Tuesday, November 17, 2009

OH cussity cuss cuss cuss

I think I should rename this blog "The Bitch and Moan Spot" or something along those lines...Maybe a tribute to the Allman Brothers "The Whining Post"? It seems like that's all I really do on here anyway.

I think the IT IDGITS at work are onto me. (I've been blogging from work when my spreadsheets start congealing and my eyeballs are ready to roll down my face.)

LAST week, all out of the blue, blogger.com was mysteriously disconnected. It's STILL disconnected. I don't get a "blocked" message but an "Internet Connection Lost" message instead. Which I find more than a little suspicious since there are almost always several internet tabs open on my screen but all the OTHER ones are still "connected"...Hmmm...

So...no I didn't disappear my loyal followers (all 3 of you). I've been bamboozled and sabotaged by the rats who work in my basement. I am now posting from home and trust me, it's going to get flaky...

SPEAKING OF RATS!!! We've had a mouse in our house for the past couple weeks. My daughter first noticed him one morning when she was getting out of the shower. She panicked when she saw a little mouse butt and little mouse tail slipping underneath the bathroom door. You'd have thought an axe murderer was traipsing up and down our halls from the way she was carrying on. (Tell me - what is there REALLY to interest a mouse in a bathroom??)But I digress.

I've bought traps. Different kinds of traps. First off, let me tell you, those round spring loaded D-Con traps do NOT work. Not for smart mice. I put them out where there were 'signs of activity' - in otherwords, little micey presents. But instead of actually CATCHING the mouse, all I really did was share our lovely peanut butter and cheese with our newest house guest.

SO, a couple days ago, I bought the traditional traps AND poison. (Poison is the last resort for me because mice never fail to crawl off and die someplace where they can STINK but I can't get to them - ugh!) I hadn't gotten around to having the Hubs set them until last night. I don't do that; he does.

What prompted setting them last night I hear you query? Finding 'presents' on my STOVETOP!!! 'Presents' which weren't there yesterday when I left for work!!! AND, finding his cozy little house in the drawer where I keep my kitchen towels and hot mitts!!! NASTY NASTY NASTY!!! I am ticked. The Hubs sets traps on the counter top, in the drawer(remember not to reach in there for a while) and under the sink.

I check all the traps this morning and woohoo!!

Sing with me now! (to the tune of the Munchkinland song)

Ding Dong the Mouse is Dead!
Which old mouse?
The Little Gray Mouse!

Ding Dong the Little Gray Mouse is Dead!
He died in the kitchen drawer!
Snapped his neck!
His little gray neck!

Ding Dong the Little Gray Mouse is Dead!

I hope you laughed as much as my husband did when I surprised him with it in the shower this morning...

SO, the morning started off good anyway...

Thanks for perservering!

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Stop Arguing With Me!!!

Ever have one of those days (or several of them) where everything seems to argue with you? Your closet argues with you, your hairdryer is cantankerous, The Boy gets up before you leave the house EVEN THOUGH he's out of school today and could've slept until whenever, the Hubs is "indisposed" when you are leaving for work so no g'bye smooches can be had, the convenience store has a zillion people in line and they're all very chatty with the clerk, the traffic lights see you coming and just can't wait to turn red, your computer has to think about everything you want to do before it decides to let you click the next button...I could go on but I'll take a minute to breathe.

What I really want to do is just run away. Even if it's just for a day or so!

Oh who am I kidding? I want to run away and never come back!

(And now the guilt sets in...)

If you're a mom, you know the guilt I'm talking about. If you're not - take my advice - don't.

Somedays, all I really want to be is a missing person. (Saw that on a bumper sticker once...thought it was really good and couldn't wait to use it...) Or I want to crawl out of my skin like that big bug in Men in Black.

Today is one of those days.

I'm looking forward to tomorrow. Wait. No I'm not...

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Fire Drill!!!

Remember that rain I was so enthused about? Well it just got even better!!

Someone at the Safety Switch in my building decided now would be a primo time to have a FIRE DRILL!! What kind of idiocy does that?!

So, the god forsaken buzzers start clanging and our new company president (her first fire drill here) bolts out of the office telling everyone to Come on! Let's go! Naturally, I have to save everything I'm working on (because I have a deadline in 3 days and I REALLY don't want to lose everything I've done this morning) , grab my crappy little umbrella (because of course, my BIG NICE one is in the trunk of my car) and I leave the building - scowling all the while.

Only to find out that while I took the back stairs (aka the quickest route to the meeting up spot for everyone in the building) our Prez took the front stairs and is now looking for me! And even better, I don't have her number programmed in my phone so I can't even call her to let her know she can call off the search and rescue!!

Aaaargh!!! What ELSE is going to screw up today?


Quack Quacker Quack Quacken





The sounds of me sprouting feathers, coughing up feathers, growing webs between my fingers and toes... Of me becoming a duck.

I guess it was just too much to hope for. Too much to ask. Ungrateful me for hoping for more than 4 days WITHOUT rain in my little corner of North Alabama.

People complained LAST summer and preceeding years because we weren't getting enough rain. The "DROUGHT" was all we heard about when the nightly news was on. Well, I hope all those people are happy.

Now I wonder if we're all starting to feel just a little like the people who DIDN'T make it onto the Ark.

Not that I really know what gopher wood is but I think I'm going to start checking into it's availability and who's been buying it most recently.

And then I'm going to get on THAT guy's good side.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Feeling My Redneck This Mornin'

Football. I love it. I'm not a rabid, crazy person over it but I really do love football. My son plays youth football in the local league and he is a Defense Genius. And no. I'm not just being the proud, braggy Mama on this one. Every Saturday morning, not only do I get to hear his name called over the PA system at the stadium a squillion times
"Blah taken down by #90 Deacon Frost!!" or
"Hauled down at the 5 by #90 Deacon Frost!!" or
"SACKED by #90 Deacon Frost for the Eagles!!",
but I also get to hear the OTHER TEAM's coaches hollering
"Where's that kid coming from?!
Somebody BLOCK him for crying out loud!
Makes a mother proud. Makes me want to get up and knock somebody down. I mean GRRR!!!! There's just not much that can compare to seeing your kid sack a QB in the backfield and continue driving him back 5, 10, 15 yards. Or watching an offense completely re-set just to avoid your son. It's just beautiful. Admittedly, he's only 9 but man alive the kid can play! The best though is watching him walk off the field, with his head held high, proud of the game HE played, knowing that even though the team lost miserably (which they usually do - but I'll hold my tongue on THAT) he knows HE played well and has nothing to be ashamed of. And that's a sign of a true athlete and shows the potential for bigger and better things to come.

(By the way...he also wrestles. Get ready to hear a LOT about that. Oh and Roll Tide. Hehehe and his name isn't really Deacon Frost...jeesh)

Friday, November 6, 2009

Which. Cracks. Me. Up.

Sooo....holey moleys are now gone. Excised and cauterized by an amazingly sweet dermatologist who is also amazingly modest. Which. Cracks. Me. Up.

Here's the deal. When I go in for a visit... His nurses (each and every one dressed in white from head to toe) all speak in very hush hush tones and soft manners. They all seem startled by my sideways humor and blush easily. Which. Cracks. Me. Up. And which makes me try to be even more startling...

They always take me to a chilly exam room which seems like a hold over from a Norman Rockwell painting, ask me to remove the pieces of clothing which cover the suspicious spots and then have me lie down on the exam table. (This next bit absolutely tickles me to death.) The nurse very sweetly covers my semi-nakedness in one of those god-awful paper sheets and then tears tiny little holes so the doctor can see them without actually seeing me!! How funny is that?! They even tape the edges of the little holes to me so the sheet won't accidentally move and give him a glimpse of something he's not supposed to see! Hahahahaaa!!

Then I lie there all by myself, in the cold, covered in paper and wait. OK, I generally doze while I'm waiting which makes the waiting seem not quite so bad but nonetheless... A timid little knock on the door and in slips a skinny man with those jewelers' goggles on who says hello in a soft small voice and says he's just going to have a look. Which he does - so carefully - he's almost reverent. Which. Cracks. Me. Up.

Anyhooo...yesterday. I'm laying there in all my holey paper glory. The man with the plan comes in, peers through his goggles, stings me with anesthetic (asking each time if I'm alright), acts a bit disturbed by the fact that I'd really like to watch him while he works (and refusing to let me), scrapes out the moles, apologizes when I comment on how bad cauterizing something (i.e. ME) smells and then puts a band-aid on it. While he's telling me how to care for these tiny new boo-boos, it dawns on me that his instructions are exactly the same as how my tattoo artist wants me to take care of my tattoos. SO...of course I HAVE TO MENTION THAT. And when I do...he blushes and sort of stammers "Well, I, I, I wouldn't know...I've never had a tattoo." And then exits the room!! Which. Cracks. Me. Up.

By this point, I'm really REALLY wanting to guffaw. I check on the bill and say my good-by to the lady in white at the check out desk and leave the building. And once I'm in my car - I just cackled. Yes, like a crazy person but it's just too funny!!

Modest doctors are funny. Especially this one. He's a SKIN DOCTOR!!! SKIN is ALL OVER most people. I really don't know any people who aren't covered by SKIN!! And skin covers more than just the parts which are acceptable during prime time television! It's very sweet and cute and innocent I guess...but where's the sense in being a SKIN DOCTOR who's embarassed by...SKIN?! It just CRACKS. ME. UP.

Footnote: (BTW, in case you haven't noticed. Modesty isn't something I'm accused of very often. AND the man with the plan said from what he could see those suspicious spots looked less suspicious once he'd gotten into them. Now we'll just wait on the chemistry to confirm it.)

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Holey Moley!

So in just a bit I'm headed in to have a couple suspicious moles removed. yay. Makes me tired just thinking about it. I really hope the old sawbones is running in the ballpark of on-time and gets me in and out of there quick, fast and in a hurry. After all, the world doesn't stop just because I have to take care of myself now does it? On tonight's agenda we have football practice and theater rehearsal and homework and showers and putting the kids to bed and hopefully a minute or two of adult conversation with my husband before I crash out. Only to get up at the ungodly hour of (wait for it...) 4:30 in the morning to make sure The Dervish (aka my 12 year old daughter) is at school in time to get on the bus for her field trip to the Aquarium in Chattanooga tomorrow. Oh drats! I STILL haven't told her dad about it! He'll probably be preturbed because it'll mean an extra trip up to get her tomorrow evening since it's his weekend. Thank goodness.
I think that's one of the few plusses to being divorced. (Well, at least being divorced the way we are anyway.) Most parents don't have the luxury of free, worry free child care every other entire weekend like I do. Every other weekend I have the opportunity to breathe and be me. To sleep late and eat junk. To stay up late and drink lots. To not worry about 'setting an example' or being a 'role model'. Don't get the impression that I'm a party all night kind of girl because I'm not generally. But every other weekend...I COULD BE if I wanted. And that's a luxury.
Of course, most of the time I'm so exhausted from the day-in, day-out that all I really want to do is stay piled up in the bed (with the mattress warmer cranked up) alternately sleeping and reading.
So, I'm on a downhill slide to the weekend and only have to leap the holey moleys to get there. Yes I know tomorrow's Friday but I always feel like I've made it when Friday rolls around. After all, that's blue jeans to work day and I know I won't have wear heels for the next 48 hours. Unless I WANT to that is...

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Catching up...

Just before I met my current husband...

Thursday, August 17, 2006
Why do I hate chick flicks?
Chick flicks. The bane of my movie existence. They're magnetic and fantastic in a car crash kind of way - you don't want to look but some part of you says you HAVE to. I hate them. I hate car crashes too but that's different...
The question is WHY do I hate them? There are a million and one different reasons to hate them but we'll concentrate on the one for now. I hate them for the impossible lie they encourage us to believe. That lie of 'love-conquers-all' nirvana we seem to willingly swallow when we watch one of these films. They're like hocking up a big loogy and then realizing you have no place to spit. You know it's wrong to swallow it yet you have to; swallow the blob and feel nauseous for a moment.
Each chick flick never fails to plot impossible characters in impossible situations (never mind that everyone always seems to be wealthy and perfect) and yet somehow it all works out so the hero and heroine can ride off into the sunset of happily ever after. That simply doesn't happen in real life. It's a huge set up and invariably lets us all down. I have no patience for this charade and refuse to set myself up to believe in it - even if it's just for two hours at a time.
I love romance. But true romance is not made of the around the world flight to my side, the room full of flowers, the song that climaxes at the same time my lover and I do. Romance in the real world is much more powerful and unexpected. It's the feet under the covers, the post-it note on the fridge, the hand held in a waiting room, the smile from across the yard, working together to build a LIFE instead of a scene.
That's why I hate them. I prefer the real deal instead of the predictability of a Hollywood plot line. I resent the assumption that I'm gullible enough to buy into the lie. I resent the tears I'm expected to shed. And God help me if I ever do cry at one...I'm not crying because the story is so good. I'm crying because I've just been lied to and I wanted so badly to believe it. Why break my heart simply because I can? Nope. Not for me.
So, give me a movie I can sink my teeth into. Not my heart. Leave the chick flicks for the women who prefer the lie to reality.

Right before I met HIM. Really...that's a funny story for another time...

The ONE There've been some things rattling around in my head lately and I figured here was as good a place as any to get them out. Don't expect some eloquent, poetic soul wrenching expose...simply thoughts. I've made it past a certain threshold since my last divorce I think. I have made it to that elusive place where I am comfortable being single.
This doesn't mean that I don't sometimes wish for company or a special guy to share things with...I most certainly do. But, I'm not in a hurry to find that ONE relationship. In truth, I don't know if I believe that ONE is out there for me. I'd like to believe but I haven't made it that far yet.
This begs the question though...if that ONE is out there, what's he like? I've turned this over and over in my mind and inspected it from every angle. I've even made a list. An actual list that I could (and have) email. Some of the items on the list are requirements and others are preferences and the list is getting longer every day. I may start asking for references next...
To speak in generalities though, the ONE should have the passion of a musician, the heart of a hero, the soul of a poet, the grit of a cowboy, the faith of a martyr, the charisma of a conman, the honesty of a child, the compassion of a country preacher, and the confidence of a general. He should be strong enough to be weak, smart enough to be silly, serious enough to be funny, hard enough to be soft, and determined enough to let go and play. He'll understand that I am all women rolled up into one package and can match him beat for beat any day of the week. The ONE will open doors he knows I'm perfectly capable of opening for myself. He will never assume tears equal weakness. He will never assume a calm surface indicates lack of concern. He will never doubt me. He will appreciate the treasure I have in my children and love them as well. The ONE will realize that the innocence of childhood is lost very quickly and will help preserve it as long as possible. He will never insult me, call me names, ignore me, demean me, cast me aside. He will love me to abandon - in spite of myself.
It seems like I'm asking for a lot out of one man. I don't really think so. After all, I'm not asking for more than I'm willing to give - to the right man. I'm not sure I'm quite ready for that man right now but it does help to think about what I need and want. Now, if only there were a Build-A-Man store...one day I'd go there.

Turns out I didn't have to go there. One of my nut job friends just happened to know what he was talking about when he kept insisting a friend of his give me a call...

Elsewhere Blogs...

From another time but still part of this, of who I was and who I am...
After the last Divorce...
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
No wonder there are so many people on myspace. I mean, everyone out there looking for that special person but not knowing where to go to find them. When in truth, you're most likely to stumble across him or her when you aren't looking at all. But what to do when you aren't looking, a special person catches your eye and captures your heart and then shreds it?
We wonder why some men are such jerks and some women are total bitches. I guess there may be other reasons but I think the real reason is that most of us have been shat upon so many times we've become jaded. To make it worse, even those of us with the best built walls-carefully constructed, heavily guarded-are vulnerable at times. That's when the buzzards swoop in and make a meal out of what's hiding behind those walls. Bastards.
It's just not right when someone makes you believe in happily-ever-after again only to find out it was a trick after all. Smoke and mirrors, illusions, sweet nothings become bitter somethings. That first taste of love, the thumping heart, racing breath, sparkly eyes...yeah, it's great. Then what? How do you recover when you find out all that was just a way to get in your pants? It's a cruel joke and a heartless one to play.
What to do, what to do? There's not a damn thing to do about it, sadly. I guess we could all just shut down and carry on with life in an emotional vaccuum. Not the most fun but certainly the safest modus operandi. Or, we can continue to build walls...adding another brick each time we discover how truly crappy the opposite sex can be. Maybe even this, we could continue to guard the walls we've already built but step outside that comfort zone occassionally, to feel the pain, the joy, the excitement and the let down. To ensure we're human after all.
While I'm not thrilled about my broken heart, I'm thankful for the experience. I hope it makes me stronger, better, and more accepting of the walls other people build. In the meantime, I hope I don't get too lonely and fall for sweet lies and total bullshit again.
Continuing on... This memory makes me smile.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Green Feet and Sweet Gum Trees
Yesterday marked an important event for me in 2006. It was the first official mowing of the yard! For those of you who don't already know, mowing the yard is one of my favorite things to do. I don't ride-I push. Because the yard just looks better when it's been cut with a push mower.
This mowing was the first at my house because I just bought it in November. So, I was learning the lay of the land so to speak. My son decided to spend the afternoon with my parents so I was free to enjoy the experience, to meditate with the hum of the engine, smell of gasoline and grass. I went home after dropping him off, changed into my bikini top and shorts. OH NO! I left my "yard mowing" shoes at my ex's house! So, it was either turn my only pair of tennis shoes green or opt for flip-flops. I went with the flip-flops. Out to the shed, pull out the red machine, check the oil, fill up the tank, pull the rip cord (took a couple of tries, it hasn't been cranked all winter remember) and finally the blades whirr to life. What an rush! Around to the front yard I go.
Cutting in around all the trees. Who knew I had that many dogwoods and crepe myrtles? Overgrown forsythias - mental note: must trim those back. Oh look! Irises and lilies coming up. Might as well mow down the buttercups, they've put on their show for the year. How the hell am I going to mow over the mountain that is my storm shelter? Why in God's name did they put the stupid thing in the front yard!? Push, push, push...I'm at the top. Quick break to throw my hands up in the air and shout "I'm the King of the World!" I hope my neighbors are watching. Giggle a bit and slide back down the hill. Ooops ran out of gas. Fill'er up and smoke a cigarette; swallow something cold because I'm hot. Now for that little strip of grass between the driveway and the fence. I'm backing up and manage to back right into the edge of the carport. My flip-flop goes flying and so do I! Landing smack on my rear end, skinning the BACKS of my knees! it was hilarious! I hope my neighbors are watching.
Front yard done, I move on to the back yard. I already know it's going to be a challenge because I have a vicious walnut tree back there and it's left presents all over the yard. For the unitiated, walnuts in a yard equal flying missiles capable of knocking a man out at 50 paces. I decide to mow around walnut missile infested areas and concentrate on the edges instead. Will pick up as many walnuts as I can before attempting the mine field. Down a fence row I go, still in my flip-flops, and discover to my chagrin that my neighbor has an equally vicious sweet gum tree that has dropped it's spiny, prickly, evil weapons in my yard too! I discover this because I stepped right down on one and nearly fell over! Those things hurt!!! Much care has to be taken when mowing over sweet gum balls in flip-flops. Another not to self: buy new tennis shoes and use old ones as protective equipment to mow yard. After several tip-toe trips up and down the fence row and more than a few stops to un-prick my feet, the mower runs out of gas again. I decide I can stop and go pick up my son.
But not before I take a moment and survey the fruits of my labors. The smell of freshly cut grass, the green stained feet, the smooth surface of the yard, exposed sweet gum missiles, clean fence rows...nice. I am tired, sweaty, satisfied. My day has been very good.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Melanin Madness
I love laying out in the sun with a cold drink and a good book. It's like seizing a piece of paradise and selfishly calling it my own, no matter how briefly. I don't like to be interrupted when I'm actively doing nothing. I like watching my skin turn from the color of cream to cafe au lait. I realize it's not a particularly politically correct activity to enjoy but I do not care. It is during this precious time that I think.
I think about the ways I'm screwing up my kids and the ways I'm raising them right. I ponder over relationships and what's gone wrong with those in my past. I wonder what I'll fix for supper. I think about my future and where I'd like to be in 5, 10, 15 years. I plan the way I'll spend my winnings when I win the lottery. I think about what I'm going to do with my parents when they get old and really need me. I think about what I'd like to do with the blank canvas that is my backyard. I contemplate the sweat pooling in my belly button. I watch the butterflies and wish I could be one for just a minute or two. I consider my salvation and my faith.
It is in these quiet, steamy hours that I examine myself on the outside as well as on the inside. I like who I am as a woman - emotionally, physically, spiritually. This is what I've discoverd so far this sunning season. I am more comfortable in my own skin now than I have ever been in the past. I truly like who I've become. I've hoed some hard rows but wouldn't trade the lessons I gained in the weeds. When I'm not laying in the sun, I am often operating on auto-pilot and don't have the time to stop and think, stop and appreciate, stop and plan, stop and breathe.
As my skin turns brown, my life slows down just for a bit. And I am glad for this small luxury. I rarely invite others to join me on the quest for the perfect tan because while it may not seem like I'm doing anything important in truth I am. I am growing and learning. Discovering myself.
Ahhh...the joys of DATING
Friday, June 30, 2006

And in the next we turn a corner...

Thursday, October 29, 2009

My daughter, The Ferrari

This is a 2008 Ferrari 612 Scaglietti.
If you wanted to buy one, you’d pay more than $300,000.
And you wouldn’t even get to test drive it first.
The makers of this car believe it is something really special.
Owners agree.
Something beautiful and precious to be prized and cherished,
taken care of and protected.
It is irreplaceable.

YOU are a Ferrari.
You are worth far more than $300,000.
You are beautiful and precious.
You should be prized and cherished, taken care of and protected.
You are irreplaceable.
Set your standards high and your goals higher.
You are a Ferrari.

I wrote this for my duaghter when she started noticing boys and they started noticing right back. I didn't want to blast her all the time and hover... I wanted her to value herself. I remember telling her once that she deserves to be "chased" and should NEVER be the one doing the chasing. My son (who was 8 at the time) snorted. I whirled around on him and said "Listen Buster...any girl who doesn't expect you to chase her...ISN'T WORTH CATCHING."

Wednesday, October 28, 2009


OK...sooo...I did NOT quit smoking like I said I would. Although I think about it every day. Each night before I go to bed, as I'm puffing away on the last smoke of the night, I think to myself "Ok, so tomorrow, we get up and we don't light up. Easy right?" To make it worse, in the mornings, not only do I remember these conversations with myself but I guiltily light up anyway. Ugh. What a wuss.

Last year when I decided to quit, I didn't go cold turkey. I cut back more and more until I was down to 3 a day! I was SO proud of myself!! And then ExHusband #2 called. Also known "that-large-scary-alcoholic-control-freak-cop-I-was-married-to-last-time", he called out of the blue after nearly two years (long enough for me to NOT recognize his phone number) and started yelling at me as soon as I picked up the phone. And I had no clue what he was talking about. He kept saying he'd been angry about this for a long time and wanted to know just what I had to say for myself. About what??? He just couldn't figure out whether I was really that ignorant or if it was out of malicious intent that I'd done it. Done what?!?!?!? Anyway, I figured I'd been called ignorant by this particular man enough in my lifetime and hung up on him. Nevertheless, I was really shaken up. Of course, he called back. But, I...did.not.answer.the.phone!! Ha ha! Sorry voicemail lady - you get to talk to him from now on! Turns out he was ANGRY with me for telling HIS mother that his employer had forced him to go to rehab for his alcohol problem while we were still together!!! Now...as a mother myself...that's just something I think a Mama wants to know. And if her SON wasn't going to tell her...I was certainly NOT going to LIE to her when she asked me flat out what was going on with him. Oddly enough...it seems police departments don't really like it when officers show up for work smelling like they just crawled out of a brewery. But I digress. After his phone call, I HAD TO HAVE A CIGARETTE. I know, I know - what wuss I.

Still, I think about quitting everyday, more than once a day. But I can't bring myself to just do it. I think maybe a part of me is a little afraid that if I ever do - HE will call again. Or he will find me. Or just something completely crappy will happen that will totally blow the whole deal. Almost like I'm warding off evil without by poisoning myself within. Pretty twisted thought process there.