My daughter has been into music. Quite a bit of music. And her style seems to be as ecclectic as her mothers.
Does she want to hear Taylor Swift? Nope. If that pops on the radio her little hands clamp right over here ears and she shrieks "That's HORRIBLE!"
But if I hit my little CD button in our truck and out blasts a little ditty by one of my all time favorites, Maylene And THe Sons Of Disaster, my daughter goes from bleeding from the ears to air guitar and head banging while she yells to some of the lyrics (the ones you can make out easily).
Though amusing, something tells me I don't want my daughter to show up at the library or our next playdate singing along to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQX57tL4Y-Y
So now I forced myself to experiment with some more kid friendly tunes. Radio Disney it is.
.....help me.
NOw her favorite song for today is from Phineas and Ferb (I admit, it is one cartoon I'm more than happy to watch with her.) And as she calls it "Finny an Berb!"
Enjoy:
Monday, August 24, 2009
VacciNOWAYtions
Ma is going to be four in March, and though homeschooling would be my dream, I need to cover my bases. Today's challenge. Enrolling my kids in school.. (DundunDUUUN!!!)
UNVACCINATED.
Oh yeah, I just went there. Sadly, because our dear state of New York is run by a bunch of brainless needle loving Nazis, getting your tainted, dirty, unvaccinated children into any school is nearly impossible. You only get two exemptions here: Medical and Religious, and they can still turn you away no matter what you say.
But how hard can it be, you ask? All they ask is that you write a letter claiming your "Sincere Religious Belief.".. and you don't even have to specify your religion? Hell, you don't NEED a real religion. Because of the Separation Of Church And State, you can claim a sincere belief in The Flying Spaghetti Monster and they are supposed to take it.
The only problem here, it's up to the schools opinion whether or not your belief is "sincere" enough in their eyes. So they might accept the letter, reject it, or have you meet their attorney for a "Sincerity Test."
Yes, a Sincerity Test. And I'm not talking filling in little multiple choice bubbles with a number 2 pencil. I am talking an INTERROGATION that can last HOURS, stuffed into a little office and being grilled in intimidated by a snake eyes lawyer.
Don't believe me? Check out what this poor couple went through. They recorded the lawyer sneering, intimidating and mocking them for over an hour before deciding that their beliefs were not "sincere" enough.
http://www.ageofautism.com/2009/01/witness-a-ny-religious-sincerity-test-for-vaccine-exemption.html
In the mothers own words: "The law provides an exemption that fits squarely with our beliefs. All we wanted to do was follow the law and we were treated worse than criminals. The school berated, harassed, intimidated, humiliated and outspent us. "
Scary stuff, huh? I can only hope that doesn't happen to me when the time comes, because it would not take much to make this Mama hawk lose her cool and throw Mr. Lawyer our the nearest window. The lawyer even goes far enough to ask her "Have you talked to God? Has God talked to you?" That's a loaded question, if you say no then you won't look sincere in his eyes... but say yes and they'll lock your ass up in a Happy Home.
I love the "So, if God allowed Man to create vaccinations, how can they be bad?" Well dumbshit, God also allowed man to create Nuclear Weapons, and the last time I check those aren't very good either.
The human race can really be a group of pompous asses. We think we can control bacteria, we think we can control animals, stop floods, Batshit Bill Gates even thinks he can control the WEATHER (Good luck with that, dude.) http://www.weather.com/blog/weather/8_19894.html
Giggle.
So what's next? We tried to vaccinate against the flu, but all it had to do was mutate into another form of the flu that's resistant to the first vaccine. Instead of thinking "Whoops, we screwed up that one. Maybe we shouldn't mess with it so it doesn't mutate again into something worse." BigPharma not only magically produces a NEW vaccine, but they want they're miracle vile to be mandatory to everyone in the US. Yeah that's right! Pretty soon you will be fully expected to have someone inject you with a concoction of who-knows-what.. a concotion that is so new we have no idea what the long-term side effects are.
Forget long term, we don't even know what the short term side effects are. It could be even worse than the Big Pharma Gardasil Whoopsie. "OH, oh man, I'm sorry, we didn't KNOW it could cause paralysis and death! Thanks for letting us know that happened to your daughter!"
Instead of using kids as guinea pigs... how about you guys use.. Oh I dunno. GUINEA PIGS!
UNVACCINATED.
Oh yeah, I just went there. Sadly, because our dear state of New York is run by a bunch of brainless needle loving Nazis, getting your tainted, dirty, unvaccinated children into any school is nearly impossible. You only get two exemptions here: Medical and Religious, and they can still turn you away no matter what you say.
But how hard can it be, you ask? All they ask is that you write a letter claiming your "Sincere Religious Belief.".. and you don't even have to specify your religion? Hell, you don't NEED a real religion. Because of the Separation Of Church And State, you can claim a sincere belief in The Flying Spaghetti Monster and they are supposed to take it.
The only problem here, it's up to the schools opinion whether or not your belief is "sincere" enough in their eyes. So they might accept the letter, reject it, or have you meet their attorney for a "Sincerity Test."
Yes, a Sincerity Test. And I'm not talking filling in little multiple choice bubbles with a number 2 pencil. I am talking an INTERROGATION that can last HOURS, stuffed into a little office and being grilled in intimidated by a snake eyes lawyer.
Don't believe me? Check out what this poor couple went through. They recorded the lawyer sneering, intimidating and mocking them for over an hour before deciding that their beliefs were not "sincere" enough.
http://www.ageofautism.com/2009/01/witness-a-ny-religious-sincerity-test-for-vaccine-exemption.html
In the mothers own words: "The law provides an exemption that fits squarely with our beliefs. All we wanted to do was follow the law and we were treated worse than criminals. The school berated, harassed, intimidated, humiliated and outspent us. "
Scary stuff, huh? I can only hope that doesn't happen to me when the time comes, because it would not take much to make this Mama hawk lose her cool and throw Mr. Lawyer our the nearest window. The lawyer even goes far enough to ask her "Have you talked to God? Has God talked to you?" That's a loaded question, if you say no then you won't look sincere in his eyes... but say yes and they'll lock your ass up in a Happy Home.
I love the "So, if God allowed Man to create vaccinations, how can they be bad?" Well dumbshit, God also allowed man to create Nuclear Weapons, and the last time I check those aren't very good either.
The human race can really be a group of pompous asses. We think we can control bacteria, we think we can control animals, stop floods, Batshit Bill Gates even thinks he can control the WEATHER (Good luck with that, dude.) http://www.weather.com/blog/weather/8_19894.html
Giggle.
So what's next? We tried to vaccinate against the flu, but all it had to do was mutate into another form of the flu that's resistant to the first vaccine. Instead of thinking "Whoops, we screwed up that one. Maybe we shouldn't mess with it so it doesn't mutate again into something worse." BigPharma not only magically produces a NEW vaccine, but they want they're miracle vile to be mandatory to everyone in the US. Yeah that's right! Pretty soon you will be fully expected to have someone inject you with a concoction of who-knows-what.. a concotion that is so new we have no idea what the long-term side effects are.
Forget long term, we don't even know what the short term side effects are. It could be even worse than the Big Pharma Gardasil Whoopsie. "OH, oh man, I'm sorry, we didn't KNOW it could cause paralysis and death! Thanks for letting us know that happened to your daughter!"
Instead of using kids as guinea pigs... how about you guys use.. Oh I dunno. GUINEA PIGS!
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Tsk, Tsk, Octomom
I was in the mood to watch a train wreck apparently, so I flipped on Fox and watched about 20 minutes of the Octomom Special they score.
OH. MY. GOD. At least they didn't try to show her in a good light, because that would of been impossible.
Here all the highlights, and pretty much all you need:
I saw twenty minutes of an air headed botoxed woman speaking like, like, Valley Girl, like, whoa. Complaining about how she hasn't been laid in ten years (Can't imagine why), and whining and sqealing poor than all of her children put together.
14 poor, miserable children, the older ones acting acting out like WHOA, and her giving the camera "Advice" on how bad discipline in general is. Eight neglected babies laying on a dirty carpet, screaming for someone to feed or otherwise love them in general, while their mother sat back, laughing at the cameras and ignoring them all.
The story Nadya told while driving, about locking her mother in the trunk of her car when she was seventeen, then driving like a maniac, LAUGHING while she described her mother screaming and the sound of her body rolling around the back of the car.
And I just looove the birth footage, when the poor nurse was trying to kick the evil camera woman out of the room because the camera woman was in the way. And the CAMERAWOMAN said "Go do something important.:" The nurse IS doing something important you asshat, she's delivering BABIES! And Honey, don't ask the nurses and doctors to get out of YOUR way because you're not getting the footage of babies in a life or death situation.
And the kicker at the end; Octomom sitting behind a row of screaming babies, picking them up one by one to show them off to the camera. "This one has a really sweet temperment." - She sounds more like a dog breeder trying to sell a puppy than a Mother of children.
Oh, Nadya, I bet you were REALLY happy with your portrayal to the public now. Rather than change anyones mind, you instead embarrassed yourself to millions more across the nation. That special of yours was more like you waving a flag and going "Hey! Child Protection! Take my kids please before I damage them even more!"
You even allowed your babies to come into chaos WHILE being born. Shame On You, Octomom.
OH. MY. GOD. At least they didn't try to show her in a good light, because that would of been impossible.
Here all the highlights, and pretty much all you need:
I saw twenty minutes of an air headed botoxed woman speaking like, like, Valley Girl, like, whoa. Complaining about how she hasn't been laid in ten years (Can't imagine why), and whining and sqealing poor than all of her children put together.
14 poor, miserable children, the older ones acting acting out like WHOA, and her giving the camera "Advice" on how bad discipline in general is. Eight neglected babies laying on a dirty carpet, screaming for someone to feed or otherwise love them in general, while their mother sat back, laughing at the cameras and ignoring them all.
The story Nadya told while driving, about locking her mother in the trunk of her car when she was seventeen, then driving like a maniac, LAUGHING while she described her mother screaming and the sound of her body rolling around the back of the car.
And I just looove the birth footage, when the poor nurse was trying to kick the evil camera woman out of the room because the camera woman was in the way. And the CAMERAWOMAN said "Go do something important.:" The nurse IS doing something important you asshat, she's delivering BABIES! And Honey, don't ask the nurses and doctors to get out of YOUR way because you're not getting the footage of babies in a life or death situation.
And the kicker at the end; Octomom sitting behind a row of screaming babies, picking them up one by one to show them off to the camera. "This one has a really sweet temperment." - She sounds more like a dog breeder trying to sell a puppy than a Mother of children.
Oh, Nadya, I bet you were REALLY happy with your portrayal to the public now. Rather than change anyones mind, you instead embarrassed yourself to millions more across the nation. That special of yours was more like you waving a flag and going "Hey! Child Protection! Take my kids please before I damage them even more!"
You even allowed your babies to come into chaos WHILE being born. Shame On You, Octomom.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
To the Ciy People.
For the "City People", Citiots", and people whose homes are in New Jersey, Manhattan, Connecticut, ect, ect.. Who either rent or bought a "second home" out here in what you call "The Hamptons.":
You are not special.
Nothing in the world possibly makes you more important than the hobo on the street you would not give your 65 cents to as you made your way to the Jitney for a weekend in "The Hamptons."
You could own a "second home" here for 50 years... it still does not make you a local.
Yeah, we may seem "poor" in your eyes when you come out for your happy little weekend getaway.. clogging up our town. Sure, many of us might make money by ripping you all off (Apparently, 99 percent of you did NOT get rich with your brains.)
Well, we may be poor, but damnit, this place would not exist if it wasn't for us. Our great grandfathers shed blood making this town, and we will be damned if you take that for granted.
You wanna cross a street? Sure.. but use a damn crosswalk.
Going for a bike ride? Have at it.. but stay the hell out of our way. If we hit you it isn't going to be out fault.
Want to go to a restuarant for dinner? Go ahead, but be nice to your server, unless you want to spend between 50-500 dollars on food covered in spit.
We are not "Rednecks" or "White Trash". We are not here for you to take advantage of us, and to be mean and nasty to us. If you want servants, go hire one. Bonackers have too much pride. Over the past 370 years we have shed too much blood, sweat and tears to make this place exist for you people to shit on us every summer. We see you as nothing but annual parasites, sucking the life and soul out of all of us.
Next time you come out here, take a good look at your maid, and your driver, and the guy you bought your fish from, and your server at a restuarant. Ask yourself 'What is so different between them and us?"... the answer will be nothing.
Nothing is different between us. The only difference is you people were lucky to come into money. We work 10000000 times harder than you have ever worked, but you guys were just lucky enough to find a job that pays you a million dollars for being lazy. None of you know what work really is. None of you have cut off a finger, or broken a bone, or died doing what you do.
Once apon a time this was a beautiful, quiet, close knit fishing town. We all looked out for each other, cared for each other so much we'd take the shirt off of our back for a neighbor in need, and no one ever, ever worried about money. Too many things in Life were more important than shiny toys and what "So-and so" thinks of you. And then you infested our home like expensive cockroaches and destroyed it all. You gave us our version of Armageddon.
This Town was at it's best over 100 years ago. Now, thanks to you, it's a dump. You have made our town so bad, our kids have no idea what they can grow up into. We have no idea if our own, dear children can even have a future here at all.
So what now? Are you all proud of yourselves? You absolutely destroyed our world with your horrible personas, and cars, and attitudes, and big ugly mansions that you barely even use. You've driven the price to live up so badly a thousand people can barely survive even though we've been here hundreds of years and do not know anything else. And you've never actually done anything productive with your lives, but hey, you have money, so Life MUST be good, right?
Wrong.
At least we know what Life is about. Life is Friends, Family, and Love. Not Swift Cars, Mansions, and Toys. Half of me is so angry at you all, for the pain you have caused myself, and my husband, and children, and father and grandfathers, for the blood you have shed for your spoilage and convenience... but the other half just pities you. I pity the fact that none of you know what true, genuine Love is, or how to love the "little" things. You have no "real" friends.. just the ones you paid for.
By the time you know what Life is you'll be on your deathbed, and feeling regretful for wasting it all away.
And to be honest, after all of the horrible things you've done to us, I won't be sure if I will feel genuinely sorry for you or not.
You are not special.
Nothing in the world possibly makes you more important than the hobo on the street you would not give your 65 cents to as you made your way to the Jitney for a weekend in "The Hamptons."
You could own a "second home" here for 50 years... it still does not make you a local.
Yeah, we may seem "poor" in your eyes when you come out for your happy little weekend getaway.. clogging up our town. Sure, many of us might make money by ripping you all off (Apparently, 99 percent of you did NOT get rich with your brains.)
Well, we may be poor, but damnit, this place would not exist if it wasn't for us. Our great grandfathers shed blood making this town, and we will be damned if you take that for granted.
You wanna cross a street? Sure.. but use a damn crosswalk.
Going for a bike ride? Have at it.. but stay the hell out of our way. If we hit you it isn't going to be out fault.
Want to go to a restuarant for dinner? Go ahead, but be nice to your server, unless you want to spend between 50-500 dollars on food covered in spit.
We are not "Rednecks" or "White Trash". We are not here for you to take advantage of us, and to be mean and nasty to us. If you want servants, go hire one. Bonackers have too much pride. Over the past 370 years we have shed too much blood, sweat and tears to make this place exist for you people to shit on us every summer. We see you as nothing but annual parasites, sucking the life and soul out of all of us.
Next time you come out here, take a good look at your maid, and your driver, and the guy you bought your fish from, and your server at a restuarant. Ask yourself 'What is so different between them and us?"... the answer will be nothing.
Nothing is different between us. The only difference is you people were lucky to come into money. We work 10000000 times harder than you have ever worked, but you guys were just lucky enough to find a job that pays you a million dollars for being lazy. None of you know what work really is. None of you have cut off a finger, or broken a bone, or died doing what you do.
Once apon a time this was a beautiful, quiet, close knit fishing town. We all looked out for each other, cared for each other so much we'd take the shirt off of our back for a neighbor in need, and no one ever, ever worried about money. Too many things in Life were more important than shiny toys and what "So-and so" thinks of you. And then you infested our home like expensive cockroaches and destroyed it all. You gave us our version of Armageddon.
This Town was at it's best over 100 years ago. Now, thanks to you, it's a dump. You have made our town so bad, our kids have no idea what they can grow up into. We have no idea if our own, dear children can even have a future here at all.
So what now? Are you all proud of yourselves? You absolutely destroyed our world with your horrible personas, and cars, and attitudes, and big ugly mansions that you barely even use. You've driven the price to live up so badly a thousand people can barely survive even though we've been here hundreds of years and do not know anything else. And you've never actually done anything productive with your lives, but hey, you have money, so Life MUST be good, right?
Wrong.
At least we know what Life is about. Life is Friends, Family, and Love. Not Swift Cars, Mansions, and Toys. Half of me is so angry at you all, for the pain you have caused myself, and my husband, and children, and father and grandfathers, for the blood you have shed for your spoilage and convenience... but the other half just pities you. I pity the fact that none of you know what true, genuine Love is, or how to love the "little" things. You have no "real" friends.. just the ones you paid for.
By the time you know what Life is you'll be on your deathbed, and feeling regretful for wasting it all away.
And to be honest, after all of the horrible things you've done to us, I won't be sure if I will feel genuinely sorry for you or not.
Friday, July 24, 2009
My husband broke the biggest cardinal rule known to married men, specifically married men to Stay At Home Moms. Last night, my husband did the equivilant of me waltzing into his mechanics shop and telling him he doesn't know how to fix anything. My dear, foolish, thick headed husband was begging for a beating by uttering the cursed words most Working Husbands fear...
"You haven't done shit around the house lately."
I know, most of my readers who live the SAHM/WP lifestyle are right now cringing after reading those, but no fear. I am not a violent person.
I am, however, a spiteful one.
Now for a joke:
A man came home from work and found his three children outside, still in their pajamas, playing in the mud, with empty food boxes and wrappers strewn all around the front yard. The door of his wife's car was open, as was the front door to the house and there was no sign of the dog.
Proceeding into the entry, he found an even bigger mess. A lamp had been knocked over, and the throw rug was wadded against one wall. In the front room the TV was loudly blaring a Cartoon channel, and the family room was strewn with toys and various items of clothing. In the kitchen, dishes filled the sink, breakfast food was spilled on the counter, the fridge door was open wide, dog food was spilled on the floor, a broken glass lay under the table, and a small pile of sand was spread by the back door.
He quickly headed up the stairs, stepping over toys and more piles of clothes, looking for his wife. He was worried she might be ill, or that something serious had happened. He was met with a small trickle of water as it made its way out the bathroom door. As he peered inside he found wet towels, scummy soap and more toys strewn over the floor. Miles of toilet paper lay in a heap and toothpaste had been smeared over the mirror and walls.
As he rushed to the bedroom, he found his wife still curled up in the bed in her pajamas, reading a novel. She looked up at him, smiled, and asked how his day went. He looked at her bewildered and asked, "What happened here today?"
She again smiled and answered, "You know every day when you come home from work and you ask me what in the world I do all day?"
"Yes," was his incredulous reply.
She answered, "Well, today I didn't do it."
My only problem is that I do not have any novels here that I haven't already read 4325689437 times, but I do have a handy dandy computer and a really comfy chair to sit in for the next 8 hours. Maybe after I feed the kids and toss the dishes haphazardly into the sink for my dear Lurch to come home to, I'll throw on my bathing suit and relax in Ma's wading pool on the deck.
Mommy's taking a day off.. and Daddy's going to have to work overtime.
"You haven't done shit around the house lately."
I know, most of my readers who live the SAHM/WP lifestyle are right now cringing after reading those, but no fear. I am not a violent person.
I am, however, a spiteful one.
Now for a joke:
A man came home from work and found his three children outside, still in their pajamas, playing in the mud, with empty food boxes and wrappers strewn all around the front yard. The door of his wife's car was open, as was the front door to the house and there was no sign of the dog.
Proceeding into the entry, he found an even bigger mess. A lamp had been knocked over, and the throw rug was wadded against one wall. In the front room the TV was loudly blaring a Cartoon channel, and the family room was strewn with toys and various items of clothing. In the kitchen, dishes filled the sink, breakfast food was spilled on the counter, the fridge door was open wide, dog food was spilled on the floor, a broken glass lay under the table, and a small pile of sand was spread by the back door.
He quickly headed up the stairs, stepping over toys and more piles of clothes, looking for his wife. He was worried she might be ill, or that something serious had happened. He was met with a small trickle of water as it made its way out the bathroom door. As he peered inside he found wet towels, scummy soap and more toys strewn over the floor. Miles of toilet paper lay in a heap and toothpaste had been smeared over the mirror and walls.
As he rushed to the bedroom, he found his wife still curled up in the bed in her pajamas, reading a novel. She looked up at him, smiled, and asked how his day went. He looked at her bewildered and asked, "What happened here today?"
She again smiled and answered, "You know every day when you come home from work and you ask me what in the world I do all day?"
"Yes," was his incredulous reply.
She answered, "Well, today I didn't do it."
My only problem is that I do not have any novels here that I haven't already read 4325689437 times, but I do have a handy dandy computer and a really comfy chair to sit in for the next 8 hours. Maybe after I feed the kids and toss the dishes haphazardly into the sink for my dear Lurch to come home to, I'll throw on my bathing suit and relax in Ma's wading pool on the deck.
Mommy's taking a day off.. and Daddy's going to have to work overtime.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
My husband is on a babysitting suspension.
My brother went out on Tuesday, and I trusted me dear Lurch with Moo, Ma, and all of our furchildren.
The next morning after a healthy breakfast of 4 cups of coffee with 3 extra-strength Tylonol, I was brushing Rubys hair and to my terror, giant clumps and locks of curls fell out, and I freaked. In a complete panic, and wondering if she got a hold of some radiation, I called my sister, jumped on Google, was ready to make a visit to the State hopsital when Lurch came home.
All of a sudden, a little voice inside said "Liz, you DID leave him alone with the kids last night.." so I asked "Hooooooney? Did Ma play with scissors last night?"
*Pause*...."Why?"
"DID SHE?"
"Umn. Well, she started to but I stopped her." he replied sheepishly and turned away.
Well Dear, you didn't stop her fast enough. I'd hate to see what could happen if he was the SAHP. Would be children be running around bald and dirty day in and day out until the Men In White commit my husband and I? Since i'm too scared to fix it myself, I'll have to make an appointment for a 25 dollar cut.
Bah.
My brother went out on Tuesday, and I trusted me dear Lurch with Moo, Ma, and all of our furchildren.
The next morning after a healthy breakfast of 4 cups of coffee with 3 extra-strength Tylonol, I was brushing Rubys hair and to my terror, giant clumps and locks of curls fell out, and I freaked. In a complete panic, and wondering if she got a hold of some radiation, I called my sister, jumped on Google, was ready to make a visit to the State hopsital when Lurch came home.
All of a sudden, a little voice inside said "Liz, you DID leave him alone with the kids last night.." so I asked "Hooooooney? Did Ma play with scissors last night?"
*Pause*...."Why?"
"DID SHE?"
"Umn. Well, she started to but I stopped her." he replied sheepishly and turned away.
Well Dear, you didn't stop her fast enough. I'd hate to see what could happen if he was the SAHP. Would be children be running around bald and dirty day in and day out until the Men In White commit my husband and I? Since i'm too scared to fix it myself, I'll have to make an appointment for a 25 dollar cut.
Bah.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Oh My Gobble!
Travelling down Cranberry Hole Road a car of Jersiots stopped short right in front of us, causing my husband (with awesome reflexes) to lock our truck up and turn to the side to avoid hitting them. The windows on the passenger side rolled down and heads and arms crane out with a camera, pointing with the most shocked expressions of absolute, pure joy.
It was our Sunday drive and I was not about to let this ruin my day, so we sat back and waited patiently as they snapped photos into the woods and exclaimed ”THAT’S AMAZING!” for a couple more minutes, and we wondered if they even realized there was a obnoxiously loud turbo diesel truck idling five feet behind them.
Slowly, and reluctantly, the heads sink back into the car and they move on, making us wonder. What in the world were they looking at? Did they find the Montauk Monster? The Camp Hero Beast? Bill McGintees brain running loose through the forest instead of his head where it’s been missing from for years?
Their glee and wonder at this apparently exotic animal they stumbled over on their Bonac Safari peaked our own curiosity, so my own head stretched out the window when we finally had the chance to drive by ourselves.
“What is it? What is it?” my husband asks and my reply was more of an “Are You Serious?” type of shock than a truly awed one.
No Montauk Monster, no beast, no brain.
It was a turkey.
A friggin’ turkey.
Do they not have Turkeys in Jersey? If they really wanted to see one I would of been happy to give them the 19 pounder in my freezer. I personally think they’re a lot cuter without that tiny head and all those feathers, preferably Golden Brown with cornbread stuffing on my Thanksgiving Table.
A. TURKEY.
I loudly Gobbled at it, and hoped my poor attempt at Turkey Language translated to “Get in the woods you damn bird.. you’re amusing the tourists too easily!” At least the gobbling made my hubby giggle, since before that second he looked more ready to make a Golden-Plated-Jersey-Volvo sacrifice to the Poultry Gods.
I hope those folks don’t cause any accidents by stumbling over a rare and elusive Squirrel or even gasp, Bunny. “AMAZING!”? No, not car accident-worthy amazing.
It was our Sunday drive and I was not about to let this ruin my day, so we sat back and waited patiently as they snapped photos into the woods and exclaimed ”THAT’S AMAZING!” for a couple more minutes, and we wondered if they even realized there was a obnoxiously loud turbo diesel truck idling five feet behind them.
Slowly, and reluctantly, the heads sink back into the car and they move on, making us wonder. What in the world were they looking at? Did they find the Montauk Monster? The Camp Hero Beast? Bill McGintees brain running loose through the forest instead of his head where it’s been missing from for years?
Their glee and wonder at this apparently exotic animal they stumbled over on their Bonac Safari peaked our own curiosity, so my own head stretched out the window when we finally had the chance to drive by ourselves.
“What is it? What is it?” my husband asks and my reply was more of an “Are You Serious?” type of shock than a truly awed one.
No Montauk Monster, no beast, no brain.
It was a turkey.
A friggin’ turkey.
Do they not have Turkeys in Jersey? If they really wanted to see one I would of been happy to give them the 19 pounder in my freezer. I personally think they’re a lot cuter without that tiny head and all those feathers, preferably Golden Brown with cornbread stuffing on my Thanksgiving Table.
A. TURKEY.
I loudly Gobbled at it, and hoped my poor attempt at Turkey Language translated to “Get in the woods you damn bird.. you’re amusing the tourists too easily!” At least the gobbling made my hubby giggle, since before that second he looked more ready to make a Golden-Plated-Jersey-Volvo sacrifice to the Poultry Gods.
I hope those folks don’t cause any accidents by stumbling over a rare and elusive Squirrel or even gasp, Bunny. “AMAZING!”? No, not car accident-worthy amazing.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The Bonac Wall and A Ploversy
Reading Jerrys letter two weeks ago (I'm probably one of the few who cracked a smile during some of it, Hell I giggled.) left me wondering about these stupid little birds that continue to shut down our beaches, and how their sheer existence effects our Summertime quality of life.
Probably one of the most popular beaches to attend for Locals is off of Napeague Lane. Every Sunday we gather the kids and join the line of trucks of friends and families for a great day.. especially now because thanks to a little snafu in Mr. McGinfees parking sticker Nazism, you may have to pay to park AT the beach, but not ON it. So thankfully we didn't have to take 25 dollars out of our rent or grocery money to buy a sticker this year.
So, imagine my surprise when we went down a few weeks ago and found our glorious beach, the last place real locals can have a good, free time, has all but disappeared. Instead of a couple of miles of good friends and families, we now only have a couple hundred yards before that dreaded snow fencing and Piping Plovers signs rise up out of the Sand like the Bonac Berlin Wall. A couple families were there, crammed in the few yards between the fence and entrance to the beach, shrugging and shaking their heads.
I come out of my truck and survey the situation. Unlike other "Plover Quarantine" areas, this fence protrudes as far towards the water as possible, and there must of been at least six threatening signs zip tied all over it. Reluctantly, since there was no room for us, we packed it up and went home.
How strange. Up until this summer, Napeague was the only beach that has never been bordered off in such an extreme way for the rats. Napeague is also the only beach a Bonacker can go to without needing the 25 dollar McSticker. Now the beach is so small no one can fit on it. Did Billy Boy realize the little loophole in his Money Making scheme? Sure, there was a plover inside the fence, there was also one outside, Heck, there are plovers running around on every beach I have been to this summer. They're about as thick and irritating as deer ticks these days. I've seen More of these little sucker than I have seagulls.
When I got over my initial fuming I did come up with some good schemes, to make the day of anyone who is as annoyed with these little birds as I.
Plover Putting. Want to give some Citiots and maybe a beach cop a good heart attack? Find yourself a few golf balls, dip it in glue and roll it in a mess of black, white and grey feathers. Head down to your favorite quarantined beach one morning and place them strategically near the snow fencing, close to the surf. Then go relax on your beach chair with your favorite nine iron close at hand. Whenever a couple comes walking by, spring up, go running at one of your "Plovers", and with a loud "FOWL!" put it off into the ocean, feathers flying and all. Watch the reaction that ensues and be pleased.
New Recipe: This one is Fail Proof people. I gave it a try last weekend and once the population is high enough for open season on these suckers it will be my favorite snack.
Buffalo Plover:
1 Dozen plovers, plucked and cleaned
1 egg
1 cup flour
1 teaspoon Seasoned Salt
oil for frying
1 stick of butter
4 tbsp Hot Sauce
1/2 cup ketchup
Melt butter, ketchup and hot sauce together on low heat.
Scramble egg and reserve in small bowl. Mix Flour and seasonings in a larger bowl.
Heat oil to 375 degrees
Dip plovers in egg, then flour mix, then fry for 7-10 minutes or until golden brown.
Dip in sauce, and serve with blue cheese and your favorite vegetables.
An excellent, organic alternative to chicken wings that is sure to please a crowd.
Probably one of the most popular beaches to attend for Locals is off of Napeague Lane. Every Sunday we gather the kids and join the line of trucks of friends and families for a great day.. especially now because thanks to a little snafu in Mr. McGinfees parking sticker Nazism, you may have to pay to park AT the beach, but not ON it. So thankfully we didn't have to take 25 dollars out of our rent or grocery money to buy a sticker this year.
So, imagine my surprise when we went down a few weeks ago and found our glorious beach, the last place real locals can have a good, free time, has all but disappeared. Instead of a couple of miles of good friends and families, we now only have a couple hundred yards before that dreaded snow fencing and Piping Plovers signs rise up out of the Sand like the Bonac Berlin Wall. A couple families were there, crammed in the few yards between the fence and entrance to the beach, shrugging and shaking their heads.
I come out of my truck and survey the situation. Unlike other "Plover Quarantine" areas, this fence protrudes as far towards the water as possible, and there must of been at least six threatening signs zip tied all over it. Reluctantly, since there was no room for us, we packed it up and went home.
How strange. Up until this summer, Napeague was the only beach that has never been bordered off in such an extreme way for the rats. Napeague is also the only beach a Bonacker can go to without needing the 25 dollar McSticker. Now the beach is so small no one can fit on it. Did Billy Boy realize the little loophole in his Money Making scheme? Sure, there was a plover inside the fence, there was also one outside, Heck, there are plovers running around on every beach I have been to this summer. They're about as thick and irritating as deer ticks these days. I've seen More of these little sucker than I have seagulls.
When I got over my initial fuming I did come up with some good schemes, to make the day of anyone who is as annoyed with these little birds as I.
Plover Putting. Want to give some Citiots and maybe a beach cop a good heart attack? Find yourself a few golf balls, dip it in glue and roll it in a mess of black, white and grey feathers. Head down to your favorite quarantined beach one morning and place them strategically near the snow fencing, close to the surf. Then go relax on your beach chair with your favorite nine iron close at hand. Whenever a couple comes walking by, spring up, go running at one of your "Plovers", and with a loud "FOWL!" put it off into the ocean, feathers flying and all. Watch the reaction that ensues and be pleased.
New Recipe: This one is Fail Proof people. I gave it a try last weekend and once the population is high enough for open season on these suckers it will be my favorite snack.
Buffalo Plover:
1 Dozen plovers, plucked and cleaned
1 egg
1 cup flour
1 teaspoon Seasoned Salt
oil for frying
1 stick of butter
4 tbsp Hot Sauce
1/2 cup ketchup
Melt butter, ketchup and hot sauce together on low heat.
Scramble egg and reserve in small bowl. Mix Flour and seasonings in a larger bowl.
Heat oil to 375 degrees
Dip plovers in egg, then flour mix, then fry for 7-10 minutes or until golden brown.
Dip in sauce, and serve with blue cheese and your favorite vegetables.
An excellent, organic alternative to chicken wings that is sure to please a crowd.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Psyche Ward, here I come...
Longest week EVER. I am thisclose to voluntarilly admitting myself into the nearest mental health facility. Hell, I can't even remember the last time I peed by myself. Taking a shower this week has been a joke, because somebody got hurt or broke something by the time I got out, and I don't even take long showers. Getting dressed this week? FORGET IT unless I had every child and animal in the room with me, one of them going "OH, no were DAT, Mama. NONONO I WANT THAT MAMA!" and then when I finally get dressed and feel good about myself the 40 year old kid comes home and goes "Huh, I don't like those shorts."
Or cleaning the livingroom, going in to clean the kids room and when I come back out 95 (I counted them) books are pulled off the library and sprawled across the floor. I just finished ordering a 20 dollar book for my sister since the dog ate the one she lent me with my 23 dollar Avon profit.
The dog also ate another official looking piece of paper and by the time I recovered three small pieces I realized it was my birth cirtificate. I don't even know how that happened.
Moo is on another growth spurt, is eating a bottle an hour and won't let me put him down. The kid's twenty pounds so that ain't easy, but at least I'll have some muscle soon enough. The dog learned to climb onto the counter and got a hold of and poked holes in the nipples of both his bottle and sippy cup, so feeding is now rather messy, if not completely impossible.
I sweep, and ten minutes later someone stops by and tracks mud all over because it has been raining every other day the past three weeks, so I sweep again and someone else comes over, heading into the kitchen before I have the time to say "GOD DAMNIT STOP YOUR BOOTS ARE MUDDY!".
Finally, 15 minutes ago I say THAT'S IT! and go to my bar. The only thing left is enough Baileys ("Mommys Chocolate Milk") for one drink, so I pour it over some ice, grab my aviators, a cigarette, and take Ma and the dog out on the deck.
I bring the glass to my lips and Ma screams because the dog took her blanket. I robotically retrieve it, sit down, bring the glass to my lips again and more screaming. The dog squeezed through a hole in the gate. I immiediately jump up and get her from the backyard before she scales our fence and heads to the neighbors for some action like the ho bag she is, and come up the steps just in time to see Ma walking into the rail because she was busy looking through her brand new binoculars.
My glass is on the rail.
Now, picture this in slow motion. Glass teeters, Me, with dog in my arms dives forward with a NOOOOO!....
And it falls, contents immediately seeping out into the woodchips below.
I didn't even get to taste it.
Generous Ma says "Oops, sowwy, I make you a new mommy chocolate milk."
I cry.
TGIHOLYF people.
Or cleaning the livingroom, going in to clean the kids room and when I come back out 95 (I counted them) books are pulled off the library and sprawled across the floor. I just finished ordering a 20 dollar book for my sister since the dog ate the one she lent me with my 23 dollar Avon profit.
The dog also ate another official looking piece of paper and by the time I recovered three small pieces I realized it was my birth cirtificate. I don't even know how that happened.
Moo is on another growth spurt, is eating a bottle an hour and won't let me put him down. The kid's twenty pounds so that ain't easy, but at least I'll have some muscle soon enough. The dog learned to climb onto the counter and got a hold of and poked holes in the nipples of both his bottle and sippy cup, so feeding is now rather messy, if not completely impossible.
I sweep, and ten minutes later someone stops by and tracks mud all over because it has been raining every other day the past three weeks, so I sweep again and someone else comes over, heading into the kitchen before I have the time to say "GOD DAMNIT STOP YOUR BOOTS ARE MUDDY!".
Finally, 15 minutes ago I say THAT'S IT! and go to my bar. The only thing left is enough Baileys ("Mommys Chocolate Milk") for one drink, so I pour it over some ice, grab my aviators, a cigarette, and take Ma and the dog out on the deck.
I bring the glass to my lips and Ma screams because the dog took her blanket. I robotically retrieve it, sit down, bring the glass to my lips again and more screaming. The dog squeezed through a hole in the gate. I immiediately jump up and get her from the backyard before she scales our fence and heads to the neighbors for some action like the ho bag she is, and come up the steps just in time to see Ma walking into the rail because she was busy looking through her brand new binoculars.
My glass is on the rail.
Now, picture this in slow motion. Glass teeters, Me, with dog in my arms dives forward with a NOOOOO!....
And it falls, contents immediately seeping out into the woodchips below.
I didn't even get to taste it.
Generous Ma says "Oops, sowwy, I make you a new mommy chocolate milk."
I cry.
TGIHOLYF people.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Little April Rose and Beccah Buewhatever
Let's get serious a minute and talk about a REAL winner in the Blogging World. *Sarcasm*.
Beccah Beushausen of Mokena, Illinois. -- Or previously known as "April's Mom" or "B". Over the last month or so this crazy bitch concocted a story about her unborn daughter she named April Rose, claiming she was diagnosed in utero with Trisomy 13, and even though the doctors wanted her to terminate she was refusing to do so.
Thousands of people followed the blog at the edge of their seats. She constantly mentioned how Christian she was, throwing eloquent bible quotes in every other post, and then providing a PO Box for cards and donations. On the hunt for more hits, she then posed as other bloggers, such as resolved2worship, inhistightgrip and mamarebeccah", and left comments all over the blog world claiming she gave donations to "Little April Rose", and then provided the link to her own blog.
Miraculously, last week she made it full term, and then blogged about a homebirth, how April was breathing, her heart rate was going up and down, ect, ect. Then she made her biggest mistake by posting a picture of her "baby".
The baby was obviously a doll.
People flipped, the blog disappeared and the Internet world was sent reeling. People who prayed for her, donated money and gifts to her, and families who actually lost living breathing children of their own were touched and then horrified when her blog forced them to relive their own losses. Days went by and no one heard anything until she suddenly reopened her blog with a long, rambling apology.
BUT, it wasn't an apology. Those who actually sat through and read it realized it immediately. She isn't sorry for what she did, nono. She is sorry for getting caught. She claims she never received money, that is an impossibility considering the thousands of wonderful people who were duped. She claimed she wasn't looking for our sympathy, but then said she did it because she lost children of her own. That also ended up being a lie.
She was interviewed by the Chicago Tribune, who helped her paint an abstract picture of a poor sweet social worker who lost her son after birth in 2005, who shouldn't be held responsible for her actions because "she didn't understand what she was doing." Her ramblings were again littered with bible quotes to further paint a picture of innocence. In reality, she is an artist who miscarried in 05 and is now using it as an excuse for her actions, though the reporter for the Tribune was either duped or a cousin of hers.
That's the main story in a nutshell. Many other bloggers banded together and did their research, compiling it into this awesome place: http://exposetrolls.blogspot.com/ Good job guys!
Beccahs "apology" can be found here: http://littleoneapril.blogspot.com/
Well as for you Beccah, here is what I have to say about that. That was not an apology, you are not sorry for hurting all those people, accepting their sincere prayers, gifts and money. You want us to see a deranged, innocent, distraught mother who lost children. We see a deranged, intelligent student with a Graphics Design business (Ironically dubbed "See Through Me") garnering attention for your business and profit. Not a social worker, not someone who has a lost a child in the sense thousands of people you have hurt had. Your Damage Control isn't cutting it with most of us.
You are an artist, and eloquent writer who went through great lengths to get the attention you think you deserved for your talent. Your blog is so long winded it's more like a grand curtain call a love-hate villain gets at the end of a play, a narcissistic pat on your back, rather than something truly heartfelt and sincere. I will give you an Oscar before I would give you any support or the benefit of forgiveness.
There are people in this world who have suffered losses much greater than yours, and you are still kicking them while they're down and spitting in their faces and toying with them now by continuing to spew your deceitful garbage. You should be even more ashamed now than you should have been last week, yet you continue to dig your hole and laugh at anyone who might believe you.
Beccah Beushausen of Mokena, Illinois. -- Or previously known as "April's Mom" or "B". Over the last month or so this crazy bitch concocted a story about her unborn daughter she named April Rose, claiming she was diagnosed in utero with Trisomy 13, and even though the doctors wanted her to terminate she was refusing to do so.
Thousands of people followed the blog at the edge of their seats. She constantly mentioned how Christian she was, throwing eloquent bible quotes in every other post, and then providing a PO Box for cards and donations. On the hunt for more hits, she then posed as other bloggers, such as resolved2worship, inhistightgrip and mamarebeccah", and left comments all over the blog world claiming she gave donations to "Little April Rose", and then provided the link to her own blog.
Miraculously, last week she made it full term, and then blogged about a homebirth, how April was breathing, her heart rate was going up and down, ect, ect. Then she made her biggest mistake by posting a picture of her "baby".
The baby was obviously a doll.
People flipped, the blog disappeared and the Internet world was sent reeling. People who prayed for her, donated money and gifts to her, and families who actually lost living breathing children of their own were touched and then horrified when her blog forced them to relive their own losses. Days went by and no one heard anything until she suddenly reopened her blog with a long, rambling apology.
BUT, it wasn't an apology. Those who actually sat through and read it realized it immediately. She isn't sorry for what she did, nono. She is sorry for getting caught. She claims she never received money, that is an impossibility considering the thousands of wonderful people who were duped. She claimed she wasn't looking for our sympathy, but then said she did it because she lost children of her own. That also ended up being a lie.
She was interviewed by the Chicago Tribune, who helped her paint an abstract picture of a poor sweet social worker who lost her son after birth in 2005, who shouldn't be held responsible for her actions because "she didn't understand what she was doing." Her ramblings were again littered with bible quotes to further paint a picture of innocence. In reality, she is an artist who miscarried in 05 and is now using it as an excuse for her actions, though the reporter for the Tribune was either duped or a cousin of hers.
That's the main story in a nutshell. Many other bloggers banded together and did their research, compiling it into this awesome place: http://exposetrolls.blogspot.com/ Good job guys!
Beccahs "apology" can be found here: http://littleoneapril.blogspot.com/
Well as for you Beccah, here is what I have to say about that. That was not an apology, you are not sorry for hurting all those people, accepting their sincere prayers, gifts and money. You want us to see a deranged, innocent, distraught mother who lost children. We see a deranged, intelligent student with a Graphics Design business (Ironically dubbed "See Through Me") garnering attention for your business and profit. Not a social worker, not someone who has a lost a child in the sense thousands of people you have hurt had. Your Damage Control isn't cutting it with most of us.
You are an artist, and eloquent writer who went through great lengths to get the attention you think you deserved for your talent. Your blog is so long winded it's more like a grand curtain call a love-hate villain gets at the end of a play, a narcissistic pat on your back, rather than something truly heartfelt and sincere. I will give you an Oscar before I would give you any support or the benefit of forgiveness.
There are people in this world who have suffered losses much greater than yours, and you are still kicking them while they're down and spitting in their faces and toying with them now by continuing to spew your deceitful garbage. You should be even more ashamed now than you should have been last week, yet you continue to dig your hole and laugh at anyone who might believe you.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Those Yahoo Babelfish people must think they're SO funny.
I head out on my deck this morning for a quick cigarette and I see my neighbors little black and white mini schnauzer loose. Again. Since we all live about 8 feet from each other I figured I'd be nice and catch the dog for them, so i stepped down and gave a nice little whistle and "Come here boy."
The damn thing looked up, growled, woofed and ran.
Apparently I am not Dr. Doolittle.
But since I was still feeling generous, I went over and knocked on the neighbors door, and an elderly spanish woman opened it for me.
"Hi, your dog is loose and I-"
"Oh, me no speaka english! Jus Spanish!"
"Oh.. sorry. tu perro, um... uh. Okay."
"Oh perro? Si, mucho problemo!" and she held up a broken collar.
"I tapped my chest, and with some rediculous handmovements got her to understand that i will try to catch the little mutt for her. She gave me a Gracias and I left.
I tried again but it was not a success, the little sucker was quick. Alas, I still felt bad since I knew Aniumal Control would be around within the hour to get him and wanted a way to let her know I tried. That's when I had an idea. The internet! My computer knows everything! And I jump on and let Yahoo Babelfish lead the way.
I type "Your dog is loose and I can not catch him." into the translater and flipped it to spanish. What came out was "Su perro es flojo y no puedo cogerlo."
Now, the only thing I didn't trust was the grammar and I (Ha) didn't want to embarrass myself, so I hop onto a message board I frequent to see if anyone on it speaks spanish. I told them what I typed, then the translation and asked if that was right.
What I got for a response wasn't entirely expected.
"Nooooo girl!!..lol Your telling them that their dog is loose and you can't fuck 'em. "
.....
DAMN YOU YAHOO! Damn you to Hell!
The only solice I have in this embarrassing experience was the fact that at least I didn't go up to my 65 year old neighbor and her 4 year old grand daughter and told her that I couldn't bang her dog. I'm not terribly sure what could of resulted if I didn't have the brains to double check THAT translation.
The damn thing looked up, growled, woofed and ran.
Apparently I am not Dr. Doolittle.
But since I was still feeling generous, I went over and knocked on the neighbors door, and an elderly spanish woman opened it for me.
"Hi, your dog is loose and I-"
"Oh, me no speaka english! Jus Spanish!"
"Oh.. sorry. tu perro, um... uh. Okay."
"Oh perro? Si, mucho problemo!" and she held up a broken collar.
"I tapped my chest, and with some rediculous handmovements got her to understand that i will try to catch the little mutt for her. She gave me a Gracias and I left.
I tried again but it was not a success, the little sucker was quick. Alas, I still felt bad since I knew Aniumal Control would be around within the hour to get him and wanted a way to let her know I tried. That's when I had an idea. The internet! My computer knows everything! And I jump on and let Yahoo Babelfish lead the way.
I type "Your dog is loose and I can not catch him." into the translater and flipped it to spanish. What came out was "Su perro es flojo y no puedo cogerlo."
Now, the only thing I didn't trust was the grammar and I (Ha) didn't want to embarrass myself, so I hop onto a message board I frequent to see if anyone on it speaks spanish. I told them what I typed, then the translation and asked if that was right.
What I got for a response wasn't entirely expected.
"Nooooo girl!!..lol Your telling them that their dog is loose and you can't fuck 'em. "
.....
DAMN YOU YAHOO! Damn you to Hell!
The only solice I have in this embarrassing experience was the fact that at least I didn't go up to my 65 year old neighbor and her 4 year old grand daughter and told her that I couldn't bang her dog. I'm not terribly sure what could of resulted if I didn't have the brains to double check THAT translation.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Plight of White
Before I was able to finish my first rant on forcing locals to pay fees for parking their cars. (Ha.) Our own Dear Leader pulled another stunt. So now, if a "neighbor" who doesn't even live in the neighborhood wants to sell a house they're (morbidly) waiting to inherit for a bazillion dollars, and starts complaining about another neighbors yard in fear it might decrease the future ka-ching in their own pockets, Dear Leader will come in and not only take your stuff that can be deemed "junk", but EVERYTHING that isn't tied down with electrified chains.
Do you like to Barbeque? Tough, because Billy Bob Boy will take your grill if it ain't gold plated and "Hamptons Pretty" enough. Do you sell hot dogs in the summer for some extra money in a cool truck dubbed The Patriotic Peddler in this difficult economy? Not anymore! That sucker's getting destroyed and dragged onto a not-so-patriotic flatbed. How about some awesome antiques and classic cars? Dear Leader says nope! Those are going to be recycled (in other words SOLD to a plant for scrapmetal money. We're not stupid, that's what recycling metal is.) Hey, is that a chair and table you're sitting eating a sandwich on? Hand it over, and if it's light mayo I'll take the sandwich too. Confiscating property sure does work up an appetite. Warrant say what? Paperwork proving the dozens of men and machines carving up your yard and taking your stuff? Who? No hablo englais, Senior Blanco. No idea what you're talkin' about. Hey, is that a basset hound?
Just kidding. They didn't take Lord Nelson... as far as I know.
Don't get me wrong, Mr. Whites yard wasn't the purdiest thing, I know because I as a kid lived right behind him and he was one of my favorite lovably eccentric neighbors. His property could very well be the reason no one has found Jimmy Hoffa. But really? The guy lives between a dead end street and low-traffic hill, and although the yard itself was cluttered with everything from a 6 foot tall hotdog to a catamaran, you didn't even notice it unless you're right there. Personally I want to know what safety violations the hot dog posed. Was it radioactive or a cleverly disguised weapon of mass destruction? Did it come to life at the light of the Full Moon and vandalize neighboring houses with ketchup and mustard packets? The cars and boat were deemed "public safety violations." That must mean they were filled with toxic waste and were a the main source of our Swine Flu epidemic. Or maybe one was housing a litter of Montauk Monsters he was feeding small animals to and caring for. For God sakes people, there's a full sized basketball court hundreds of young kids must play on right next to the place according to Bill!
No? Just a court? No again? A hoop on the side of the road? Oops, my bad.
Well, something about the property HAD to be harmful to someones safety. That's why everyone who ripped the place up that Friday did so in Biohazard suits. Right?
Oh, no suits? Maybe masks then at least, right? No again? Huh, weird.
And people are complaining about warrants. Come on now, this is the Billinator we're talking about, he thinks Legal is a new hybrid pet cross between a Lemur and Beagle. (I think I saw a couple of those being walked in Town the other day.) If the ACLU hears about this and decides to jump his gun, he'll just bat his eyes innocently, pucker his lips in his favorite heels, low cut flannel and Daisy Dukes, and when they're good and distracted throw a lawyer curled into the fetal position and screaming "BUT BILL I DON'T WANT THIS CASE!" at them.
What's next? If I have to run to the deli before my morning shower for some sugar (because I HAVE to shower with my coffee), is Bill going to sent his crew of Stealth Hygeine Ninjas to spray me down with a hose of aerosol deoderant, powder my face and change me into a pair of slacks... and then bill me for it?
So Rian, if Bill was so uptight about your belongings, what is he going to do if I decide not to mow my lawn and weed my garden? I hope he comes over and does it for me, I've been pretty lazy lately and my yard is quite a mess. Oh, Bill, My truck hasn't been washed lately either, do you mind? I only use turtle wax on it after, though, so don't get all cheap and buy some generic Walmart stuff. My mailbox and front door needs a new coat of paint too, oh and I haven't done my gutters yet. Hurry, before my neighbors start worrying about their public safety! Long grass can have potentially property-value-lowering deer ticks, that can't be ignored!
Do you like to Barbeque? Tough, because Billy Bob Boy will take your grill if it ain't gold plated and "Hamptons Pretty" enough. Do you sell hot dogs in the summer for some extra money in a cool truck dubbed The Patriotic Peddler in this difficult economy? Not anymore! That sucker's getting destroyed and dragged onto a not-so-patriotic flatbed. How about some awesome antiques and classic cars? Dear Leader says nope! Those are going to be recycled (in other words SOLD to a plant for scrapmetal money. We're not stupid, that's what recycling metal is.) Hey, is that a chair and table you're sitting eating a sandwich on? Hand it over, and if it's light mayo I'll take the sandwich too. Confiscating property sure does work up an appetite. Warrant say what? Paperwork proving the dozens of men and machines carving up your yard and taking your stuff? Who? No hablo englais, Senior Blanco. No idea what you're talkin' about. Hey, is that a basset hound?
Just kidding. They didn't take Lord Nelson... as far as I know.
Don't get me wrong, Mr. Whites yard wasn't the purdiest thing, I know because I as a kid lived right behind him and he was one of my favorite lovably eccentric neighbors. His property could very well be the reason no one has found Jimmy Hoffa. But really? The guy lives between a dead end street and low-traffic hill, and although the yard itself was cluttered with everything from a 6 foot tall hotdog to a catamaran, you didn't even notice it unless you're right there. Personally I want to know what safety violations the hot dog posed. Was it radioactive or a cleverly disguised weapon of mass destruction? Did it come to life at the light of the Full Moon and vandalize neighboring houses with ketchup and mustard packets? The cars and boat were deemed "public safety violations." That must mean they were filled with toxic waste and were a the main source of our Swine Flu epidemic. Or maybe one was housing a litter of Montauk Monsters he was feeding small animals to and caring for. For God sakes people, there's a full sized basketball court hundreds of young kids must play on right next to the place according to Bill!
No? Just a court? No again? A hoop on the side of the road? Oops, my bad.
Well, something about the property HAD to be harmful to someones safety. That's why everyone who ripped the place up that Friday did so in Biohazard suits. Right?
Oh, no suits? Maybe masks then at least, right? No again? Huh, weird.
And people are complaining about warrants. Come on now, this is the Billinator we're talking about, he thinks Legal is a new hybrid pet cross between a Lemur and Beagle. (I think I saw a couple of those being walked in Town the other day.) If the ACLU hears about this and decides to jump his gun, he'll just bat his eyes innocently, pucker his lips in his favorite heels, low cut flannel and Daisy Dukes, and when they're good and distracted throw a lawyer curled into the fetal position and screaming "BUT BILL I DON'T WANT THIS CASE!" at them.
What's next? If I have to run to the deli before my morning shower for some sugar (because I HAVE to shower with my coffee), is Bill going to sent his crew of Stealth Hygeine Ninjas to spray me down with a hose of aerosol deoderant, powder my face and change me into a pair of slacks... and then bill me for it?
So Rian, if Bill was so uptight about your belongings, what is he going to do if I decide not to mow my lawn and weed my garden? I hope he comes over and does it for me, I've been pretty lazy lately and my yard is quite a mess. Oh, Bill, My truck hasn't been washed lately either, do you mind? I only use turtle wax on it after, though, so don't get all cheap and buy some generic Walmart stuff. My mailbox and front door needs a new coat of paint too, oh and I haven't done my gutters yet. Hurry, before my neighbors start worrying about their public safety! Long grass can have potentially property-value-lowering deer ticks, that can't be ignored!
Friday, May 22, 2009
A Serious PSA For Parents
No parent should ever, ever experience a complete stranger causing any level of harm to their child, but unfortunately we experienced such an event Thursday, May 21st at Waldbaums on Newtown Lane between 6 and 6:30pm. While checking out my groceries with my daughter in the cart, a lady behind us was behaving oddly, raising her arms up and sighing exaggeratingly since we were taking a while (I had quite the cart full), and my 3 year old was hungry and tired after a long day in the sun, causing her to whine and rub her eyes in a normal, preschooler way.
When my daughter reached over and touched her toilet paper (since the lady didn't use a divider, my daughter assumed it was ours), the woman snapped and smackes my daughter in the arm by the wrist. Shocked, my child pulled away, holding her arm and staring at her without a word, and chaos ensued as I stepped in and asked her What in the holy hell she was thinking laying a hand my daughter.
Words were exchanged and the manager stepped in to diffuse the situation, and along with our cashier she handled it in an absolutely amazing manner of grace and charm which I am ever so grateful for, keeping my daughter occupied and telling me it will be alright, while I was shaking too hard to even swipe my debit card properly. My husband and I then rushed our children to our truck, but the woman fled before I returned to call the police. All we have now is a desciption of who appeared to be the Cryptkeepers Wife in a gaudy black hat with white zebra stripes who possibly lives off of goats blood, has an amazing affinity for toilet paper and a voilently predatory urge to hurt children.
I would of (and regretfully should of) kept the woman at the store until the proper authorities arrived, but as a mother, I was so overwhelmed with shock and rage at her actions, I now only regret that I was unable to see her odd behavior before the assault as a warning to protect my child from her in the first place. It's now 7am the following day and I am still at a loss as visions of my daughter holding her arm and widening her eyes in fear and hurt played through my head all night, though everyone who has so far heard what happened from both myself and others in the store have been amazingly supportive in telling me I restrained myself well, and how as parents they would of retaliated in the same way if not worse. If a cart wasn't between us we would probably both be eating our breakfast in jail. That is a fact I am sure any parent can relate to.
Moral of the story: Now that Summer has officially begun with Memorial Day Weekend arriving, please, everyone needs to keep in mind what kind of unstable people can appear around here. Even if they claim to of been here all year long people are still able to transform themselves into complete animals at any age. Keep your children close, and if this ever happens to you and your child please, notify the authorities immediately no matter how shocking and enraging it feels. Men and women like her do indeed exist, running loose until they hit the next child and are unable to escape the wrath of the protective parent and police afterwards.
When my daughter reached over and touched her toilet paper (since the lady didn't use a divider, my daughter assumed it was ours), the woman snapped and smackes my daughter in the arm by the wrist. Shocked, my child pulled away, holding her arm and staring at her without a word, and chaos ensued as I stepped in and asked her What in the holy hell she was thinking laying a hand my daughter.
Words were exchanged and the manager stepped in to diffuse the situation, and along with our cashier she handled it in an absolutely amazing manner of grace and charm which I am ever so grateful for, keeping my daughter occupied and telling me it will be alright, while I was shaking too hard to even swipe my debit card properly. My husband and I then rushed our children to our truck, but the woman fled before I returned to call the police. All we have now is a desciption of who appeared to be the Cryptkeepers Wife in a gaudy black hat with white zebra stripes who possibly lives off of goats blood, has an amazing affinity for toilet paper and a voilently predatory urge to hurt children.
I would of (and regretfully should of) kept the woman at the store until the proper authorities arrived, but as a mother, I was so overwhelmed with shock and rage at her actions, I now only regret that I was unable to see her odd behavior before the assault as a warning to protect my child from her in the first place. It's now 7am the following day and I am still at a loss as visions of my daughter holding her arm and widening her eyes in fear and hurt played through my head all night, though everyone who has so far heard what happened from both myself and others in the store have been amazingly supportive in telling me I restrained myself well, and how as parents they would of retaliated in the same way if not worse. If a cart wasn't between us we would probably both be eating our breakfast in jail. That is a fact I am sure any parent can relate to.
Moral of the story: Now that Summer has officially begun with Memorial Day Weekend arriving, please, everyone needs to keep in mind what kind of unstable people can appear around here. Even if they claim to of been here all year long people are still able to transform themselves into complete animals at any age. Keep your children close, and if this ever happens to you and your child please, notify the authorities immediately no matter how shocking and enraging it feels. Men and women like her do indeed exist, running loose until they hit the next child and are unable to escape the wrath of the protective parent and police afterwards.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Dear Bill McGinfee
Bill, Bill, Bill. I just have to shake my head at you. I can't even imagine how terribly difficult it must be to manage a town where ninety-nine percent of it's residents pretty much consider you a tool these days, and I admire your cajones of steel for keepin' on. I mean really, people getting their panties in a wad just because you lost track of a couple million dollars here and there is just absurd, am I right? So allow me to come through the angry crowd and offer you not only support, but more ideas on how you can make some more money. Charging residents 25 dollars to park at their own beaches? GENIOUS! But come on, Billy, why stop there when there are thousands more you can make without leaving that cushy seat. Here me out, I don't even know why you haven't brought ideas like this up already.
Playgrounds for example. They're freaking everywhere and people use them ALL the time, right? Even kids love them, so why not fence those suckers in and charge a small fee per child, per hour. Let's say, five bucks. People won't mind, that's how much the average mother and nanny spends on their Starbucks drink they sip while they sit on the benches nearby (After they pay the dollar fee to sit, of course.) See? Instant cash right at your finger tips.
Oh, I've got more too. Since charging people to park their cars at beaches went over so well, it would be equally reasonable to charge motorists to drive down our roads too. We'll make up a permit that drivers have to stick on their bumpers for access to each hamlet and the village, and each permit can cost say, fifty bucks, annually, per vehicle. People who ride bicycles just have to stick each permit on their helmet, and if some stingy jerk refuses and tries to rebel by riding down a street without the correct permit, we tazer them. Yup, not only tazer them, but then charge the hooligan a fee for having to use the tazer! After all, those suckers can't be cheap, Bill.
That's not all! I also have ideas for jogging permits, skipping permits, kite flying permits, swimming permits, dog walking permits (with an extra fee for every dump the pooch takes on town property), eating permits, talking-on-your-cell-phone-while-leaning-up-against-a-town-tree-or-light-pole permits, dancing permits, Ipod permits, Joy and Laughter permits, painting permits, cigarette smoking permits, laying on town grass to gaze at clouds and day dream about Johnny Depp permits, breathing permits, speaking permits, book reading permits, sticking chewed gum underneath that bench when no one's looking permits, bus stop useage permits, calling someone by a snappy nickname permits, permits to name your child anything starting with the letter M, and of course, complaining to you about anything ever permits (those are really, really expensive.)
Now I know what you're thinking. Liz, how can we pass all these amazing money making ideas by all those stupid locals. We need a really good way to pull the wool right over their eyes (and then charge a fee).
Well Bill, take a deep breath, you already figured that out when you passed the beach fee permits! We'll just hold a "public meeting" at say, 1 oclock(am) on a Tuesday and not tell anyone about it. Then, just to be safe, this time around we'll tweak it a bit and charge a fee to whoever shows up at the door! That'll fix them.
Well buddy, now all you need to do is implement these permits and you'll be rolling in dough again before you know it. Sure, people might continue to believe you're a tool and possibly form an voilently angry mob over these bits of sheer genious, but just put "pitchfork and torch weilding" permit into effect with an extravagant fee and you'll be fine, I guaranfee - I mean tee, guarantee, it.
Playgrounds for example. They're freaking everywhere and people use them ALL the time, right? Even kids love them, so why not fence those suckers in and charge a small fee per child, per hour. Let's say, five bucks. People won't mind, that's how much the average mother and nanny spends on their Starbucks drink they sip while they sit on the benches nearby (After they pay the dollar fee to sit, of course.) See? Instant cash right at your finger tips.
Oh, I've got more too. Since charging people to park their cars at beaches went over so well, it would be equally reasonable to charge motorists to drive down our roads too. We'll make up a permit that drivers have to stick on their bumpers for access to each hamlet and the village, and each permit can cost say, fifty bucks, annually, per vehicle. People who ride bicycles just have to stick each permit on their helmet, and if some stingy jerk refuses and tries to rebel by riding down a street without the correct permit, we tazer them. Yup, not only tazer them, but then charge the hooligan a fee for having to use the tazer! After all, those suckers can't be cheap, Bill.
That's not all! I also have ideas for jogging permits, skipping permits, kite flying permits, swimming permits, dog walking permits (with an extra fee for every dump the pooch takes on town property), eating permits, talking-on-your-cell-phone-while-leaning-up-against-a-town-tree-or-light-pole permits, dancing permits, Ipod permits, Joy and Laughter permits, painting permits, cigarette smoking permits, laying on town grass to gaze at clouds and day dream about Johnny Depp permits, breathing permits, speaking permits, book reading permits, sticking chewed gum underneath that bench when no one's looking permits, bus stop useage permits, calling someone by a snappy nickname permits, permits to name your child anything starting with the letter M, and of course, complaining to you about anything ever permits (those are really, really expensive.)
Now I know what you're thinking. Liz, how can we pass all these amazing money making ideas by all those stupid locals. We need a really good way to pull the wool right over their eyes (and then charge a fee).
Well Bill, take a deep breath, you already figured that out when you passed the beach fee permits! We'll just hold a "public meeting" at say, 1 oclock(am) on a Tuesday and not tell anyone about it. Then, just to be safe, this time around we'll tweak it a bit and charge a fee to whoever shows up at the door! That'll fix them.
Well buddy, now all you need to do is implement these permits and you'll be rolling in dough again before you know it. Sure, people might continue to believe you're a tool and possibly form an voilently angry mob over these bits of sheer genious, but just put "pitchfork and torch weilding" permit into effect with an extravagant fee and you'll be fine, I guaranfee - I mean tee, guarantee, it.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Tidbits and Puppy Breath
Toothpaste on a sponge takes CRAYON OFF OF WALLS! Woot. Take that Mr. Clean. That bald headed bastard thinks he can do anything.
We got a dog.
Honestly, what is the deal with this rain?! It's been raining here for almost EXACTLY a week. If this shit keeps up I'm building an ark.
Wait what? We got a dog? Yup. After we did some shopping on Tuesday I gave my dear hubby the big sweet eyes and asked if we can go play with puppies. You know, to compare breeds and see what we want and such. The sucker totally gave in in under five minutes and off we went to a kennel.
Oh, if you ever have a really bad week and don't have the money for a therapist, go to a puppy kennel. Nothing is better than being surrounded by dozens of adorable yip yappers in every size, shape and color. There was a toy yorkie there that, I kid you not, must of been no bigger than a hamster. We obviously couldn't go that route because he'd be Kiki The Psychocats breakfast. Ruby and I drifted around in our furry puppy breath bliss until the lady came in and said "You should go to the other room. I think your husband found something."
Ruh Roh.
We head over and there's my big burly husband, sitting on the floor indian style with what looked like a tiny bull mastiff on his lap. She was a 7 month old puggle.
I know, a puggle, one of those dreaded "Hybrid" dogs. Throw me bone here, (heh), I love pugs. LOVE. PUGS. But I just cannot deal with the breathing issues, heat stroke, face goo, and the fact that if you play with them to rough you run the risk of one of their big doe eyes popping out.
Not cool.
This dog was the last one of her litter, and was never sold due to a slight underbight and a funky toe. I think, we can live with that, especially if we get a deal on her.
We sho' did. We tested her with ourselves, the kids, signed off and took her home.
She is AMAZING. She loves both of my kids, plays, does all those great puppy things but is also very intelligent and relaxed. She has a great zen personality that is earily similar to Sam. No pug breathing and eye issues, and no beagle stubborness and desire to run 503 miles to follow the sent of a squirrel. Perfect. I asked the overexcited Ma what her name was and after a thoughtful minute she replied "LUCY!"
Welcome home, Lucy.
We got a dog.
Honestly, what is the deal with this rain?! It's been raining here for almost EXACTLY a week. If this shit keeps up I'm building an ark.
Wait what? We got a dog? Yup. After we did some shopping on Tuesday I gave my dear hubby the big sweet eyes and asked if we can go play with puppies. You know, to compare breeds and see what we want and such. The sucker totally gave in in under five minutes and off we went to a kennel.
Oh, if you ever have a really bad week and don't have the money for a therapist, go to a puppy kennel. Nothing is better than being surrounded by dozens of adorable yip yappers in every size, shape and color. There was a toy yorkie there that, I kid you not, must of been no bigger than a hamster. We obviously couldn't go that route because he'd be Kiki The Psychocats breakfast. Ruby and I drifted around in our furry puppy breath bliss until the lady came in and said "You should go to the other room. I think your husband found something."
Ruh Roh.
We head over and there's my big burly husband, sitting on the floor indian style with what looked like a tiny bull mastiff on his lap. She was a 7 month old puggle.
I know, a puggle, one of those dreaded "Hybrid" dogs. Throw me bone here, (heh), I love pugs. LOVE. PUGS. But I just cannot deal with the breathing issues, heat stroke, face goo, and the fact that if you play with them to rough you run the risk of one of their big doe eyes popping out.
Not cool.
This dog was the last one of her litter, and was never sold due to a slight underbight and a funky toe. I think, we can live with that, especially if we get a deal on her.
We sho' did. We tested her with ourselves, the kids, signed off and took her home.
She is AMAZING. She loves both of my kids, plays, does all those great puppy things but is also very intelligent and relaxed. She has a great zen personality that is earily similar to Sam. No pug breathing and eye issues, and no beagle stubborness and desire to run 503 miles to follow the sent of a squirrel. Perfect. I asked the overexcited Ma what her name was and after a thoughtful minute she replied "LUCY!"
Welcome home, Lucy.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Fox News, Vacuum Cleaners, and Three Year Olds
Can I just give a quick shout out: THANK YOU FOX NEWS - For scarring my daughter for life. My little bedheaded Ma woke up and wandered into the livingroom and took a seat on the couch. On TV they were covering a story on the theory of loud chaotic noises (hair dryers, .uum cleaners, ect.) calming fussy babies.
So what do they do? They bring out a real, angry, wailing, screaming baby.
Ma goes "Oh no! Baby's cryyyying!" and as I told her "Don't worry sweets." and started to walk into the kitchen the guy turns on a hair dryer, baby screams louder and Ma starts getting more upset.
I start walking back to change the channel and the dude takes the screaming baby and then turns on a va.cuum... and all Hell brakes loose in this house.
"OH NO MOMMY! LOOK! HE SUCKIN UP DA BABY! HALP DA BABY MOM HALP DA BABY!!" and then she runs over and holds Moo, who was playing quietly and minding his own business, "Dun worry baby, you no suck up baby." Ma bursts into tears.
Now I had a choice, turn the channel and let her freak out, or keep it on and cross my fingers that that baby stops . Luckily, after a minute the baby did stop and they had a close up of her with a bewildered, but happy look on her face.
"Look honey, they made baby all better." I go, while nodding like a maniac.
"YAY! BABY BETTER!" says Ma and runs into my bedroom.. I think, great, she's going on the computer or something, and I continue on my way to the kitchen.
Nope.
She comes out with my dustbuster and heads for Moo, who was cooing and kicking at toy elephants in his bouncy. I can't stop laughing, even now while she's in her room throwing a good holy hell nuclear meltdown hissy since I took the dustbuster away from her.
NOW I HAVE TO HIDE MY DAMN VACUUM CLEANERS!
So what do they do? They bring out a real, angry, wailing, screaming baby.
Ma goes "Oh no! Baby's cryyyying!" and as I told her "Don't worry sweets." and started to walk into the kitchen the guy turns on a hair dryer, baby screams louder and Ma starts getting more upset.
I start walking back to change the channel and the dude takes the screaming baby and then turns on a va.cuum... and all Hell brakes loose in this house.
"OH NO MOMMY! LOOK! HE SUCKIN UP DA BABY! HALP DA BABY MOM HALP DA BABY!!" and then she runs over and holds Moo, who was playing quietly and minding his own business, "Dun worry baby, you no suck up baby." Ma bursts into tears.
Now I had a choice, turn the channel and let her freak out, or keep it on and cross my fingers that that baby stops . Luckily, after a minute the baby did stop and they had a close up of her with a bewildered, but happy look on her face.
"Look honey, they made baby all better." I go, while nodding like a maniac.
"YAY! BABY BETTER!" says Ma and runs into my bedroom.. I think, great, she's going on the computer or something, and I continue on my way to the kitchen.
Nope.
She comes out with my dustbuster and heads for Moo, who was cooing and kicking at toy elephants in his bouncy. I can't stop laughing, even now while she's in her room throwing a good holy hell nuclear meltdown hissy since I took the dustbuster away from her.
NOW I HAVE TO HIDE MY DAMN VACUUM CLEANERS!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
New Facebook Trick!
A friend just alerted me to a neato trick if you have a facebook account:
1. Sign on.
2. Scroll to the bottom left of the homepage, click english (usa)
3. Now click English (pirate)
4. Be highly amused.
5. Continue to be amused and tell people about it.
6. Go around your home saying "arg" a lot, or until your daughter yells "STOP IT MOM".
7. Start to get irritated because you can't figure out what half the shit means.
8. Scroll down to the bottom left
9. Click english (pirate)
10 Now click English (usa)
Ah, that's better. Wasn't that fun?!
1. Sign on.
2. Scroll to the bottom left of the homepage, click english (usa)
3. Now click English (pirate)
4. Be highly amused.
5. Continue to be amused and tell people about it.
6. Go around your home saying "arg" a lot, or until your daughter yells "STOP IT MOM".
7. Start to get irritated because you can't figure out what half the shit means.
8. Scroll down to the bottom left
9. Click english (pirate)
10 Now click English (usa)
Ah, that's better. Wasn't that fun?!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Name That Larvae!
There I was, in my back garden area, enjoying spring by diggine holes and sticking stuff in them. When I came across this:
HOLY SWEET MOTHER OF GOD WHAT THE HELL IS IT?! Or better yet... what is it GOING to be. That's my pinky finger. MY PINKY! Seriously, every small to medium sized pet that gets lost in this neigborhood was probably consumed by this freakin' thing. This is New York. We don't have big bugs in NY! Well.. make that past tense. We didn't have big bugs here.
I couldn't even squish it because it's so big I'd probably have to put my ass kicking boots in the washing machine after.
Anyone who can either tell me what it is or going to be when it grows up gets a prize. As for me, I just hope I can sleep tonight.
HOLY SWEET MOTHER OF GOD WHAT THE HELL IS IT?! Or better yet... what is it GOING to be. That's my pinky finger. MY PINKY! Seriously, every small to medium sized pet that gets lost in this neigborhood was probably consumed by this freakin' thing. This is New York. We don't have big bugs in NY! Well.. make that past tense. We didn't have big bugs here.
I couldn't even squish it because it's so big I'd probably have to put my ass kicking boots in the washing machine after.
Anyone who can either tell me what it is or going to be when it grows up gets a prize. As for me, I just hope I can sleep tonight.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
No More Public For Me
I went to our local overcrowded and overpriced drug store that-shall-not-be-named to get a comb and toothbrush. Whoopie, am I a big spender or what? I go in the door and there's a stack of Spring wreathes for 75% off. Not the greatest, but one would give my front door some color and hey, a twelve dollar wreath at 75% off is what.. three bucks. So I'm like woot.
I get my stuff and get wrung up, and the total is way too much. I look over it and first they overcharged me for three other items so I quickly fix that, and then I see the wreath was wrung up for 9 bucks. I politely say sorry miss, you overcharged me on this, it's 75% off.The little girl looks and says "No, I do right. 75%."
"No, 75% is 9 dollars."
"Yes."
"So you have to take nine dollars OFF. It should be 3 dollars."
"75 percent not three dollar!"
"NO. Three dollars is what's LEFT when you take 75% OFF. 75% is nine dollars."
"Yes."
Aggravated and knowing I have two adorable time bombs nearby, I ask the cashier next to me to correct it. She looks over tells me the first one is right. What? Again I say NO. You're supposed to SUBTRACT 75 GODDAMN PERCENT. 12-9=3! I ask for the manager because I know him. He's not there. Moo starts crying for some boobie and Ma is trying to go for the M&Ms under the register (WHY oh WHY do stores have to put CANDY at a childs eye level? Obviously whoever thought of that is either unreprehensibly evil or doesn't have kids.) ... and I soon realize I'm fighting over 5th grade math and a chinsy looking wreath and leave without it, defeated.
I'm starting to hate going out in public.
I get my stuff and get wrung up, and the total is way too much. I look over it and first they overcharged me for three other items so I quickly fix that, and then I see the wreath was wrung up for 9 bucks. I politely say sorry miss, you overcharged me on this, it's 75% off.The little girl looks and says "No, I do right. 75%."
"No, 75% is 9 dollars."
"Yes."
"So you have to take nine dollars OFF. It should be 3 dollars."
"75 percent not three dollar!"
"NO. Three dollars is what's LEFT when you take 75% OFF. 75% is nine dollars."
"Yes."
Aggravated and knowing I have two adorable time bombs nearby, I ask the cashier next to me to correct it. She looks over tells me the first one is right. What? Again I say NO. You're supposed to SUBTRACT 75 GODDAMN PERCENT. 12-9=3! I ask for the manager because I know him. He's not there. Moo starts crying for some boobie and Ma is trying to go for the M&Ms under the register (WHY oh WHY do stores have to put CANDY at a childs eye level? Obviously whoever thought of that is either unreprehensibly evil or doesn't have kids.) ... and I soon realize I'm fighting over 5th grade math and a chinsy looking wreath and leave without it, defeated.
I'm starting to hate going out in public.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
I Almost Forgot..
I've officially become probably the wackiest Avon Rep EVA. Like girly stuff? Love me? Then shop here:
www.youravon.com/elizabethmerrill
"Oh Liz, don't shamelessly advertise yourself on your blog!" Well hey, why not?
I'm totally throwing an "Avon and Alchohol" party soon for local girls. Bwahahaha!
www.youravon.com/elizabethmerrill
"Oh Liz, don't shamelessly advertise yourself on your blog!" Well hey, why not?
I'm totally throwing an "Avon and Alchohol" party soon for local girls. Bwahahaha!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
H&R Block can kiss my
Yeah. Me being the Queen of Procrastination, we did not go off to get our taxes done until 6pm last night.
BAD IDEA.
Firstly, My normally sweet little Ma somehow transformed into a raging shrieking demon child in the tiny crowded waiting area of the office. Lurch was in charge of her while we wait and I sat back in a chair and nursed Moo while my hubby chased Ma around in circles and took her to the bathroom (After she ever-so-loudly announced "I PEE PEE POO POO!", making nearby fellow customers snicker and my face turn bright red.)
When they returned a few minutes of magical calm went by as she occupied herself with a kids book, but the peace was short lived when she suddenly sprang up, ran to the middle of the (PACKED) waiting room, screamed "LOOKIE ME I SHAKIE MY BUTT!", lifted her dress and wagged her tush at the entire room.
A tush... without underwear.
I almost shrieked "OH MY GOD PUT YOUR DRESS DOWN WHERE'S YOUR UNDERWEAR." and then gave Lurch a look that I hope he read as "If you don't stop and cover our child I'm castrating you the second we get home." and his face was equally pale and he shrugged with wide eyes full of panic before making a dive for our half nekkid daughter, knocking his char over in the process and attracting the attention of more bystanders.
If you could only imagine the looks some of the older women gave me, and all I could do was sheepishly grin and send Moo telepathic warnings about how well he is to behaved when he's three and what will happen to him if he isn't.
Thankfully, we were quickly called to a nearby computer by a sweet blonde women who apparently missed the flashing. We sat down and Lurch started babbling while wrestling a screaming Ma and couldn't even remember his social security number, so I bent over and in a low voice said "You. Go with that child back to the waiting area so I can get this done and for the Love of God go home and have a glass of wine." Blonde Tax lady giggled and said "I understand, I have three kids at home."
Yeah, probably three NORMAL children.
Things went smoothly until it was time to claim our First Time Homebuyers Tax Credit, and all of a sudden things hit a brick wall.
"Oh sorry, you don't qualify if you're related to the seller."
Now, before arriving there I did a good three hours of research, so even though I had to swallow a bit of panic I politely countered "No no, I did the research, we bought it from my husbands uncle, not father or grandfather. We qualify."
Tax Lady scrunched up her face and showed me the tax code "See? It says so right here, lineal family fathers, grandfathers, ect."
I counter again "Exactly, uncles, cousins, siblings, ect are NOT lineal. Lineal is a direct line. Lineal. LINE."
Tax lady stared at me blankly and then called over to a preparer playing Solitaire next to her and asked about our dilemma. She was given a blank stare and a shrug in return. Now this is where Liz started to get a little annoyed "You do know what lineal is, right? It's a line." and I made a straight up and down motion with my hands "son, father, grandpa.. now uncles and aunts go like this "and like the crazy loon I am I branched my waving out horizontally, knocking over her pencil holder. I was met with a further blank stare and she turned and typed in a word I did not expect to see from a so-called proffessional:
GOOGLE.COM
She started with the tax code but I cut her off and said "TYPE LINEAL".
"But I'm looking for the irs-"
"PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE TYPE LINEAL."
"She started to steam but did as I requested and up popped Websters Dictionary." "HIT THAT" I demanded as a familiar siren like evil shrieking started back up from the waiting area.
"DAAAD! I WANT TOY! I HUNGWY! I WANT MOMMY! MOOOOOOMMY HELP HELP MOMMY HELP" And inaudible banging and crashing ensued as I started to rub my eyes so hard my makeup streaked to the sides of my face.
Then I finally heard what I needed to hear "Oh look, lineal, direct descendants, what do you know you were right."
I KNOW LADY, I GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL.
We try to continue but the credit form confused the poor doll more, so I end up switching seats and filling it out myself in no time. We wrap it up, I feverishly anticipate her hitting the final "File" button so I can know my sweet sweet return will be in my bank account in a matter of weeks, and it hits.
200 dollars in charges, they won't file until I pay them.
I stare for a second. How much? Bu wha? I think for a minute and tell her I forgot my photo ID, she tells me she can't take the (way too much of a) charge out of the return, I have to pay with check or cash.
I slowly say "Okay, let me help my husband get the kids in the car and I'll come back with a check." I pack up my frazzled obnoxious yelling screaming fuming family and we go to the car. I'm pretty sure I heard applause as we left, but it could be my humilated mind playing tricks on me.
I climb in and Lurch goes "Aren't you going to pay them so they file it?"
Pay them? Pay... THEM? I did all the work and I have to give them 200 dollars to stare at me blankly for an hour an argue over 11th Grade English Class vocabulary??
H to the ELL NO. I'm doing it myself, now that I know how to. Taxact.com, here I come.
BAD IDEA.
Firstly, My normally sweet little Ma somehow transformed into a raging shrieking demon child in the tiny crowded waiting area of the office. Lurch was in charge of her while we wait and I sat back in a chair and nursed Moo while my hubby chased Ma around in circles and took her to the bathroom (After she ever-so-loudly announced "I PEE PEE POO POO!", making nearby fellow customers snicker and my face turn bright red.)
When they returned a few minutes of magical calm went by as she occupied herself with a kids book, but the peace was short lived when she suddenly sprang up, ran to the middle of the (PACKED) waiting room, screamed "LOOKIE ME I SHAKIE MY BUTT!", lifted her dress and wagged her tush at the entire room.
A tush... without underwear.
I almost shrieked "OH MY GOD PUT YOUR DRESS DOWN WHERE'S YOUR UNDERWEAR." and then gave Lurch a look that I hope he read as "If you don't stop and cover our child I'm castrating you the second we get home." and his face was equally pale and he shrugged with wide eyes full of panic before making a dive for our half nekkid daughter, knocking his char over in the process and attracting the attention of more bystanders.
If you could only imagine the looks some of the older women gave me, and all I could do was sheepishly grin and send Moo telepathic warnings about how well he is to behaved when he's three and what will happen to him if he isn't.
Thankfully, we were quickly called to a nearby computer by a sweet blonde women who apparently missed the flashing. We sat down and Lurch started babbling while wrestling a screaming Ma and couldn't even remember his social security number, so I bent over and in a low voice said "You. Go with that child back to the waiting area so I can get this done and for the Love of God go home and have a glass of wine." Blonde Tax lady giggled and said "I understand, I have three kids at home."
Yeah, probably three NORMAL children.
Things went smoothly until it was time to claim our First Time Homebuyers Tax Credit, and all of a sudden things hit a brick wall.
"Oh sorry, you don't qualify if you're related to the seller."
Now, before arriving there I did a good three hours of research, so even though I had to swallow a bit of panic I politely countered "No no, I did the research, we bought it from my husbands uncle, not father or grandfather. We qualify."
Tax Lady scrunched up her face and showed me the tax code "See? It says so right here, lineal family fathers, grandfathers, ect."
I counter again "Exactly, uncles, cousins, siblings, ect are NOT lineal. Lineal is a direct line. Lineal. LINE."
Tax lady stared at me blankly and then called over to a preparer playing Solitaire next to her and asked about our dilemma. She was given a blank stare and a shrug in return. Now this is where Liz started to get a little annoyed "You do know what lineal is, right? It's a line." and I made a straight up and down motion with my hands "son, father, grandpa.. now uncles and aunts go like this "and like the crazy loon I am I branched my waving out horizontally, knocking over her pencil holder. I was met with a further blank stare and she turned and typed in a word I did not expect to see from a so-called proffessional:
GOOGLE.COM
She started with the tax code but I cut her off and said "TYPE LINEAL".
"But I'm looking for the irs-"
"PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE TYPE LINEAL."
"She started to steam but did as I requested and up popped Websters Dictionary." "HIT THAT" I demanded as a familiar siren like evil shrieking started back up from the waiting area.
"DAAAD! I WANT TOY! I HUNGWY! I WANT MOMMY! MOOOOOOMMY HELP HELP MOMMY HELP" And inaudible banging and crashing ensued as I started to rub my eyes so hard my makeup streaked to the sides of my face.
Then I finally heard what I needed to hear "Oh look, lineal, direct descendants, what do you know you were right."
I KNOW LADY, I GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL.
We try to continue but the credit form confused the poor doll more, so I end up switching seats and filling it out myself in no time. We wrap it up, I feverishly anticipate her hitting the final "File" button so I can know my sweet sweet return will be in my bank account in a matter of weeks, and it hits.
200 dollars in charges, they won't file until I pay them.
I stare for a second. How much? Bu wha? I think for a minute and tell her I forgot my photo ID, she tells me she can't take the (way too much of a) charge out of the return, I have to pay with check or cash.
I slowly say "Okay, let me help my husband get the kids in the car and I'll come back with a check." I pack up my frazzled obnoxious yelling screaming fuming family and we go to the car. I'm pretty sure I heard applause as we left, but it could be my humilated mind playing tricks on me.
I climb in and Lurch goes "Aren't you going to pay them so they file it?"
Pay them? Pay... THEM? I did all the work and I have to give them 200 dollars to stare at me blankly for an hour an argue over 11th Grade English Class vocabulary??
H to the ELL NO. I'm doing it myself, now that I know how to. Taxact.com, here I come.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Bare with me
I'm having THE WORST WRITERS BLOCK EVA! SERIOUSLY! I've been coming on here every morning, I stare at the screen for 10-15 minutes and then sign off again. What in the name of Baby Jesus' First Childhood Pet is wrong with me? It's not like there's nothing to talk about. Like how cute is Barack Obamas dog? Or why does more of our Tax money go to Polar Bears than teachers? Why is Nancy Pelosi such a creepy douchebag?
Why does Comedy Central keep playing the same season or two of Scrubs over and over and over again, and why does that episode when Ben dies STILL makes me teary even though I've seen it 18 plus times? What the frack happened to Demetri Martin's show, did it get cancelled? How BAD is that new show Krod Mon Dude or whatever the Hell it is.
Why didn't the fish heads my husband buried last summer in my vegetable garden for compost.. NOT compost and instead turn into nasty smelly toothpaste-consistency goo I had to wipe off my shovel when I turned the soil yesterday?
Why, even though it reminds me of battery acid and probably completely corroded both of my intestines, I must drink enough Blackhouse to kill a dog when I go out?
Why doesn't John Cusack age?
Why am I incredibly fatigued and nauseas, and my ab hurts over by my left hip bone?
Why is Annies Boxed mac and cheese so damn watery but tastes so good?
DEADLIEST CATCH STARTS TONIGHT!
Why does Comedy Central keep playing the same season or two of Scrubs over and over and over again, and why does that episode when Ben dies STILL makes me teary even though I've seen it 18 plus times? What the frack happened to Demetri Martin's show, did it get cancelled? How BAD is that new show Krod Mon Dude or whatever the Hell it is.
Why didn't the fish heads my husband buried last summer in my vegetable garden for compost.. NOT compost and instead turn into nasty smelly toothpaste-consistency goo I had to wipe off my shovel when I turned the soil yesterday?
Why, even though it reminds me of battery acid and probably completely corroded both of my intestines, I must drink enough Blackhouse to kill a dog when I go out?
Why doesn't John Cusack age?
Why am I incredibly fatigued and nauseas, and my ab hurts over by my left hip bone?
Why is Annies Boxed mac and cheese so damn watery but tastes so good?
DEADLIEST CATCH STARTS TONIGHT!
Friday, April 3, 2009
"I love you"
My husband is a funny creature. When it comes to men he has characteristics of an Endangered variety. I'm fully aware not all husbands voluntarily sneak up on you with two glasses of wine and a foot rub on a Tuesday Night, or bathe your rambunctious children every evening, or cook and clean the kitchen before he's even out of his work uniform and the sweat from a rough day at work dries from his forhead.
Don't get me wrong, he has his share of obnoxious moment that make this Mama twitch, but they're usually overshadowed by flashbacks of him flying through the house during the holidays with the red Christmas Tree skirt tied around his neck like a cape, with a giggling 2 year old right behind him. Or his voice at 3am saying "It's okay hon, you look tired, let me get up and feed the baby." without a single hint of sarcasm.
The tears he doesn't hide at the loss of a loved one or the meeting of a new life, his hand on my swelling pregnant belly before I birthed each of his children and telling me I'm beautiful when I feel more like a dairy cow or bridge dwelling troll. Him on his knees at a little table with his daughter for a tea party or round of Play Dough molding, or him dozing off to Max and Ruby with his son on his chest. Refusing to go out for a night with the guys, but happily shoving me out the door to hang with the girls. Coming home from work a a chef at 1 in the morning, waking me up with an exhausted smile on his face and a big pan of lobster for a romantic midnight dinner.
That's a man.
Now here's my dilemma. How do you possibly thank a man like that? It's times like this when I think back and realize that a simple "I love you." can't possibly be enough. Or when I do snap over something small and then feel overwhelmed with guilt over my spoiled actions. My life is devoted to the two little creatures we made together. I buy BPA free everything, my groceries range from organic, to no HFCS, I've been making and freezing my own babyfood, Hell even the cat eats organic. I spend hours a day reading and skimming articles on how to be the best mother possible. Should I vaccinate? Should I homeschool? Should I breastfeed for just 6 months or 18 months? Is this household cleaner healthier than that, or should I make my own? These questions tie up every day of my life to the point where I sometimes forget about an equally important member of the family.
The man of the house.
We both have our stereotypical parental roles. He works hard and makes the money, I keep the house in order and we raise our kids together. But what can I do more of? I don't mean I should run out and get him some extravagant gift Just Because. He knows I appreciate a single rose so much more than two dozen. I want to find a simple way to show him I adore and appreciate him as much as he does me. Things like this should not be so tricky. Sure, we have Holidays for it: Valentines Day, Christmas, Fathers Day; but showing your loved one your affection shouldn't come with an excuse or feel like an obligation. It should just happen. He knows how to do it. Though rough and tough on the outside he most certainly has a sugary romantic center. We've been married almost five years and I still can't seem to let my guard down enough to do the same, and when I realize this I can't help but feel a little ashamed.
So perhaps I should put down the Parenting magazines and delete my favorite Mommy Websites from my Bookmarks for now. I've been so tied up with being the Mommyhood Poster Child I forgot I have a whole other role I haven't filled to my satisfaction, Loving Wife.
I know I'm a good Mom, I see it in the crazy grins of my children, so maybe I should stop stressing on how it for now and turn my sights back onto being the perfect wife.
Well, not the perfect wife. Such a title doesn't exist. Sheesh, I'm no Stepford Robot, and I'm DEFINITELY no Nicole Kidman, that's for sure. (Which is okay because Lurch is no Matthew Broderick either, heh.)
But I surely need to return the favor in the spoilage department. Tonight I'll be the one to deliver the glass of wine and the foot rub, and I won't roll my eyes and sigh when he turns off Comedy Central and flips on Food Network. I won't mumble thanks and roll over when the baby whines and he offers to get up. The little things he does mean so much to me when I look back at them, perhaps they'll mean just as much to him if I do it more.
I hope so.
Don't get me wrong, he has his share of obnoxious moment that make this Mama twitch, but they're usually overshadowed by flashbacks of him flying through the house during the holidays with the red Christmas Tree skirt tied around his neck like a cape, with a giggling 2 year old right behind him. Or his voice at 3am saying "It's okay hon, you look tired, let me get up and feed the baby." without a single hint of sarcasm.
The tears he doesn't hide at the loss of a loved one or the meeting of a new life, his hand on my swelling pregnant belly before I birthed each of his children and telling me I'm beautiful when I feel more like a dairy cow or bridge dwelling troll. Him on his knees at a little table with his daughter for a tea party or round of Play Dough molding, or him dozing off to Max and Ruby with his son on his chest. Refusing to go out for a night with the guys, but happily shoving me out the door to hang with the girls. Coming home from work a a chef at 1 in the morning, waking me up with an exhausted smile on his face and a big pan of lobster for a romantic midnight dinner.
That's a man.
Now here's my dilemma. How do you possibly thank a man like that? It's times like this when I think back and realize that a simple "I love you." can't possibly be enough. Or when I do snap over something small and then feel overwhelmed with guilt over my spoiled actions. My life is devoted to the two little creatures we made together. I buy BPA free everything, my groceries range from organic, to no HFCS, I've been making and freezing my own babyfood, Hell even the cat eats organic. I spend hours a day reading and skimming articles on how to be the best mother possible. Should I vaccinate? Should I homeschool? Should I breastfeed for just 6 months or 18 months? Is this household cleaner healthier than that, or should I make my own? These questions tie up every day of my life to the point where I sometimes forget about an equally important member of the family.
The man of the house.
We both have our stereotypical parental roles. He works hard and makes the money, I keep the house in order and we raise our kids together. But what can I do more of? I don't mean I should run out and get him some extravagant gift Just Because. He knows I appreciate a single rose so much more than two dozen. I want to find a simple way to show him I adore and appreciate him as much as he does me. Things like this should not be so tricky. Sure, we have Holidays for it: Valentines Day, Christmas, Fathers Day; but showing your loved one your affection shouldn't come with an excuse or feel like an obligation. It should just happen. He knows how to do it. Though rough and tough on the outside he most certainly has a sugary romantic center. We've been married almost five years and I still can't seem to let my guard down enough to do the same, and when I realize this I can't help but feel a little ashamed.
So perhaps I should put down the Parenting magazines and delete my favorite Mommy Websites from my Bookmarks for now. I've been so tied up with being the Mommyhood Poster Child I forgot I have a whole other role I haven't filled to my satisfaction, Loving Wife.
I know I'm a good Mom, I see it in the crazy grins of my children, so maybe I should stop stressing on how it for now and turn my sights back onto being the perfect wife.
Well, not the perfect wife. Such a title doesn't exist. Sheesh, I'm no Stepford Robot, and I'm DEFINITELY no Nicole Kidman, that's for sure. (Which is okay because Lurch is no Matthew Broderick either, heh.)
But I surely need to return the favor in the spoilage department. Tonight I'll be the one to deliver the glass of wine and the foot rub, and I won't roll my eyes and sigh when he turns off Comedy Central and flips on Food Network. I won't mumble thanks and roll over when the baby whines and he offers to get up. The little things he does mean so much to me when I look back at them, perhaps they'll mean just as much to him if I do it more.
I hope so.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Clips and Snips of the household
So April Fools Day was rather quiet in my home. We just had way too much on our minds to worry about pranking each other. All except Ma. Last night Lurch was washing Ma up and I keep hearing
Ma: "KNOCK KNOCK!"
Lurch: "Who's there?"
Ma: "SHOWA!"
Lurch: "Shower who?"
Ma: "I TAKIN' A SHOWA! HAHAHAHA! FUNNY!"
Yup, my child is a regular comedian.
Ma: "KNOCK KNOCK!"
Lurch: "Who's there?"
Ma: "SHOWA!"
Lurch: "Shower who?"
Ma: "I TAKIN' A SHOWA! HAHAHAHA! FUNNY!"
Yup, my child is a regular comedian.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Dear Bill O'reilly
Dear Bill,
I am a broke and desperate housewife who does not, repeat does not want to read about Vampires. Send me a copy of "Bold Fresh" and you can be my Edward.
I just emailed that to Fox News.
Don't be a boob Bill. You send at least one person a book every day. You know you wanna. Stay tuned to see if the Fox News people have a sense of humor or not.
*Insert evil laughter*
I am a broke and desperate housewife who does not, repeat does not want to read about Vampires. Send me a copy of "Bold Fresh" and you can be my Edward.
I just emailed that to Fox News.
Don't be a boob Bill. You send at least one person a book every day. You know you wanna. Stay tuned to see if the Fox News people have a sense of humor or not.
*Insert evil laughter*
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Popcorn, Pants (or lack of) and PandAmonium
I need energy. Bigtime. That and popcorn sucks. Don't you love how when you're sweeping popcorn kernels from the night before the broom somehow gives them enough momentum to rocket across the room with enough force to embed themselves into your molding?
Okay, not really. But that's how it seems sometimes. It almost makes me wish I had carpeting. Almost.
Not only does Mom have a bad case of the Blahs, but her three year old has a bad case of the Nekkids. I made the mistake of potty training her nekkid-style. It was easy, but now she's been pottytrained for a year and STILL needs to be nekkid in the house. Picture yourself walking up to my front door to see a bare butted toddler with an Albert Einstein hairdo racing across the room laughing like a rabid hyena, with her dishevelled mother trying not to slip on the wood floor in her fuzzy mismatched socks waving a pair of pants and yelling "Put these on right now young lady or I'll telling your father!"
I've so far had a brother and two friends walk into that scene.
Yup.
But now we have a new toy in the house, that Ma picked out all by herself from Walmart last weekend for her birthday. The TWISTCAR! www.twistcar.com.
Unfortunately I don't get paid OR anything for free for writing this review *coughcough*, but seriously, though funny looking this sucker is A to the AWESOME. It didn't take Ruby long at all to figure out how the sample one at the store works and I quickly found myself chasing her from the toy section, all the way to the shoes and back. She didn't want the Radio Flyer Red Scooter, or the Tinkerbell Tricycle. Nothing else would do so I gave in and coughed up the 45 bucks and elt her pick out her first helmet as well.
What made things even better was when we got home and she became distracted with a movie. I read the box, Lurch put it together for me (Because that's what you men do. Right? Right?) and made an even better discovery.
It holds over 130 pounds.
Yes. Guess who took that sucker outside for a trip or two around the block, wearing a way-too-small pink panda bear helmet and with her daughter running behind (with clothes on for once) laughing and going "BAD MOMMY! MY TURN MOMMY!" Quite a few heads turned, and quite a few neighbors giggled. Thank God this is a neighborhood with a sense of humor.
Whizzing around the block in a kids toy wasn't just fun, but good therapy. Everyone needs a some 'kid time" and trust me that did it for me after the nutty few days.. weeks, er, months I've had. So we can't take a physical vacation right now. It doesn't mean a small 10 minute mental getaway can't be in the cards.
Lurch promised me he'll go and get me my own by Spring, but I think he's secretely jealous that he's too big for one himself. Teehee.
Okay, not really. But that's how it seems sometimes. It almost makes me wish I had carpeting. Almost.
Not only does Mom have a bad case of the Blahs, but her three year old has a bad case of the Nekkids. I made the mistake of potty training her nekkid-style. It was easy, but now she's been pottytrained for a year and STILL needs to be nekkid in the house. Picture yourself walking up to my front door to see a bare butted toddler with an Albert Einstein hairdo racing across the room laughing like a rabid hyena, with her dishevelled mother trying not to slip on the wood floor in her fuzzy mismatched socks waving a pair of pants and yelling "Put these on right now young lady or I'll telling your father!"
I've so far had a brother and two friends walk into that scene.
Yup.
But now we have a new toy in the house, that Ma picked out all by herself from Walmart last weekend for her birthday. The TWISTCAR! www.twistcar.com.
Unfortunately I don't get paid OR anything for free for writing this review *coughcough*, but seriously, though funny looking this sucker is A to the AWESOME. It didn't take Ruby long at all to figure out how the sample one at the store works and I quickly found myself chasing her from the toy section, all the way to the shoes and back. She didn't want the Radio Flyer Red Scooter, or the Tinkerbell Tricycle. Nothing else would do so I gave in and coughed up the 45 bucks and elt her pick out her first helmet as well.
What made things even better was when we got home and she became distracted with a movie. I read the box, Lurch put it together for me (Because that's what you men do. Right? Right?) and made an even better discovery.
It holds over 130 pounds.
Yes. Guess who took that sucker outside for a trip or two around the block, wearing a way-too-small pink panda bear helmet and with her daughter running behind (with clothes on for once) laughing and going "BAD MOMMY! MY TURN MOMMY!" Quite a few heads turned, and quite a few neighbors giggled. Thank God this is a neighborhood with a sense of humor.
Whizzing around the block in a kids toy wasn't just fun, but good therapy. Everyone needs a some 'kid time" and trust me that did it for me after the nutty few days.. weeks, er, months I've had. So we can't take a physical vacation right now. It doesn't mean a small 10 minute mental getaway can't be in the cards.
Lurch promised me he'll go and get me my own by Spring, but I think he's secretely jealous that he's too big for one himself. Teehee.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Turn The Page
After a rather rough week of drama, nursing difficulties, and signing up on here this morning to feel better, just to find out I have my very first schizophrenic internet stalker, this could not of come at a better time. Nothing is better than when you are reminded how amazing some people are. Just about everyone in town has heard of the dog drama. Well it's hard not to hear about it, as we were pretty much shouting from the rooftops. Since the day we laid Sam to rest underneath our kids bedroom windows (Because he always loved watching Ma and was by her side every second. It seemed fitting.) We can't go to the grocery store without someone asking me about it or offering a hug. We're all dog people around here. You'll see dogs by their owners feet in bars, at the bank, the seafood market, beach, people bring their dogs to each other houses. Hell, I had 12 dogs at my wedding. When you lose one they pretty much get their own funeral.
Today I go out and get my mail. Bill, Junk, Bill, and two cards for Ma since she'll be turning three on Friday (Yippee! No more terrible Twos!). The kid loves cards so I immediately handed them over for her to rip open in glee.
While I was contemplating what bills to burnignore I hear "MOMMY LOOK! MONEY!" and think aw, My grandma must of slipped a bunch of singles in her card. But I look over and see twenties and FIFTIES scattered across my livingroom.
I take the card she opened and it read "Dear (Ma), Happy Birthday! We all hope you can use this to go towards getting a new puppy of your very own. We love you! Signed - Your Friends and Neighbors."
I picked up the bills Ma scattered and counted them up to FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS!
GHA!
They didn't even sign any names on the card! I immediately burst into tears and dialed my hubby at work. It didn't take long for his voice to break too. Amazing. Now we can really go find a pup, from a breeder with papers and the whole shabang, without using our entire tax return on it.
Now, how do you pay back when you don't know exactly who did it? I guess I'll have to throw the whole neighborhood a pig roast or something (my Lurchie is rather famous for his pig roasts.) I don't know. I'm a firm believer in Paying It Forward, so now I can't wait for the next opportunity to do something nice for someone, whether it be in the store or on the street.
This is what a good community is all about folks. It's been almost an hour since our mailbox blessing and I'm still shaking in happiness. If you are one of my readers, I thank you from the bottom of my emotional mommy heart and you can tell whoever else pooled in.. THAT YOU'RE ALL CRAZY! Nuts I tell you! Was it so bad to at least SIGN it? No really, I love you better than chicken soup.
When I read Ma the card she did her awesome dramatic gasp and said "I get puppy NOW Mommy?"
Yes sweets. You get puppy now.
Today I go out and get my mail. Bill, Junk, Bill, and two cards for Ma since she'll be turning three on Friday (Yippee! No more terrible Twos!). The kid loves cards so I immediately handed them over for her to rip open in glee.
While I was contemplating what bills to burnignore I hear "MOMMY LOOK! MONEY!" and think aw, My grandma must of slipped a bunch of singles in her card. But I look over and see twenties and FIFTIES scattered across my livingroom.
I take the card she opened and it read "Dear (Ma), Happy Birthday! We all hope you can use this to go towards getting a new puppy of your very own. We love you! Signed - Your Friends and Neighbors."
I picked up the bills Ma scattered and counted them up to FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS!
GHA!
They didn't even sign any names on the card! I immediately burst into tears and dialed my hubby at work. It didn't take long for his voice to break too. Amazing. Now we can really go find a pup, from a breeder with papers and the whole shabang, without using our entire tax return on it.
Now, how do you pay back when you don't know exactly who did it? I guess I'll have to throw the whole neighborhood a pig roast or something (my Lurchie is rather famous for his pig roasts.) I don't know. I'm a firm believer in Paying It Forward, so now I can't wait for the next opportunity to do something nice for someone, whether it be in the store or on the street.
This is what a good community is all about folks. It's been almost an hour since our mailbox blessing and I'm still shaking in happiness. If you are one of my readers, I thank you from the bottom of my emotional mommy heart and you can tell whoever else pooled in.. THAT YOU'RE ALL CRAZY! Nuts I tell you! Was it so bad to at least SIGN it? No really, I love you better than chicken soup.
When I read Ma the card she did her awesome dramatic gasp and said "I get puppy NOW Mommy?"
Yes sweets. You get puppy now.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Yes, You Can Put A Price On FUGLY
America is in bad times. Homes across the country are being forclosed on and a house once worth 200,000 is not even worth half as much these days. Well. Except here. I live in an area known to many as The Hamptons. Playground For The Rich and Famous, Oceanside McMansions, ect, ect. Whatever. Although the Real Estate Bubble Of Doom has popped virtually everywhere else in the country, sadly it has not here. Here, you will still find homes in the millions and I'm not just talking those beautiful 300 year old homes, nono. We have giant shoebox and penis-looking monstrousities erected (giggle) all over the place. The "Modern Home Look" has hit my town over the past few years worse than a high school herpes outbreak.
Don't Believe me? See for yourself:
Have millions of dollars and no idea what to spend it on?
Well do you like Breasts?
Hate Windows?
Love Drugs?
And according to one Real Estate Angency.. for 1.5 Million Dollars you can buy your very own Badly Focussed Sunset:
And these are the "Not So Bads". I'll have to take a trip around town armed with my camera to get some shots of the truly bad ones and believe me, I will. Every Saturday I will post The Ugly Hamptons Home Of The Week for your disgust and amusement. Anyone else who has a good example of a House Gone Wrong is more than welcome to send it to me at rabidotter19@yahoo.com .
Don't Believe me? See for yourself:
Have millions of dollars and no idea what to spend it on?
Well do you like Breasts?
Hate Windows?
Love Drugs?
And according to one Real Estate Angency.. for 1.5 Million Dollars you can buy your very own Badly Focussed Sunset:
And these are the "Not So Bads". I'll have to take a trip around town armed with my camera to get some shots of the truly bad ones and believe me, I will. Every Saturday I will post The Ugly Hamptons Home Of The Week for your disgust and amusement. Anyone else who has a good example of a House Gone Wrong is more than welcome to send it to me at rabidotter19@yahoo.com .
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Don't Mess With Mama
Life isn't always Fun And Games in this house. Every now and then someone comes around who lacks enough brain cells and gets to close to my brood. When this mama smells fear or evil, she bites. And trust me, I am not up to date on my rabies. The foam that comes out of my mouth every now and then is like a sign that says "Oh Shit! Run Motherfucker RUN!"
Women are also catty bitches. It's the reason why I only hang out with a very choice few. If I could make up a test a woman has to take in order to hang out with me I would. Then again, what's stopping me? Hee.
It's also amazing that it's easier to adopt a child from China than it is to adopt a dog from a local Shelter or Rescue. After losing our old boy of over 100 (doggy) years in November we finally decided it was time for a new ball of fur in the house. (Of course, other than KiKi the Psycho Cat.. I'm becoming rather convinced that she's half http://www.montauk-monster.com/.)
I went hog wild on Craiglist and Petfinder for a few weeks until I found a pretty little girl. Half Beagle, Half boston Terrier, One year old. PERFECT time for my little Mas birthday. I made arrangements, filled out the application, and the lady told me to come on over and get her on Monday.
Ma was doing to Puppy Dance all the way to the car and after picking out Doggys First Toy, we were on our way on the hours drive. When we arrived I bounded into the office and announced I was there to take my baby home.
"I'm sorry Ma'am, I guess you didn't get my message." Said Shelter Lady.
*Insert confused look* "What happened?"
"Well, we were in contact with one of your references who said you mistreated your last dog and refused medical attention."
Yup, we are some big bad puppy abusers. Can't you just feeeeeeel the evil eminating from this picture?
WHAT? Sam was a big happy Shephard Mix, but at 16 his mind was starting to go, his arthritis was being sucky no matter what medicine you gave him, and like any other 16 year old, he looked like his groomer was the Cryptkeeper. When Lurch took him to the Vet for his Rabies Booster the Doc said "Well, I can give it to him, but at his age his body probably won't handle it. I think he only has a few months left anyway so it may be better to put him down."
My husband thought, and thought, and made the decision. He came home that night with tears in his eyes. Sam was his best friend for 16 years and the only thing my wonderful husband fought for when he divorced his crazy bitchex wife. Our good friend who was a vet tech told him at the office "Don't worry, I'm so sorry, I'll take care of everything." and wouldn't even let Lurch pay the 40 bucks for the euthenization.
Well, NOW, the same friend made a report that, GET THIS, my husband ABANDONED OUR DOG THERE and sent it to Animal Control. THEN when the Shelter Lady called her for a reference (Because stupid me thought it was a great idea to put our damn vet down as one.) She fed her a bigger load of shit than.. well a shit factory that make shit statues. I was shocked, but what's worse is my poor little Ma had to be told AT the shelter "Sorry, Doggy's not coming home with us." The look of misery and horror on my little girls face is forever burned into my brain.
The past two days I've been feeling very much like Dr. Cox on "Scrubs". Mama hawk is on the warpath and every phone call she made to a person responsible for hurting her little girl made fur fly. Papa Bear Lurch was on the same war path. By the time he was through with both Shelter Lady and the Dog Warden they both hung up crying. The only person left on our list now is Vet Lady, who never again will see me without shooting sulfuric acid out my eyes. The shittiness that takes over bored women trapped in a small town is amazing, which is why I'd do anything for my guy friends and consider myself One Of The Guys. Never again will I trust a vagina carrier as far as I can throw them.
On a high note, I'm going to find my kid the most kickass guinea pig ANYONE has ever had. And the day we do get a new dog (from a STORE) I'll be mailing out pictures to Shelter Lady, Dog Warden AND Vet Lady of us holding our gorgeous furry thing and flipping off the camera, with a little note that reads "Thanks anyway!" On the back.
Boozya.
Women are also catty bitches. It's the reason why I only hang out with a very choice few. If I could make up a test a woman has to take in order to hang out with me I would. Then again, what's stopping me? Hee.
It's also amazing that it's easier to adopt a child from China than it is to adopt a dog from a local Shelter or Rescue. After losing our old boy of over 100 (doggy) years in November we finally decided it was time for a new ball of fur in the house. (Of course, other than KiKi the Psycho Cat.. I'm becoming rather convinced that she's half http://www.montauk-monster.com/.)
I went hog wild on Craiglist and Petfinder for a few weeks until I found a pretty little girl. Half Beagle, Half boston Terrier, One year old. PERFECT time for my little Mas birthday. I made arrangements, filled out the application, and the lady told me to come on over and get her on Monday.
Ma was doing to Puppy Dance all the way to the car and after picking out Doggys First Toy, we were on our way on the hours drive. When we arrived I bounded into the office and announced I was there to take my baby home.
"I'm sorry Ma'am, I guess you didn't get my message." Said Shelter Lady.
*Insert confused look* "What happened?"
"Well, we were in contact with one of your references who said you mistreated your last dog and refused medical attention."
Yup, we are some big bad puppy abusers. Can't you just feeeeeeel the evil eminating from this picture?
WHAT? Sam was a big happy Shephard Mix, but at 16 his mind was starting to go, his arthritis was being sucky no matter what medicine you gave him, and like any other 16 year old, he looked like his groomer was the Cryptkeeper. When Lurch took him to the Vet for his Rabies Booster the Doc said "Well, I can give it to him, but at his age his body probably won't handle it. I think he only has a few months left anyway so it may be better to put him down."
My husband thought, and thought, and made the decision. He came home that night with tears in his eyes. Sam was his best friend for 16 years and the only thing my wonderful husband fought for when he divorced his crazy bitchex wife. Our good friend who was a vet tech told him at the office "Don't worry, I'm so sorry, I'll take care of everything." and wouldn't even let Lurch pay the 40 bucks for the euthenization.
Well, NOW, the same friend made a report that, GET THIS, my husband ABANDONED OUR DOG THERE and sent it to Animal Control. THEN when the Shelter Lady called her for a reference (Because stupid me thought it was a great idea to put our damn vet down as one.) She fed her a bigger load of shit than.. well a shit factory that make shit statues. I was shocked, but what's worse is my poor little Ma had to be told AT the shelter "Sorry, Doggy's not coming home with us." The look of misery and horror on my little girls face is forever burned into my brain.
The past two days I've been feeling very much like Dr. Cox on "Scrubs". Mama hawk is on the warpath and every phone call she made to a person responsible for hurting her little girl made fur fly. Papa Bear Lurch was on the same war path. By the time he was through with both Shelter Lady and the Dog Warden they both hung up crying. The only person left on our list now is Vet Lady, who never again will see me without shooting sulfuric acid out my eyes. The shittiness that takes over bored women trapped in a small town is amazing, which is why I'd do anything for my guy friends and consider myself One Of The Guys. Never again will I trust a vagina carrier as far as I can throw them.
On a high note, I'm going to find my kid the most kickass guinea pig ANYONE has ever had. And the day we do get a new dog (from a STORE) I'll be mailing out pictures to Shelter Lady, Dog Warden AND Vet Lady of us holding our gorgeous furry thing and flipping off the camera, with a little note that reads "Thanks anyway!" On the back.
Boozya.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Interview With The Easter Bunny
Ladies and Gentlemen, guess who was given Exclusive rights to interview the Furry Big Man himself this year, but yours truly. Many have pondered about the private life of the Mr. Bunny, what goes on during the other 364 days of the year? Is there a lot of Rivalry between him and Jesus for attention? WHY give EGGS? After a sitdown at a classy local cafe to dine over green salad and alfalfa pellets (I passed on the alfalfa.) I am here to share what everyone has been dying to know.
Me: "Good Afternoon, Mr. Bunny."
EB: "Just call me EB"
Me: For Easter Bunny?
EB: No, my first name is Ernie. Not that anyone cares. Esther is my wife.
Me: I see E... Ernie. So. How did you get into your current proffession?
EB: It was actually the tooth fairy's idea. We were sitting around playing Quarters and having a few and were bitching about Santa not showing up for Poker. He claimed the wife wanted him home that night. Whatever. Since he gets to go out and give presents to kids to celebrate when Jesus was born, I decided to give out crap the day Jesus died. Boy was Clause pissed but I thought it was funny. I've been doing it ever since.
Me: That's interesting
EB: Not really. But I'll tell you one thing... back then the tooth fairy had a SMOKIN' body. Waiter, can I get a jackrabbit and coke? Get it? Jack, RABBIT? Yes I'm awesome.
Me: So, why do you give out colored eggs every year?
EB: We used to give out scissors and small bottles of paint thinner. After a high profile lawsuit I switched to eggs and bubbles. Now I mainly give out plastic eggs because kids these days are allergic to the real thing. That and PETA gave me Hell. Fucking idiots. I gave all my Chickens to KFC just to spite those tree huggers. Cigarette?
ME: No thanks.
EB: Suit yourself.
Me: So, people have been trying to make Easter more about Jesus and less about you. What are your thoughts?
EB: Can't say I blame them. Jesus was awesome. He voluntarily allowed himself to get nailed to pieces of wood for Christ's sake (No pun intended). Chuck Norris and Jack Bauer put together wouldn't even mess with J Dog.
Me: Are you planning to continue your Easter ritual forever?
EB: Eh, when I get tired of it I'll hand the business over to my cousin Herb. He's a guinea pig with a small cocaine poblem but all he'll need is a pair of longer ears to pull it off. Listen babe, I gotta get going, I have a 3:00 at the dentist and if I don't go the wife will have my tail.
Me: No problem Ernie.
EB: Here's my number, we'll go out for a few drinks sometime, paint the town.
Me: I don'tthink my husband will appreciate that.
EB: Yeah whatever, he's a pussy. Tell him I told you all about how he was getting Easter Baskets into his twenties. Or at least save it as blackmail next time he pisses you off.
Me: Will do.
Me: "Good Afternoon, Mr. Bunny."
EB: "Just call me EB"
Me: For Easter Bunny?
EB: No, my first name is Ernie. Not that anyone cares. Esther is my wife.
Me: I see E... Ernie. So. How did you get into your current proffession?
EB: It was actually the tooth fairy's idea. We were sitting around playing Quarters and having a few and were bitching about Santa not showing up for Poker. He claimed the wife wanted him home that night. Whatever. Since he gets to go out and give presents to kids to celebrate when Jesus was born, I decided to give out crap the day Jesus died. Boy was Clause pissed but I thought it was funny. I've been doing it ever since.
Me: That's interesting
EB: Not really. But I'll tell you one thing... back then the tooth fairy had a SMOKIN' body. Waiter, can I get a jackrabbit and coke? Get it? Jack, RABBIT? Yes I'm awesome.
Me: So, why do you give out colored eggs every year?
EB: We used to give out scissors and small bottles of paint thinner. After a high profile lawsuit I switched to eggs and bubbles. Now I mainly give out plastic eggs because kids these days are allergic to the real thing. That and PETA gave me Hell. Fucking idiots. I gave all my Chickens to KFC just to spite those tree huggers. Cigarette?
ME: No thanks.
EB: Suit yourself.
Me: So, people have been trying to make Easter more about Jesus and less about you. What are your thoughts?
EB: Can't say I blame them. Jesus was awesome. He voluntarily allowed himself to get nailed to pieces of wood for Christ's sake (No pun intended). Chuck Norris and Jack Bauer put together wouldn't even mess with J Dog.
Me: Are you planning to continue your Easter ritual forever?
EB: Eh, when I get tired of it I'll hand the business over to my cousin Herb. He's a guinea pig with a small cocaine poblem but all he'll need is a pair of longer ears to pull it off. Listen babe, I gotta get going, I have a 3:00 at the dentist and if I don't go the wife will have my tail.
Me: No problem Ernie.
EB: Here's my number, we'll go out for a few drinks sometime, paint the town.
Me: I don'tthink my husband will appreciate that.
EB: Yeah whatever, he's a pussy. Tell him I told you all about how he was getting Easter Baskets into his twenties. Or at least save it as blackmail next time he pisses you off.
Me: Will do.
Sweet Jesus She's Back
And by she, I mean me. Yes folks, I was evicted with the demise of my old domain and had to set sail for new land, which brought me here. Let's call this a literary clean slate.
What, you say? Who the hell is this chick, you ask? If you're new I'll begin with a little background; let's call it my condensed autobiography:
My life began like any other. I was born in the small jungle village of Akaleekiewakwaka in the year of 1984. At four days old I was abducted by Dingos and rescued by a mother condor, who after losing her nest of chicks to a Typhoon raised me as her own. At five years old I left the nest in search of food and was discovered by an explorer, who took me back to the states where I became part of a travelling carnival and made millions as "Tikiki The Wild Jungle Girl."As an adult I left the carnival and invested most of my profit in a company that swore it's diet colas tasted just like regular. Alas, the company ended up beeing a scam and they fled to Nigeria before I discovered there is no such drink in existance.
Broke and Homeless, for two years I washed windows on a busy city intersection by day, and moonlighted as a fake psychic until enough money as made to fly to Nigeria to find the scam artists who wronged me. After three years of searching I found the villians and with the help of the government and a voodoo witch doctor I befriended apon my arrival to the country, the men were all transformed into small adorable rodents, who were sadly eaten by stray dogs before my money was recovered. Though still penniless, my revenge satisfied me and I returned to the states in high spirits, met my husband and settled down for a life of quiet solitude, but secretely in wait for the day I recieve the call to undercover service I promised Nigerian Authorities in return for their help in the past.
Translation: I am a stay home home mom to three children. One furry, two not so furry - with a shortage of Normal Pills and an abundance of spare time.
And spare time can be a deadly thing.
(I know, the bottle says "shrit" and not "shirt". I decided it gave it character and kept on purpose. No really. I did.)
What else would you like to know? For starters, I swear. A lot. Especially here on the magical internet because I have to watch my mouth nowadays in front of my 3 year old darling daughter, who will repeat anything you say better than an obnoxiously expensive parrot.
By the way - She's about to turn three, her first word was "Beer", and she's awefully cute, if I do say so myself:
We shall call her Ma.
Good morning, Ma.
Then we have the slighly newer spawnaddition to the family, we shall dub for this purpose, Moo.
Moo is a mad scientist in the making.
The furry child I mentioned earlier is KiKi the Psycho Cat.
I won't even get creative with this one. She's fucking nuts and won't stand still long enough to get a decent non-blurry picture taken of her. Though evil looking, this is the best shot of her in existance. She is a masochist who allows Ma to drag her all over the house by her fluffy psychotail and seems to enjoy it.
And then there's the spermhunk responsible for bringing these beings into the world (well, everyone but the cat.) Lurch. Isn't he cute?
(He's the one with the tie. Heh. Heh.)
So there you have it. Our hip happy family. So sit back, have a drink, laugh, cry, comment during the upcoming weeks as I get this thing rocking. Don't ask, don't tell and we'll party like it's 2009.
P.S - I know, I know, the layout's rather nekkid. I'm working on it people.
What, you say? Who the hell is this chick, you ask? If you're new I'll begin with a little background; let's call it my condensed autobiography:
My life began like any other. I was born in the small jungle village of Akaleekiewakwaka in the year of 1984. At four days old I was abducted by Dingos and rescued by a mother condor, who after losing her nest of chicks to a Typhoon raised me as her own. At five years old I left the nest in search of food and was discovered by an explorer, who took me back to the states where I became part of a travelling carnival and made millions as "Tikiki The Wild Jungle Girl."As an adult I left the carnival and invested most of my profit in a company that swore it's diet colas tasted just like regular. Alas, the company ended up beeing a scam and they fled to Nigeria before I discovered there is no such drink in existance.
Broke and Homeless, for two years I washed windows on a busy city intersection by day, and moonlighted as a fake psychic until enough money as made to fly to Nigeria to find the scam artists who wronged me. After three years of searching I found the villians and with the help of the government and a voodoo witch doctor I befriended apon my arrival to the country, the men were all transformed into small adorable rodents, who were sadly eaten by stray dogs before my money was recovered. Though still penniless, my revenge satisfied me and I returned to the states in high spirits, met my husband and settled down for a life of quiet solitude, but secretely in wait for the day I recieve the call to undercover service I promised Nigerian Authorities in return for their help in the past.
Translation: I am a stay home home mom to three children. One furry, two not so furry - with a shortage of Normal Pills and an abundance of spare time.
And spare time can be a deadly thing.
(I know, the bottle says "shrit" and not "shirt". I decided it gave it character and kept on purpose. No really. I did.)
What else would you like to know? For starters, I swear. A lot. Especially here on the magical internet because I have to watch my mouth nowadays in front of my 3 year old darling daughter, who will repeat anything you say better than an obnoxiously expensive parrot.
By the way - She's about to turn three, her first word was "Beer", and she's awefully cute, if I do say so myself:
We shall call her Ma.
Good morning, Ma.
Then we have the slighly newer spawnaddition to the family, we shall dub for this purpose, Moo.
Moo is a mad scientist in the making.
The furry child I mentioned earlier is KiKi the Psycho Cat.
I won't even get creative with this one. She's fucking nuts and won't stand still long enough to get a decent non-blurry picture taken of her. Though evil looking, this is the best shot of her in existance. She is a masochist who allows Ma to drag her all over the house by her fluffy psychotail and seems to enjoy it.
And then there's the spermhunk responsible for bringing these beings into the world (well, everyone but the cat.) Lurch. Isn't he cute?
(He's the one with the tie. Heh. Heh.)
So there you have it. Our hip happy family. So sit back, have a drink, laugh, cry, comment during the upcoming weeks as I get this thing rocking. Don't ask, don't tell and we'll party like it's 2009.
P.S - I know, I know, the layout's rather nekkid. I'm working on it people.
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