Fuel for the Next Generation

I remember when I was in school, a long, long time ago, the food served was pretty edible. I actually looked forward to "pizza Friday", those long rectangle pieces of crust with those little brown mystery meat bits, and the rubbery cheese. I thought overall the food was decent. Evidently this is not the case for our next generation. My kids have complained about the school's food since day one. I just figured they were being picky and never gave it much thought. Whenever they would complain I'd stop it by telling them to bring me evidence. Well after years of going thru this, my son finally did.
He got in the car after school and proudly produced a wad of tin foil. He'd saved a specimen from his breakfast tray that morning. I opened it up, and there was a clump of scrambled egg. Or at least what may pass for it in the public school system. It had a green hue to it and smelled really "gamey". It looked gelatinous and weird. I honestly would never entertain the thought of putting that little wad of egg in my mouth. It was horrible. My son informed me that this was standard fair in the cafeteria.

Has something really went terribly wrong in the cafeterias of our schools? I don't ever remember having anything that looked remotely like that egg. I remember making jokes about what meat was in the hamburgers and how it's funny there were no stray dogs around the school. But the burgers were edible. I never thought I'd have to pack Immodium extra strength in their snacks to combat the effects of that days lunch. It's really kind of scary once you think about it all. We are feeding our leaders of tomorrow mystery eggs and who knows what other kind of culinary abominations! These people are going to be picking out our nursing home, I say it's just smart business to feed them a little better.

That's got WHAT in it?!?

I found out today what was in the Filet O' Fish at McDonald's. But first off, let me say that I never eat anything that has a name separated by a giant "o", it's just gross, filet "O" fish, bucket "O" crap, and so on. You get my point. I don't even know why they named a sandwich that in the first place, what's wrong with "fish sandwich", direct and to the point, informative too. I guess they want to throw in the "Filet" to make you think it's snazzier than it really is. The fish they chop up and form into those little golden deep fried squares is called a Hoki fish. It's the ugliest damn thing to come out of the ocean since David Hasselhoff. I mean it looks like some kind of aquatic parasite. When I saw that fish, the last thing that was going thru my mind was to slap a piece of cheese on that sucker and stick it on a hamburger bun. Mmm-Mmm!!

Another great item to read the ingredients on are those little beef sticks you find by the cash register at the gas station. I swear some contain "beef lips" and "mechanically separated chicken". WHAT? First off, when they say beef, why don't they just say cow? Is there other meat that is called beef that isn't from a cow? Or does cow lips sound too horrifying to eat? I always think of the last time I saw a cow in the field, I really didn't notice if he had lips or not. I guess everything does, and this poor animal's lips end up in meat sticks that rednecks hork down with their beer.

And how does one go about mechanically separating a chicken? Does that mean that the animal is torn from stem to stern by a machine? Again, to horrifying to put on a label of something you WANT people to eat. I'm just shocked that PETA isn't all over those people. They've got protesters all over from the circus to the KFC but the snack industry can "separate" chickens and rip the lips off cows and stick them in a meat stick and no one blinks and eye?

Like potted meat. That doesn't sound so bad, except if you read the ingredients, if they named things like McDonald's does, it would be "can O' eyeballs and assholes". Seriously, have you ever read the ingredients before you sit down with a big ole juicy potted meat sandwich, trust me, if you do, the sandwich will go to the dog or anything else the household that cannot read. That's just an example of the weird crap that's in our food. And we just gobble it up by the truck load never bothering to read the ingredients.

When it comes to certain foods I am willing to take the bad with the good. When it comes to peanut butter and chocolate, I'd eat it no matter what I was told it was made of. My son told me the other day that every jar of peanut butter contained a percentage of cockroach parts from the manufacturing plant. He also waited to inform me of this AFTER I'd eaten my second pound of peanut butter for the day. But then it really hasn't stopped me. I say bring on the bugs, nothing will keep me from the foods I like. I guess ignorance really is bliss, if that's the case, I should be the happiest freakin person on the planet.

A Special Request

This is a special request from my two favorite kick ass guys at the Grainger Academy. You guys rock out loud and you know it!

This is a story that I originally wrote about ten years ago about a horrific Thanksgiving with my ex and his crazy ass family. It seems to have become a favorite among all the people I force to read my stuff!



It was a Thanksgiving Day many years ago, I was still married to my kid's Dad. We had the tradition of going over to his family for Thanksgiving dinner. This is the story about what was thankfully, my last Thanksgiving with my husband and his family.



I walked slowly up my sister-in-law's driveway. I was holding a huge banana pudding, the only dessert my then mother-in-law trusted me enough to make. My mind was racing with excuses. Should I fake a fall in the driveway? Or a stomach ache after dinner started?

I followed my husband and our two kids through the back door and into the kitchen. The smell of overcooked turkey and neglected cat box immediately hit me. I placed my banana pudding on the washing machine next to my sister in law's annual gelatinous mystery that no one would eat.The house was very small. And that day, the house is filled to the walls with my in-laws. Everyone was there, the ones I saw regularly and the ones that only seemed to show up when there is food involved.


I edged myself sideways through the cramped dining room searching for my husband and kids. I only stopped occasionally to answer the usual questions, "Yes, we're both still working", "No we don't plan on any more kids", "I haven't seen him since he got out of jail", and so on.I found my husband in a very animated conversation with is brother, who lived in Detroit. His brother's girlfriend was drunk already and starting to hug people. I thought to myself that this has to be a record; she usually waits until after she has words with my mother-in-law. His last girlfriend would just scream at you when she got drunk this one is affectionate instead. I decide I don't want a hug and made my way back to the kitchen where my mother in law was chewing out my sister in law because she's eaten all the skin off the turkey.



Just when I had decided to get a stomach ache, my mother in law shouted "Come and get it". I found myself shoved aside into the refrigerator by my step-brother in law's pregnant girlfriend. She announced that both she and the baby are starving. I stood back and watched the relatives descend on the kitchen counter like a pack of wild animals.I suddenly saw husband jockeying for a place in the food line. He got a plate for each of our children. I had yet, and would never learn enough survival skills to hold my own at the buffet line with my in laws. I wait until both the kids have finished eating and announce to my husband that I feel a severe headache coming on. (Which by that time, is no lie).

As I searched for our coats on my sister in law's bed, I saw my stepbrother in law sitting at the dining room table with his leg raised over his head and a cigarette lighter held to his rear end. He announced proudly that everyone should look because he's getting ready to "Light One!". I rushed out of my sister in law's bedroom with the kid's coats in my hand. Grabbing each child's arm in each of my hands I said good bye to all the relatives between the bedroom door and the back door. I lied to my mother in law what fun I had and make a break for the car. On the ride home I thought of how thankful I am that it is over.

And thru the magic of divorce and my ex's affection for other women, I now look forward to the holidays. Secure in the knowledge that when the craziness starts, from now on, I'm the ringleader

Parental Extortion

Anyone who has children knows what I mean. Bartering with your kids to get them to do something or behave in a certain way. When they're young it's candy or cartoons, then toys. When they get older it gets a little harder to get past the eyeball rolls and the heaving sighs. They just want to be left alone. This narrows our options as parents. You can result to cold hard cash, but then with my kids, they'll nickel and dime me to death. We'll stand there haggling over how much they think running the vacuum is worth. According to my kids, their hourly wage is right up there with my Doctor's. I could afford to call him up and get him to vacuum my living room easier and cheaper than my kids.

My son is particularly difficult to barter with. He doesn't want anything. Money means nothing. All he wants to do is stay in his room i.e. his "man-cave" and play video games. He swaps games with his friends and is completely content. So, when he came to me the other day asking me for something, my ears perked up immediately. What kind of parent would I be if I didn't see an opportunity to use his request as leverage to get him to do something I want? I know to some this may seem extremely opportunistic and manipulative. But raising my children has been an all out mind game, battle of the wits. My children are exactly like me. They've been messing with me as long as they've been able to form a cognitive thought. So in return, I mess with them. No risk of taking the high road with me. If I want the trash taken out or the yard mowed, or fish that mystery floating dead thing outta the pool, I better have something in my arsenal to barter with.

My son asked me to sign up for GameFly. I had no idea what this was. I'm an addict of Netflix so he explained that it's just like that except with video games. This was music to my ears! An ongoing monthly bartering tool I could hang over his head! I acted reluctant just to make him sweat but as soon as he left the room, my fingers were on fire signing up. I was so excited to tell him that he'll get his subscription as soon as the yard is mowed. And the games will keep coming as long the grass doesn't grow past my ankles. When my cats are stalking thru my grass like they're hunting prey on the Serengeti, the grass is too long.




So that's my newest, most wonderful tool that I've added to my parenting arsenal. You've probably noticed I've put one of their ads on my blog. Now all I have to do is find something that my daughter is interested in on a monthly basis....

Some Days...

I know it's been awhile since I've posted anything new. Some days you just don't feel funny. I know I'm supposed to fill this blog with my own personal brand of smart ass comedic ramblings. I just haven't felt funny lately. It's not like something you turn on and off, I'm not a trained seal. In fact, on the days I don't feel funny, I feel down right mean. The "kick the walker out from under the old person kind of mean". I know not everyone has that kind of temperament, but I do. And luckily those that love me and have to live near me, have learned how to handle me.

I know every one's feeling stressed in these rough economic times. I know I'm not the only one that's going around "perpetually pissy". I just don't want to deal with anyone else who is. I was at the grocery store yesterday. I had my list and my coupons and I'm trundling up and down the isles trying to focus my 3 second attention span on my list. I pulled my cart off to the side and while I was sifting thru my coupons I noticed out of the corner of my eye and old lady standing behind me. Just standing there. Watching me. My Mom then says "Are we in your way?" and the lady smiles and goes past while I shoot her a "I hope you slip and fall in the produce isle" look. This pissed me off, and I stewed over it the rest of the grocery trip. If she wanted past me why didn't she just say so? Was she trying to send me some type of Vulcan mind message that I was supposed to get? I hate those people. Now it's a crusade of mine, if you get behind me in the grocery store, I WILL NOT MOVE, you are going to have stop assuming that I'm getting your mental messages and actually use your vocal cords and say excuse me or we're gonna be there the entire time I stand there and sift thru my damn coupons. Period.

The other endlessly irritating grocery store behavior is the people who stop in the middle of everything and chat with other people. They clog up the whole damn isle playing chatty patty catch up. In this modern age of technology, can't they communicate in any other form or fashion than blocking the isle in front of me? I have a cell phone that allows me to e-mail my sister what I had for lunch to day in the next state away. These fools can't talk anywhere else but the middle of the damn grocery store? I'm on a mission dammit, I'm here to get my shit and get the hell outta there,period. I do not use the grocery store as a social event. I have enough going on. In fact, even if I know you, or am related to you, if I see you in the grocery store, I may or may not acknowledge you. It all depends on the level of irritation I have at the moment from my current shopping experience.

My children say I'm not a "people person" . I figure I'm as friendly as the next person, just don't piss me off. I don't like crowds, and it's a guarantee that the more people are in the store, the higher my irritation level will go. I don't like being stared at either,contrary to popular belief I didn't get tattoos and color my hair so I'd get attention. I can handle a stare or two, maybe a comment, but after that, I'm wanting to pull your eyeballs out your ass if you look at me sideways. I still have no idea why my kids friends are afraid of me. I'm a pretty easygoing person really, just don't say hi to me in the grocery store.

Freshman Fright-Night

The "fright night" I am referring to is the freshman orientation night at the local high school. By the looks of it, it was the social event of the season for both generations, parents and their teens. This is a small town, the majority of the parents have lived here all their lives, thus subjecting their children to the same fate. I can't say it's all bad, I do like to check the mail in my p.j.'s so it's nice to be out in the boonies.

Anyway, we got there early because the new high school is in it's second full year of handling every teen in our county. There used to be a high school for every community. The one we had was built while Lincoln was in office and had seen little renovation since then. I guess it was the same in the other towns, so it was decided that they would build a high school the size of a supermax prison and bus every teen child in the county to it. This makes orientation or activity nights a form of torture I wouldn't inflict on my worst enemy, maybe my ex, but never an enemy!

We were directed to the parking lot where we parked and joined in a small gaggle of teen girls my daughter knew from last year. After the once over wardrobe assesments, the group began walking again. The level of the squeals they were emitting would have registered only in a dog's hearing. I couldn't ever remember screaming that high pitched sqeual as a teenager, but I'm sure I must have. That's how my mother became so skilled at ignoring me.

Once we made it inside, we were in a giant hallway the width of the highway that ran in front of the school. A short polyster clad woman with a staff badge and whistle around her neck was screaming a repeated line of instruction to each new group to come in. We were to find the line with the letter that corresponded to our last name. We were given folders that contained thirty pages of info all in different colors. The whistle lady was screaming again, this time we were to go to the gym if we'd gotten a folder. So everyone began moving in the same direction. I had a brief flashback to a festival seating Whitesnake concert I'd attended back in the 80's. I got squished up against people I would've crossed the road to avoid.

I then abandoned any worry of looking too freakish and embarrassing my daughter. I figured if the kid with the dad who had a sweat stained white tank top and looked like he'd just crawled out from under a bridge could walk with him, my daughter had nothing to worry about. I'm a people watcher by nature, so this was a literal optical motherlode. I followed my daughter's group into the gym and up several rows of shaky aluminum bleachers. I got a bird's eye view of everyone coming in. I sat there watching the crowd pour in while my butt went numb.

The women seemed to fall into two categories. The ones with no makeup, feathered hair, 80's throwback clothes and that general worn out look. The other group of women were the polar opposite, they had the teased, bleached or frosted sky high hair, the piled on orange glow of way too much Mary Kay and clothes with patterns that would give you a seizure if you looked too long. These were also the women that left the fog of perfume behind them, most could be smelled several hundred feet away and left a wake of cheap perfume everywhere they went.

The principal then came to the center of the gym, he spoke with a wireless microphone and went on and on about the horrors of cell phones. With every cornball joke he'd say, a woman two rows up behind me would let out a cackle worthy of the open mike nite at a comedy club. We were then turned lose with a map and a schedule of our childrens classes. We were told once the bell rang we would need to find the classes and spend ten minutes in each.

When the bell rang, some parents sprang to life like they'd just fired the opening shot at the New York marathon. People were scurrying everywhere. I told my daughter to hold on to the back of my shirt and I began to just plow thru the crowd, all the while shouting over my shoulder for directions. Each class was located approximately a mile away from each other. I felt like I'd gotten my cardio in for the evening after we'd jockeyed to all four classes. We'd go to each class room, the teacher would introduce themselves, welcome the kids, tell the horrors of cell phones, then stare at the clock and wait for the ten minutes to be up. I always secured a chair in the desks at the back, so my butt never really got much circulation until we were all turned out in the parking lot after two hours of scurrying thru the halls.

You could always spot a freshman, they were trailing behind their parents, clutching a map of the high school, looking scared shitless. I survived freshman orientation and successfully fought the urge to drink afterward. I just feel sorry for my daughter, she has to do that every day till next summer. No wonder I don't miss high school.

Midnight Barfer

I love cats, always have, I've grown up with them and when it came time to setup my own house, I felt like it wouldn't be a home without a cat. Well, here we are some twenty years later. I have a house full of cats. I mean double digits. I'm quickly being known as the cat lady. This doesn't bother me at all. In fact, the only thing that really bugs me about my cats. Every single one of them. Is their ability to vomit. And it' s never at a time when I see it happening and can toss them outside so they can barf in the yard, the way nature intended. It's usually always at night, specifically when I go to bed. I've gotten all my pillows arranged and I'm comfy. I'm dosing off and what do I hear? My oldest cat Lilly, under my bed, throwing up. She can't barf in the living room, or even in the kitchen on the linoleum. It's always under my bed. This is the hotspot for cat activity in my house. If they fight, at night, it's under my bed. They yowl or try to make sexy time, it's under my bed. So this forces me out of my comfy spot, trying to search for something long enough to just make a sweeping motion under the bed, all the while I'm screaming at the top of my lungs. This is such a common occurrence in my house that my children no longer respond to me screaming my head off in the middle of the nite in my room.

My other cat, Isabelle. Likes to throw up in my son's room. She'll go to his door, scratch to be let in, and once inside, proceeds to throw up in the middle of the room. Once she's finished, she leaves. All the while giving my son the regular cold, icy stare. I can see it on her face, she's got the attitude like "try and stop me and I'll poop somewhere you'll never be able to find it". I guess it's just all part of sharing your home with cats, they barf, and they shred things. They run around in the middle of the night knocking stuff over. Usually when one of the cats leaves a little present in the middle of the night that is not under my bed, my son is always the one that will step in it.

But even with all the barfing and destruction, I love them. My cats act like they don't give a damn if they ever see me again, and I just eat it up. I guess any other cat "owner" would say the same.

Self Check-Out: Time Saver or Personal Hell?

I do admit that the idea of personal check-outs are spot on. They seem to be a time saver and you don't have to stand there listening to the teenage cashier chomp on gum, or some older person discuss their bathroom habits. So when my local store updated their check outs with a few I was ready to try one. I was married at the time and my ex wanted to help with it. He started putting things on the twelve inch long conveyer while I tried to scan the items. The next thing I knew, we're in a power struggle for who's doing it correctly. He then started pushing buttons that sent out the little signal for an associate to come to your aid. By the time the associate got to our check out, we were in an all out fight over who did something wrong and who's fault this was and so on.

That was the last time I used a self checkout. I've been single for three years. Enough time to forget the ordeal of the self check out. This past weekend I got my nephew over night. He wanted pizza and candy so we did a store run. I saw the self check out and decided to give it another try. We loaded the pizzas, the bag of candy, and two gallons of milk on the conveyer belt that looked like it was only ten inches long. I hit the button to start, and a very friendly female voice welcomed me to the store and asked me to scan my first item. I scanned the candy, it went fine, I dropped it in the bag. I then grabbed the milk and scanned it, dropped it in the bag, the female voice instructed me to put the item in the bagging area. I answered, to the screen, that the milk WAS in the bagging area. I picked the milk up and kind of dropped it on the bagging area, thinking that might help with the sensors. It didnt work. I was getting angry.

I then just chose the option on the screen to skip the bagging. When I scanned the other gallon of milk, I got the same message. I then picked the milk up and dropped it on the bagging area again. This set off some sensor and my screen said an associate would be over to assist me. I waited and waited, and by the time I'd had enough and starting pushing buttons, the associate arrived. We laughed it off, and she hit a few buttons on the screen, scanned her name tag, and we were ready to scan the pizzas.

I tried scanning the pizza. It beeped and informed me the item was not a valid item. I tried swiping it over a few more times. Same friendly, pleasant, ever annoying female voice instructed me to manually enter the sku number from the back of the package. I did this. By this time my daughter is announcing in a very outdoor voice that all the other people have already gone thru their check outs. And that we are slower than the normal cashier operated fast lane. I kindly tell her thru my clenched teeth that this was much faster and we were doing just fine.

While I was re-assuring my daughter, my nephew grabbed the pizza box and was attempting to scan it. He then began aggressively muttering something that sounded like Italian swear words. I told him to relax and let me handle this. I tried entering in the sku number for the pizza again and again I got the same message. This set off yet another alarm that the associate answered in a pretty timely manner. There was considerable less laughing this time when the associate came to scan her name tag and hit some buttons. She did this and it registered the pizza. I thought wonderful! If only there was a duplicate button I could hit to hurry up and cut our suffering and scan the second pizza. No such luck. I tried the second pizza, and I got the same error message as before. My daughter then yanks the pizza box out of my hand and begins banging it on the little glass screen. I assure her this will not help while I'm wrestling the pizza box out of her hand. I save myself time and just waive the associate down myself. She comes over, scans the pizza and hits the button to finish and pay.

I was able to at least pay for the items we were unable to scan. I gather the bags, wishing I'd included some beer in the items. I decide again that the self check out just does not work for me. For some reason, I see every one else scanning and paying for their things and getting the hell out of the grocery store alot faster than I do. I've come to accept this. I've accepted the fact that there are some things in life that we just aren't meant to master. I've added self check outs right under hang gliding.

Weight Loss.. Ups, Downs, and Overs

I'm no stranger to weight loss struggles. I've always been on the "more than average" side. I knew managing my weight was important since I was a small child, my grandmother used to try to get me to eat yogurt instead of ice cream. It never worked, no matter how fun she made it seem, I always opted for ice cream, I always have. That's half my issue. I have the self discipline of a housefly. I love all things sweet. I'm not that adventurous when it comes to trying new dinner items, but bring out the dessert cart and it's got chocolate involved I'll try it no questions asked.

I've tried homeopathic weight loss remedies. Drinking disgusting little green slimy concoctions that are supposed to cleanse me. I've tried fasting, that just left me starved enough to attack one of the cows that are always in the field by our house. I've tried the ole vinegar and honey diet, you make a shot glass full of vinegar and honey and down it right before you eat. It's supposed to make you feel full so you'll eat less. All it did for me was make me wretch so much I had no desire to have anything to eat.

I've found that hitting the library or local bookstore, and just skimming thru the weight loss section is helpful. I've gleaned enough from all the books I've read to put my own little spin on my weight management. And I've come to terms that genetics will get you every time. If you see a woman with legs up to her shoulder blades and thin as pole, my money is one the fact that someone in her family is like that also. It doesn't matter if you starve yourself to the point of death, some of us will never be thin. If it's not in your genes, it's not going to happen no matter how hard you try and you're wasting valuable time trying.

My advice is stop listening to the commercials with the stick thin blonde with the giant boobs talk about how she got that bikini body by popping some pills. It's not real life. If you buy those pills the only thing that's gonna lose anything is your bank account. Take control of your nutrition, feed your machine. But be active as well. Do some research and find out what works for you.
http://bestreviewblogs.com/amazon/weightloss

New, Horrifying Technology

I just read an article on a new form of robot technology. It sustains itself by "eating" organically based mass. That means on the battlefield it can consume dead bodies for fuel. Yes, I said dead bodies. I think that alone could help us on the battlefield, because once an opposing soldier looked over to see one our robots devouring his bunk mate, he's gonna run so fast that only a cloud of dust in his shape will be left. I know I would.

I guess it's our government's way of "going green", why not re-use those cumbersome dead bodies, save the man power it would take to clean them off the field, just let the robots eat them! And it saves on fuel, in addition to eating dead bodies, the robots can run on cooking oil. That's just great, something coming at me that smells like french fries and has a dead body part hanging out of it's mouth, that's a sure fire way of making our enemies, wet themselves and scream like little girls. That's your government hard at work to make your world and mine a better place.

July 4th Weekend

Like every American I decided to celebrate the Independence of our country in the traditional way, drinking and playing with explosives. We of course would grill out and drink and play with explosives. It makes you wonder, is that how our founding fathers celebrated after they signed the Declaration of Independence? Was John Hancock or George Washington one of the ones to say "Hey, lets go cut loose with a beer and some explosives?". I wonder how that tradition came about. It's always been the way my family and countless others have spent the 4Th.

I live in the country, we have no ordinances or restrictions on fireworks. So we get the fireworks that are one grade away from leveling your house to the ground. You can always tell the guy who runs the fireworks stand. He's the one missing a finger or two. I bet he's his family's designated lighter also. You know the one, the guy who's had way too much to drink but you somehow trust him with a lighter and explosives in your backyard. He's also the one that's drank enough to be a little more fearless than the others when it comes to the fireworks that won't light right away.

Then as the night wears on, everyone has had enough to drink where even Grandma gets in
on the festivities and everyone starts lighting the fireworks and throwing them at each other. Well that's the direction things take in my family. I hope every everyone had a great 4Th and made it out with all your fingers in tact.

Bugs

I'll admit it. I don't like bugs. I'm not one of those people that will stop you from swatting one and give you this long speech about how everything serves a purpose and they're needed. I personally don't think they are. I can't really name one time in my life when a bug has come to my rescue or saved my life. I've never got a jump for a dead battery by a fly, an ant has never held the door open for me at a restaurant. A spider has never carried my bags to my car at the store. So when it comes time to roll up the newspaper and start swinging, I'm right there.


I'm not saying that humans and bugs can't exist peacefully together. I'm all for that. If they leave me alone, than I'll leave them alone. But I do admit that once a spider wanders into my bathroom, I consider that a personal invasion of my privacy and he'll be dealt with using my tried and true method of spider killing.

Once the spider is spotted, I will take my hairspray, the super hold, fast trying freeze spray, and give him a couple of shots at close range, while the spider is staggering around on my counter top, I will scream obscenities at it. I will them grab a few squares of toilet paper, unless it's a particularly ugly spider, than he gets a full Kleenex. I will drop the paper on him, and swoop him up, and quickly deliver him to the toilet for a swift flush. That's how I've dealt with spider since the beginning of my memory.

So when my daughter came into my room screaming about a spider in her bathroom, I grabbed my hairspray and went in for the kill. Once I got to the bathroom, I saw this furry little black spider sitting in the corner of the ceiling over the bathroom mirror. I had my hairspray aimed and ready when my son came running in to stop me. He quickly informed me that he's been aware of the spider's presence in the bathroom for quite some time now. He's named him Phil and he leaves everyone alone. It was at this time I was silently grateful for my parental poker face, the one that every parent uses when you're child says something so off the wall that if makes your eyebrows want to jump of your face. But instead you look at them like they've said something that requires great contemplation on your part, and you walk away to giggle alone.

I agreed to give Phil the spider a trial run so to speak. I was going to spare his life for a few days in order for my son to prove to me that Phil was going to peacefully live in our spare bathroom. My daughter was appalled at this. She's also pretty handy with the hairspray bottle and was ready to give Phil the Aqua Net treatment right then and there. She said she was officially not using the extra bathroom anymore, until Phil was no longer a resident.

So needless to say, my daughter and I became "bathroom buddies" and I secretly hoped that Phil the spider would either break our treaty or be in the twilight of his little spider life and go to the big web in sky pretty soon. But as time wore on and the more I complained about her taking over my counter space. My daughter eventually started sharing the bathroom with her brother and Phil. And after awhile, Phil was no longer there. He just left as quietly as he'd showed up. I can't say I really learned anything from giving a spider his own bathroom. Just that it's the only time it's happened. I figure I pay the bills around here, and if any other little creatures want a bathroom to themselves, they can pony up their half of my house payment.

I've never been a "bug lover". I think the closest I ever came was when that series of children's movies featuring bugs flooded the market a few years back. Disney put out "A Bug's Life", there was "Ants", and "Ant Bully", and a slew of others that I didn't have to sit thru. Even when Disney makes a bug cute, you can guarantee the ant that's walking across your kitchen counter hoping you didn't do a good job of cleaning up tonight’s dinner isn't the little wise cracking "doe eyed" ant that Disney puts in it's movies. Those movies even have you feeling sorry for the bugs, like their life is so unfair. They just work their little bug hearts out and deal with all the injustices that the mean humans inflict on them. I can guarantee the ants that I woke up with in my sleeping bag on my last camping trip weren't humming a Disney tune.


But the movies make bugs look cute. They tone down their appearance. If they showed kids want bugs really looked like, no parent in the history of EVER would ever get a good night sleep again. Just turn on the Discovery Channel or TLC. Any of those channels that have shows that way over use the magnifying lenses.

My dog hates flies. If one goes near him he freaks out and gets up and moves away from it. My kids used to laugh at my dog for this, calling him a sissy and other non dog like names. But after I showed them what flies looked like up close, my dog wasn't the only one running from flies around here. Flies have thirty million little eyeballs and are covered with hair. That's why you can never swat them, they can see you coming from across the state line.

Spiders are the same way. They have forty million eyeballs and fangs and way too many legs. For something to be welcome in my house in can't have more than four legs. If you go over the four leg mark in my house, then it's either the newspaper or hairspray treatment for you. It makes me wonder why there are so many spiders. They are so hideous looking, how can they find each other attractive enough to mate? But since I have only two of everything, I guess that's something I'll never know.

The Price of Beauty

Being a female is not for the faint of heart. I’ve been one all my life and I can speak from hard earned experience. From the time we’re born, we’re adorned with cute bows in our hair and little undies with ruffles going across our backside. Some of us have our ears pierced before we even know we have ears.

When girls reach toddler age, we have all kinds of fun toys to introduce us to the world of hair and makeup. Little Tikes has a purse full of curlers, toy lipstick and nail polish, and even a little compact. There’s little feather boas and hats, and little glittery high heels. Our toddlers can dress up like a blind drag queens while they push their baby dolls in the stroller.

Hitting that awkward “tween” age when you’re not yet a teenager and you don’t feel like a kid anymore introduces you to a whole new world of makeup, nail and hair options. There’s pony tails with the hair already in them. Childhood friends like Tinkerbell and Hannah Montana want you to buy their bubble bath and artificial nails. Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen have their own line of cosmetics. Even if you’re a tween on a small allowance, you can go to the local drug store and buy .88 cent nail polish and lip-gloss, granted they’re the size of oyster crackers, but they sell like crazy.



Being a teenager is always a difficult time, and when you’re a female teenager, it’s like entering a whole new level of hell. You have to start worrying about your complexion, your weight, your hair, your clothes, what everyone else thinks about your complexion, you weight, your hair, well you get the picture.

You also have to start the life long drama of hair removal. For me this was a slow form of torture. I come from a family where the women get five o’clock shadows on their legs. That always makes hair removal a challenge when your hair is the texture and thickness of steel wool.

I started out shaving, and this worked fine, I’m so glad my blood clots quick or I never would’ve made it out of my 15th year. I saw a commercial for Nads, the pretty lady with the nice Australian accent, smoothing the green goo over some guy who looked like Chewbacca’s stunt double, and then ripping it off clean as can be. I got it home and tried it, all I could think of was they must’ve had that hairy guy sedated, because I felt like I was going to swallow my tongue when I ripped that first bit of goo off. It was so painful I was only able to do one knee cap. I went back to my old stand by shaving.




I then saw this ad for a wondrous new machine that looked like a electric razor but had a metal coil instead. The overly cheerful lady promised that my hair would be “whisked away” quick and painlessly. I rushed right out and laid out my 39.95. I turned it on and pressed it to my ankle. I think this device was originally invented for the Nazi camps. Because if I had any war secrets, I would’ve been spilling them right then. The coil actually yanked my hair out of the follicles, leaving little tiny bloody holes. I could only do my ankle. I couldn’t get the courage up to use it again. I walked around with little pimples on my ankle for two weeks while my skin healed. I brought it back to the store for a refund and the customer service clerk informed me that everyone of the epi machines that were sold have come back. Evidentially it wasn’t just my low pain tolerance, other women couldn’t stand it either.

Sometimes men see women as fragile, dainty creatures. I’d love to put a man up to the epi lady challenge, or a session of waxing and see how fragile he thinks women are after that. We put ourselves thru hair removal, constant makeup trends, uncomfortable shoes, tight clothes, coloring our hair with chemicals so strong it peels the paint off the bathroom wall. And why do we do it? To get a few compliments from our men? Not really, I enjoy looking good for myself. And of course the occasional wolf call from a construction site never hurt either.

Snacking with a dangerous weapon?

Ok, I swear I'm not making this up. I was reading my local paper today and there was an article about a Shelbyville, Tennessee couple that got into a fight using Cheetos. Cheetos, those delicious little orange crunchy things that aren't' just for breakfast anymore.
It just blew my mind that this couple could fight using Cheetos and actually have the police respond and both were arrested for domestic assault. I'd love to read that paperwork. Assault with a deadly snack food? How much damage can you honestly do with a Cheeto? Grind them in your partner's eye so they'll spend an hour trying to get out the orange Cheeto dust? Maybe the picture of Chester Cheetah on the bag looked menacing to them and they just felt full of rage. I just can't help but think they must have been on something else. Either that or they were off their meds entirely.
When I was married and my husband would do something that made me want to scream. The last thing on my mind was getting a bag of snack food and waiting for him to get home. I mean you could keep the Cheetos in the bag and just slap them upside the head with them. But you better be prepared to run, because I've enjoyed Cheetos all my life, and trust me, you cannot knock someone out with them.
I think if someone really made me mad, I wouldn't go for Cheetos. I'd probably wop them with a bag of Grape Nuts or something. Have you ever eaten Grape Nuts? Those things are like little tiny gravel, they just lay at the bottom of the bowl. You could really do some damage with Grape Nuts. Or maybe go the candy route, hit em with a jawbreaker, at least they've got a bit more substance to them than Cheetos.
I wonder what the responding officers had to deal with when they arrived on the scene of the Cheeto attack? This is the police, drop the Cheetos, wipe your fingers off, and place them on your head! Well, I just felt obligated to share my view on the whole Cheeto incident, it's definitely "chuckle worthy".

Living with my aging parent

It’s common knowledge that everyone ages. And unfortunately part of aging is watching your parent get older also. I’ve had a front row seat to my mother’s aging process. Sometimes it’s even a audience participation event. I have to take her to her doctor visits now because driving out of our small town has started to make her nervous. This is the same woman who could put up with me dragging our pet cats around the house in laundry baskets while I gave them a “tour” of our home. Usually this was done at the top of my lungs because for some reason I thought our cats couldn’t hear me unless I spoke loud enough for them to cringe and fold their ears back.

So like the dutiful child, I take her to the endless stream of doctor visits, tests and prescriptions. I go in and try to keep her prescriptions and ailments straight. My Mom has arthritis that I’m convinced has completely taken over everything on her body except her toenails. This causes her to no longer walk but shuffle along at slightly slower than the speed of smell. I can’t help but think of the younger version of this woman that now shuffles along behind me. She was able to run me down in the grocery store like a leopard on a gazelle. I was never able to get to the end of the store isle before she had me by the shoulder, dragging me back to the cart and telling me to “wait till we got home”. Which always struck a chord terror with me. Even though my Mother was a screamer, not a hitter. So nothing ever happened when “we got home”, but it always worked with me, every time. I guess a Mother’s best advantage is a child’s short term memory.
At the last doctor’s visit, we were told my Mom has to have a “procedure” to help with the pain in her back. We no longer have a specific type of operation, she’s hit the age where everything’s a “procedure”.

So we get to the hospital at six in the morning. They send my Mom to the back to get prepped and I’m left in the waiting room with stale coffee and a National Geographic from 1978. After a little bit a nurse comes out to get me so that I can see my Mom before they begin. I went thru the swinging double doors and I saw my Mom trundling down the hall of the hospital, wearing a hospital gown, holding a urine sample in her hand like it was a cup of punch and she was working the room like a social butterfly. She was so casual holding her own urine in that Dixie cup, you could tell, this was not our first rodeo. Both she and I have become more familiar with urine samples since she was asked to take one and bring it in to her doctor on our next visit. They gave her a cup with a lid. My Mom is terrible at lids. I found that out when we got to the Dr.’s office and her purse was soaked. The urine sample had not been sealed tight enough and had spilled all over her purse, it even shorted out the little electronic Yahtzee game she keeps in her purse. Thankfully that was the last time they ever asked for a sample from home, and the Yahtzee game recovered after it dried out.


I soon realized the tables were turning. Instead of taking care of me in the diaper, it was her turn to be on the receiving end of the care and sporting the diaper. At least we haven’t hit the full diaper stage yet. We both still try to keep our sense of humor thru it all. If you can’t laugh about things, then you’re in worse shape than you originally thought. I have to get to bed early tonite. Tomorrow’s going to be an early morning start, we have another “procedure” to go to.

Are You Aware?

I was reading an article from a magazine in the Dr.’s office waiting room that mentioned “Genital Awareness” month, once I stopped giggling, I started thinking about when I was growing up, I never heard of awareness days. So being the ever curious person that I am, I came home and started to do some research. I was amazed at what I found, there is an awareness day for almost every single day of the year.

January has National Blood Donor, Cervical Cancer, and Poison Prevention. These I thought were pretty informational and helpful things for me to be aware of. But it also has National Thank Your Customers and Hunt for Happiness, as well as, NYC Restaurant week. What do I do if I don’t have customers to thank or I’m not sure where to hunt for my happiness? And I’ve never even been to New York.

February has Women’s Heart Health, and Black History. Then there’s Library Lovers, Plant Seeds of Greatness, Time Management, and National Weddings. Couldn’t they for the sake of time throw the Time Management and Weddings together? Maybe get married in a library and that will cover Library Lovers too. I’m not even sure about the whole Plant Seeds of Greatness thing. Where would a person purchase these seeds? I’m not thinking in the Lawn & Garden at Wal-Mart.

March has American Red Cross, which if admirable and we all know the good work they do. I’d be more willing to give to the Red Cross than to Steroid Abuse Prevention, which is also in March. Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and National Caffeine awareness are in March also. Those two could totally be combined in one day where volunteers could just pass out espresso to tired people. And Genital Awareness Month is the last week in March. If they don’t feel like enough of America is aware of their genitals, it may sometimes go over into the first week of April.

April has a bunch of serious, worth while awareness days, Autism, Child Abuse Prevention, and Public Health. There’s also Irritable Bowel Syndrome and Cancer Control. April is also Jazz Appreciation and Alcohol Awareness. Anyone who’s ever been to a jazz club is aware of alcohol. When is Mardi Gras, anyway? May has a few good ones too. Like Motorcycle Safety and Arthritis. Then we have International Victorious Woman. Are they kidding? What does that even mean? I feel mildly Victorious just getting that all out correctly. Then there’s Shoes for Orphans, Better Sleep, Better Hearing and Speech, and Ultra Violet Awareness.

June has National Cancer Survivors and Adopt-A-Shelter Cat. It also has National Headache Awareness and National Celibacy Awareness. Those two could totally be observed in one day, why stretch it out for those of us who do enjoy sex without excuses. I think we were scraping the bottom of the barrel to fill as many days up in July as possible. We’ve got Cell Phone Courtesy and Vehicle Theft Protection. Cell Phone Courtesy? You could turn that into an entire year of awareness and that would not change the fact that you’re going to get stuck in a grocery line with someone who thinks they have to yell to be heard on the other end. So you stand there trying not to make eye contact while they give the person they’re talking to a run down of what’s in their basket, where they’re going after this, and what crappy thing happened to them at work that day.

August is when you see everyone sporting those cute little pink bows we all know so well, it’s Breast Cancer Awareness, as well as Cataract Awareness. If you don’t take care of one, you can’t see the other! It’s also National Preparedness Month, who thought of that, the boy scouts? September has 5-A-Day, I’m only hoping they mean vegetable servings? And there’s Substitute Teacher Appreciation Week, the subs get short changed even on their awareness, I bet the full time teachers get a whole month of awareness.

October is a busy month, full of Rett Syndrome, World Blindness, Interstitial Cystitis, Lupas and Liver, and Depression Screening. Which the only one I was even vaguely familiar with was the Depression. Did Scarlet O’ Hara have Rett Syndrome? I’ve never heard of it. But then again, that doesn’t say much, you could fill a stadium full of things I’ve never heard of. October is also Halloween Safety Month, glad they put that in October, it’d lose some of it’s importance if they had it in July.

Now, we’ve come to November and December. As if we all don’t have enough to be aware of during those months as it is. I’m way too busy hunting around for a cheap 20lb turkey to worry about it being National Game and Puzzle week, or trying to get beat the old woman in front of me to the last bag of sage stuffing to worry about it being World Kindness Day. December is always a busy month for me, almost every other person in my family, including me, was born in December. You can really tell what the couples in my family were up to in the month of March! But that’s another story for another time. So why would I care if it’s Learn a Foreign Language or Colorectal Cancer Awareness month while I‘m busy trying to buy things I can‘t afford for people I see once a year?

If someone were to publish a calendar with every single awareness day marked, it would be the size of a phone book. I barely skimmed the surface on all the awareness days and weeks and months we have nowadays. I still don’t feel very aware, and I’m sure the lady in the grocery store line in front of me, yelling in to the cell phone, isn’t very aware either.