Pet Cemetery

I once killed my brother's sick iguana Damien trying to force-feed him kale with tweezers. He got me back by frying my hermit crab on top of his hot TV. Pay back's a bitch.

We had 2 bats out in our garage a while back. Joel yelled at me to come see them. I went to look, but with the whole blind thing going on, I could just see little black specklets. He did get the camera & zoom though, so I could see a picture of them. They were baby bats. I was amused and freaked out at the same time. Joel went at them with a broom. He managed to impale one, but couldn't find it to dispose of it. That freaked me out more than the living bat. Two weekends ago we cleaned out our garage (a 5 1/2 hour project) due to the big move coming up. I tip-toed a bit, just knowing I would be the one to find the dead bat (the live one has since escaped). No bat. I'm convinced the neighborhood bull frogs found him & carried him to safety. My question is... since we've had bats... if I call them my pet birds, does that make me goth? I have the skin for it... I had the birds for it... I'm pretty sure if I start wearing black, suck on a blue blow pop for a while and don't wash my newly black/purplesque hair for 3 weeks I'll be goth. Please advise if you are up to date on current 'dark' trends. I'd really like to sell myself as a goth chick.

Evil Cat

A few years ago, my parents had a cat, Callie. Callie was a calico cat. Imagine that! Callie was a cool cat... fat (the best cats are fat) and PSYCHOTIC! She purred persistently, and licked! She licked a lot! She liked to rub her head on our necks and faces (this is fabulous if you have allergies like I do). Callie would be purraciously rubbing herself on someone, and then Yeoooooooowwwwwwwwwshamalamabingboom... sink her claws right into ya. She liked to nibble too. Her nibbles were psycho nibbles, not love-me-tender nibbles. But mostly she loved to scratch. Damn cat. I believe she was shipped off to the farm. She had a pissing problem too... poor thing. I'm sure a coyote came along and ate her.

Innocent my ass

That brings me to Mittens. Mittens was a tabby cat. I was quite young when we had Mittens, but I believe I have a grasp on the Mittens story, or at least my own perception of it. You see, my parents, my brother and sister and I (along with our many living pets and the pet cemetery in our back yard) lived in the boondocks as some may say. If you are un-Ohioan or high-class, you may not understand that term... we lived in the wilderness... the country... a house between four corn fields. Basically, we could easily be described as The Children of the Corn living in Pet Semetery. Both movies... freaky as hell by the way. So, not to get off topic, at night there were coyotes around our house. Mittens took a 4-legged stroll one night and came home with exactly 3 mittens, 3 paws, 3 pads and a bloody stump. Mittens hobbled like a champ. If there were special Olympics for cats, she would've been a shoe-in, or a mitten-in more appropriately. Years later Mom and Dad told us that Ms. Mittens died behind the chicken coop (yes we had a chicken coop... with no chickens :( ... I believe another coyote toted Mittens off and ate her other 3 legs for dinner and she was unable to swim home, due to the drought. But that's just my version.


Matting... a common Persian problem... :P

One of my dreams, allergies and all, was to have a Persian cat... a cat with a face so smooshed and mangled-looking that people would ask if it hit a tree going 80+ miles per hour. The smooshier the better. After Joel and I got married, I saved money, in lieu of paying our electric bill, to save up for my dream kitty. We wound up with 3 of my dream kitties... Visa, the smooshiest of them all. Visa was a red-point Himalayan. If you don't know what that means, don't worry, I won't bore you with the details (just know that I know more than you do :P Anyway, Visa was beautiful, and smooshed to high-heaven! Then there was Bonnie, a grey Persian with a horrible attitude problem. She was gorgeous, so I didn't much care that she was a royal bitch. Angelica was the last. She was a cute little calico Persian kitten with a semi-smashed face (looked like her face had ran into something soft, like a couch or a bean bag chair at high speed). The one point I hadn't considered when we bought long-haired, high-maintenance cats... hairballs! Oh my, did we have hairballs! Excessive hairballs. Hairballs that stretched a good ruler-length across a room. The cats all had different color-points, so we could monitor who was puking the most. Sure, we could get the cats shaved, cut short or waxed, but that defeated the whole purpose of having a Persian, smoosh-faced mutant cat. I suppose I didn't brush them enough... I'm glad I've grown and learned... my kids wouldn't be nearly as cute as they are if I neglected their hair for 3 months at a time. We just shave their heads instead... much easier to maintain.

As to not bore my readers, I will tell you about my past pets, including my cat Jinx, in moderation. Mutt, Scruffy, KeeKee, Zach, Taffy, Snickers, Mama Cat, etc... rest in peace... and in pieces.

Will add pictures of my actual pets at a later date. :P

Potty Mouth

Today was a frantic day for my family. Okay, I'm lying through my teeth right now. It was a frantic and traumatic day for me... and miss Abbi.

We started our day at 5am... sorta. I hit snooze, after waking up and realizing the baby was snuggled up against me as close as he could possibly be. He had teetered in at some point during the night, and I hadn't even noticed. What a love. I couldn't move. I just laid there. Now, whether I actually wanted to snuggle with the baby at 5am, or just use that as an excuse to sleep 5 more minutes, I can't tell. I know, but I won't tell you... :P

That brings me to the wake-up. I hopped out of bed.. literally, because at some point a giant semi (toy) also teetered into our bedroom and plopped it's big square very-hard-plastic ass onto the floor right where I step to get out of bed in the mornings.

Thankfully I had gotten my shower the night before, after my husband graciously made my roots the color they were meant to be... red... not the blonde God graced me with. I'm still a bit peeved at him for making me a natural blonde. It SO doesn't go with my skin tone. We'll have a talk once I get up there to meet him... Lord willing.

Anyway, I still felt rather clean from the shower I had taken last night, so I threw on my scrubs, added a few curls to the fro and painted my face. Not bad for 5:30am, I suppose.

I then packed myself some healthy goodies for work, filled 3 sippies, threw some diapers in the make-shift diaper bag (I finally threw away the lovely pale pink designer-knockoff bag Joel preferred :P) and tip-toed back to wake the lovies up.

Aiden was first. He popped out of bed like he had just realized his sheets were either frozen or on fire. He immediately went out to the living room. I turned on the light, and he gave me an evil little stare. "Mommy, this is WAY too early." "Join the club Aiden... this is how Mommy & Daddy feel every weekend day." Note to self: Tomorrow, wake Aiden up by screaming in his ear.

Abbi was next. She was a little slower than Aiden, but she knew what she had to look forward to (and fear) for the day, so she hobbled out to the living room, too. She had a mini-tantrum over her dress (too many buttons... wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh), but she recovered quite nicely. So I went to wake up the baby.

I shook him a little... not in a baby-shaking syndrome way... in a loving, get-the-hell-up kinda way. He turned over onto his belly, snoring happily. I jiggled his cute little baby leg. He sat up pissed. He started whining and I had to giggle. This was payback.

The getting-out-the-door process went rather smoothly, and we were on the road by 6:15am... off to Papa's house. The drop-off was drama free. The kids love Papa. They even got to see Mama for a quick minute before she left for work.

I got to work and fretted all morning... stomach ache, nausea... I thought I could seriously vomit. But I didn't. At 8:35am on the nose, I left work and met the kids & Papa at the church. First day of VBS. First day I've ever dropped my babies off ANYWHERE and left them. Sure, the grandparents watch them and we have a couple of very trust-worthy friends who have babysit, but this was entirely different.

As soon as we got to the church Abbi was in full-blown OCD mode. I wanted to cry. We registered. She asked me where the bathroom is. We got name tags. She asked me where the bathroom is. We met the teacher's helper. She asked me where the bathroom is. We showed her to her mat. She asked me where the bathroom is.

You see, Abbi did not have to pee. She has a major issue with potties. She must know where they are, how the door closes, who will take her, if she is strong enough to open the door & if it is just 'kinda loud' or 'really loud' when the potty flushes. Preschool starts in a few weeks, and this has been her main concern. The potty.

The teacher (who will also be her preschool teacher) helped to calm Abbi down. This whole time Aiden was being a champ. He was excited.

The teacher's helper showed us to the restroom. Abbi was satisfied after the teacher's helper promised her that if she had to pee, she would show her to the bathroom. Mission #1 accomplished.

Mission #2? Will Abbi be picked up. Mind you, we have never left our kids. We would never leave our kids and the fear Abbi has about us leaving her is extremely real and a bit odd to me. I assured her over and over and over and over again that Papa would be there to pick she & Aiden up at noon. I imagine she asked her teacher the same question 50,000,000 times throughout the day.

I told the teacher on the way out I was going to go cry. Abbi stared at me but didn't start throwing a fit or sobbing. I would cry enough for the both of us...

So I got back to work and had to auto-pilot myself through the morning. My stomach was REALLY aching at this point. I was shaky. I was a MESS waiting for noon to come. I couldn't wait. I couldn't wait to call Papa and find out if the kids had done okay. I had lots of faith in Mr. Aiden. I prayed I wouldn't get a phone call about Abbi. I didn't.

Noon came and went. I waited til 12:30 to call, so I could talk to the kids too. Joel called me at one point and I panicked. I just knew something was wrong. Nothing was.

The kids were SOOOOO excited when I talked to them! They had a fabulous time! I'm pretty sure they didn't even miss me, which makes me want to shout from the rooftops and cry profusely all at once. Day one done, 4 more to go.

VBS was the topic of the night... all we heard about. Logan is a bit too young to go, so he stayed with his Papa all day. He probably loved the attention. Trying to fight for attention when you don't say much, and have twin crazy children as your siblings, must suck.

Tonight we drove into town. One of the kids' favorite things to do is to go through the car wash. We save this for special occasions (I almost said rainy days, but that wouldn't be appropriate) and cabin-fever days. The van gets washed about once every couple of months. (Seriously, it was eight freakin' dollars and it didn't even BLOW DRY the damn van! RIP I tell ya!)

We're driving through (it was nearly dark and it WAS dark inside the car wash) and the baby just started WAILING. Big old sick-cow wails... seriously, he sounded like a wounded animal. From his perspective, I could see why he was so outrageously scared. Tiny Logan (alright he's not all that tiny, but compared to me he's an ant) versus the big car wash machines. I felt for him.

On our way home I couldn't help but think about the scary things in life. If we fear things as adults, can you imagine how small children feel? The world is HUGE to us, which makes it GIGANOURMAMUNDUS to them. We stopped for a train, and I realized how scary a train could be. I just prayed that if it derailed, it would derail off the other side of the track. Trains = Scary.

We got home and Abbi pointed at a giant bug on the wall. She called me over, and it was a GIGANOURMAMUNDUS mosquito. GIGANOURMAMUNDUS mosquito = Terrifying.

See what I'm getting at? Life is full of fear. We spend hours a day avoiding them, making people feel better about them, facing them & beating them. I just pray the train doesn't derail, the mosquito doesn't suck our blood and the toilet doesn't suck our asses down with it.

Life is damn scary. We'll never get out of it alive.

It's not worth worrying about. That's just how it is.

The end = Petrifying.

Pink Casket & Denis Leary Sitting on my Desk

Happiness comes in small doses folks. It's a cigarette, or a chocolate chip cookie or a five second orgasm. You cum, you smoke the butt, you eat the cookie, you go to sleep, wake up and go back to fucking work the next morning, THAT'S IT! End of fucking list! -Denis Leary

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0248752/quotes

I tend to agree with Denis (about everything really). Happiness truly does come in small doses. I normally wouldn't drop an F-bomb in my blog, but hey! It's a quote... I didn't say it... Denis did :D

I am so utterly excited about several things right now!

1) We move into our new house September 1st. Bigger house, bigger yard, a sun room with skylights (I believe this will become my new happy place), closer to work (sorry Joel... further for you), kid-friendly neighborhood, buying rather than renting & a full basement to banish the kids to (do NOT call CPS... this is a JOKE :)

2) My babies start preschool this year. This makes me jerk with tears and giggle with happiness! On one hand, I am losing my lovies. They won't need me anymore. They are already shunning hand-holding and insist on scooping their own food onto their big-people plates. It makes me teary thinking about it. On the other hand, we are THAT much closer to 18 and freedom. NO I'm not trying to get rid of my kids... but it's good to have things to look forward to. As you roll your eyes, you know you're secretly agreeing with me.

3) Vegas! I'm going to Las Vegas in October with girl friends from work. OMG! The excited feeling I get when I think about Vegas is over-the-top, out-of-control, higher-than-any-illegal-drug CRAZY happy! We are on a strict budget due to the fact that I am not happy with ONLY a new home, but I also need a VACATION. Viva Las Vegas Baby!

4) The Beach! I don't know when. I don't know how. I don't know why, but I LOVE THE BEACH! The beach is literally my very favorite place in the world. I have many, many places I want to visit (and yes, I will see all of them cause my Bucket List says so), but the beach will, to me, will always be the most beautiful place in the world. And I'm not talking about a beach on the Scioto River... I'm talking about the OCEAN! The ocean people! I'm tellin' ya.... I love it! If I could fondle it and grope it I would! It's just that damn irresistible.

5) Vacation Bible School. Yep, I realize I'm a curser. I love it. That's one of those small things that makes me happy. Foul language. I have an English friend who curses like a sailor (do you know how much I wanted to add an F-bomb there?), and it cracks me the hell up! The thing is, my kids are going to be hanging out with other cool kids (and some bullying twit-peeps, I'm sure) next week at VBS... this is the first event where we will be dropping them off & leaving them. They are so excited, and Mom is too... I'll cry that entire week. Bang boom badalada... just give me narcotics, cause I'll be a weeping willow tree the whole freakin' week. Double my meds. That's what I'll do.

6) The beach in my new house! I will be decorating our new sun room in beach decor. Know what that means? I can go to the beach every damn day! Nah Nah Nah Nah Nah Nah! I'm thinking of sand instead of carpet... and a big tank people can swim in. Hmmmmmm.... brb... calling the decorator now.
Damn, he told me I was crazy... back to square one.

So moving on, if you were to see me on an every day basis, you would realize that the smallest things in the world amuse me! Here are some of those things:

1) The copy machine at work, get this, STAPLES and SORTS! It's freakin' awesome!

2) The coffee pot, get this, can be PRE-SET! So when I wake up in the morning, my coffee can be sitting there ready to burn my tongue! It's fabulous!

3) We aren't even close to being to the end of the 22 episodes of Rescue Me this season! Just this show alone could make me run after rainbows & find the end & drop kick a martial artist with the adrenaline alone.

4) My new house has a 4-car garage! I don't even own that many cars. In all honesty I don't even own one of my vehicles. The van still has many moons of payments on it, and the car is Dad's. I'm 30. It's good to have the bills paid :P

5) Budgeting to go to Vegas, go to the annual craft show (hey, I buy Christmas gifts there!) and buy a new house... even if it means we eat rice, bread, soup beans and corn from the field for the next few months :P

6) My computer at work has an absolutely amazing picture of Denis Leary on it, and my screen saver is Rescue Me. I say goodnight to Denis before I leave work. He loves me.

7) Good hair days. If my head is full of curly-cues and they are all over the damn place, I'm fanatically happy! If it's straight, dull and blah, the happy level is kicked down a notch. I'll stick with the kinks ;)

8) Catalogs! Oh my God, give me a catalog and I'm on cloud 9! Put me to bed, give me a stack of catalogs, a 6-pack of Down Home Punch, a telephone and a credit card with a fabulous limit, and I'm in heaven! I'm not high-maintenance at all. I just happen to like stuff, money and booze.

9) When I am caught up on paperwork, I literally think my co-workers should throw me a party, buy me a male stripper and have him feed me strawberries of the chocolate-covered variety. I like to be praised. And I like to be praised well. :P

10) Turning 30. Yes, I turn 30 in December. December 1st actually. I expect gifts... and a surprise party. Please? I act like I dread 30, but I really just want all the attention attached to it. Didn't you know? I like to be the center of attention... I want people to remember me when I'm gone. Oh, and I want a pink casket, so anyone who is still alive when I kick it, help me out with that. i also want Gavin DeGraw to sing at my funeral. See, even my funeral excites me!!!!!!

I have to tell you... it's good to be delusional. It's good to be amused by the teeny tiny perks in life. As I've said before, my thought process may not be healthy, but I'm happy, and that's all that really matters. Oh, that & my kids... I like them to be happy occasionally too.

Pink Casket! Don't forget...

Enter with Caution... Tree Huggers Welcome

My life in cars...

Mom's 90's GrandAm... yep, I hit a pole with it.

My punishment for running into the pole. It backfired... I loved my little car!

Our current car... a Lumina from 1492.

But OUR tires are not as pretty as the one's above. See?


Our current van... a Chevy Venture... we still owe $100,000,000 on it! YAY!

My future car... a 1970 Volkswagon Convertible Beetle... in Pink!

My other future car... a red BMW... I may have to cut off my legs, but it will be worth it...

I'm a tree hugger.

I have hit many stationary objects in my driving life. In driving school, I was more interested in impressing my absolutely edible driving instructor than I was learning to actually... drive.

Somehow I made it through the class & then went on to take my driving test... 3 times. I did fabulously on the written exam, but guess what? The written exam doesn't mean a damn thing if you can't actually drive. I hit cones the first two times I attempted the driving course. The 3rd time I hit a cone, but it didn't actually fall over. It just weebled and wobbled without falling down. So the teacher, get this, passed me! Woot Woot!

Every time I failed that test was like a slap in the face. Mom took me to Delaware (the town in Ohio, not the state, although I thought about it) because we heard a nasty rumor that there was an evil instructor in Marion, our town. We drove home the first two times, the non-passing times, and I'd cry and cry... I was NEVER gonna be able to drive. Damn cones! They were way too damn close together! SUCKERS!

You have to know me to understand why me driving is such a fear to so many of my family members & friends... and sometimes even myself. I'm blind... honestly, I'm blind... did you know you can be blind and still be able to see? Basically, if you see really sucky and squint more than you don't to see perfectly normal-sized objects, you are blind... legally. If, like me, you can't see a damn thing at night, and even when you put your glasses on or contacts in, you're still squinting to see the golden arches 1/800th of a mile from McDonald's, you are positively blind.

Every time I go into the BMV to renew my license I get squirmy, sweaty, silly and stupid. Seriously! I take my number from the maddening little number-machine and sit there, in the presence of Marion folk talking about the current drugs they are taking and who their dealers are. It's always a lovely errand to run. When they do finally call my number, normally 6-8 hours later (okay, I'm exaggerating a bit, but it feels like it!), I walk a fake saunter up to the desk, my head held high, full of fake self-confidence & enthusiasm, smile sweetly and put my head up against that little machine... and GUESS! That's right, I can't see any of it, so I guess. I pray my 6th sense will kick in, and I'll recite the correct letters... or numbers... hell, I don't even know if they are numerical or alphabetical... I've never seen them. It's always the same story. The chick or dude looks at me blankly, and as if they don't know what in the hell to do with me, they just stamp me as 'daylight restricted' once again. Almost 14 years of daylight restrictions. Believe it or not, I'm quite okay with that. I realize how lucky I am to be able to drive at all. Although I am blind, I can see... sympathy vote? YEAH BABY! Driver's License? YEAH BABY! I shouldn't but I do! Nah Nah Nah Nah Nah Nah!

So the day I finally got my drivers license, I got home and my mom reluctantly let me drive over to La Rue, a little town about 15 minutes from our house. My little sister went with me. Looking back, I realize my mom must have prayed on her knees the entire time we were gone. I can't even imagine my kids driving. The mere thought of it makes me grip my chair in panic, and I hear that feeling won't ease up as they get older. They're never driving. I just decided that. :) Aw, I feel better.

So anyway, Tara and I were on our way to La Rue, windows rolled down, listening to "California Knows How to Party" by 2PAC. I thought I was extremely cool listening to that song over and over again in Mom's red GrandAm. That car was hot at the time... not hot as in stolen... hot as in HOT! Even though I couldn't see the boys I drove by, I liked to assume they were admiring my car, my music & my skills. I'll never know.

We got to La Rue, I pulled into the parking spot, and BAMALAMA BOOM BOOM, I hit a pole. Yep, head-on, ran right into a pole... first day I had my license. It cracked Mom's license plate cover. Accident number ONE. Luckily, probably because I'm blind, I didn't get grounded, chored to death or stood in a corner. I think I got the sympathy vote on that one. :P

Not long after the GrandAm incident, I came home from school to find a little grey Plymouth Horizon in the driveway. I believe it was a 1987 model... not new, but new to me and I LOVED IT! I had to push on the gas just the right way to get the car to start, and there were tricks to driving it, but to me, that was more special than driving a normal car. No one could just jump in my car & drive it! I was the only master! The master of the Horizon! Yeeeeehawwwwwww!

There have been several driving incidents over the years involving me and various cars. Over the past few years, I have hit more mailboxes than I care to admit. Oh, hell, I don't mind admitting it... I have hit an average of 10-15 mailboxes, some in succession. It's not that I don't drive with caution... I truly do... I use more caution than the average driver due to my lack of vision. I do, however, focus on not going left to center, which in turn makes me hit mailboxes. You see, it's really not my fault. If the lanes were wider, I'd be fine. The town of Prospect is a dangerous place... small lanes. They aren't even really lanes... they're tiny little tightropes, just begging for you to mess up and hit something.

That brings me to my next story, or confession if you prefer...

A few years ago, pre-babies and in my skinny-mini days, I led Weight Watchers meetings. That's right... I was a leader! Scary thought, eh? Anyway, one Monday night after our weekly meeting, I decided to pull left out of the Southland Mall (which is a beautiful mall by the way, if you ever decide to take a field trip to Marion :P). It was dark. There was snow... and no lines whatsoever on the road. Everything was snow-covered. I turned anyway, and got into what I thought was the turn lane. I looked behind my right shoulder to see if there were any cars coming, and while I was looking back to my right, I was veering to my left. I ran head-on into a mini van. I immediately felt terrible. The driver got out of the van... a chick around 30. She had a few kids in the van, and I soon found out she had no insurance and no driver's license. She was busted, and it was all my fault. It was very cold that night, and when the deputy got to the scene, he asked me to sit in his car. When he called in my driver's license, the dispatcher read off my information, and then added "DAYLIGHT RESTRICTED ONLY" in a stern tone. BUSTED! The cop didn't even know what to do with me. He said he didn't know what to charge me with, if anything. He told me he'd be at my house the next evening at 7pm. UGH! 24 hours to dwell on what was going to happen to me. I just knew I was gonna go to jail, get beat up cause the Marion hookers and druggies would think I was stuck-up and prissy, then be put on house arrest for the rest of my days on Earth... I scared myself half to death... then the cop got there.

Mr. Nice Cop didn't charge me, although after further investigation, he explained to me that my driving after dark is just like someone driving without a drivers license at all. The crime I committed was one step below a felony... the highest misdemeanor possible. I was a criminal! Fortunately I wasn't convicted. And I rarely drive after dark now. :P Just sometimes...

So, the freshest incident in my mind occurred this past Sunday. My husband was doing a little job at my boss's new house. Hubby & boss's hubby went to get a part at Sears, and I decided to take the kids to get pizza. Backing out of the long driveway was a challenge for me, as long driveways always are. I veered off the path twice and had to pull forward and re-group. After my second re-group, I started to back up. My backup assist started beeping really fast, and then WHAM BAM BADALADA BOOM BAH, I ran smack-dab into a tree. I'm a tree hugger. The kids thought this was incredibly funny, and begged me to do it again. . I was too anxious to get out of there! I was afraid my boss could hear the crash from the house. I didn't even care about the van... after all, it has a missing side mirror due to a prior mailbox jumping out at me and several scratches from my friends & I running into other cars, etc. Yeah, that's right, I tend to hang out with other crashers... and they're not even blind! :P

I did feel that I should call hubby after tree-hugging, so I did. The worst part of this whole situation? The guys had been talking about the possibility of me hitting that tree even before I hit the tree. Nice of them to tell me. :P Joel assured my boss's hubby that I had backup assist so I should be fine. See, normally backup assist starts beeping slowly, and the closer you get to the car, tree, person, curb, monkey, barn-yard animal etc, the faster it beeps. It failed me Sunday. SUCKER!

I've been pulled over various times. I've only had one speeding ticket, which a haggy female trooper on St. Rt. 23 gave me one time on my way to work in Columbus. She was out to get me. I wasn't going THAT fast... 15 over is nothin'! Joel has told me of crazies going over 100mph in a 55 zone. My speed seems quite normal compared to that. Jeez! ;)

One time I got pulled over coming home from Marysville. I was following the flow of traffic on Rt. 4, going nearly 70mph in a 55mph zone. A deputy passed our long line of cars coming from the opposite direction. I slowed down a bit, saw him pass and then inadvertently sped up again. He flipped on me, pulled me over and let the long line of speed offenders in front of me speed along their merry way. I pulled off onto a side road, as to save myself from the pure embarrassment of it all. As soon as I parked, pretty lights sparkling behind me, who do I see? My dad. Yep, Dad pulled right up to the stop sign I was sitting beside. Oh the horror! I cried and cried! The cop asked me what was wrong, as I had been acting perfectly normal, and then suddenly lashed out in convulsions and full-on crazy-woman-ness. He let me go.

This year on Easter I, once again, was going 70mph in a 55 zone. Joel was home sick with bronchitis, and I had never been pulled over since he became a cop, so I wasn't sure if the cop-wife-magic would really work for me or not. Aiden sat in the back yelling that he didn't like the policeman. I was horrified. The cop asked me for my license, title & proof of insurance. I had my license, but none of the paperwork he asked for was to be found. I spit out "man, my husband is a cop... you'd think we'd be better organized"... he let me go. :P

So, although I've had many bouts with cops, polls, cars & bark, and the vehicles I've driven have the torture marks to prove it, I'm still alive, believe it or not.

I'm thinking of getting a driver... any volunteers?

Tactical... When to Shoot, When to Smile & When to Shut Up... a user's guide to being less-evil

Thank You.

That is my baby's favorite word right now. Give him a piece of paper to color on. Thank You. Change his poopy butt. Thank You. Give him a kiss before bed. Thank You Mom. He'll even yell to me, I'll look over and he'll just say Thank You. It's amazingly adorable, and it makes me feel really, really good.

It doesn't make me happy just because it is so freakin' cute! It amuses me knowing that we, as his parents, have taught him that saying Thank You is not only the right thing to do... it often receives a reaction.

Manners. My 4 1/2 year old twins are lacking compared to Logan. Logan is just a thanker. I truly hope he knows what Thank You means, and he doesn't just love me ogling over him when he says it. Just now... "Mom... marker"... I give him the marker... "Thank You".... and although he will most-likely miss the paper and draw on our graffiti-inspired table, or possibly even the living room carpet (also creatively decorated), he can get away with a lot more... all because of manners.

That brings me to our Walmart greeters. I'm not going to stereotype by saying they are all evil, but let's face the facts, some of them... many of them... are. My husband has befriended a Meijer greeter. Meijer must require smiles during interviews, and they must make sure that the people applying are physically able to pull a single cart out of the herd of carts they are in charge of.

Greeters have several jobs... I realize this... they must un-herd carts (optional), smile (very optional with the likelihood of a smirk or a twitch being 28%), pretend like they care (only if they have time during their shift) and put little stickers of returned merchandise. Sticker-time is the perfect time to feel them out... not feel them up... unless they are hot... and see if they are even capable of engaging in conversation.

One of the pet peeves (near the top) of my increasingly long list of annoyances is people who are paid to greet. I can't tell you how many times I've greeter a Walmart greeter and they haven't greeted back. It pisses me off.

Side Note: Just now Logan asked for water. I gave it to him. Thank You.

So many people need employment right now. I realize Walmart greeters probably make minimum wage, if not only free fountain drinks and pretzel rods. This is no excuse. When you are hired in to greet, you should greet. And management should enforce a niceness policy. The problem is... often management is even pissier than the pissy greeters. Jerk faces!

I'm not only picking on Walmart employees. I also don't appreciate it when we walk into a nice restaurant and the bulimic bleach-blonde, tanned-to-the-hilt 'greeter' gives us the once over, and without speaking, leads us to a table, only to say in a whiny, bitchy voice, "your server will be right with you" ... my response? "I hope he/she is nicer than you... it's a good thing you don't get the tips, cause you'd be one broke bitc.... oh, never mind"...

I grew up on niceness. Mom was always very polite... too polite at times. She admits that now. She finally got sick of people walking all over her. Mom is very assertive today. She is a manager, as am I, and we are both likeably assertive. I've also learned not to let people walk on me, and I love the fact that it's okay to be firm and still be fun! Firmly fun. Hehe!

My whole point is... there is no point in being pissy with the world. Bad days happen. People suck on certain days and then they get better. Bad things happen... mostly to good people. A day of evilness now & then is allowed... but every freakin' day? Seriously! How do you make that okay in your mind? How do you wake up and say "I'm hateful. I will be evil and pissy with as many people as possible today"... that is what we call the reverse of affirmations... assirmations. Say these things in your mirror every morning, and they will make people think you are a complete ass. Feel free to print the following if you need added asspiration... inspiration for mean people:

1) I suck. My life sucks. My job sucks. If I am mean to people, maybe I can make them suck, too!

2) YAY ME! I woke up bitchy for the 120th day in a row! I think I'll shave my legs and cut myself on purpose so I can bitch about it all day.

3) Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I'm gonna go eat worms.

4) If life were a porno, I'd be the 'go get me a bagel' boy, sent to run errands during every good scene.

5) Bad hair day, my boobs are sagging, I have missing teeth, the teeth I do have are green with fungus. I should go to my greeter job with a scowl on my face and my pistol carefully concealed... and pray I get to use it.

These are only a few of my favorite assirmations. Please email me for more information on learning to be an ass.

In all seriousness, I pride myself on being nice. Yes, there are days when I don't want to smile. I have even been known to yell at people for making me laugh or smile, after promising myself I wouldn't. Some days just suck. All days don't.

People don't deserve what you mean people put them through. The ultimate evil? Talking about someone behind their back and then being polite to their face. Ooooh, you have your own set of assirmations.... you are the ultimate evil.

The good news is, if you are an ass, an evil greeter or just a loather of everyone, including yourself, there is hope. Follow these simple steps and you cannot go wrong:

1) I am a hateful person. I am paid to greet people. If I don't be kind, I'll get fired and stomped upon. (Scare tactic... use regularly for consistent friendliness)

2) I suck. People know that. So if I even smile a little bit, people will wonder what in the hell is wrong with me and talk to me. (The glass is half full tactic. In all honesty, people may be scared half to death if you smile, and run far, far away)

3) People love me. They really, really love me. (The lie tactic... people really don't love you, but it's healthy for you to be delusional)

4) Although I have bad hair, sagging boobs, "summer" teeth and green fungus teeth, there is someone out there for everyone. (The wishful thinking tactic... you are wrong, but bonus! You went from self-loathing to self-loving. Enjoy that, cause that's the only lovin' you're gonna get!)

5) I might never be liked, but at least I'll try. (The Feel-Sorry-For-Yourself Tactic... people still won't like you, but at least you gave it a shot little buddy)

I hope these tricks, tactics, truths and assirmations have helped you in some way. I hope that if you are paid to be nice to people, you will try that. It's a shame that the nice folks have to sit at home and job hunt like an Amish man who hasn't eaten in a week.

Out with the hateful 'greeters' and in with the new.

It was a pleasure serving you today... visit us again soon. (The I don't really mean it but they pay me to say it so I will tactic)

Piss Sticks & Baby Blues

Abbigail Diane

Aiden Richard

Logan Michael

When I started to blog, I had no idea how I would ever choose a topic and stick to it. Thankfully I've realized that flouncing from topic to topic is just peachy. That way, there is a little something for everyone.

For instance, if you didn't have a big huge puddle of love in your heart for yesterday's poop post, I've decided to get off the poop track... get it? Poop track... hehehehe....

Moving on... to THINGS that poop... my children :)

Back before babies, I didn't know what kind of Mother I would be. In the back of my mind, I knew I wanted kidlets. Joel & I waited a few years to try. Don't get me wrong, we were practicing to try.. we were just taking precautions.

Once we finally did decide we were ready for babies, I couldn't get pregnant. We tried, and tried and tried... and after a while, taking my temperature, holding my ass up in the air and hoping that the little squirmies would get to the proper place got old. Sex was monotonous. If my temperature spiked, I would get so excited! I even charted online, and soon became very aware of what was going on with my crazy non-baby-making body...

The truth is, after a while I started to feel like my body was broken. I was in pretty good shape, I ate right, exercised and played by the rules. Getting pregnant can easily become an obsession when the stars just aren't aligning.

I no longer cared if I'd be a good parent... I just wanted a baby. We bought so many pregnancy tests, we could've easily paid for a cheap college tuition. And time after time, I either got no line where there should be a line, a negative sign where there should be a positive, or the incredibly evil "not pregnant" on the digital piss stick. My emotions were like a roller coaster. This went on for months & months...

One day I woke up and feeling a little queasy, which I had finally realized was me WANTING to feel pregnant and not a real sign of a growth, I stopped at Kroger on my way to work. I bought a cheap pregnancy test. I was too poor at this point to buy an expensive one, or even a two-pack of value piss sticks, due to my obsession with my own pee.

Rather than waiting until I got to work (I worked in Columbus at the time), I just went right to the Kroger bathroom. I had held myself off from peeing all morning, so I REALLY had to go! I had always heard that first morning urine was the best! And I wanted the BEST pee possible, especially with my icky queasies.

The test was positive.

There were 2 lines. This was a miracle. I got really excited, and started jumping up and down... in the bathroom, and out of the bathroom... right up to the brand new Starbucks, which had just been added to our Kroger. The barista must have thought I was a lunatic. I know I had craziness written all over my face.

At that point, I held the stick up in her face, and said, "does this mean I'm pregnant? Is this real?... She started giggling, looked incredibly amused, and told me she had seen a few of those sticks in her lifetime, and yes indeed, I was pregnant.

Joel had just started the police academy the day before. We didn't have cell phones at the time (how in the world did we function without them?) so I drove right over to see hm at work. He worked at Ashely Furniture at this time, his go-between job after plumbing and before the cop gig.

Joel didn't seem overly excited. I was crushed. He just stared at me, hugged me and smiled... but not an overly excited smile. Just a smile. I was ecstatic! We had been waiting for SO LONG! How could he not be shouting it from the rooftop? I wanted to beat him.

I later found out that Joel was just overwhelmed. He had started his new job not long ago, had started the police academy yesterday & now, after so many false hopes & negative tests, I was pregnant. Little did he know that just two weeks later we would find out there were two growths in my belly... little baby beans... Abbigail & Aiden.

I chose the name Abbigail, because I loved it. I decided to spell it with the 2 B's, because when I 'shortened' her name, I didn't want to have to add a B to the traditional Abigail. Why bother shortening if you have to add a letter later? :)

Joel chose Aiden. I liked the name, because Carrie on Sex & the City had a boyfriend named Aiden... John Corbett. Not only did I think John (aka Aiden) was hot... I also loved his name. So Abbi & Aiden it was.

I'm not going to get into the nitty-gritties of the pregnancy. More power to the woman who love being pregnant... I HATED IT! For such a long-time wish, I sure hated the process. But the outcome was so incredibly worth it.

Logan was a huge surprise... a true gift, although I didn't realize that at first, as I was beating my head against walls, cursing the doctor for telling me I would never get pregnant 'without help' and crying profusely, because unlike last time, I wouldn't be a 'skinny pregnant person'...

Yes, it took the idea of Logan a while to grow on me. I wanted to name him Gavin. Joel didn't care for that name. After much deliberation, and realizing that if I didn't come up with a name quick, Joel was going to name our child after an EverQuest character, we decided on Logan. I love the name Logan. I think it sounds nice with Abbigail & Aiden, too. My little cutie-bugs.

In the beginning, I was a fabulous Mom. I was extremely patient, and didn't let much get to me. After a week, I was a crazy woman. I had a bout with post-partum depression, which I'm not ashamed to admit, and it took me quite a while to find my place at home again. I felt like babies had invaded my home. Their toys, clothes, bottles, blankets, diapers, Baby Einstein.. everything... was just everywhere!

After finding my place as a Mom, I became a rather good, albeit flabbergasted parent. I'm still that way today.

Just tonight the kids were throwing toys into the crock pot full of water in the sink. Earlier today, they all decided to shake juice onto their heads, making them look like dirty mop heads when I got home. As I've explained in previous posts, they like to make food concoctions in the play room, and flush hotdogs down the toilet. Aiden called "Joel" instead of Daddy or Dad. Abbi once said damn-it and I couldn't help but laugh hysterically. Tonight I told Aiden to drain his lizard, something most Moms would never say to their kids.

We are definitely not your run of the mill, traditional-type parents. I enjoy being crazy, and have been accused of being random and "not right". I like that. I want my kids to learn that life can be fun... and they don't have to 'fit in' to be awesome people!

I'm glad I thought I would suck as a Mom. I'm glad we couldn't get pregnant right away. I'm glad I thought I was broken, and I would never see a positive piss stick in my lifetime. All of these things have made me a better parent... and a better person.

And I'm proud of that.

When Life Throws Poop at You, Finger Paint!

"When Life Throws Poop at You, Finger Paint!" -by Me.

This isn't a new topic that no one has never mulled over. In fact, I've learned that, in every day life, a lot of folks discuss dung. You know, BM, @n@l ooze, diarrhea, etc. Whatever type and no matter you may call it, there is a whole lot of poop-talk going on in this world.

If you work in geriatrics like I do, poop is a constant discussion. People either poop too much, don't poop enough, can't poop at all or play with their poop. That's just how it is.

As I've mentioned before, it's a bit glorifying to know that famous people poop on the same thrones we do... no one is exempt. That fact should make you happy! Famous folks get gas pains, poop bubbles, runs and turtle heads just like the rest of us! Yep! On the set of a movie, Brad Pitt may just have to run to the chamber pot and drop a load... cool, huh?

If you live on a farm or work with animals, poop is also always on the daily to-do list. Dung can be absurdly funny if you have an open mind. Horse apples, for instance. Seriously... you don't find that term to be fanatically funny? If not, you may not enjoy the list below. If so, read on... this just might make you snort a little... it worked for me!

I will start with the somewhat funny & move to the outrageously hilarious:

Poop Terms:

An Artifact: Mostly solid poop appearing to be normal at first glance. Once flushed, however, fecal remnants attach to the bottom of the toilet for the next pooper to discover. (Admit it, this has happened to you! I take pride in knowing it has happened to each & every one of us!)

Before I move on, I have to throw this out there, because I've always wondered. Do models who do not eat and/or regurgitate their food, actually poop? Something to ponder. If one doesn't eat, does one defecate? Hmmm...

Moving on...

Cabbage Poo: This is poop which comes out of the bum green. (I have noticed that grape Koolaid causes this type of dung in many children, and most adults.)

Cajun Poo: Poo that burns on the way out of the bum...

Cantaloupe Poo: A turd that is as wide as it is long, and makes a huge splash once it hits the toilet. (Think of it like little divers... that can really, really cause an ouchie.)

Ghost Poo: Poo that disappears once it hits the toilet. Kind of haunts ya... wondering where it disappeared to...

Salad Shooter: A form of loose poop that sprays out of your bunghole at a fast & furious pace.
(Think of Heidi Klum... yep, I bet she has had a spray or two in her lifetime...)

Spaghetti Poo: Turds that are so smooth and thin, they actually curl in the bowl. (Meatballs, anyone?)

Underachiever Poo: Poo that is so small, it wasn't worth pooing at all. (In moments like these, skid marks may be a back-up plan... perfect if you are driving down the road, and you just don't feel like wiping with a leaf.)

And my very favorite poop term, which I have never heard of or contemplated before this evening:

Upper Deck: This is where you take the top off of the back of the toilet and poop in the reserved water so that the poop is trapped. Every time the toilet is flushed afterwards the toilet will be filled up with fresh poo water. (This is so hilariously disgusting... I can't imagine ever doing this, but if you really don't like someone in your family, or someone at work, I suppose it could be great fun! Just remember... you'd have to have a very sick mind to pull this off...)

Now, onto poop synonyms. I have heard a lot of hilarious turd terms over the years. Here are some that have stuck with me (LOL) and some newbies I intend to use for years to come...

Poop Synonyms:
-Drop the kids off at the pool (my husband uses this term often)
-Drop anchor (I like this one... a lot!)
-Drive the Browns to the SuperBowl (New one for me... I plan to share this with my friends who are Cleveland Browns fans)
-Pinch a loaf (I find this phrase to be extremely gross, but after reading this blog post (if you've made it this far), you probably don't believe a word I say about all things disgusting...
-I have a turtle head pokin' out (Wicked giggles)
-Growing a tail (hehehe... imagine a grape Koolaid poo combined with a spaghetti poo...)

If you have other pooping synonyms, feel free to share them in the comments section.

I'm truly not sure how this poopy post will go over... after reading message boards related to poop, I've noticed that many people have a bur up their butts when it comes to dung talk. I warned you... hehehehehe....

Another poop quote:
"It might do the world some good if those with poop predicaments would start logging their logs" -also by Me.

On a side note, I want everyone to know that this topic idea did not come out of thin air (like a ghost poo)... the baby has pooped SO many times today, it has been utterly impossible NOT to think about poopy-butts.

If you have a sick, deranged, grossly twisted mind like I do... you completely get this, and won't have anything but sickeningly funny comments to add.

If you are a nose-pinching snoot, guess what? We know you poo, too! You can run but you can't hide! We know you have the best dung-drops of em all...

Oh Poop, I gotta run...



Resources:
http://www.workpoop.com/glossary.html
http://www.maclife.com/forums/topic/45074