Pennies From Heaven, My Ass-

I'm not big on credit cards...And I kinda pride myself on not having an lot of credit card debt. (That's not to say my mountain man doesn't have A LOT of credit debt that I may or may not have had something to do with)--In any event, I don't really do the charging thing...

I actually only have three cards, one of which is linked to our checking account and which I've been threatened advised to not ever use, since I always fail to mention that tiny $300.00 purchase two days before the mortgage is due...(hey, it was one time, and it was for shoes, fortheloveofChrist----Let ye not judge till you've walked a mile in my new Jessica Simpson pumps!)

Anyway, that one card? Sits in my wallet, at the ready, should I ever get double proofed for buying beer, smokes, gin baby formula at the local 7-11.
It is strictly for identification purposes only. When my murdered corpse is found under an over pass (would that just be in the street, then, if I was under an over pass? -What if I was found on top of the over pass? Would that make me over the over pass Would 2 overs negate one another, and then I'd just be in the gutter? See- dear reader- this is the shit that keeps me from writing the World's Greatest F*cking Novel---Sometimes? I get stuck in stupid.)
Anyhow, when Lenny Briscoe from Law & Order shows up and finds my body, it will be solely because of my unused debit banking card that I am identified....(Yeh, I know Jerry Orbach is dead, but this is my episode--and no, I do not know how or why I was murdered----I haven't gotten to that part in the script yet!!!!)
So, back to my credit card finesse...or lack thereof......In addition to the card I am not allowed to touch I do not use, we have a For Emergency Use Only credit card that I have personally never had an emergency to use for yet. I am thinking it is to be used in case of an untimely death (for mountain man, not me)and I need to hurry up and bury the body-probably before an autopsy linking me to the crime...oh, nevermind....

Suffice it to say, that's another piece of plastic collecting a lot of dust.
I also share a third shiny credit card with the mountain man..."Share" meaning I use it, he pays it, mostly! Sharing is good!
Now, generally, I use this card for every day errands; shopping, dry cleaners, gas...What mountain man charges? I've no idea. The bill comes in, he pays it, and life is good.

So, last week? I go to get gas one day, and I cannot locate the card I am allowed to touch I need. It is not in my wallet next to old stand by card (see above), it is not in the cavernous abyss that is my pocket book...I am at a loss...
I very carefully extract my Do Not Touch card, and pay for the gas. I recall the last time I used the card I Am Allowed to Touch am missing, and it was at the dry cleaners two days earlier.
I tell the mountain man as soon as I get home that
A) I had to use the card of Do Not Touch legends, and
B) The crisis is about to be solved because I know where I left the Card I Can touch!

Immediately, there is a wrinkle in the mountain man's brow--Have I mentioned how incessantly precise and anal he is when it comes to anything to do with finances? Seriously? He won't even round out a $9.99 purchase in the checking register. Heaven forbid we end up with seven or eight errant pennies at the end of the month!

I ignore mountain man's rumblings and "tsk"ing and call the dry cleaners...
After explaining my plight, the owner of the cleaners tells me that "Yes, we find card outside store two day ago." (Obviously not a french cleaner, m'kay?)
Great, I am half way out the door to pick up my lost misplaced card, when Mr. Miyagi tells me.."oh, but we no have card any moe. You no called back (yes, he had left a message the day before, but mountain man doesn't return dry cleaner calls -nor does he tell me about them either-sigh)...."You no call back. I call cledit company. They say to destoy cald. I destoyed cald."
Shit! So much for improved relations with China.

Mountain man sees me sit at the table with a pout. I can actually hear his
eyes rolling over me. Of course, having been a champion eye roller my entire youth, I merely deflect them with a "Who me?" smile, and set about calling the credit card company where I will be able to realign the planets as well as mountain man's eyes!

The credit card company agreed, that they had told my own version of Mr Miyagi to "destoy cald", and that as a * Bonus *, they had rendered mountain man's card useless as well!!!!!!! Never fear....they promised....new cards were being issued and mailed as we spoke....

Three days (and a hellofa lot of dirty looks a la mountain man) later...the cards have still not arrived, and I've had to resort to using the Do Not Touch card for everyday purchases *gasp* I know, I know...Mountain man's eyes are bucking and rolling more than a hooker at Mardi Gras. He's grilling me every night for the exact amount of purchase. to. the. f*cking. penny. Have I mentioned I don't even pennies? It's a wonder we are both still

alive at this point, no less still married....But that just may come to an end today.

Today, the travel agent called my mountain man. Apparently there's been a change in flights for our long awaited upcoming vacation. Without children. (Did I mention there are no kids going? Just checking.) The agent cancelled one flight and booked another, but there was a problem charging the second flight to the original card. Er, no sh*t. That's the one that is MIA thanks to Mr. No Tickee No Shirtee.

Mountain man called to tell me the dilemma.
"So uses the For Emergency Use Only card," I told him.
" This is a vacation, mysuestories. It's really not an "Emergency", he replied.

At which point I told him that if he did not give up that sacred f*cking card to the travel agent Right. This. Minute., I would be using that very same card for a "real" emergency. His funeral. After which I, the bereaved widow? Was gonna take a nice quiet vacation. With all three cards.
Who needs Calgon to take me away, when I have American Express?

Write a Book in A Month Update

What the f*ck could I have possibly been thinking? Fifty THOUSAND words in a month? That's over 1600 words per day. Did I mention I started on Day 2? I'm already 1600 words behind. Shit.

I mean, who enters these friggin' things anyway? Don't these people have jobs? Families? Hungry goddamn dogs? I am three days in, and heaven forbid I have to actually go to the super market or something. Jesus H Christ! I am so afraid to waste time on anything not writing that damned novel, I have decided to only eat binding foods for the month of November. I can't afford weak constitution right now!

And what if I want to have a night out? Or a Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings? Do I just buy the family Boston Market take out and hope they don't notice? (Hmmmm-note to self- check out Boston Market holiday hours).....

I am at 4000 words.... a mere 1600 words behind schedule on Day 4.

Shit. It's gonna be a long month.

And damnit! I just wasted 197 words here. Fuck!

Sexless Tuesday

I've been missing from this little space of mine ours, and it just may get worse before it gets better. You see, in all of my infinite wisdom, I've decided to commit to NaNoWriMo..which stands for something like I must be an asshole National Novel Writing Month...Anyway, I signed myself up for a 30 day crash exercise course in attempting to write a semi-coherent little tiny 50, 000 word novel in 30 days---OK...28 days. I blew off Day 1, and Day 2 (yesterday) was actually my Day 1.

As, you, dear reader, probably know already, writing is something that I enjoy. It is fun and I get to be funny. And even if you don't show up, I still get to write and pretend my nine massive following is hanging on my every word. So why wouldn't I take the one activity I savor simply for the pure enjoyment of it and turn it into the New York Marathon for one legged sprinters?

Now? I must punch out over 1700 words a night (did I mention EVERY NITE). I have to vomit write without any real thought as to plot and story line, 'because between working full time, commuting two hours. Every. Day. , cleaning, cooking, eating, having sex.........(What's that, constant reader? Oh, you caught that, did you? I just figured I could slip that one by. Boy, you are sharp) OK, OK... I don't actually cook.....but amongst all those other things I do, I figured, what's just a littlemorepressure!!!!!!!!

So, If I am sparse here, please be patient. But of course if you know anything about my commitment level (just ask my divorce attorneys) combined with my attention span (ohhh, twinkly lights!) I will most likely have scrapped the whole friggin idea, and I should probably see you Back here by Wednesday. This Wednesday. As in tomorrow.

Hey, a girl can only go so long without sex eating!

Christmas in July

Okay! Okay! Confession time! I finally did it. I jumped on the bandwagon I hate most. I have disgraced myself beyond belief. I. Have. Failed. Big time!

I bought our Christmas cards yesterday. In October. Before November. Shit. Before f*cking Halloween! I abhor those who jump on the Hallmark bandwagon, the CVS gravy train, the Walgreen's woody- where all holidays (and even non-holidays- What the f*ck is National Care Giver's Day, anyway?) must be pimped out months before their time.

I know how they play their game.....put out the bright sparkly lights and fake velvet bows with green (Hey- they could at least use RED f*cking twist ties on the red bows, no? I'm no art student, but give a non-crafty mom a break here, huh?) plastic twist ties affixed to the back. Place the pretty garland around the store in early October. This way? When I, the belated shopper, peruse the aisles frantically on Halloween Eve for something!!!! Anything, that could be used for a costume for a belligerent child!

But, nooooooo. Instead? Let this frantic, full time working, slightly neurotic, full time laundromatic, (did I mention non-craft-matic?!) mother of the perfectionist child find herself aimlessly wandering your stores, amidst the twinkly flashing icicle lites, babbling somewhat incoherently about Scream costumes of holidays past ( and perhaps -most likely - drooling a little on the left).

THAT, my faithful readers? Was the year I dressed my child, the boy I labored 26 hours for and promised God and all who were holy that I would from that day of birth forward to treat as if he were a true prince of this Earth- That was the year I sent him out trick or treating as a reindeer, with some awful set of light up furry antlers, and wiry garland wrapped around his legs and arms-his torso (God have mercy on my soul!) wrapped in a green felt Christmas tree skirt-

And that sweet child of mine---the one I swore would live better than Britney Spear's dog?- he turned his little cherub face to me and he said, "Momma? Momma? What am I supposed to be?"

And I turned to this child who I once swore would be treated as well as a prophet, and I said to him.."Why, sweetie? YOU are a reindeer."

And this prophet child turned to me again, and with a quivering voice said.."Momma? But I am green! Reindeer are not green."

And so I once again looked into the eyes of this precious gift of God, this one being whom I, and I alone (OK, so here, I boast!--it couldv'e been immaculate conception...It could have happened) created...And I looked him square in the eye, and I said, "Son? You know Rudolph was the most famous reindeer of all, don't you? "

And his little angelic cherub face nodded up and down.

"Well," I told him as I leaned in closer.."You just tell the other little trick or treaters that you are Prancer the Reindeer. And the reason why you are green, and not nutmeg brown like the other reindeer? You are jealous of that show off, Rudolph and his f*cking shiny nose."

And that, constant reader? Is why I had my Halloween costumes and decorations done in July. AND my Christmas cards bought before Halloween.
'Cause that kid? Can't lie worth a crap. He told everyone he was dressed like CVS in October because his mom was too late to the game.
Sigh.

The Occidental Jurist

Well, just like the locust, it came. I got my bi-decade (?) invite to Jury Duty!!!! Yea, me! Most people abhor the idea of being summoned inconveniently to sit in a jury waiting room for hours, only to be called to sit in a panelist room, where all types of people make up all types of excuses to get the hell out of there.

Perhaps you've noticed, constant reader? I am not your average people. Shocking, no? I love jury duty. The whole court room drama, the getting the inside scoop on other peoples' lives...and the ultimate power of me deciding whether they live or die!!! (OK, OK, so there is no death penalty in my state -- which by the way? Big mistake.....Talk about getting a lot more people to pony up for jury duty. I mean who could resist the urge to yell, "Fry the bastard!"? Just me? Oh well, nevermind.)

So, I got all dressed up in my courtroom finest....Jeans and a tee shirt- After all, it was a day off from work! I arrived promptly and smiling, ready to serve my country in it's hour of need. All right, so it was just my county I was serving, but damnit, there's a civic duty void that needed to be filled, and by golly, I was gonna answer that call!!!!

Forms were filled out. Basic information. Name, address, occupation, interests....and then I sat and waited with about 150 of my fellow compatriots in a room with several t.v.s and free wi fi. They even threw in a couple of public access computers for those who chose to use them. To say I was in heaven would be an understatement.

Finally, I and 35 specially chosen servants of our justice system....(Trust me, we were a raggedy looking bunch!) we were led into an impaneling room where they choose amongst us 8 people to sit on this trial. Which, sadly? Did not have a life hanging in the balance. Hell, it wasn't even one where you could shout out, "Guilty as charged, your honor," should I have won my campaign as jury forewoman (Oh, yes, I was so gonna campaign, with signs and homemade cookies, and I'd even buy lunch for those who voted for me!).

But alas, this case was to determine monetary damages to be awarded to someone who had already been deemed "Guilty as charged, your honor", in a separate proceeding.

Oh well, at least I could determine what amount of punishment in the form of cash would satiate justice. Eagerly I awaited my turn to be questioned. Six at a time, we prospective jurist were called to the front row of seats to be questioned about our homes, neighborly disputes, gardening...all things which would apparently be connected to the big CASE -of which we had thus far been told very little.

One of the attorneys addressed the room and asked if we as a group could refrain from using the Internet for the next few days to look up any prior details relating to this case. I felt myself get woozy. I mean, geez, how could you not use the Internet to sponge up more information? Lives (OK, dollars, not lives) hang in the balance here. I managed a small nod (not so much a lie, but rather an untested truth at this point) and the questioning continued.

A lawyer for the defendant (whom had already been found guilty as the day is long) read over my information sheet and looked over to me.
"Mysuestories?" he asked.
I nodded enthusiastically! Here was my big chance to whip out the campaign smile!
"Under hobbies and interests, you wrote here that you "blog"? What exactly is a "blog"?"
Geez, for an educated man, he wasn't very educated.
"Well, Mr Attorney for the guilty man, a blog is for me to share my highly valued opinions and lowly aimed for achievements and daily doings with the anonymous public at large."
He raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"I write about ALL the stuff that happens to me. for me, about me. It's like True-TV, 'cept it's more like "mysuestories IT", because, you know, no one has exactly been beating my door down with a TV show offer. Yet."
"So mysuestories,", he began. " You mean to say that you blab about everything in your personal life to people you don't even know?"

Well, gee, it doesn't sound quite so nice when you put it like that.
"No, sir. I don't blab about everything in my personal life. I blog about everything in my personal life. Oh, and also about the personal lives of everyone I have ever come in to contact with, in real life and on the web."

At this point, Mr. Attorney #1 looked at Mr. Attorney #2, and then turned back to me and said, "Thank you, mysuestories.... you are excused from jury service today."

Excused? But I hadn't even began my campaign yet. "But, wait, Mr Attorney....How about if I just leave some of the names blank? And I could even poll my readers on the amount of money to awarded...This way you could get the opinions of all (2) of my readers for the price of just me?"

At this point, a security guard came to escort me out of the impaneling room. As I clung to the door on the way out, shouting "I could make you an Internet Star, you fools!!!!!!", I realized there would be no forewoman election night victory party in my honor any time soon.

Deposited (rather harshly, I might add) in to the court parking lot, I dejectedly put my tail between my legs and drove home.

"How was your first day in court, Perry Mason?" The mountain man asked upon my return to our humble abode.
"Apparently, our justice system only wants jurors who are completely unconnected to today's technological world and have no desire to communicate juicy trial gossip with anyone. I mean, what kind of people do they think this world is made up of?" I lamented.
"I don't know, mysuestories. But while you were at the courthouse today? I got my own Jury Summons in the mail today. I hope I get picked for an exciting case."


Bastrd!!!! Not only will he probably not share any juicy tidbits about the trial with me ("mysuestories, I am under oath and cannot discuss the case outside the court room! EVEN if you throw yourself at me, I can not talk to you about this!!!!!") -They'll probably make him foreman of the jury. Shit!

Guess What? I'm An Idiot. Go Figure!

Hey! It's Our Annual SAW Fright Fest at mysuestories manor this month!!!!!! For the last few years, I gather up my devil spawn as well as those of a few friends, and we settle in to watch each SAW movie (usually one per nite), finishing up with the new SAW IV on opening nite. (Thanks Pammy, for the flicks, and Trisha for the snacks!!!)
We've been doing this a few years, and we are at the point where it is more comical than scary. Still. it is OUR little bit of Halloween tradition.
Scary movies? Don't scare me. Life scares me. Terrorists scare me. Hilary Clinton running for President scares me. But the indestructible, uncatchable killer? Not so much. Hell, CSI's Grisshom wouldv'e had him locked up within an hour. With commercials included!

Anyway, as I was preparing to put my 12 year old in front of this "horror flick" for the third consecutive year, I stumbled on this blog http://www.izzymom.com/ ...specifically the post titled "What Kind of Idiot Thinks This is Okay?"

And I'm sure you know me. I keep my loud mouth offerings thoughtful opinions to myself. Except this time....This is a day of new revelations, isn't it?


Anyway, that "What Kind of Idiot Thinks This is Okay?
Apparently, that idiot is me. Make sure you click on the comments section. Especially Comment #1 (Yes, I AM Number 1, even if that means I'm a #1 Idiot).....

Oh well.. I'd love to chat, but I gotta think of a Halloween getup for the gamester. I'm thinking maybe a Jeffrey Dahmer (pre- institutional shower murder)..and I have to find an Asian/zombie willing to walk around the neighborhood with the kid Halloween nite..... Or maybe he could go as the current state of the US Health care system....Anyone know how to make a kid look non-existent?

You Can Keep Your Sugar and Spice..I Like Dirt

I was reading my usual hundred or so blogs, and I came across one that was trying to explore that which is the mother and son bond, and it was all puppy dog tails and the sweet rambunctiousness of little mop haired boys with devilish ways and pockets full of marbles...

And it led me to reflect upon my relationship with my sons.

And there wasn't a damned happy puppy dog tail memory in sight. ( No easy feat, I assure you, as we actually have had 3 puppy dog tails in our lives, only they have grown to become the mangy pack animals of confused sexuality found here: MYSUESTORIES: That Doggy has Style )

But there is a special bond between those future farting champs I call my sons, that I don't believe I would ever share were I cursed enough to bear daughters. ( Besides, belching, farting girls? Never leave home.

That mother/son bond? Oh it's there, all right. How else could I ever explain my ability to capture and provide housing for any assorted varieties of reptiles, amphibians, and (((shudder))) spiders? Not only have I played a ridiculous version of Steve Irwin procuring various vermin from the wilds of our backyard, I have then been blessed with laying out oodles of $$$$ to buy insects and creepy crawlies of all types with which to feed those little f*ckers. The vermin, dear reader, not the boys....although technically, ...oh nevermind.

Not only have I had to buy and transport these bugs, I then had to bring them into my home! These are the same creatures that, had I spied them crawling across my floor under normal circumstances? I would happily smash them with a well heeled shoe, all the while screaming my trademark battle cry of "Die, M@therf*cker!"

Puppy dog tails? I say NAY NAY. True motherly love is snatching an eight inch garden snake who has been AWOL for a week out of the heating element, all the while yelling "I've got you now, you little b*st*rd! " (Again, to the vermin, not the boys.....not that there haven't been days.....nevermind.)

Yeah, show me a mom with a cute, clean young man with manners and a pet rock and I'll show you a woman afraid to venture into the wilds with her off spring. Me and my devil spawn? Get us an old sauce jar (preferably with some sauce still coating the bottom!) and we'll take that brat's little pet rock and find us some creepy crawlies underneath it. 'Cause that's how we roll here at mysuestories manor.
Why, that cute, clean little well behaved boy? I bet he doesn't even make it the burping playoffs!! Heh!