Lady in Waiting

I posted on Facebook today that I hate waiting. I'm not a patient person when it comes to wasting my time. I went to work and then straight to the doctor for an appointment where I waited. And I waited. And can you believe there were NO FREAKIN' female magazines! Well, there were baby magazines, Family Fun, Parenting, Golf, ESPN, Car and Web MD. There was also a Bible that I figured was there for people who are really sick and need to change their wicked ways.

Back to waiting. I read the entire Bible.....well, I could have if I knew I'd be waiting for an hour and fifteen minutes. Then the medical assistant asked me to step on the scales and I whined like a four year old, "I didn't want to get weighed today."

She was very sympathetic, "I know, with this cold weather everyone has all those extra layers on." 'Cause it's bloomin' snowing today, folks - snowing in April!!! As if Pia getting voted off American Idol wasn't stupid enough.

The numbers appeared on the scales, "I don't really weigh that much." She humored me, "How much do you really weigh?" I subtracted 29 lbs. "Really? 20 lbs of extra clothing?" she asked.

"You do realize I'm here for depression and you're really not helping matters." She led me into another room where I waited for another 20 minutes. Newsweek or Marie Claire? Holy crap. I'm already smart and beautiful. They have nothing to offer me.

I went to the pharmacy and I had to wait some more because they didn't have my prescription ready. Then I was told my med needed a FREAKIN' PRE-AUTHORIZATION and guess what? Because I waited so long at the doctor's office it was now 5:00 in the evening and I would have to wait until possibly Monday. That gives me two more days to possibly go on a crime spree.

My husband suggested we go out to dinner and because I'm very considerate of his time, I decided to warn him about the waiting time. So we decided to meet there and while I was telling the kids to get in the car he called and asked me to wait for him instead. When we got to the restaurant they had a waiting time of 45 minutes. You add that to the waiting time it takes for the server to take your order and then the waiting time to bring your food, the drink refills, the free bread sticks, the mints and the bill and ........ so we went somewhere else.

Mimi needed to go to the bathroom and so I came with her to show her where the bathroom is and took the opportunity to wash my hands. As we were leaving I caught a glimpse of a very large brown slug on the floor in one of the stalls. I stepped back to take another look and it wasn't a slug. I said, "Ew. Is that a turd?"

"I can't look or I'll be sick," Mimi says. She was obviously switched at birth.

That had absolutely nothing to do with the rest of this story, but I thought you would like that part. Your welcome. But at least I was a responsible parent and chaperoned my kid to the bathroom unlike some. At least I hope that was a kid......or a stray animal. Did I mention this restaurant kind of rhymes with Crapper Barrel?

I guess I won't be tying my stories together, they are what they are.

Bloggin' BFFs and a Bathroom Story

A couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to meet a good friend of mine. Yeah, she is my good friend but we had never actually met! We went to lunch had a great time eating salads, talking, laughing, laughing some more, and we even had cheesecake under peer pressure. You know, "I'll have a piece if you do," and "I'll have a piece if you don't tell anyone I ate the whole thing by myself and licked my plate in public."

This is Lisa from Blue and Shoe, KyAnn from Checketts-Myers Clan and this is a rare photo of me. You know how much I love to get my photo taken. Lisa and KyAnn, you may notice a little Photoshop enhancement, erasing of any food particles still left on our face, removal of double chins and I gave myself a breast augmentation. Eh hem. There's only so much you can do in Photoshop when you start with a picture from a cheap camera with bad restaurant lighting.

I missed the other "Blog Friends" get together that KyAnn got to go to because I go to school on Thursday nights. I'm considering changing my night to Monday night. It seems I am missing a lot of things on Thursdays. I cried on Sunday because I'm missing Mimi's "Back-to-School" Fashion Show with the church activity days for girls age 8-11.

On another note, we had an emergency here tonight. For friends on Facebook who watched the drama unfold, you know I can't pass up a good toilet story. I will spare you the photos for this one......and I actually spared myself. There are no photos. It was almost as bad as this time.

Ali came upstairs and complained that the toilet was clogged in the basement. Jared went down and checked it out. He then proceeded to yell at Seth who I guess didn't feel like doing anything about it. I was upstairs in my room listening to the yelling that went on for about ten minutes. I found it a little humorous that they were having such a huge fight over a clogged toilet. We all know, Dr. Phil, that it's not about the clogged toilet. It's about the owner of the "problem" that won't accept responsibility. It's about adding more fiber to some one's food.

Then Ali tells me it's been like that since Sunday. That is wrong on so many levels. But I thought it was kind of funny. So my husband had to run to the hardware store to buy a "power plunger." This was one stubborn obstruction. Jared said he was going to go back to the hardware store to buy a snake. Mimi thought she was going to get a new pet. I downloaded a video so you can learn to use a Plumber's Snake, not a Toilet Snake like I was calling it. The toilet snake may be part of the problem. I was hoping to see more action in this video. I'm thinking when Jared uses the toilet snake I better get it on video. Maybe I'll even have a go with this little beauty!

Anyway, you can call off the exorcism now. Satan has fallen out of someone's bottom.

The Bull That Started It

Cheeseboy, you may want to skip this one. Your wife, however, may enjoy this.

Saturday night Mimi said, "Mom, I saw a commercial on TV and there was this bull thing that you ride with a diaper thing on it. But it wasn't a diaper. What was that thing?"

I tried to play dumb. "What? Like a saddle?"

"No. It was white and it was shaped like it would go on your underwear. Like it would fit between your legs. Do you know what that is?"

"Oh. Yeah. That's something that you use when you are a teenager."

"Well, I saw some at Laurie's house."

"Her teenage sisters probably use them."

"Well, what are they?" she asked.

"It's not something I can't tell you about in just a couple of minutes. We'll have a talk about it tomorrow after church," I'm thinking she'll forget about it by then.

Here's the commercial that caused the premature maturation conversation:

As soon as church was over she threw herself on the couch next to me. "Remember we were going to have that talk?"

So, this is my baby girl, she is only ten years old. She still sleeps with a teddy bear and wants to sit on your lap. She doesn't like boys yet and still likes dolls. Maturation Class isn't until the end of 5th grade. We are not ready for this.

"Those white things are called pads. Usually girls use them when they're teenagers or almost teenagers. You know how ladies are the only ones to have babies?"

"Uh huh."

"Well, inside our bodies is this little nest kind of thing and then the baby comes out of this tube. The nest is about the size of your fist and it's right above your bone right here." I drew her a cartoon of a lady with a cartoon reproductive system. "There's eggs in these little egg sacks and every month they take turns sending an egg to the nest. Our body gets ready to have a baby and if we don't have a baby, then our body has to get rid of the egg. So this stuff comes out of the tube every month for about 3-5 days and it's called a period. It's kind of like bloody snot. That's what we use those pads for."

"Ew."

She was very attentive, it wasn't too medical, I didn't giggle once and I don't think I freaked her out. She was so cute and smiling as we talked and I drew pictures. Thank goodness she didn't ask how the baby got in there.

"So why was there one on that bull?" That's what I want to know.

I Got Trump Fever

You know, even as a teenager I've never been one to get star struck. I think I was more star struck by the uber popular kids at school. I think I still get more star struck when the Bishop at my church says hello to me. Maybe that's just guilt. Once again, clearing the phlegm from my ever clogged throat.

So maybe that's why I don't get why girls go crazy over Justin Beiber. He sings like a girl. Like a girl singing about girls. I remember the first time I heard "She's Out of My Life" by Michael Jackson when I was in eighth grade and the song left me confused why a woman would be sad that another woman would be out of her life. That's before gay people were invented (in my world, anyway) and now it would make total sense. But it really bugged me back then. Kind of like trying to understand negative numbers and infinity and beyond now. Don't think about it, don't think about it. It kind of bugs me that he's from Canada and he speaks like he's been born and raised in the trailer parks of Mississippi. Canada - be offended! Tell him to speak properly and stop trying to talk like a Yankee hick subculture!

Then there is the hair that reminded me of someone who is much, much older.

So I decided to do a little makeover with my newly found Photoshop skills. Who would have known that The Donald was so incredibly handsome? I'm totally seeing it now. And I haven't even seen his credit cards! So, what do you think? Trump Fever? I think Justin should be fired. We should wait a couple of years until his voice cracks and then judge his singing. Too girly for now. I guess that's not a problem when you're twelve.

Routines

Sometimes we do things without thinking about them. Sometimes we do them all the time and don't realize it......until we embarrass ourselves doing them.

My 17 year old daughter had a boyfriend. She said she broke up with him because she wants to be single during their senior year next year. He's so cute I told her I would just adopt him instead. They are still really good friends, in fact he was at our house tonight.

Usually when I come home from anywhere I walk through the garage door and run to the bathroom usually chanting urgently, "I needa pee pee!" Tonight I walked in and my hubby was waiting with his arms open waiting for a hug and I hand him the grocery bags except he didn't catch them so they landed on the ground and I squeal, "I gotta potty!"

He said, "Can't you give me a hug first?"

I start running down the hall shouting, "I have a turtle!" Well, you can imagine what that means. C'mon, doesn't every family have a code word? I usually only share that kind of information with my family. Except when I came back out, there was Ali's friend that is a boy, but not her boyfriend, sitting there in my living room. I didn't know he was here even though his car was parked out in our driveway. Also I walked out of my bedroom (after releasing the turtle into the sea) in my pajamas singing at the top of my lungs, "Tonight's gonna be a good, good night..." (Black-eyed Peas) and I notice him sitting there. I quickly fold my arms and stop singing and hide in the kitchen. Maybe that's the real reason they broke up.

The sad part about this little routine of running to the loo every time I come home (like Pavlov and his dog) is my nine year old has taken note. I came home and found my toilet lid down with a note on the lid, "Dear Mommy, I went to Lauren's house to play. Love, Mimi." I found another one today. At least she knows I'll find them.

Dog Food Reviews

It's been a whole week since I last posted. Since it's "Oh My Heck Wednesday" I thought I would share a funny little story with you.

Mimi was opening a can of dog food, you know, the kind that you pull the ring on the top. As the lid snapped off the can a chunk went flying into the air and landed right in her mouth. She shouted, "Ew! A chunk got in my mouth!" Then she smacked her lips a couple of times and said, "Mmm. Not bad."

My experience with dog food was when I was just her age - fourth grade. We lived in North Carolina and we had a golden mutt that we named Thai. As in Thailand - that's where my dad was at the time on TDY for the Air Force. I borrowed a book about dog species from the school library and my five year old brother and I looked through the book, studying all the species and trying to find out just what kind of dog Thai was.

Page by page, getting distracted by all the species, the big ones, the tiny ones, the fluffy ones and then we found it. We were convinced that Thai was a genuine Dingo from Australia. We told all of our friends that Thai was a Dingo. This was about 1975 when most Americans didn't even know what language they spoke in Australia, and a few years before the movie Grease and way before Crocodile Dundee.

I remember pouring Thai some dried dog nuggets and I wondered what they tasted like, so I threw a nugget in my mouth and started crunching away. I then spat it out almost as quickly as it went in. Why did Thai get so excited to eat petrified poop? I don't think I had ever tasted poop before to my knowledge, but it tasted exactly like the smell of poop. I lost a little respect in my dog that day, but it faded quickly. I never touched his food again. Or any other dog's food, for that matter. When it comes to good food, how can you trust a species that identifies others by the smell of their butt holes?

The Real Evolution

Once again, an e-mail inspired this post. Some of those things inspire one to think a little deeper. The lady in the top left, "Don't take the picture yet, I can't quit giggling." Lady under her....Aunt Bee?

Directly under the sign as she says to the woman to the left, "George, why are you wearing my clothes again? Just wait til we get home!"

Front center in a squeaky voice, "Does anyone know a good chiropractor?" To the right, "When can I stop fasting?"

Woman at the top right, "I think I just invented the thong."

I did a little research on this photo. It was wondered if these ladies were posing and making fun of the prohibition, that they were purposely making themselves ugly, that a woman on the right was "giving herself a double chin." I ask, how do you give yourself a double chin? I mean, don't you have one or not? I guess if you have one you can create illusions with it by sticking your head out and making it disappear and pulling it back to make it appear again. I'll be back in a sec, I've got to check something out in the mirror. As if.

When I received this e-mail it said, "Mormon Women 1919." Which is arguably before the prohibition. Then I wondered if they might all be married to the same man, who was driven to drink. Nope - polygamy ended long before then. It reminded me of what Mark Twain said about polygamists:


"With the gushing self-sufficiency of youth I was feverish to plunge in headlong and achieve a great reform here - until I saw the Mormon women. Then I was touched. My heart was wiser than my head. It warmed toward these poor, ungainly and pathetically "homely" creatures, and as I turned to hide the generous moisture in my eyes, I said, "No - the man that marries one of them has done an act of Christian charity which entitles him to the kindly applause of mankind, not their harsh censure - and the man that marries sixty of them has done a deed of open-handed generosity so sublime that the nations should stand uncovered in his presence and worship in silence."

Mormon women have evolved. I say we get a bunch of us together and recreate that photo. The bars would be empty. Breweries would be going out of business and wanting bail outs. No more half-time commercials. We'd have to open kissing booths just to accommodate everyone. It would be equivalent to Alcoholics Anonymous but drier. The gutters would be empty. Mark Twain would be eating his words.

Spring Preparation

Spring is supposed to be here. It's time for us to be working on our bikini bodies for Summer, right? I'm encouraged for two reasons: 1/ Spring may never arrive here in my state. 2/ There will always be someone that looks worse than me by the pool. Of course there will always be those that look better. Whatever. I say Spring may never come because it snowed last week and then warmed up again by the end of the day. Some of the damage it left behind:They say women have an extra layer of body fat to keep them warm. These ladies were so warm they had to take some of their extra clothes off.

I'm suddenly not feeling so bad about being caught half naked at the pool. Though I cover up a little more than those girls and others are grateful. Are we ever satisfied? Too hot, too cold. Too young, too old. Too poor, too rich. Nah. Is it possible to be too rich? I'd like to find out.

Right now my hair is too short. When I went to the hairdresser two weeks ago, my hair was NOT too long. She asked, "How much should we take off, and inch? Half an inch?" I said, "Let's keep the length and just thin it out." I thought maybe I'd try once again to grow it a little longer.

Well, she colored it back to my natural color (blonde, of course) and then came the haircut. The deal is I've been going to this hairdresser for the 14 years I've lived in the states, after living in Australia for seven years. She cut my hair before I moved to Australia, so I've known her over 20 years. Therefore, we are comfortable talking about a lot of things. I'm no longer comfortable.

The subject was her husband. He was in big trouble. The more she talked about him the shorter my hair became. Next thing you know it was lesbian short. It looks awful. My hair has never been this short before. I feel like I need to explain to people that I am straight. I didn't say anything after she was done, because after I wash it and do it myself it usually looks better. It didn't. The next day I looked in the mirror and I thought swear words. Mainly the question, "What the hell?" I just wanted to cry. But it's just dead protein growing out of my head and it grows back, right? Two weeks later and I still have a man's hairdo. Almost a comb over.

My friends at work said, "Oh, you're back to blonde." When they saw my awful hair. They didn't say, "Cute haircut," or anything. Just that I was back to blonde. My brother said yesterday he hated my hair and wanted to disown me. My husband said, "I do not like your hair that short." My kids were shocked. WTH? What's the use of having a nice face if your hair sucks?

The problem is, I've been going to her for a long time. I haven't been very happy with my hair for the last several cuts and colors. I don't know if she's losing her touch or if she's in too big of a hurry because she usually has a couple of clients processing at a time. Once she over processed my hair and it came out looking ash gray instead of ash blonde. I sent her a note on Facebook and let her know I didn't know what to do with my hair being this short. She said, "Come in and get some wax." I said, "I already have products." What to do, what to do. Friendship......or nice hair?

All in a Week

How do you go from this:

To this

in the same week? I actually had nightmares about wasps the same night I took this photo. So really, how do you go from snow to Spring and back to snow? I hope it killed all those horrible wasps.

I have a nightmare story about a hornet. When I lived in Australia it was a well-known fact that I was petrified of bugs. PETRIFIED - I say. I still am, but our bugs here seem relatively small in comparison. Entomophobia is the fear of bugs. If you say it real fast it kind of sounds like "enema-phobia." I'm afraid of those, too.

I must explain that those Aussies are tough people. I don't think I met one wimp in the seven years I lived there. They thought I was a bit of a freak to be afraid of bugs. They don't need modern conveniences like dryers, furnaces and air-conditioners in Queensland. They open their windows to let the fresh air in and who needs screens? What's a little preying mantis, Christmas beetle or wasp? Just get the fly swatter out and smash 'em, right?

One sunny day, I noticed a humongous wasp flew in my living room window. It flew right into my shadow box and flew back out. A minute later it flew back in, went to the same section in the shadow box and flew back out. PETRIFIED I was. It did this a few more times and I realized it may be making it's home in my shadow box. I slammed down the window and every window in my house in the blazing hot summer. It flew to the window, trying to get in and then to my kitchen window. It was after me. So when I called my husband at work and told him he had to come home to kill "a stinging thing that was after me," he thought I was over-exaggerating.

"I have to leave this house! It's after me! It's going to get me!"

In his Aussie accent he said, "Just wait 'til I get home tonight, I'll get it then," trying to be sympathetic.

"I can't stay inside with the windows down with the kids!" I scooped them up and put them in the car. I saw the hornet still flying around the window. I drove to my in-laws. I told them about "the stinging thing that was after me." They, too, thought I was exaggerating. I never exaggerate, so I don't get it. They laughed at me and assured me it wasn't actually after me. I called Jared from there and told him I wasn't coming home. I know he was laughing inside and probably annoyed by my phobia. He got used to me screaming every time I opened a kitchen cupboard when I found TWO INCH COCKROACHES lying on their backs with their legs still moving, moving ever so slowly, dying from the pesticide. Shudder.

He called his parents house to talk to me. "You won't believe this!" he said excitedly. "As soon as I came home and opened the window it flew in and it came after me! But don't worry, I've killed it, you can come home now." And that is why he is like my own personal Steve Irwin. "Aw, it's just a little fella with a stinger on it's rear. It won't harm you unless you provoke it to defend itself." I never exaggerate when it comes to bugs. And this one was after me.

Modern Technology a Curse

No picture for today's "Oh my heck!" This time you'll have to use your imagination. Imagine a very rainy day when I got off work early. I thought I would have a small outing to the mall with my girls. Ali had to work at 5:00 at the mall anyway, and since her car accident we have been short a car, so that took care of her ride to work.

We shopped, got a Mrs. Field's cookie, bought a couple of fun things and Ali went to work. It was pouring down rain when we got in my van when I had a thought: If Jared picked us up after work, I could leave my van there at the mall and no one will have to go out again to pick Ali up at 10:00. Good plan. Jared agreed and I ran my keys back into the mall to Ali. Instead of dragging Mimi out in the rain again I had her wait in my van, but don't worry, I locked the doors while she played with her Littlest Pet Shop pets.

After giving my keys to Ali I ran to the van in the pelting rain and knocked on the window. Mimi came to the driver's side and pulled on the handle. "Unlock the door!" I yelled. She pushes on the window button. "NO! Unlock it! Push the button!" Meanwhile, the rain is POURING on me. She pulls on the handle again. Rain is soaking through two layers of fleece fabric in my hoodie. "Push the button! Right there - push it forward!"

"I don't know which button!" she's panicking, pulling on the handle again.

"OH MY HECK!" I'm freaking out because not only am I getting soaked, Mimi is locked in the car. It reminds me of the blonde who locked herself in the car and someone had to get a coat hanger to get her out. My daughter does not know how to unlock a car door without a remote control - nor can she roll down the windows without keys in the ignition. My husband pulls up and sees me standing outside of my car, treading water at this point and shouting at Mimi directions for unlocking the car. He had to stop his car and turn it off and bring the keys over to unlock the door. Yep, that's modern technology for you. Our next family meeting will be how to unlock the car door from the inside without a remote control.

If You're "Happy" and You Know it

It's time for "Oh My Heck" Wednesday again. Well, this is a jaw dropper. This man, nicknamed "Happy" was arrested for burglary. He and another man told their victim they were policemen and took a computer. The person they robbed was able to identify "Happy" by his unusual tattoos. You probably shouldn't get tattoos when you're drunk - or when you plan on robbing people.

"Hmmm, what tattoo should I get? The rose with my baby's mama's name? The tribal thingy? The eagle? No, I think I want to look permanently happy, but in a creepy kind of way." Really, what was he thinking? Maybe he's a clown in real life and he just got sick of putting make-up on day after day. "Look boys and girls, Happy is here! Happy the clown! Don't mind the razor stubble. Wait - where's his wig. I didn't order the middle-aged balding clown, I wanted the rainbow Afro."

You know, the more I think about it I think he went to the school of tattooing and got practise tattoos. Some little tattoo artist-in-training got some hours in on Happy. Maybe he bought the "Be Your Own Tattoo Artist" on "As Seen On TV." After a few beers to deaden the pain and a magnifying mirror, a tattoo pen and coloring book and Bob's your uncle. Anyway, I'm an artist and I cannot appreciate any aspect of artistic expression at all. A happy expression, but not artistic. Whoever did this is not an artist - a doodler maybe, but not an artist. They really need to stick to telephone books and spiral notebooks.

Home Hovering

Remember the story about the horrific public toilet that I had to use? Well, I didn't have to look much further than our children's loo. This one is Mimi's after she bathed the dog. Why are there three towels on the floor for one little dog I ask? There's a plastic box that she used as a bucket to gently rinse him.

Now there is no excuse for washing dogs in this bathroom. This is my two teenagers' bathroom. It's in the basement which is still under construction - notice the floor isn't finished being tiled? I'm actually standing in the toilet room where their shower is. So this is just the sink/mirror area they use to beautify themselves. I just don't get it. I don't do their laundry, so I'm sure they run out of clothes eventually and have to pick them up off the floor. I should mention most of the clothes belong to my son. The bathroom is between their bedrooms, so I don't know why it's so hard to carry them to their room and put them in their own personal dirty clothes baskets. I guess one toilet overflow and they might learn. Hmmm. I feel an April Fool's joke coming on. Fake doggie doo is seeming really funny at the moment. I'll let you know how it goes.

Well, after viewing these bathrooms, I'm thinking next time my own loo is occupied, I may just go to the neighbors rather than use the kids' bathroom. I'd have to hover there and I could just possibly get hurt.

"Oh My Heck" Wednedsay!

Do you really think I can keep up "Oh My Heck" Wednesday? I'm sure there are enough things that have need of exclaiming "Oh my heck" but I'm lucky to post every week on a consistent day. Though I'm trying to do better.


Do you know what this is a picture of? It's my next door neighbor mowing his lawn in the middle of February. In Australia, that would be the norm, but this is desert mountain area! There are still patches of snow on the ground! Nothing has grown in four months!

I had my daughter take this picture out of our bathroom window. It's the only window on that side of the house. I really wanted to get a picture of him last week when he was shoveling the snow. Not in his driveway, however, shoveling the snow off of his front yard. I thought if I did a U-turn on my street and stopped in front of his house and snapped a picture with my camera, it might be a little obvious and not very appreciated. So there went that great photo opportunity.

In my neighbor's defense, he does have a very well manicured lawn. In fact the house on the other side of us has a well manicured lawn as well. You know that saying "if there are no rednecks in your neighborhood, it's probably you." That's not really a saying, I think I made it up. Well, we happen to meet yards with the only retired people on the street. And they are both very focused on their lawns.

Then there is us, we, "those" people. A business owner who works overtime, a wife who works full-time to provide health insurance, a teenage son who doesn't do what he's darn well told, a very busy over-achieving teen daughter and a tiny daughter who isn't able to maneuver a lawn mower. We are freakin' lucky to have grass and a fence (to hide all the redneckness) at this point!

There's another saying, "The grass always seems greener on the other side." Well, it's actually true in this case.

I just have to make one addendum. Spellchecker accepted "heck" but rejected "freakin'" and "redneckness." Looks like "heck" is an official word - woo hoo! Now lets all become fans of "Droppin' the 'g' out of the 'ing' in the American language."