Saturday, February 25, 2006



Flick My Bic

"You want to play haunted house?" my older brother of four years asked.

"Sure," I said shrugging my shoulders. Whatever. There was nothing really to do anyway and this was one of the few times my brother was actually being nice to me.

"Okay. Just give me a few minutes to get the room ready. When I call for you, come in," he instructed me.

"Sounds good," I continued playing with my Barbie for about five minutes until I heard him calling for me. I got up and prepared myself to be scared. I put my hand on the doorknob and fell to my knees in pain, my hand still on the door knob. I was frozen in place, unable to let go.

Finally, the door slowly opened and my brother revealed himself. He stood there smiling a maniacle smile while holding a Bic lighter.

"What's wrong?" He asked, the picture of innocence. I cradled my hand in my lap.

"That doorknob burnt me!" I screamed at him. He had just upped the ante of our 8 year war.

"You know why it burnt you? Cause I stood on the otherside of it holding this lighter under it. For five minutes."


You Better Recognize...

My first fracas with one of my siblings occurred when I was four. A neighbor had given us a sack full of second hand clothes and I laid claim to a blue shirt with a sun-glasses wearing Snoopy emblazoned across the front. I had no idea I hand stumbled upon a very much coveted Joe Cool t-shirt. I am certain my brother would have been content to allow me to keep the shirt if it had not boastfully proclaimed that Joe Cool always had a cool day. That seemingly innocuous assertion assured my limited ownership.
“Hey you wanna go play,” my brother asked, nodding his head in encouragement. I was taken aback. My brother was asking me to play with him!
“Okay,” I replied. “What do you want to do?”
“Let’s wrestle in the living room.”
I followed him into the living room, which was separate from the den, and waited for him to explain the rules.
“Okay, I am going to pin you down and you are going to try and get up,” he said in a concise manner.
“What do I do when I get up?” I asked solemnly. This was my one shot…I had to make sure I was clear.
“Then I pin you down again and you try to get up again,” he informed me.
“Okay.” I am unclear what happened next but I recall wondering if wrestlers were supposed to use fists right before shards of pain stabbed my euphoria. Suddenly, I was free and my bottom lip stung unmercifully. I put my tiny fingers to my lip and felt the warm, unmistakable evidence of blood. I looked down at my shirt. Snoopy was also bleeding and not having such a cool day after all. I looked at my brother, whose narrowed eyes silently conveyed how things were going to be from now on. In what would begin an unusual dance between us, I narrowed my eyes as well before opening my mouth and screaming at the top of my lungs. Fear of the unknown flashed across my brother’s face. We were in uncharted territory and the lines were being drawn.
My father came barreling around the corner in nothing but his underwear. “What’s going on in here,” he bellowed before seeing the blood on my shirt. I cried louder for good measure.
“Boy,” he said, pointing his finger in my brother’s face before snatching me up, “I’ll slap your John Brown jaws you ever hit your sister again. You got that?” Little did we know, this would be a common and empty threat growing up.
My mother, having been interrupted from her evening cup of coffee, came in and looked at my lip. “What happened?”
I took a good long sniff and stuck out my swollen lip. “Keith hit me on purpose. He wanted my shirt.”
“No I didn’t! That shirt is stupid. We were just wrestling,” He protested. My father walked over, with me still in his arms, and popped my brother with enough force to disturb a feather. I smiled and silently conveyed the fact that if he wanted things to get ugly, he better be prepared to bring it. 'Cause it was on.

Thursday, February 23, 2006



Thirty-One Days Smoke Free...

And it SUCKS. OMG. I cannot wait until I can have the occasional cig with a beer and it not make me smoke again. It is so not fair!

Have I gained weight? Yep. I am super short so I look like Barney Rubble.

Have I been a bitch? Yep. Progeny One told me that if I wanted to smoke one every now and then it was okay. This was after I told him he was going to be grounded from his games for three weeks instead of two.

Do I still want one? if someone told me I could have a smoke if I promised to blow smoke in George W's face...I would do it.

And if smoking is so unattractive, why does she look so good doing it?



Maddox Jolie-Pitt- Dynomite

His little silver moon boots are FIERCE.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Karma's A Bitch...And Obviously, So Is Jessica

So last week a little story comes out that Chestica cheated on Nick in 2004 with the lead singer of Maroon 5, Adam Lavine or Levine..whatever. Well, this week, Nick La-Hey! decides he needs to get half of her money and all of the jewelry he gave her, and I for one hope he gets it. Allow me if you will, to enumerate the reasons why. First, Jessica is a fraud. Second, anyone that does not know, your affair will eventually come out you cheated on your husband when you are one of the biggest stars on the planet, deserves a looooooooooooooooooong drawn out, messy, divorce. And could she please do something with her creepy looking father?!? And third, she is related to the girl who wore open toe sandals to a red carpet event, with feet that looked like they had been drug behind a Buick.



Monday, February 20, 2006

Hang up the phone...
Debbie Harris of Blondie Fame

Debbie, you know what? I'm not going to call you anymore. In fact, if you are really in the mood to talk to someone, call your stylist and/or hairdresser. Girl. You look TORE UP. You look like the mother of the Slim Jim on TV with the rubber hair. And why did you wear your souvenir night gown from Dollywood to a red carpet event? Oh! Wait I get it! That coat is supposed to be cool!Well, its not. But if you would have called someone instead of waiting around for everyone to call you, you would have known.

Sunday, February 19, 2006


Jungle Rot

There is no excuse for being seen in public with your scabs displayed so proudly. I can understand getting a blister on your heel or pinky toe...but how do you manage to get BOTH feet scobbed up...on the TOP? If you have time to harrass the employees at McDonald's...then honey, you have time for a pedicure. If you cannot get one, stay. at. home. It's that simple. You do not show up to a red carpet event with Hammer Time on your feet. Wear a boot. I think I would have preferred that you wore tennis shoes with this than those shoes. Those straps are not helping sister. TAKE THYSELF HOME...

Here are some hints to this individuals identity:
1. Her Initials are ASHLEE SIMPSON
2. She can't sing
3. She was humiliated on national tv lip syncing
4. Her father is a tyrant
5. Her older sister is MUCH prettier than she will ever be
6. Her sister is a slut.


Saturday, February 18, 2006


GOTTA MAKE IT QUICK! Off to the store!
*Refer to "Just one Snowflake"...

Actual email from my boss...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From: Xxxxxx, Russ
Sent: Fri 2/17/2006 12:00 PM
To: Round Bldg
Subject: Wintry Weather


HAZARDOUS WEATHER OUTLOOK NASTY WEATHER SERVICE 616 AM CST FRI FEB 17 2006
Everyone please be aware there's a chance for wintry weather in the form of freezing rain this weekend. A winter storm watch cuts off just north of Xxxxx County, but the I-XX corridor through X-town is mentioned as the southern line of possibility of sleet or freezing rain. (freezing rain is worse).


Thanks!
Russ WXXXXX

OM/PD Clear Channel,

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Right...

UPDATE FROM 2/19/2006: Nothing...


PLEASE...MAKE IT STOP!!!

There comes a time in everyones life when they simply have to stop running from whatever their truth may be and face reality. It may be drug addiction for some people or gambling for others. Or it could be worse. It could be the refusal to admit that white pumps are horrific.

Shhh! Don't speak... I know its hard to accept the truth and you want to fight what's been in front of you the entire time...but it's true. I don't care who slaps their name on it, or who wears it: white pumps will always look cheap. Be they $10 or $1000, they all look like they were made in a sweatshop.

I want you to take a deep look at yourself...the real you is hiding in there behind a pair of pleather Gloria Vanderbilt's, and ask yourself if that shoe...is you? Is there a black scuff on your heart like there are on the toe of your pumps?

Do you recall the saying, "If you love something set it free...if it comes back to you its yours and if it doesn't it never was?" Or WHATEVER...you get my point. Get on your knees right now and pray that this does not apply to you because you don't want these shoes back.

Repeat after me:

My name is (insert name here) and I wear white pumps. I wore white pumps because I thought they made me look smart. I wore white pumps because I thought they went great with everything...even black socks. I wore white pumps because I thought that no Easter dress was complete without them. I wore white pumps because I thought they looked hot with stone washed, peg legged, blue jeans. But no more! I am taking control of my life! No more white pumps! I'm breaking free!

That's it...it's that easy.

There is also a 800 number for you to call if you get weak and are tempted to fall of the wagon. (800)-Only-Hookers-Wear-White-Pumps.

Assistance is standing by to help you at any time.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Worked For Me


Do you have feelings of inadequacy? Do you suffer from shyness? Do you sometimes wish you were more assertive? If you answered yes to any of these questions, ask your doctor or pharmacist about Tequila®.

Tequila® is the safe, natural way to feel better and more confident about yourself and your actions.

Tequila® can help ease you out of your shyness and let you tell the world that you're ready and willing to do just about anything.You will notice the benefits of Tequila® almost immediately, and with a regimen of regular doses you can overcome any obstacles that prevent you from living the life you want to live. Shyness and awkwardness will be a thing of the past, and you will discover many talents you never knew you had. Stop hiding and start living, with Tequila®.

Tequila® may not be right for everyone. Women who are pregnant or nursing should not use Tequila®. However, women who wouldn't mind nursing or becoming pregnant are encouraged to try it.

Side effects may include dizziness, nausea, vomiting, incarceration, erotic lustfulness, loss of motor control, loss of clothing, loss of money, loss ofvirginity, delusions of grandeur, table dancing, headache, dehydration, dry mouth, and a desire to sing Karaoke and play all-night rounds of Strip Poker, Truth Or Dare, and Naked Twister.

Tequila®.

Leave Shyness Behind.

(Thanks Jay...)

Me and a friend, T.B got on a Tequila kick one time and it was U.G.L.Y. Here are a few things that happened to me (or so I have been told):

  • I used the bathroom in a Gas station and tucked my dress into my thong. Walked around in the parking lot like that for an indeterminate amount of time.
  • Followed an old lady off of the dance floor at Steamers and told her I would beat her ass if she made eyes at Hubby again.
  • Would request (as in guilty of this particular infraction on more than one occasion) that the DJ play Pleasure Principal by Janet Jackson at 6:00 in the evening (already drunk...) and would dance like the club was hopping. Families still eating their dinner would watch us with their mouths open.
  • Wore some CLOD HOPPERS out one night, stepped into a hole and passed out in Hubby's front yard. He could not lift me by himself (too drunk). Had to call a fellow officer who was working to help get me in the house. Had to have surgery as a result two years later.
  • Told Hubby that if he kissed T.B on the lips one more time (he use to do it just to piss me off) I was going to kiss a some random guy on the dance floor. He kissed her and I laid one on this guy who thought he was MAC DADDY and said, "hey...let's take it slow...". Vel Veeta. He kept following me around for the rest of the night. Hubby is convinced, to this day I orchestrated that entire event because I was attracted to that guy and just wanted to kiss him. * Sigh*. Not even close.

But if you think these things are bad you truly terrified to know that T.B and I spent hours learning the routine to the Miss you Much video by Janet and we broke it down on the dance floor in the middle of the day...stone cold sober.


Do You Double Dog Dare?

So many things....can't think....eyes hurt...jokes...

Three things wrong with this picture. The Hoff, White, and leather. I also love Pepsi trying to assure all of the German's (cause you know you wont ever see that ad here...Americans would take to the streets in protest) that The Hoff is a virile man. Look at the picture real close...all kinds of subliminal messages...leave me a comment if you see what I am talking about.

I also think it is time to admit to ourselves that the Knight Rider era is truly over. Otherwise, Kit would have come back to life to tell David that he needed to lay off the bedazzler on those boots.

And what does Pepsi mean by their slogan, dare for more? More what? The Hoff? I think not. More white leather? Shudder...more strategically placed Pepsi spewage? Never.

You know David should give up when he can't even redeem himself after being in the Sponge Bob movie and me finding out recently that he wore a girdle under his trunks on Bay Watch does not help.


Wednesday, February 15, 2006


The Difference Between Southerners And The Rest Of The World...

is the only way you will see a camel toe in the South is if someone from anywhere but the South moved here. 'Cause we know better. A camel toe in polite society is bad enough but how friendless do you have to be to have been allowed to walk out on stage like this?!?"!! If Ms. Canada would have been my friend she would have worn a BURKA before she pranced out on the stage with that hoof. I can not even bear to look at her because I am powerless not to look at it and I honestly would rather not. I mean...I have no idea what this lady's face looks like, her hair color...nothing. Because I am staring at that...crevice...wondering if I have ever been seen in public like this and then I remember that several things would have to happen first in order for me to be seen in public with that thing that she has goin' on up there...please don't make me say it again....CAMEL TOE:

A. I would have to move out of the South
B. I would have to become a hermit and not have any friends...while living outside of the South.
C. Elvis would come back to life only on the condition that I display one in public...only while outside of the South.

Southern women don't go to the mail box without doing it up. A Southern woman will cancel an event that she has spent countless dollars and time on if her hair is not right.

Some of us may be missing a few teeth but you can bet your sweet arse we sure look pretty with our mouths closed.

Is One Flake Too Much To Ask? Just One Flake...

Living in Alabama, we seldom if ever get snow. When we do, the entire area affected shuts down. Everything: roads, gas stations, schools, etc. We know we are a joke up North but frankly, I will go toe to toe with any Northerner during a heat wave on any day.

The last time it snowed to make a difference was in 1993. I was 18 and worked at the airport (what a joke...) so we had to work late the night the storm was supposed to come in and I ended up having to crash at my office managers house (the nastiest house this side of the Mississippi...roaches riding around on dune buggies). Needless to say I was in Hell and I wont even mentioned that I let Big Lang kiss me...oh God...

Well, twelve years later and nothing....no ice storm, no freezing rain...nothing. Now, we got Hurricanes (never has a storm been categorized as a Hurricane this far North in 'Bama that I am are of)...but no snow.

Now don't confuse the fact that we haven't had a snowfall with it being predicted. Oh, its been predicted lots of times...but it never happens. People fall for it every single time to and will run to the grocery store. No bread, milk or charcoal can be found for miles around. And if you think you wont get the hell beat out of you for some batteries...you are so wrong and that kind of thinking will get you 5 to 10....stitches.

So this weekend what happens? "Major Winter Event!" "How will the approaching storm affect you? Find out at 13 news at ten!", "How bad will it get? Stay Tuned to Fox 8 for school and road closings!"

Did we get snow? Noooooooooooooooooooo...not one freaking flurry...not even a flur.

But I got a freezer full of bread.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006



Now They've Gone Too Far

I understand there are some issues regarding some Danish cartoons, but a little sensitivity would be appreciated.

How Am I Suppose To Live Without You
Michael Bolton

I could hardly believe it
When I heard the news today
I had to come and get it straight from you
They said you were leavin'
Someone's swept your heart away
From the look upon your face, I see it's true
So tell me all about it,
Tell me 'bout the plans you're makin'
Then tell me one thing more before I go

CHORUS:
Tell me how am I suppose to live without you
Now that I've been lovin' you so long
How am I suppose to live without you
How am I suppose to carry on
When all that I've been livin' for is gone
I didn't come here for cryin'
Didn't come here to break down
It's just a dream of mine is coming to an end
And how can I blame you
When I build my world around
The hope that one day
We'd be so much more than friends
And I don't wanna know
The price I'm gonna pay for dreamin'
When even now it's more than I can take

CHORUS:
Tell me how am I suppose to live without you
Now that I've been lovin' you so long
How am I suppose to live without you
How am I suppose to carry on
When all that I've been livin' for is gone

BRIDGE:
And I don't wanna face
The price I'm gonna pay for dreaming
Now that your dream has come true

CHORUS:
Tell me how am I suppose to live without you
Now that I've been lovin' you so long
How am I suppose to live without you
How am I suppose to carry on
When all that I've been livin' for is gone

FOR THE D'S GO TO : http://www.perezhilton.com/
Conversations With My Mother

Mom: "Why are you so ill?"

Moi: "Because I don't understand why we have to eat every meal at 4:00 just to get the Early Bird Special. This is our beach trip and we invited them and they are the ones that are calling all the shots. It pisses me off because I have to start getting ready at 2:00 in the afternoon! I'm not doing it anymore. You can eat dinner with them if you want...I'll just order in."

Mom: "Don't be ugly."

Moi: "I'm not mother! I'm just telling you that I am not going to eat another meal before 7:00 p.m just so I can save $2 freaking dollars!"

Mom: "What is wrong with you? Have you got ESPN or something?"

Moi: "What?"

Mom: "You know...are you pre-menstrual?"

Moi: "No...and if I was, it would be PMS not ESPN."

Mom: "Well, you know what I meant."

Moi: "No really...I didn't."
Drive Safe

Growing up, my house was always messy and Saturday was always clean up day...all day. I never got to play with my friends on the weekends because mom would make us clean all day and then we had church all day on Sunday.

One thing that never managed to get done was laundry. It would get washed and dumped on the couch but never folded and put up. You could never open a drawer and your clothes be nicely tucked in there...you had to go on a scavenger hunt when you needed to get ready.

Growing up, I never saw my father wear pants inside the home. He walked around in his briefs (shudder) and no shirt. Just underwear. Whenever my friends came over, he never bothered to put pants on...he would just use a throw pillow. He would move about from room to room with a coffee cup and/or cig in one hand and a cushion placed strategically over his...whatever.

One day, I was digging in the fridge (don't know why...my mother never had anything good in there) so I never saw my father walk into the kitchen. I heard him stirring his coffee and turned around to ask him a question but was unable to form the words on my tongue. There he stood...in his scantily clad glory...wearing nothing but...my RATHER LARGE mother's hot. pink. panties.

"Why are you wearing mother's panties?" I asked in disgust.

"Cause...your momma hasn't done the laundry. I didn't have anything else to wear." He continued to stir his coffee as if the conversation was not really taking place.

"Well, couldn't you have just washed a load yourself?"

"I could have but I haven't had time to man...foot ("foot" was my father's signature way to end a particular conversation. He pronounced it as 'fut'...you can imagine how my friends might have confused that with another word) ."

"Have you worn those all day?"

"Sho have, " he said as he loudly slurped on his hot coffee.

"What if you got in a wreck? How would you explain that?" I asked, trying to make him understand the gravity of the situation.

"I'd just tell 'em your momma didn't do the laundry...foot." Clearly, he was undisturbed.

"Could you at least put some pants on...those panties are really tight...especially around the front...and their pink," I pleaded.

"Sho could. But I'm not. I aint ashamed....foot...if your momma would do the John Brown laundry more than once a month I wouldn't have to wear 'em. "

I think I repressed this particular memory for years until I recently went to my parents house to drop off a birthday present for my mom. My father answered the door...wearing her nightgown.

Monday, February 13, 2006





Old Ladies Who Work At Used Book Stores Are Bitches

I mean, is it just me?

I have got mucho books all over my house and I realize the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. I have boxes EVERYWHERE...office, bedroom, attic, garage, living room and I am sure I forgot some other places.

So the used book store that I frequent (which also happens to be the only one in town) accepts only one bag of books per visit. So this morning, I crammed as many into a paper sack to trade in. I walk into Paperbacks Trade N Save with a big smile and a big bag of books. Well the old HAG who happen to be working there today, looks as if I have backed my car right up to the door and there is an assembly line of books being continually dumped in the store.

"What'd you do? Let 'em stack up on you?" She asked clearly upset because her OLD ASS IS GOING TO HAVE TO GET UP OUT OF HER CHAIR! AND COULD YOU PLEASE GET A CALCULATOR AT LEAST? I CANNOT STAND WATCHING YOU LICK YOUR PENCIL BEFORE YOU START ADDING UP MY PURCHASE ON SCRAP PIECES OF PAPER!!

"Oh, no mam! This does not even scratch the surface of what I have," I informed her with no small measure of pride.

"Well, I'm not fooling with em," She said, silently pleading with me to thump her on the ear. I know she's old but that does not give her the right to be a crotchety bitch.

"Well, its a good thing I only brought one bag then!" I said before heading into the Romance room.

Well, the rest of my visit, I could hear her slamming my used books down on the desk has she tallied each one. I took immense pleasure as the sound grew harsher with each paperback. But then I start thinking...you know...this is a prime example of what is wrong with this country. IT IS YOUR JOB LADY, TO ALLOW ME TO TRADE MY BOOKS IN. AND IT IS ALSO YOUR JOB TO LIKE IT. By the time I found what I was looking for, I could feel the heat boiling off her.
I had $87.50 in credit and I took two books up to the desk with no register or calculator and only pencils and scratch pieces of paper.

"Is that it?"

"Yes mam. I'll see if I can't find some books to pickup when I come back tomorrow with another bag." I licked my lips as I prepared to go in for the kill.

"You already have $90 in credit. How much more could you need?" She took her glasses off her head and slung them onto the desk.

"Oh, its not about credit. I just need to get them out of my way," I said sweetly.

"Well there is a limit you know, " She refused to look at me.

"Oh, yes mam! I know...One bag per visit..it says right there on that sign, so I plan on stopping by everyday this week."

She glared at me for AT LEAST thirty seconds SOLID. I stared back. I could hear old western music playing as our standoff continued. I kept waiting for a tumbleweed to roll past me.

"Hmph. Well, I sure am glad I'm not gonna be working everyday this week," She said as she crossed her arms and picked at minuscule fuzz on her shirt.

Me too, lady, me too.

Saturday, February 11, 2006



Dear Britany,

You made me love you even though I fought it for months. I didn't want to like you because my husband thought you were so hot but I thought you were beyond stupid and you chewed your fingernails. But the Southern bond between us could not be denied and I capitulated. The ups were wonderful and the downs were tolerable. Everyone knew your boobs were fake but I supported your decision to deny it with a straight face. Honey, we all knew you let Justin hit it long before he blew you up on Diane Sawyer, but I thought you might be one of *those* virgins so I did not pass judgement.

But it was not long before I realised this relationship did not come without sacrifice. You tested my patience when you and Justin showed up in the...dare I say it aloud...Jeansedo (head to toe denim, derivative of "Jeans" and "Tuxedo") but I forgave you. And then you betrayed me once again when you cheated on Justin and made him break up with you. I cried you a river that day.
The bond between us was tested once again when you married that big hulky boy, Jason Alexander, who looks as if his last name should be Munster. Thankfully, Mama intervened and put a stop to that.

Then these pictures of you and this...this...Playa started to emerge but I convinced myself it was only a phase. The details surrounding this foray into descent grew more and more disturbing: "girlfriend pregnant"..."backup dancer"..."cut off shorts"....No, wait! That was you.

Then the tabloids that are 'never right' said you would marry him and I feared for your sanity but I thought to myself, " its not like she is going to give her bridal party matching track suits". That would be bad, but you were just marrying him so I would make myself love him for your sake.

Then the pregnancy rumors started and I began to crumble beneath the weight of disillusionment. You could not procreate with this individual! The world was not ready for a combination of you, the Fedmiester and Chester Cheeto (girl..step away from the cheese curls..no more...your face looks like Braille...I'm just sayin').

And here we are today and I find myself hanging on by bloodied fingertips and I realize this relationship is not working for me anymore. At first I tried to admire you for doing your own thing and not listening to all of the negative comments, but you have gone too trailer for me and I am simply trying to rise above the stereotypes of Southerners. But you honey, are a C-R-I-T-T-E-R!

Let's See:

1. Barefoot in a Grocery Store? Check!
2. Oxy 10 and Trucker Hat? Check!
3. Trashy husband? Check!
4. Driving around with your baby in your lap? Check!

That's enough..I can't make myself go on like Celine does in that song (love her!). So now I choose to remember what we had and the way we were...coiffed, single and competent.
The Dyson

I went to Lowe's the other day to get some carpet deodrizer. While I was there I wanted to look at vacuum cleaners since I burned ours up on Sunday (long story but an actual flame was involved). I look at the Hoover's and the Electrolux but the attachments keep falling off and the bags look complicated. I have no idea what I am going to buy.

Then, like a beacon signaling to a ship in the dark black night, I see The Dyson. I hear the sedate British guy talking about its cyclone action silently in my head. I walk toward it and everything is in slow motion. Just two more steps....almost there....reaching hand out....

Does anyone else hear Angel's singing?

The Dyson is beautiful and strong. It stands proudly against the rubble that is the other vacuum cleaners around it. I look at the price tag...ah! There is no way I can pay that! For a vacuum cleaner! It would be a sin...I just better made do with these crappy ones.

I walk over to the Dirt Devil. The brush falls off immediately. That's it. I'm getting The Dyson.
I rationalize that if I cut back on a few lunches with friends each week I should be fine. I get one of the workers to get it down for me and I walk it up to the counter with ease. She is rather light for a vacuum....hmmm....

The kid working at the counter goes on and on about how awesome The Dyson is and I am now glad more than ever that I decided to get it. If an 18 year old kid is going to have one...so am I.
Make my purchase, put it in the back seat and head home. My housekeeper was off this week so I called her at home to tell her I got us a new vacuum cleaner and she is just as excited as I am. We talk non stop for at least ten minutes about it. She too has seen The Dyson on television and finds herself drawn to it. Next I call my best friend Shea at work.

Moi: " Girl! Guess what I got?"

Shea: "oooo....what?"

Moi: "A Dyson Vacuum Cleaner!"

Shea: "Oh. What's that?"

What is it???? Is she kidding me?? THE SACRILEGE!!

Moi: "Girl! Do you remember that British guy on tv talking about his vacuum cleaner? It's yellow?"

Shea: "Oh yeah. That's neat. You got one of those?"

Moi: "Yeah. But you don't sound excited at all."

Shea: "That kind of excitement can only be shared with people who have been married for at least ten years."

I find myself wondering at the depths I have sunk too and I grow concnerned at her assessment. She is single after all and I wonder if I am as big of a loser as her last comment would suggest.

So I get home, get Progeny Two settled (POne is at school) and I am prepared to assemble The Dyson. I open the box, get the directions and make three or four simple connections and I am done. I step back and watch in silence and awe as The Dyson commands the room. I get the cord, walk over to the socket, and plug it in. I walk back to the v.c and gently mash the big, oprange button. Music fills the air. The Dyson is so quiet but it still sounds powerful. I grip the handle and start moving. She moves with such ease! And I can feel the cyclone action! It even sounds like a freight train! AMAZING! I can see the dirt in the clear canister! HOW MUCH MORE EXCITEMENT CAN ONE INDIVIDUAL TAKE IN ONE DAY??? I go to the phone.

"Police Department," the voice on the other line says.

Moi: "Could I speak with Sgt. James Blank in Patrol please?"

PD: "Yes...can I tell him who is calling?"

Moi: "His wife."

A few seconds later...

"This is Sgt. Blank..."

Moi: "Honey!"

Hubby: "Yea babe...What's up?"

Moi: "You know that vacuum cleaner I brought home today..."

Three minutes later my husband is abreast of the micraculous even that has happened in our home. I eagerly await his response.

Hubby: "That's good honey."

That's it??? That's all I get?

I wait for him until he gets home. I know he will be unable to deny the brilliance of the design. I stay up two hours past my normal bedtime to show him The Dyson. It pays off.

He walked in and was pleasantly surprised to find me waiting for him.

Hubby: "Hey you! What are you doing up?" He walked over and kissed me on the cheek.

Moi: "You have to try out this vacuum cleaner. It is amazing."

Hubby: "Are you serious?"

Moi: "Oh, yeah. Way serious."

Hubby: "Can I get out of my uniform first?"

He comes back in a minute or so and is clearly ready to run the vacuum so he can get to playing internet checkers. I put the handle in his hand and instruct him on how to turn it on. He moves it back and forth and I can tell with each inch of carpet he becomes more and more amazed.

"Hey...that's pretty neat. How much did you pay for it?"

Uh-oh. "Hmmm...I can't remember exactly."

"As long as you didn't pay over $400 for it..."

I instantly feel relief..."Oh! I paid right at $400 for it!"

He immediately replies with, "well...as long as you didn't pay over $200 for it!"

I explain to him that it is too late...he already said $400 was okay and maybe he will take this as a learning experience and be better prepared on the cost factor next time.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Let Me Help You Out With That......

In an attempt to get my two boys, ages seven and four, to mind, I devised a customized behavior modification plan. Very straightforward...you are rewarded by good deeds and penalized for bad ones. I went to Dollar General and dropped about $50 on craft materials to make my charts, ribbons for special awards etc. Do you know how hard it is to spend $50 in the Dollar General? I had been telling the boys for the past few days, how they were going to have the opportunity to earn rewards each week for being good. My oldest child's ears immediately perk up and he turns very business like and begins firing questions off at me in rapid succession.

Progeny One: "What happens if I clean up my room but leave a few toys out by accident? Will I get a ribbon taken away?"

Moi:"No little egg..."

Progeny One:" What if I clean up and J. comes in behind me and messes up? Will I get a ribbon taken away?"

Moi: "Of course not..."


He starts wearing me out after about ten minutes of non stop questioning when his questions become ridiculous.

Progeny One:"What if I cleaned up my room and an alien came down from a UFO and wanted to play with my toys and pulled out all of my toys while we were asleep and we didn't know it and when we all woke up we were scared because my room had been spotless? Would I get my ribbon taken away?"

Moi: "Under those circumstances...I'm afraid so."

So I get home with my purchases and spend hours working on both of these charts. I mean chart out each day for the next six months, and each day has like four things that have to be graded...it was ALOT of work.

I am finally ready for the Poster Ceremony. I call the boys in and show them their beautiful poster that their mother has poured her life into and slaved over forever. I explain how the system works.

Moi: "Now remember you each have your own poster. If you completed the task you get a sticker! But if you don't you get a big black 'x' mark and if you get more than two a week you don't get your prize."

Proge One nodded his head acknowledging he approved the rules and Proge Two nodded although he clearly could take it or leave it.

So I issued my first challenge: Pick up your toys. Proge One did not even check up...he was getting busy. Proge two started off with a bang but lost steam real quick but over all I was pleased. I put a huge gold star on each of their posters. Then a little while later, I issued my second challenge: Put Pj's on, brush teeth and get ready for bed...without fussing.

There were a few times that night I was not sure if they would make it but they did. By bed time, all four challenges had been completed and everyone had all four gold stars. I was so mad I had not thought of my brilliant behavior modification plan before now. I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

The next evening I issued my first challenge of the day. Pick up your toys. PTwo kept playing his Nintendo DS and said, "I'm goin' in a minute".

Moi: "No son, you go now! If mommy has to ask you a bunch of times you will get an "X" and if you get three 'x's' you wont get a prize this week!"

Two sighed loudly, set his game down and walked back to his bedroom.

I am woman...hear me roar. I have conquered the man-child. I hold the key to the universe in my tiny hand.

Five minutes later, Two walks back to the couch, picks up his game and starts playing, without saying a word.

Moi: "There is no way you can clean that room up that fast," I say in disbelief as I make my way to his room. He continues to play.

His room is the same. Still destroyed. But Progeny Two's poster has changed.

Every square, for every day, for the next thee months has black "x"'s in them.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

Give Me Candy Or Give Me...Somewhere To Hide...

As I mentioned in my previous post, a very close friend of mine, T.B, was digging through the candy discount bins and emerged a short time later with her arms laden with Mike and Ike's and various states of chocolate. As she was making her way to the front of the store, she was immediately brought to a jarring stand still as her stomach growled in protest from the tequila she had partied on the night before. She waited a second more before moving on, confident that this was only a warning of what would be visited upon her later. Confident she had plenty of time, she resumed her trek to the front.

The growl had now evolved to a roar. T.B knew she was running out of precious time with each nanosecond that passed. She looked across the massive store and calculated how much time it would take her to make it to the bathroom. With a determination she had no idea she possessed, she focused on her goal and kept the prize in sight. 100 feet away....75....50...omg...omg...25...deep breaths...deep breaths...10....WHAT!!!! HOW CAN PEOPLE BE STANDING IN LINE??? She quickly assessed her competition...did she just cut or did she practice mind altering techniques until it was her turn. She waited...nothing happened. The line was not moving! And people were still chipper! She knew that she was going to have to leave now...except...she had spent so much time looking for that candy. And it was 75% off! She could hide it somewhere but she was certain she would forget where she hid it. She could either put the candy down and walk away from it forever, into the safety of her car...or she could have faith that she could mentally 'keep the faucet closed'.

There was a register with only one person in line and he was almost done! Praise the Saints! She clutched her candy tighter and zeroed in on the beckoning light of number 14. GASP! Someone beat her! That's okay though...one person...not a lot of stuff...we're okay.

She was in line! YES! And Mr. Man With Scobbed Up Teeth was almost done! She sooooo had this...ha ha! She had won!

The line quickly filled up behind her and she smugly bathed in her superiority. Numero Uno...suckas. Okay...money is changing hands...he's almost...

OMG. Without the slightest warning or hint, T.B. sadly learned that she needed to work on her mental skills. The faucet was open and it was a flowin, right into her blue track suit and into her shoes. She was frozen in shock. She could hear the loud sniffing sounds behind her as people tried to figure out why their noses were burning. She looked behind her, expecting to see mocking glares...all she saw was utter confusion and chaos. And an extremely hot guy.

"Dude...somebody needs to change their baby," the Greek God offered in a futile attempt to make sense out of madness.

Did she dare blame an innocent child for her greed for candy? Was there even a baby nearby so she could? Quick scan...ah....close enough.

Snort. "Really" She rolled her eyes to emphasize her agreement with his assessment.

Uh-oh. It was her turn at the register but the conveyor belt was two steps away. She had not moved since her 'cleansing'. Deep breath. One step....and then...another. Oops. That kicked it up again...the sniffing resumed as the patrons were once again cast into darkness.

She was going to die..plain and simple. She would never venture into public again. Her life, for all intents and purposes, was over.

"That will be $3.75," the cashier said with boredom.

"$3.75? It should be more than that...I have six bags of candy here!" WOULD THE HUMILATION EVER END??? WAS THE CASHIER ON TO HER AND WAS SHE SIMPLY TRYING TO GET HER ARRESTED FOR SHOP LIFTING? SO SHE WOULD HAVE TO WALK BACK TO THE SECURITY OFFICER'S OFFICE FOR ALL THE WORLD TO WITNESS HER DEGRIDATION???

The cashier breathed deep and snatched the receipt up to review. "Nope. Dat's right...the candy was discounted another 15% this morning."

Shell shocked, T.B took a crisp $5 bill from her knock off Prada wallet. She handed the money to the woman with two inch nails as if in slow motion. Despite the anguish, fear and odor...it has all been worth it. Six..count em SIX bags of candy for $3.75. It was a good day indeed.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

American Education At Its Finest:


Mother: "I really hope we can get this new garden home! It has three bedrooms, two baths and hardwood floors!"

Moi: "How much room will you be giving up?"

Mother: "None! Its still three bedrooms like our house now!"

Moi: "No...I mean square feet wise."

Mother: "Well the one we are looking at now is seventeen and a half hundered square feet."

Moi: "You mean 1750 square feet?"

Mother: "Yes. Please don't tell that on the radio."

Moi: "I wont!"


Never, ever, ever take three Correctol at one time. Ever.

Okay...if my tubes ever become untied and I am able to bear fruit once again, I ask that you encourage me NOT to wear a unitard during my first, second or third trimester. Send me an email, make a quick call, order some flowers and put it on the card...just promise me you will tell me that I have completely lost my mind.

This picture is another argument against Scientology. Any religion that condones such a crime against mankind can not have our best interest in mind.
Converstations with Mother Part Two

Mother: "Well girl! I'm still on my diet!"

Moi: "That's great Mom."

Mother: "I'm down to 202 now."

Moi: "That is really good. I am proud of you. Keep up the good work...I started my diet today too."

Mother: 'You look like dieting. You need to eat more. You could use ten more pounds if you ask me. Your prettier when you are a little pudgy."

Moi: "Say what you just said back to me please, and tell me what is wrong with that sentence."

Mother: "What? You need to gain ten pounds?"

Moi: "No..the part about me being prettier pudgy."

Mother: "Well you are."

Moi: "First...that is an oxymoron and second how can the fact that I inherited your chin, or lack there of, which only disappears more and more with each pound make me prettier? I look like Ichabod Crane."

Mother: "No you don't. You have a nice chin and maybe if you gained a little weight it would stick out more."
Hurts...to...type...

Okay...so I started back at the gym in the hopes of warding off whatever weight gain my non smoking status might result in and I hurt. I am so sore my teeth even hurt.

I started the Zone Diet today and I have my meals delivered each week. Hello...best decision I ever made. No grocery shopping (except for the boys), no thinking about making something healthy...I just nuke it. My first shipment came yesterday and the food was still frozen (note to self...don't ever touch dry ice with bare hands again). This morning I had pancakes, turkey sausage, scrambled egg whites and syrup. Any diet that allows me to eat pancakes and syrup is the diet for me.

I had my body fat measured today so I could have a baseline. I weigh 118 and my body fat is 21.8%, which is really not that bad considering I pretty much eat take out for every meal. I think 20% of my body fat is around my stomach. Each day when I get in my comfortable clothes I have red lines from my fat rolls touching each other all day. My picture is me about ten pounds ago so HUSH.

My goal is to get down to about 18% and maintain my current weight and if I can do that by inhaling pancakes and sausage the entire time...all the better.

This patch is giving me crazy, vivid dreams. I woke up about 2:00 am after having dreamed about a snake getting in my house and slithering its way into my children's room. OMG. Worse dream ever. The night before, I dreamed that Perry invited several families to come live with us for an undetermined amount of time. I remember trying to work out his reasons for doing so in my dream and asking each family their stories. Were they Hurricane Katrina victims? No. Did their house burn down? "No...your husband just invited us to stay...with our numerous children." I remember thinking I had a problem when I walked into my bedroom and found their greasy selves laid up in my bed (all five of them) watching Nascar.