accident, and then Huston said, "But clearly he was lying." (Wow -- he does listen to me -- what 8 year old says "clearly"?)
When Madi started Pre-k two years ago, she said "I missed you today, Mommy, but I didn't get all sad about it." (Which is just smartass enough to also sound like her mother.) Today was her first day of first grade, meaning her two and a half hour school day turned into seven hours. She did get a little sad about it today, but then she "got over it and got back to hanging out with her friends."
Donovan's only criteria in making decisions is whether something is absolutely fatal. If not, he will go ahead and do his thing.
Me: Donovan, go to bed.
Donovan: Am I gon' die?
Me: Donovan, put shoes on before you go outside.
Donovan: Am I gon' die?
Me: Brush your teeth.
Donovan: Am I gon' die?
So when he was telling me about his first ever day of school:
"We ate a snack, we didn't watch movies, we colored, and I didn't die."
Sounds like a success.
Today, I heard a story about Huston standing up for Emma on the playground. I was so proud! Big brother defending little sister from some (stupid-face-booger-butt) kid punching her....makes me want to take him to Disney World or something. So he was telling me how the kids was saying that it was an accident, and then Huston said, "But clearly he was lying." (Wow -- he does listen to me -- what 8 year old says "clearly"?)
When Madi started Pre-k two years ago, she said "I missed you today, Mommy, but I didn't get all sad about it." (Which is just smartass enough to also sound like her mother.) Today was her first day of first grade, meaning her two and a half hour school day turned into seven hours. She did get a little sad about it today, but then she "got over it and got back to hanging out with her friends."
Donovan's only criteria in making decisions is whether something is absolutely fatal. If not, he will go ahead and do his thing.
Me: Donovan, go to bed.
Donovan: Am I gon' die?
Me: Donovan, put shoes on before you go outside.
Donovan: Am I gon' die?
Me: Brush your teeth.
Donovan: Am I gon' die?
So when he was telling me about his first ever day of school:
"We ate a snack, we didn't watch movies, we colored, and I didn't die."
Sounds like a success.
Aug 17, 2011
Train of Thought - the Panic Version
My babies all got home today, and also got enrolled in school -- a mere two days before it starts. Donovan lucked out and managed to crawl his way off the Pre-K waiting list, but I still have to convince him not to poop his pants between the hours of 12 and 4 to make this work. Otherwise, insanity begins anew on Friday.
I seriously considered quitting school this year. My household is already dysfunctional enough when I'm here alone -- the trauma of last school year is sure to be repeated this fall. But for now, I'll see how it goes. There is a chance that God is going to decide I've had enough at some point and things will slow down. There is a slightly better chance I just made Him laugh.
Ninja Truck is still un-fixed. I found him a doctor today, and from what I've heard, this new guy doesn't tell lies and such. Maybe things will start coming together.
The laundry is almost all the way caught up from when the washer and dryer broke. A few more days, and it'll be back to only holding up the walls in the laundry room instead of the entire house. And it's rained, so mowing will have to commence. And something needs to be done about the half a tree we lost in the front yard. Well, we didn't lose it so much as the tree lost it -- I found it on the birdbath amongst the lilies. And there are some major household projects that need to be started within a week. Basically, I am praying for an army of handymen to show up at my house and fix shit while I'm not looking because I still have kids and homework and meals and a dog and groceries and class and church and - most importantly - a blog. So really, I am short on time and long on things needing done.
Clearly, this pisses me off a little bit. But I can't remember a time we weren't running around crazy, so I'm guessing we will get through this, as well. You know what would be nice, though, would be some time to just raise my kids. Teach them things like "how to find your shoes" and "don't poop in your pants" and "coloring is only for paper". The urgent is always getting in the way of the important around here. I wonder how to make that stop?
I think a few beers, a good football game, and some mud to play in ought to fix everything. Maybe next month.
I seriously considered quitting school this year. My household is already dysfunctional enough when I'm here alone -- the trauma of last school year is sure to be repeated this fall. But for now, I'll see how it goes. There is a chance that God is going to decide I've had enough at some point and things will slow down. There is a slightly better chance I just made Him laugh.
Ninja Truck is still un-fixed. I found him a doctor today, and from what I've heard, this new guy doesn't tell lies and such. Maybe things will start coming together.
The laundry is almost all the way caught up from when the washer and dryer broke. A few more days, and it'll be back to only holding up the walls in the laundry room instead of the entire house. And it's rained, so mowing will have to commence. And something needs to be done about the half a tree we lost in the front yard. Well, we didn't lose it so much as the tree lost it -- I found it on the birdbath amongst the lilies. And there are some major household projects that need to be started within a week. Basically, I am praying for an army of handymen to show up at my house and fix shit while I'm not looking because I still have kids and homework and meals and a dog and groceries and class and church and - most importantly - a blog. So really, I am short on time and long on things needing done.
Clearly, this pisses me off a little bit. But I can't remember a time we weren't running around crazy, so I'm guessing we will get through this, as well. You know what would be nice, though, would be some time to just raise my kids. Teach them things like "how to find your shoes" and "don't poop in your pants" and "coloring is only for paper". The urgent is always getting in the way of the important around here. I wonder how to make that stop?
I think a few beers, a good football game, and some mud to play in ought to fix everything. Maybe next month.
Aug 11, 2011
Train of Thought Post
There's one thing you should probably understand. I'm just not funny without my kids.
When they are home, I don't have time to think about anything...not so much because I am physically busy, but because they use my entire brain with their questions.
"How do babies get out of their mommy's tummy?"
"How do they get IN there?"
"What is a billion kazillion times fifty-four?"
"What's for dinner?"
"What was I like when I was a baby?"
"Can Huston be grounded for bothering me?"
"No, can Emma be grounded for bothering me?"
"What is your daddy's name?"
"Are you getting married?"
"Is Santa real?"
"What's the longest you can drive without pushing the gas pedal?"
And so on.
So when they're home, and it's about midnight and they're finally asleep; I just sit down and type my first few random thoughts and hit the publish button.
But when they're gone, I get to use my brain for my own purposes; like fixing the truck, Facebook, perfecting a fake British accent, and watching YouTube videos about people who fall off of things. So when I sit down at night, I don't really have any thoughts to write about (other than "I miss my kids, bring them home because I'm pretty much useless without them.")
The truck is still broken, although I have removed and replaced the wheel about eighteen times. Somehow, that hasn't fixed anything. I learned how to use a floor jack and also that they don't work well on muddy driveways. There are videos on YouTube that aren't just about people falling -- they have some about how to take trucks apart. It's pretty sweet...I just need to park my truck in the living room so I can watch as I go. Then I'll make my own video about how to not ruin your manicure under your truck and also how to be as greasy as possible while doing very little in the way of actual repair. (I am very good at that.)
One thing I have discovered this week is that there is still an entire movie industry out there, and they still make films that aren't animated! I watched a real movie, y'all! Did you know about this, Interwebz? I thought they went out of business back around the time Warrick was born...
Shucks is really mad at me for getting rid of the kids for another week. He thinks I'm pretty boring even though I let him in the house and also rode my bike around for his entertainment. Stupid dog -- if he had a video camera he could post YouTubes of me falling off my bike and become really popular. But he's obv not that smart. We already knew that, though, because if he'd figured out how to post my secrets, the Interwebz would have broken up with me by now -- but you still love me, right?
When they are home, I don't have time to think about anything...not so much because I am physically busy, but because they use my entire brain with their questions.
"How do babies get out of their mommy's tummy?"
"How do they get IN there?"
"What is a billion kazillion times fifty-four?"
"What's for dinner?"
"What was I like when I was a baby?"
"Can Huston be grounded for bothering me?"
"No, can Emma be grounded for bothering me?"
"What is your daddy's name?"
"Are you getting married?"
"Is Santa real?"
"What's the longest you can drive without pushing the gas pedal?"
And so on.
So when they're home, and it's about midnight and they're finally asleep; I just sit down and type my first few random thoughts and hit the publish button.
But when they're gone, I get to use my brain for my own purposes; like fixing the truck, Facebook, perfecting a fake British accent, and watching YouTube videos about people who fall off of things. So when I sit down at night, I don't really have any thoughts to write about (other than "I miss my kids, bring them home because I'm pretty much useless without them.")
The truck is still broken, although I have removed and replaced the wheel about eighteen times. Somehow, that hasn't fixed anything. I learned how to use a floor jack and also that they don't work well on muddy driveways. There are videos on YouTube that aren't just about people falling -- they have some about how to take trucks apart. It's pretty sweet...I just need to park my truck in the living room so I can watch as I go. Then I'll make my own video about how to not ruin your manicure under your truck and also how to be as greasy as possible while doing very little in the way of actual repair. (I am very good at that.)
One thing I have discovered this week is that there is still an entire movie industry out there, and they still make films that aren't animated! I watched a real movie, y'all! Did you know about this, Interwebz? I thought they went out of business back around the time Warrick was born...
Shucks is really mad at me for getting rid of the kids for another week. He thinks I'm pretty boring even though I let him in the house and also rode my bike around for his entertainment. Stupid dog -- if he had a video camera he could post YouTubes of me falling off my bike and become really popular. But he's obv not that smart. We already knew that, though, because if he'd figured out how to post my secrets, the Interwebz would have broken up with me by now -- but you still love me, right?
Aug 8, 2011
Top Ten Reasons Not to Fight on Facebook
10) That awkward moment when someone takes your side and you go check out their profile, only to realize they are an idiot.
9) Passive-aggressive "likes" are just enough to piss you off but not enough to argue with.
8) People can find a website for ANY point of view.
7) You will never convince them that the Interwebz is a giant liar.
6) Trolls.
5) You are bound to get called the one name that will actually bother you.
4) You will never EVER make someone see your point of view.
3) Context is off -- people get mad if you say they're an asshole because they can't tell that you meant to call them totally awesome.
2) Just when you come up with a brilliant argument, you log on to see that the person has stated their intention to stop responding/defriended you and blocked all comments/deleted the entire conversation.
1) Everyone else in the Land of Facebook is laughing at you and wondering why you care.
9) Passive-aggressive "likes" are just enough to piss you off but not enough to argue with.
8) People can find a website for ANY point of view.
7) You will never convince them that the Interwebz is a giant liar.
6) Trolls.
5) You are bound to get called the one name that will actually bother you.
4) You will never EVER make someone see your point of view.
3) Context is off -- people get mad if you say they're an asshole because they can't tell that you meant to call them totally awesome.
2) Just when you come up with a brilliant argument, you log on to see that the person has stated their intention to stop responding/defriended you and blocked all comments/deleted the entire conversation.
1) Everyone else in the Land of Facebook is laughing at you and wondering why you care.
Aug 6, 2011
Forget the Zombie Apocolypse Guys, We Got Wasps
During the hottest day of this year (and for this year, that's pretty dang hot), we were out for about five hours in the middle of the afternoon. When we got home, I noticed that the kids had left the door open.
After being in the hot truck, I figured this was something to care about, because my house doesn't stay very cool as it is, and a wide open door meant a very hot house. I was pretty upset when I saw that it was nearly 100 degrees in the house, and our little AC was just chugging non-stop.
Then I looked around and suddenly gave not a single shit that it was hot because it was the FREAKINGWASPOCOLYPSE in my house. Every ceiling of every room I could see was covered in wasps. While I will admit that I DID wonder how I could snap a picture for the Blog of Awesomeness, I did not want to take my eyes off those suckers for one second.
Instead, I held one hand toward the ceiling in the universal gesture of "STOP", did some ninja moves with the other hand in the universal gesture of "There are six little helpless kids RIGHT HERE, so nobody needs to bother with stinging ME!", and ducked. The wasps didn't really care to notice me because they were busy electing members of Congress for their new ceiling country.
I went outside, but they had left guards stationed out there. While I'm over my extreme fear of wasps, I still have a tiny one. And you know that buggy feeling you get like they're crawling all over you and you think "this is what a 'bad trip' must feel like?" I felt safer in the house where they were holding town hall debates instead of outside where they seemed more ready for combat.
I texted my brother and said "IT'S AN EMERGENCY! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIIIIIIIE!"
I'm not sure what happened after that, but at some point my dad showed up with two giant black cans of Wasp Death. I took some time to fashion holsters out of pantyhose so I could feel all awesome with my dual cans, said "bring it on" (only because of my accent it sounded more like "ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap"), and started shooting.
The wasps said "thwumpthwumpthwump" and I screamed a lot and there were maybe a few tears of terror. But in the end, nobody got stung and I felt like a badass and my house smelled really bad. And so ended the Epic Wasp Annihilation of 2011. Songs were written and sung, feasts were prepared, and rejoicing was heard throughout the land in the form of six short people who never once looked up from their movie the entire time.
After being in the hot truck, I figured this was something to care about, because my house doesn't stay very cool as it is, and a wide open door meant a very hot house. I was pretty upset when I saw that it was nearly 100 degrees in the house, and our little AC was just chugging non-stop.
Then I looked around and suddenly gave not a single shit that it was hot because it was the FREAKINGWASPOCOLYPSE in my house. Every ceiling of every room I could see was covered in wasps. While I will admit that I DID wonder how I could snap a picture for the Blog of Awesomeness, I did not want to take my eyes off those suckers for one second.
Instead, I held one hand toward the ceiling in the universal gesture of "STOP", did some ninja moves with the other hand in the universal gesture of "There are six little helpless kids RIGHT HERE, so nobody needs to bother with stinging ME!", and ducked. The wasps didn't really care to notice me because they were busy electing members of Congress for their new ceiling country.
I went outside, but they had left guards stationed out there. While I'm over my extreme fear of wasps, I still have a tiny one. And you know that buggy feeling you get like they're crawling all over you and you think "this is what a 'bad trip' must feel like?" I felt safer in the house where they were holding town hall debates instead of outside where they seemed more ready for combat.
I texted my brother and said "IT'S AN EMERGENCY! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIIIIIIIE!"
I'm not sure what happened after that, but at some point my dad showed up with two giant black cans of Wasp Death. I took some time to fashion holsters out of pantyhose so I could feel all awesome with my dual cans, said "bring it on" (only because of my accent it sounded more like "ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap"), and started shooting.
The wasps said "thwumpthwumpthwump" and I screamed a lot and there were maybe a few tears of terror. But in the end, nobody got stung and I felt like a badass and my house smelled really bad. And so ended the Epic Wasp Annihilation of 2011. Songs were written and sung, feasts were prepared, and rejoicing was heard throughout the land in the form of six short people who never once looked up from their movie the entire time.
Aug 5, 2011
Ms. Fix-It...or not
I haven't been around a lot lately because lots of things broke around my house and as hard as I looked, the only person around to fix them was me.
I'm not really all that handy, but I did manage to order a heating element for my dryer. I even installed it myself! After about a week of waiting on the part, I got it all put back together and the dryer still didn't work.
I need a dryer -- as you have seen, laundry is kind of a big deal around here. I couldn't afford to wait a week in between each trial repair, so I ordered something called Everything That Can Go Wrong Will Go Wrong Dryer Kit. It had replacement parts for pretty much everything.
I started with what I was fairly sure was the problem -- the thermostat. Since the original thermostat is no longer available, I need to modify my dryer somewhat to fit the new one. I got this, yo. Dryer modification ain't no thang.
But then there was a problem...the new thermostat only had two pluggie innie things, whereas the old one had three. This left me with one wire hanging around with no place to go. I consulted the instructions that came with the kit. They were helpful:
"NOTE: If there is a 3/16" terminal connected to the direct connect thermostat then one end of the jumper wire must be cut off and the male/female combination must be attached to the thermostat. The 3/16' female terminal must also be cut off of the wire harness and the 1/4' female terminal crimped onto the wire. Then that wire must be attached to the male/female combination ternimal. See Fig. 2."
Figure 2 contained a giant picture of the heating element (which was already installed) and a line, representing a cord that seemed to be attached to nothing in particular and drifting off to the end of the page. It should also be noted that the only thing described that I could point out was the thermostat -- jumper wires, terminals, harnesses...I have no idea what these things are.
What is basically wanted me to do was cut some wires, put new thingies on the ends of them, install new thingies for them to plug into, and say a prayer that nothing exploded. I was hoping I didn't accidentally purchase the kit from a terrorist masquerading as a parts site, whose intention is to get people to inadvertently turn their home appliances into WMDs.
I also installed a new fuse or something, some more wires, and some little black round thing. I put the dryer back together. It didn't heat up.
I said some choice words under my breath, but out loud I just said "SHIIIIIITTTT! Eff you, you damn dryer." Little ears around here, you know. I started throwing tools, old parts, and trash into a box to deal with after a smoke. That was when I found an entirely different little black round thing that I hadn't replaced.
It was about the size of a quarter, and I knew there was no way this little thing had caused so much drama, but I decided to put it on anyway, just to say I tried.
I took the dryer apart for the millionth time, replaced the piece, and now, my dryer is heating up. It's perfectly fine that the walls are a little melty all around it and that the National Guard is stationed in my yard with radioactive testing equipment...especially when I force them to babysit.
I'm not really all that handy, but I did manage to order a heating element for my dryer. I even installed it myself! After about a week of waiting on the part, I got it all put back together and the dryer still didn't work.
I need a dryer -- as you have seen, laundry is kind of a big deal around here. I couldn't afford to wait a week in between each trial repair, so I ordered something called Everything That Can Go Wrong Will Go Wrong Dryer Kit. It had replacement parts for pretty much everything.
I started with what I was fairly sure was the problem -- the thermostat. Since the original thermostat is no longer available, I need to modify my dryer somewhat to fit the new one. I got this, yo. Dryer modification ain't no thang.
But then there was a problem...the new thermostat only had two pluggie innie things, whereas the old one had three. This left me with one wire hanging around with no place to go. I consulted the instructions that came with the kit. They were helpful:
"NOTE: If there is a 3/16" terminal connected to the direct connect thermostat then one end of the jumper wire must be cut off and the male/female combination must be attached to the thermostat. The 3/16' female terminal must also be cut off of the wire harness and the 1/4' female terminal crimped onto the wire. Then that wire must be attached to the male/female combination ternimal. See Fig. 2."
Figure 2 contained a giant picture of the heating element (which was already installed) and a line, representing a cord that seemed to be attached to nothing in particular and drifting off to the end of the page. It should also be noted that the only thing described that I could point out was the thermostat -- jumper wires, terminals, harnesses...I have no idea what these things are.
What is basically wanted me to do was cut some wires, put new thingies on the ends of them, install new thingies for them to plug into, and say a prayer that nothing exploded. I was hoping I didn't accidentally purchase the kit from a terrorist masquerading as a parts site, whose intention is to get people to inadvertently turn their home appliances into WMDs.
I also installed a new fuse or something, some more wires, and some little black round thing. I put the dryer back together. It didn't heat up.
I said some choice words under my breath, but out loud I just said "SHIIIIIITTTT! Eff you, you damn dryer." Little ears around here, you know. I started throwing tools, old parts, and trash into a box to deal with after a smoke. That was when I found an entirely different little black round thing that I hadn't replaced.
It was about the size of a quarter, and I knew there was no way this little thing had caused so much drama, but I decided to put it on anyway, just to say I tried.
I took the dryer apart for the millionth time, replaced the piece, and now, my dryer is heating up. It's perfectly fine that the walls are a little melty all around it and that the National Guard is stationed in my yard with radioactive testing equipment...especially when I force them to babysit.
Jul 30, 2011
When I Have a Life, I'll Quit Talking About my Truck
Ninja Truck has disgraced the family. He went to a shop. This is uncool.
Even less cool is the series of phone calls I received from the mechanic over the next two days.
Him: MannyRee? Hi, uh...it looks like you'll need about $4000 to fix your truck.
Me: Uh...I could buy three of my trucks with that much money. What's going on? I just needed an alignment.
Him: Well....you have a tail light out.
Me: No I don't.
Him: Yes, it doesn't work...we can replace the bulb for you.
Me: Have fun with that, because you have to take the door off and use four different screwdrivers and then once you get the bulbs in, you realize that there is a wiring problem.
Him: Oh. That sucks. I don't do wiring. But you also have a power steering leak.
Me: Ok. But what about an alignment?
Him: You need new tie rods.
Me: Those are new tie rods. Alignment?
Him: You need new ball joints.
Me: Those are new ball joints.
Him: Well, they don't fit the control arm. You need a new control arm.
Me: Can you tell if the control arm is forged or stamped?
Him: ...
Me: If it's forged, maybe we could tack weld the ball joints. The stamped control arms are more uniform.
Him: MY computer didn't tell me that.
Me: Put my truck back together, I'm coming to get him.
I don't know an awful lot about cars, but when the shop mechanic argues with me based on what his shop computer told him -- it's time to find a garage mechanic. Like my brother. Yay, for brother! He gets to spend more time under Ninja Truck, which is basically his birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. (Don't tell him, though, I want to see the look of excitement on his face when I surprise him.)
I went to the shop to surprise the mechanic yesterday, and boy was he happy about it. I made him show me everything he was talking about and he was so glad for that opportunity. I'm sure he appreciates the more "hands-on" customers. When I called later, the guy on the phone told me I was close to winning the Most Annoying Customer Ever Award. They are scoring big points up there, let me tell ya. I think they quoted the $4000 just to get rid of me. I don't understand why it's such a big deal that I want to understand exactly why they want to charge me more than my truck is worth to fix it. If this isn't a time to ask questions, I don't know what is.
Anyway, Ninja Truck is on his way home, and I have about two weeks to fix him before school starts again. And he can forget about a new air conditioner, because he is being all high maintenance and I'm feeling used. When school starts, we get to start the whole other type of stress, so the truck is going to have to suck it up until next summer.
Even less cool is the series of phone calls I received from the mechanic over the next two days.
Him: MannyRee? Hi, uh...it looks like you'll need about $4000 to fix your truck.
Me: Uh...I could buy three of my trucks with that much money. What's going on? I just needed an alignment.
Him: Well....you have a tail light out.
Me: No I don't.
Him: Yes, it doesn't work...we can replace the bulb for you.
Me: Have fun with that, because you have to take the door off and use four different screwdrivers and then once you get the bulbs in, you realize that there is a wiring problem.
Him: Oh. That sucks. I don't do wiring. But you also have a power steering leak.
Me: Ok. But what about an alignment?
Him: You need new tie rods.
Me: Those are new tie rods. Alignment?
Him: You need new ball joints.
Me: Those are new ball joints.
Him: Well, they don't fit the control arm. You need a new control arm.
Me: Can you tell if the control arm is forged or stamped?
Him: ...
Me: If it's forged, maybe we could tack weld the ball joints. The stamped control arms are more uniform.
Him: MY computer didn't tell me that.
Me: Put my truck back together, I'm coming to get him.
I don't know an awful lot about cars, but when the shop mechanic argues with me based on what his shop computer told him -- it's time to find a garage mechanic. Like my brother. Yay, for brother! He gets to spend more time under Ninja Truck, which is basically his birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. (Don't tell him, though, I want to see the look of excitement on his face when I surprise him.)
I went to the shop to surprise the mechanic yesterday, and boy was he happy about it. I made him show me everything he was talking about and he was so glad for that opportunity. I'm sure he appreciates the more "hands-on" customers. When I called later, the guy on the phone told me I was close to winning the Most Annoying Customer Ever Award. They are scoring big points up there, let me tell ya. I think they quoted the $4000 just to get rid of me. I don't understand why it's such a big deal that I want to understand exactly why they want to charge me more than my truck is worth to fix it. If this isn't a time to ask questions, I don't know what is.
Anyway, Ninja Truck is on his way home, and I have about two weeks to fix him before school starts again. And he can forget about a new air conditioner, because he is being all high maintenance and I'm feeling used. When school starts, we get to start the whole other type of stress, so the truck is going to have to suck it up until next summer.
Jul 25, 2011
I'm Not Even Sure What I'm Saying Here
Today I learned that there is a good reason for the "delete" button.
Also, I can still be upset by things that happened five years ago.
Also? I can't wait to see my babies again and make them clean their rooms. There is nothing better than an afternoon spent telling people to clean their rooms to make you feel more in touch with reality.
It rained last night, so I went for a walk. It was lovely...it was totally dark outside and the air had that awesome scent. I took Shucks and a flashlight and my phone (in case I got attacked by cows or something). The thing with walking in the dark in the country with a flashlight is that you get mauled by giant bugs that you really can't see coming until they smack you in the face. They liked the flashlight, so I turned it off. It was really dark and scary, so I turned it back on.
I had taken Shucks so I wouldn't be scared, but he was on a mission to pee on every blade of grass and didn't really care that I was being eaten alive by pterodactyl sized bugs. Even after I said "fweep." Eventually, the bugs went home because of the rain, but the cows started following me. They are bigger than bugs, so I went home.
Here's the thing about dirt roads: If you own a 4WD, 7.3l Powerstroke and can't go more than 10mph because you're worried about a rock hitting your paint, please trade me cars because you aren't using your truck correctly and I can absolutely find something to do with it. Or let me pass. Because WOW, annoying. If you don't have a cloud of dust in your rear view or mud splattering your truck bed, you aren't doing the dirt road thing right.
So yeah.
Anyway, speed up or hand over the truck -- redneck law.
Also, I can still be upset by things that happened five years ago.
Also? I can't wait to see my babies again and make them clean their rooms. There is nothing better than an afternoon spent telling people to clean their rooms to make you feel more in touch with reality.
It rained last night, so I went for a walk. It was lovely...it was totally dark outside and the air had that awesome scent. I took Shucks and a flashlight and my phone (in case I got attacked by cows or something). The thing with walking in the dark in the country with a flashlight is that you get mauled by giant bugs that you really can't see coming until they smack you in the face. They liked the flashlight, so I turned it off. It was really dark and scary, so I turned it back on.
I had taken Shucks so I wouldn't be scared, but he was on a mission to pee on every blade of grass and didn't really care that I was being eaten alive by pterodactyl sized bugs. Even after I said "fweep." Eventually, the bugs went home because of the rain, but the cows started following me. They are bigger than bugs, so I went home.
Here's the thing about dirt roads: If you own a 4WD, 7.3l Powerstroke and can't go more than 10mph because you're worried about a rock hitting your paint, please trade me cars because you aren't using your truck correctly and I can absolutely find something to do with it. Or let me pass. Because WOW, annoying. If you don't have a cloud of dust in your rear view or mud splattering your truck bed, you aren't doing the dirt road thing right.
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| Ooooo, baby! |
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| Most romantic date EVER. |
Jul 23, 2011
Laundry and Wasp Armies
I was multitasking like a boss today, trying to fix my broken washer and dryer (while also doing laundry) and cooking dinner and trying to find something to wear. I innocently reached for the bottle of fabric softener when I looked right above it and saw this:
It's hard to tell from this picture, but that is a group of GIANT KILLER WASPS that are covering the wall. I said "FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP!" (because I'm ninja like that) and the wasps weren't scared of me at all. Instead, they simultaneously turned to stare at me and decided to eat me.
To give you an idea of how GIANT and KILLER these wasps are, I also snapped a picture of the one that ate Ninja Truck. It's a sad day -- due to the no wheels, Ninja Truck was defenseless and there was no hope for him.
After I said "FWEEP", the wasps brought their leader out.
Me: But I'm washing sheets.
Me: But I said "Fweep."
Me: That means I'm the boss and you guys don't live in the house.
Me: Fweep?
Me: *sigh* ok...
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| "Leave the fabric softener and we won't eat you." |
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| "Leave it or DIIIIIIIIE!" |
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| "Yeah, what was THAT, anyway?" |
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| "Fweep? Look, lady...we live here. What are you gonna do about it?" |
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| "Still not working. I suggest you pack your bags, hun. Leave the fabric softener and the dinner, and just pretend we never met." |
Jul 22, 2011
Papaw
This week has been a whirlwind of truck fixing and hanging with friends and hospital visits. It's already been documented that my family has a crazy gene that only shows up in the dark quiet halls of hospitals late at night. My grandfather's move to ICU a couple of days ago has given us all lots of time to be roaming and driving nurses up the wall.
I think my grandpa is getting tired of our antics, too, and tried this morning to trick the hospital staff into taking him back for surgery (any old surgery he could get, I think) early in order to get out and go home sooner. I can't blame him, either. They should totally allow the barter system when it comes to surgery. "I'll take your amputation today if you take my gall bladder surgery tomorrow. I go home sooner and you get free meals for an extra day -- win/win, right?"
The thing about my Papaw is that he's very funny, but he's usually very serious, so not everyone gets to see that side. It's what made us grandkids love him growing up, though. Here is my Papaw Triolet, from a family assignment a few years back.
Oogly Googly Goo!
Hey, Hey, good lookin'.
I am speaking the language of you-know-who.
Oogly Googly Goo!
Keep your belly in, or he'll get you!
Good chili cookin'.
Oogly Googly Goo!
Hey, Hey, good lookin'.
Only our family would understand this, but it sums things up pretty well. Please, my friends, say an extra prayer for him tomorrow!
I think my grandpa is getting tired of our antics, too, and tried this morning to trick the hospital staff into taking him back for surgery (any old surgery he could get, I think) early in order to get out and go home sooner. I can't blame him, either. They should totally allow the barter system when it comes to surgery. "I'll take your amputation today if you take my gall bladder surgery tomorrow. I go home sooner and you get free meals for an extra day -- win/win, right?"
The thing about my Papaw is that he's very funny, but he's usually very serious, so not everyone gets to see that side. It's what made us grandkids love him growing up, though. Here is my Papaw Triolet, from a family assignment a few years back.
Oogly Googly Goo!
Hey, Hey, good lookin'.
I am speaking the language of you-know-who.
Oogly Googly Goo!
Keep your belly in, or he'll get you!
Good chili cookin'.
Oogly Googly Goo!
Hey, Hey, good lookin'.
Only our family would understand this, but it sums things up pretty well. Please, my friends, say an extra prayer for him tomorrow!
Jul 18, 2011
The Good Doctor/Dealer
Ninja Truck is still feeling down, and my neighbors have got to be wondering how long they get to enjoy the epic reneckiness of this:
This is some BS right here -- I don't know who put all that mess there and left that Chevy on blocks, but it's lowering property values. Also? What's up with the vacuum leaning against the house? PSHHH...some people.
I had to go visit the doctor today, and he didn't tell me to quit smoking once. It was a WIN for me. He also gave me one single pill that is supposed to help with bronchitis, the TUMOROFDEATH on my ribs, and the broken leg from the Fourth of July....anyone else think he's lying to me and trying to placebo me out of his office. He needs to recognize that it literally costs three dollars per second to have a conversation with him and that placebo pats-on-the-back should get a serious discount. That was some BS, too.
He did assure me that the magic pills would work, just so long as I took SIX of them at once. Dude, anytime someone tells you to take six pills at once and you'll feel better all over your whole entire self? That means DRUGS, yo. Not the doctor/pharmacy kind, either. The kind that you learn to say no to in second grade. Too bad second grade was a loooong time ago for me, because I put all six of those pills in my hand, looked at them and said "REALLY? Six of them? At once?" Then swallowed them anyway because I'm not going to pay three dollars a second and not do what the man says.
On a completely unrelated note, my walls were purple and melty when I got home tonight, so guess who's getting a phone call from their favorite tenant tomorrow! Landlord these days...I may have to get a pill to help me deal with the purple melty walls, and also the roof keeps telling me what kind of dog food to buy. But on the bright side, my leg doesn't hurt AT ALL.
I had to go visit the doctor today, and he didn't tell me to quit smoking once. It was a WIN for me. He also gave me one single pill that is supposed to help with bronchitis, the TUMOROFDEATH on my ribs, and the broken leg from the Fourth of July....anyone else think he's lying to me and trying to placebo me out of his office. He needs to recognize that it literally costs three dollars per second to have a conversation with him and that placebo pats-on-the-back should get a serious discount. That was some BS, too.
He did assure me that the magic pills would work, just so long as I took SIX of them at once. Dude, anytime someone tells you to take six pills at once and you'll feel better all over your whole entire self? That means DRUGS, yo. Not the doctor/pharmacy kind, either. The kind that you learn to say no to in second grade. Too bad second grade was a loooong time ago for me, because I put all six of those pills in my hand, looked at them and said "REALLY? Six of them? At once?" Then swallowed them anyway because I'm not going to pay three dollars a second and not do what the man says.
On a completely unrelated note, my walls were purple and melty when I got home tonight, so guess who's getting a phone call from their favorite tenant tomorrow! Landlord these days...I may have to get a pill to help me deal with the purple melty walls, and also the roof keeps telling me what kind of dog food to buy. But on the bright side, my leg doesn't hurt AT ALL.
Jul 15, 2011
Bits and Pieces and No Parts
Tomorrow, my kids leave for twelve entire days. I am predicting a major freak-out on about day four. Me, not them. But my house will be so clean! But I'm probably going to throw laundry and goldfish crackers all over the place just so it feels like home. But my truck will be clean! But it is currently sans wheels in the driveway. But WHATEVER.
I plan to clean and buy groceries in peace. I also plan to sit in the driveway and supervise the dudes of fame while they fix Ninja Truck. Not that they need the supervision, but I figure I should watch anyway, because how many other times in my life do twelve guys show up in my driveway with coolers full of beer? Never. That's how many times.
They took the truck apart tonight, but due to my failure to obtain the parts (which was due to the fifteenth time Donovan pooped his pants in one day), they couldn't really fix it all the way. I assume, anyway. I'm pretty sure driving without ball joints is exactly what the original problem was in the first place. (That's what all the scraping sounds were and also why the driver's seat was sitting directly on top of the parking lot.) Get some ball joints, is my point -- they're necessary.
After my truck is fixed, I need to get the AC fixed also because 110 degrees means that I can't show up anywhere before 10pm without being half melted. Half melted is better than all the way melted, but still not as good as not melted in any way whatsoever. Trust me on this...it's not good for you. Or anyone who has to be around you. You get all your melty pieces on them and they get all pissy about it and it just turns into a big disaster.
I watched my baby cousin today and only hurt her face one time. She's still mad at me for it, and when her mom got here she went all "AAAAH! MOM! Guess what they DID!!!!" And I was all "She totally started it!" And since the baby can't make sentences yet, her mom totally believed me over her so I won that one. Except now she knows where I sleep so you can bet I'll be keeping one eye open for the next few nights.
I plan to clean and buy groceries in peace. I also plan to sit in the driveway and supervise the dudes of fame while they fix Ninja Truck. Not that they need the supervision, but I figure I should watch anyway, because how many other times in my life do twelve guys show up in my driveway with coolers full of beer? Never. That's how many times.
They took the truck apart tonight, but due to my failure to obtain the parts (which was due to the fifteenth time Donovan pooped his pants in one day), they couldn't really fix it all the way. I assume, anyway. I'm pretty sure driving without ball joints is exactly what the original problem was in the first place. (That's what all the scraping sounds were and also why the driver's seat was sitting directly on top of the parking lot.) Get some ball joints, is my point -- they're necessary.
After my truck is fixed, I need to get the AC fixed also because 110 degrees means that I can't show up anywhere before 10pm without being half melted. Half melted is better than all the way melted, but still not as good as not melted in any way whatsoever. Trust me on this...it's not good for you. Or anyone who has to be around you. You get all your melty pieces on them and they get all pissy about it and it just turns into a big disaster.
I watched my baby cousin today and only hurt her face one time. She's still mad at me for it, and when her mom got here she went all "AAAAH! MOM! Guess what they DID!!!!" And I was all "She totally started it!" And since the baby can't make sentences yet, her mom totally believed me over her so I won that one. Except now she knows where I sleep so you can bet I'll be keeping one eye open for the next few nights.
Jul 12, 2011
Simultaneous Surprise Low-Rider Ninja
As I was innocently driving the kids to bible school this evening, Ninja Truck decided he was done with the whole "being on wheels" nonsense and just jumped off of them.
I heard this horrible scraping and managed to turn into the parking lot before he gave up and quit going. I got out, fearing for a tire, and discovered this:
I had to call my brother Anthony who kindly left a bucket of beer in the presence of some friends and called AAA for me. My coffee date with Tracy was doomed, as we waited two hours for the tow truck to show up. Tracy drove me to get coffee at the gas station and we hung out in her car, smoking ciggies and waving at Baptists.
AAA has a truck that WALKS (which apparently is Ninja Truck's plan, what with the forgoing of wheels and such). It walked under my truck and picked him up. In the shot above, you could hear Ninja Truck screaming, "OW!!! My bumper! My FACE!!!" I told him he deserved it. He said it was a lifestyle choice and there was nothing he could do about it...he was born to not be on wheels and he wasn't going to continue the farce of driving around on those horrid things anymore.
I'm all for diversity and everything, but no truck of mine is going to be running around on its framework. We argued and fought for the rest of the evening. For now, Ninja Truck is grounded.
Literally.
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