Friday, January 30, 2009

Mysuestories in 25 Random Thoughts

Okay, so I got tagged. As in "You're it" cyber space-wise. You (Me) are supposed to list 25 random facts, ideals, details, darkest deepest secrets about yourself. Then you are supposed to chain letter 25 other poor unsuspecting slobs to do the same. Just to get to know one another better. Well, I'm not a big fan of chain mail (even if it is chain e mail), so I won't be tagging anyone. But feel free to post in comments your 25. I'd love to see them . (Or ANYTHING else you'd care to comment on.)

Here goes.
25 Random mysuestories factoids

1. I laugh at my own jokes all the time.
2. I usually laugh ALONE at my own jokes all the time.
3. The entire world still revolves around me even though I am no longer 3 yrs. old.
4. Two of my 3 dogs are gay.
5. Ok, maybe only one is gay, but the 2nd one doesn't mind so much.
6. I still hate vegetables and won't eat them at all.
7. I have married vegetables.
8. My current husband is NOT a vegetable. He is more like a steak, tough on the outside, but sweet and rare on the inside.
9. I love to write about anything (now THERE'S a revelation for ya!)
10.I will talk your ear off if you let me.
11. I can cook, but pretend I can't.
12. I LOVE to clean.
13. I like the smell of soap.
14. My kids are a source of my greatest accomplishments.
15. My kids are a source of my greatest angst.
16. i can be such a b*tch at times- I know, hard to believe.
17. I took a what kind of Mom are you quiz, and the answer was Peg Bundy. Tomorrow I'm getting my big, poufy hair cut.
18. I still think I will win the lottery some day.
19. I don't actually buy lottery tickets, but when Mountain Man wins, I will tell him we are partners.
20. I love to take pictures of everything.
21. Most of my pictures suck, but every 100th is pretty good.
22. I am addicted to crime shows.
23. I always look for places that would make a great body dump site.
24. I have NEVER used on of those places. Yet.
25.I probably could use therapy, but they'll never take me alive!

Well, that's me in a nutshell. Sort of.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

The Cat Is Out Of the Bag-Or Maybe It Is The Bag

I have got to start watching better television. Or better yet, maybe no television at all. Here I sit watching a show on the History channel about mercenaries trying to catch people who are illegally fishing off the shore of Liberia. (I know. This is really important stuff for me to be learning about! ) You never know when I might end up at a black tie affair and someone quite snooty might mention the audacity of illegal fishing off the coastal peninsula of Africa while cramming gross amounts of caviar into his gullet. And I, while sloshing vodka over the sides of my martini glass (how the hell does anyone drink out of those damned funny shaped glasses anyway?-Or is that part of the joke---the more you drink, the more you slosh?). Anyway, as I very gracefully soak my host's rare Persian rug with Stolichnaya, I can very casually say while trying not to slur, "Isn't it simply mahvelous that the Liberian government has no compunction about hiring mercenaries who more often than not use illegal tactics to uphold the laws of said governing body, and who would probably shoot my grandmother without a second thought should she have the poor misfortune to be sailing in their waters?"
Then I would very elegantly pick the the olives from the bottom of my glass and suck the vodka out of them.

But that's not even the reason why I simply have to stop watching the tube. During this particular episode of something akin to "Jaws, The Illegal Fishermen Hunters", a commercial played. Now, as intent as I was on watching every minute detail of "The Fish Wars", I , like most other short spanned Americans, generally tune out all the commercials. And I did.

Until I heard the words "sterilizing and reusing my catheters." Well, THAT sure got my attention. Are you listening Super Bowl Sunday advertisers? Use the words "sterilizing and reusing my catheters" in your next Budweiser commercial. I guarantee sales will soar!

Apparently, there is a woman (and there maybe more just like her), who due to poor insurance choices, could not afford to purchase new catheters, and so she simply washed them and hung them next to her panty hose over the shower curtain rod. (I'm guessing that's where she dried them. I don't think the dryer would have been a good choice, but again, I'm not sure of anything at this point.)
Don't despair, dear reader, because the good people at Liberator Health Insurance were more than willing to bail this woman out for a price she could afford. Now, I've no real idea (or even an imagined one, at that!) on how much catheters cost, but I'm gonna go out on a limb here, and say that I would stop eating before I start washing and reusing them.

Again. Way too much information. And during prime time, I might add. My prime time being that hour between finishing the dishes and putting up another load of laundry. Shudder to think I might one day have to squeeze in catheter washing, too.
Oh and the best part? The whole time this woman is spilling her guts/sharing about her sterilizing catheters, she is playing with a cat who happened to have also been sterilized. Ironic, no? Or maybe she just sterilizes everything around her. I didn't see any children. Hmmm. Maybe her problems run a little deeper than shitty insurance.

Maybe I need a hobby. Or maybe I just need to watch better t.v.

Whatever the case, I can tell you one thing for sure. Tomorrow, the Mountain Man is going to march into his Human Resources department at work and make sure our insurance covers unlimited new catheters. And they had better, because I was so dumb struck at the content of that commercial, that I didn't bother to catch the phone number of that God send of an insurance company!

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

At Least He's Reading Something!

Reading has always been a big deal in my house. I've always thought that the person who reads a lot has much more going for him academically and socially. I believed that reading was the foundation block for your entire house of life. I read to my kids as they were growing up and encouraged them to carry on in the course of their lives.

My youngest would spend small fortunes at book stores and book fairs, and he continues to read with a passion. My 17 year old kind of lost his love for reading over the years, and it saddened me quite a bit. Imagine my surprise when I saw this yesterday.
From He's Reading

That's right! He was reading. On his own. For pleasure. My heart soared. For about two seconds. What was he reading, faithful reader? "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" by Hunter S. Thompson, the man who made LSD a household word. Great.
But at least he WAS reading something, right?
Fast forward to this morning. My 11 yr old picks up that book off of the couch and asks, "What is this?"
"A book," says I. "And not just any book. It's a book your brother is reading." you could hear my pride shining through.
A look of surprise comes over his face. He flips open the book to this:
From He's Reading

For those who can't make out the details (conside yourself lucky!), it is a caricature drawn by Ralph Steadman (?) of a naked man bent over a toilet bowl puking his guts out while an obviously shocked cleaning lady looks on in horror.

Mr. Very Astute Eleven Year Old puts the book down and says,"Maybe we ought to start saving up bail money for my brother now."

But at least he was reading SOMETHING, right?

Monday, January 26, 2009

The Icing on the Cake

This time last year, we were planning a wedding. OUR wedding. It started out small and simple and grew into this humongous intimate party for 200. The details we never really cared about became insurmountable. Invitations were chosen (by the Mountain Man- he has a flare for details!) , bands were booked, the venue chosen. The cake was picked out, and we were faced with the search for the cake topper.

Mountain man has in his possession an actual Lladro figurine of a wedding couple. It is a statute of a dour looking man dressed quite English proper, holding an even staunchier,sour pussed bride in a pose a la carry me over the threshold.
From The icing on the Cake

From the looks of this most unhappy soon to be betrothed couple, the only place I wanted them carried to was the trash.

I searched wedding shops, Macy's bridal registry, Fortunoff's, and any other wedding related venue I could think of. And I did not turn up one single alternative to Mr. and Mrs. Grim. In true earnest fashion, I gave up my search and turned my thoughts to greener pastures: The honeymoon. I hightailed it to the travel agent and picked up stacks of travelogues toting all of the most romantic venues to commence the honeymooning.

About half way through my fifth (or eighth?) travel catalogue, I stumbled upon an ad for the Paris Hotel in Las Vegas. (No, we were NOT heading to the Elvis Chapel for or after the wedding!) in the ad, however, was a picture of a cake topper. It had a dapper young man embracing a very sexy bride whose legs are wrapped around his waist as she runs her fingers through his hair while passionately thrusting her tongue down his throat. Okay. You can't actually see that detail, but trust me. It's there. Or at least it should be!

I set out to locate this cake topper of all cake toppers. I checked every online carrier of wedding wares. I searched craigslist and e-bay , the latter from which I learned another young bride to be was searching for the same topper. Only my search was taking place in the winter of 2007. Her plea was to locate that same item by June of 2005. It appeared she failed. Whether they went with the grumpy Lladro couple, or called off the entire wedding in frustration, I couldn't tell you. Nor did I care. I was on a mission.

I called the advertising department of the magazine I first spied my happily married couple in, and was assured the cake topper was crafted solely for the print ad, and that they had no further details, other than it was used in just that one shoot.

I went back to the ad itself and called the Paris Hotel In Las Vegas ( After explaining my plight to everyone from housekeeping (honest, that's where they transferred me first!) to corporate headquarters, I was finally hooked up with their public relations peeps. Luck be a lady, the woman I spoke with actually remembered the ad which had been shot five years earlier. And yes, it was a one photo shoot ad, and no, she did not know where that piece may have ended up. She did promise to do some research and get back to me.

A week later, and about ready to cave in to the "We must HAVE to get married, because we sure don't look happy about it" couple, I received a call from my angel at the Paris hotel. It turns out that that one ad had generated A LOT of publicity and inquiries about the mysterious cake people. So much so, that the year prior to my call, production had been ordered to recreate that cake topper. And production HAD, well, produced!

For a small fee (okay, not so small- this IS Vegas, after all) the cake topper to end all toppers was ordered and finally delivered! Wrapped and under our first joint-Christmas tree (No, it was NOT a marijuana plant! It was our first tree TOGETHER-honestly, constant reader, what were you thinking?). Anyway, come Christmas morning, my groom to be was more than ready to retire the Lladros back to their box in the back of the closet.

And come the wedding? That cake topper was a HUGE hit! The guests loved it, the DJ and pianist loved it, even the caterer commented on it. Oh, and best of all? My eleven year old said it was gross! Yup. Nothing says perfect than the eyes of a pre-teen rolling back into his head! It sure was the perfect topper to a perfect day!
From The icing on the Cake

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Look Whos Advertising Today!!!!!

Hey! Check out today's new advertiser! You too can go on a good ole Texas Big Trophy Hog Hunt for only ONE DOLLAR! Yep. The three day/two nite hunt carries a $225.00 trespass (??) fee, but if you catch a big piggy, they only charge a buck (one dollar, not a deer!)to harvest it (that means chop it into bacon like slabs and pork chops, I guess!) Who woulda thunk?
So visit my new friends at
Don't forget to tell 'em mysuestories sent ya. Nobody will be more surprised than them!

Educating the Faithful

Okay, faithful reader. You've been hanging around here quite a while, now. And don't think I haven't noticed. I have. Even if your comments are far and few between. That's okay. I like lurkers. It saves me the time of deleting those comments which are not 100% mysuestories flattering. Trust me, it's easier to find a pair of tight fitting jeans that look great on me than to find a nasty comment here. So here's your reward for being such a well behaved silent reader.

Time to add a little insight into the love that is mysuestories and Mountain Man. If you're still reading, I figured you've earned this much, at least.

Six Things I Love About My Mountain Man

1. His eyes dance when he laughs. It's true! Those pretty eyes could light up Rockefeller Center at Christmas!

2. He cooks scrumptious, delicious dishes. Anyone who's had the pleasure to share a meal with us will back me on this one!

3. He has fun at ANYONE'S expense (even his own)!

4. He is kind and strong.

5. He thinks the world of all of us, family and friends alike!

6. He thinks HE is lucky to have me.

Six Things About My Love For My Mountain Man

1. It is one of my finest accomplishments to make him laugh.

2. I love that he cooks, even on the rare occasions that I don't like what he makes!

3. He IS fun for everyone's enjoyment, even when it is at MY expense.

4. He is sweet, caring, and our rock in a sea of constant change.

5. He thinks the world of all of us, family and friends alike!

6. I KNOW I am lucky/fortunate/grateful to have HIM!

Oh, and did I mention he is soooo cute? He is. See for yourself!
From Untitled Album

See? Told ya!
Thanks for stopping by, constant reader. I am happy to have you!

Friday, January 23, 2009

The Game of Life

"Let us put our minds together and see what life we will make for our children."
-Sitting Bull

Did Sitting Bull even have children? Because in MY world of raising chldren there isn't exactly a game plan. Hell, in MY world, there isn't even time to THINK of a game plan, no less enact one!

Part of MY game plan includes the necessity of both myself and my husband working full time. And in my case, that working aspect is dependant on a forty minute commiute each way. As tempting as it may sound to be a stay at home mom, we have decided that eating is probably higher up on the priorities list. Hence, we work. Alot.

That's not to say we don't get to raise our children. We do. We raise them each morning by alarm clock and via at least one telephone call. Usually two. Both of us are pretty sure the other will have forgotten to call them, so there is both of us calling usually within minutes of one another. Ironically, the conversations are identical.
" 'Lo?" Voice of one half asleep child, who always sounds as if this is his FIRST ever early morning call, and is never sure of who it might be.
" Are you up and moving yet?" Voice of one of two parents via phone from work station.
" Grunt." Voice of child pretending to sound semi awake.
"Excellant! Don't forget to eat a good breakfast. There's plenty of high fructose cereals in the cabinet, and if you add an additional spoonful of sugar, that should give you that early morning kick to get you on the bus in time."
Repeat conversation two minutes later with OTHER parent via phone from work station.

After school, both children find their way home from the bus stop, where miraculously they have no homework to accomplish. At least none that they remember until 8:30 that evening. Which ironically is the hour I am trying to herd them to showers and off to bed. It's a wonder what the threat of soap and water can bring to the mind of children. Maybe they should try this with amnesia patients? Just a thought...

Afternoons will find us shuttling the kids back and forth to sports and friends houses and the mall. Again, the kid calling my cell from home has not a clue that I am right this minute picking up one child at the mall, which is RIGHT NEXT TO the goddamn movie theatre he needs a ride to! We are proud to say it is not just us parents in this clan who do not plan! Apparently there is a genetic trait at work here somewhere.

Dinner is always served hot and plentiful. Tales of our seperate day's activities are melded together. Tables are cleared. Dishes washed. Laundry cleaned and folded. Maybe an hour of t.v. or games. Then it's homework, showers, and the thought of another day appproaching.

Don't get me wrong. There are also exotic vacations and fishing trips and restaurant nights and mini golf. There are family gatherings and celebrations. There are festivals and craft fairs and fire department fairs. And we share books and photographs and movies and stories and lots of laughter.

And at the end of our days? Whilst another long work day looms above us? We smile. All of us. Even (in spite of?) our moody teens, tweens, and twenty-somethings.

Yeah. I guess that IS the game plan. And you know what? We wouldn't have it any other way.

And Sitting Bull? Well, I think he's just that. Making a life for one's children involves a lot less sitting AND alot less bull, and a hell of a lot more doing and making it happen!

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

A Dear by Any Other Name

The mountain man went off to forage for the nourishment needed to keep his family hearty throughout this winter. Yep. Another hunting trip.

This was just a short day trip where a lottery is held to claim a limited amount of spots, and my rugged and fierce hunter husband and a few others (hunter hubbies) and assorted offspring set off into the vast unknown. Okay, not so unknown. It's all preserves and it has been quite mapped out, and they (the hunting people in charge- I suppose) send each hunter into his own section so as not to shoot each other up.

So there was my mountain man, deep in the woods before the crack of dawn with nary a soul around. It was just him, his Remington Shotgun, and his cell phone. Oh, and his handheld GPS. Did I mention that while lugging all this survival equipment, he was wrapped in a BRIGHT ORANGE camouflage jumpsuit over three layers of long johns, sweats, pants, double socks, sweatshirts, inner glove liners, outer mittens that expose the fingers on command, hefty snow boots, AND the pre requisite BRIGHT ORANGE hat.

Now, under the best of conditions and attire, my loving man is not one to tip toe delicately through any body's tulips, and that's BEFORE he's wrapped up as if on an arctic expedition to the summit of Mt. Everest. Hell, if he had fallen over out there alone, he damn well may have needed to phone a friend for assistance! (Think turtle on it's shell!) Add to the clothing hindrance the inevitable cussing and swearing that simply must emit from Our Jolly Orange Hunter after following deer tracks for hours in 10 degree weather with nary a buck in sight.

Picture if you will, Joe Pesci's Bambi, from My cousin Vinny. She (Bambi, not Pesci) and her younguns are sipping cool water from a little brook in the quiet forest, when, suddenly there is a great thumping and shaking of the ground a la Fee Fi Fo Fum. You can see how this might be a problem, no?

But, undaunted, our head of household and slayer of creatures great and mighty perseveres through rain, snow, get the picture. And finally, after hours of tracking and trailing, trudging and spying, It's there. A most beautiful 12 point buck comes into view not 30 yards from where our mighty hunter stands. Locked and loaded, he raises his firearm, ready.....aim.......

"Sonofagun! Dadburnit! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! " Shouts our brave and handsome Grizzly Adams ( Except his language was NOT family friendly, I assure you.)

What happened, asks you, oh constant reader? That ready...aim... lead up? Well, apparently that was when the brave and mighty warrior's cell phone went off full volume. Scaring that handsome buck and EVERY OTHER sign of wildlife within miles! Sigh.

And what was the call that ruined the deer meatfreezer fill up season of 2008? Why I just called to ask him to pick up some nice crunchy rustic bread on his way home to accompany those deer ribs.

He did. Pick up the bread that is. It was wonderful. With Cream of Potato Soup.
From A Dear by Any other Name

Sigh. There's always next season.

He DID get one great shot, though.
From A Dear by Any other Name

Ain't that sunrise a beauty?

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

A Star is Born

I can sing! That's right I CAN SING! The only problem with that, is, I, um, well, I don't sing very well. But does that matter to mysuestories? Nope. Not. One. Bit. And I'm not talking at home, in the privacy of the shower singing. Nope. I'm talking front stage and center with a LIVE microphone in front of a room filled with strangers singing my little heart out!

It really did happen that way! Oh, that I could take it back.....Nah. I don't think so! The mountain man took me out for an evening of drinks and laughter with some friends. Did we even KNOW it was Karaoke nite? (You bet we did!) Did we know our favorite Karaoke team THE BOOZE BROTHERS- Karaoke with a TWIST! was even going to be there? Of COURSE we did. Did we throw every shed of human dignity and propriety out the window? Damn right we did!

First, our hosts: The Booze Brothers are a fabulous team of karaoke artists "On a blues mission" . They dress just like our famed Dan Akroyd and John Belushi, and they nail every single one of their on a mission from God hits perfectly!

There's Jake:

There's Elwood:

And then there's Tim - I'm thinking Elwood had an illegitimate child with Aretha?

No matter! They are stupendous. Everyone adored them. And THEY weren't even the main act. Nope, that's right. It got even better.

Now, on microphone, after having been asked (?) to leave the eighth grade chorus and having not only NOT improved since then, and probably declined quite a bit; is: (drum roll please, Elwood)----MYSUESTORIES!!!!!!!

Yep.... After simply a few *cough* libations, MYSUESTORIES seemed to forget that her talents with words lie within her trusty computer keyboard, and just because you can spell it or say it, certainly does NOT mean that you can sing it! (Don't believe me? Ask any number of dogs residing in my fair town, who may have spent the evening sleeping UNDER the doghouse that night!)

It all started with Mountain Man and his good friends G. and M., and their rendition of Rawhide. (Nervous yet, dear reader?) Nobody sings "git 'em up" quite like my man. I thought their trio could use a fourth party to make the sound of the whip cracking. Forget the fact that I don't even know what that quite sounds like. No matter. It was my party (well, not really) and I was not gonna be deterred!

Miss P. and I combined forces on "Me and Bobby McGee", and constant reader? If you've ever seen the studio version of Janis Joplin singing that song and twirling madly during the na na la la de la.....part? Not such a good idea after several drinks!

We as a group sang "The Weight", which is an old favorite of our clan.....

Annnd....You put the weight right on me......"

And the grand finale was probably "Alice, Alice...Who the f**k is Alice?" (Where DID that song come from, anyway? And just WHO is this woman who brings forth such chanted rage?)

Oh, there were lots of other folks singing their hearts out, and I made more than one new friend that night. Of course, they, too, were imbibing and may be tone deaf as well! No matter! Those just happen to be two qualities I love in people!

Thanks Jake, Thanks Elwood, and um, Thanks, um, Tim? Had a blast playing rock star! And I had the hangover to prove it!

Oh, and to the couple who were singing Sonny and Cher's "I Got You Babe", Thanks for being so tolerant, even though it was quite clear you needed no backup from me!

So, until the next time the BOOZE BROTHERS-Karaoke with a TWIST comes to MY town (Not to worry, fellow rockstar-wannabees---I WILL post it here first!), you'll just have to settle for my playing the old laptop. However, I WILL still be singing daily in the shower if you're passing by!

Feel free to contact the BOOZE BROTHERS-Karaoke with a TWIST! and find out where they'll be appearing next! THEY DO PRIVATE AS WELL AS PUBLIC SHOWS Karaoke and DJ's for ALL OCCASIONS Call Larry "B" a.k.a. ELWOOD 631 926 8721 email:
hmmmm... I wonder if they'd fit in my shower?

Friday, January 16, 2009

Spicing Things Up!

Spice. It's what keeps a love alive. Unless it's Old Spice, in which case, it's what masks the smell of sweat. Or death. Or thievery. Some times, spice is what you build an entire life upon. Like old family recipes; rich in their savory scents, or maybe in the thrill of a good sauce simmering on the stove on a blustery evening. Join me in an oft forgotten tale in the never ending saga of the joining of mysuestories and the mountain told by mysuestories spice. (Granted, I'm no Posh, but I have been known to kick up the comfort level of hot wings on occasion!)

Once the mountain man and I decided that the fates had collided together with enough force (read: neither of us are getting any younger here, people, and that mysuestories, well she's got MAJOR issues;- and opportunity can barely find her door, no less knock upon it!) that we did find ourselves enveloped in that which we describe as true love. And once a truly true love has borne amidst all the majestic happenings in this wonderous universe, major life altering decisions have to be made.

In such a rapturous relationship. we were intent on combining two entire worlds (ie: kids on both ends, and dogs of unnatural sexual attraction- and more importantly-----twice the kitchen appliances with half the counter space!) Something HAD to be done! After all, who really needs 12 serving spoons, ninety seven pieces of mismatched flatware, and THREE can openers (that's right, three of them - in addition to my one electric can opener, apparently Mountain Man felt the unchained need to have a back up manual can opener PLUS his trusty electric powered version...In case of power outage lasting long enough to have us fighting over the last can of spam?). And so it was decided. Some of this crap/ wonderful heirloom treasures had to go.

I believe I am comfortable enough in our relationship, dear reader, to share a little known fact about the Mountain Man, here. One that is imperative to the telling of this tale. My honey has NEVER moved. That's right. Not. Once. Oh, he has moved and humped the belongings of dozens of friends, acquaintences, and yes, faithful reader, even mysuestories, twice. But as for packing up his childhood memories or purging those items you haven't used in years and tend to toss out on moving day rather than lug it across the state, he's never been there, never done it.

The house we are currently renovating is the same house to which he and his siblings were brought home from the hospital as newborns, and he has never once had to decide which most valued and cherished childhood memory is not worth tossing in a box and carting across town. Therefore, my darling, sweet, adored and most loved Mountain Man had managed to become, well, a pack rat is such a strong term. Let's just say he collects stuff. Lots of stuff. Stuff he hasn't looked at in years. Stuff he doesn't even know is there. Stuff that had to go.

We sorted, picked through, and gave away hundreds of every day items, many of which were only desirable to those most desperate or newly apartmented teens. We e-bayed and cragislisted a truck load of finds both from his stash and mine. And when all was said and done, we had left one HUGE pile of stuff. Still. After months of purging. Tons more of stuff. Left. To fit into a house that was slowly being rebuilt and filled with double the people and triple the dogs. In half the space.

Coming from the suburban upbringing of my childhood, that left only one option. We would have a garage sale. Yep. We would (and did) advertise all these now wonderfully described items on craigslist and in local newspapers and put up signs in nearby stores and telephone poles (which by the way, with everything being run via satelittle these days, you'd think there'd be less of those by now, no?). Road signs were planted and the big day arrived. We hauled out our most beloved trash, um, er, belongings, and layed them out in the front yard, and let the games begin.

In a word? It was ugly. I can now say I have seen a side of my neighborhood that literally scares the shit out of me. Vultures is a word that comes to mind.

Forget that we advertised a 9 am start, and only started displaying our wares at 8 am. There were actually people parked in front of our house at 7:30. And the minute WE went outside, they set upon us. Those early birds knew their stuff, too. Anything of somewhat any value was pretty much gone by 9:05. That left me, the mountain man and a whole lot of stuff with a day and a half to go. And what a long weekend THAT was!

There was the 10 year old boy shopping with his mom. He settled upon the game section, and carefully chose a brand new CSI board game I had bought to play with the kids two years before. Turns out my kids aren't big fans. Of CSI. And of playing games with me. So basement bargain alley it was for Grissom and the crew. The boy approached Mountain Man and inquired as to it's fair market value. "For you, fifty cents," . Mountain Man has a thing for kids (no, not THAT kind of thing-not the kind of creepy "Oh, GOD, Uncle" kinda thing). He just likes the little tykes. Fully clothed, I'm sure!

At hearing such a cheap price for the game, the little boy approached Mountain Man and forked over a dollar, saying, "I work very hard for my money. But so do you." And so we made a pity sale. That was the HIGHLIGHT of our weekend.

There were the two teen aged boys who snapped up someone's (?) ancient and tattered long trained bridal veil. Mountain Man couldn't resist asking what these young men had in mind when paying two bucks for such an item. Halloween was still a long way off. Turns out they were going camping and were looking for a good bug net. Mountain Man assurred them of the wisdom of their choice in netting and promptly sold them an ancient transistor radio and a cooler on wheels ( two of which were missing-I tell ya, that Man could sell sand in the desert!)- Later we giggled at the thought of those two teens snuggled together under the stars beneath the bridal net!

Then there was the man who kept looking over a box of some 30 spice containers, all with labels of products from the 1950's. It was a collection of one of those get one jar a month from the Franklin Mint club, for three low payments of $19.99 each. I think we were asking fifty bucks for the entire set. We were really just looking to unload stuff real cheap. Well, the one admirer kept walking back over to this box, inquired as to its price, and walked away and came back again. Then he was off to another section of yard, then back again. Now, I am suspicious in nature, and I've already fessed up to being a semi-CSI-sleuth, and my radar antennae were really up by now.

So, I followed Mr. Suspicious. Not right behind him. I tailed him, like on tv, letting a few people get between us, except without cars. I watched as he seemed to take an item from under his shirt, and proceed to shove it in his pants pocket. I looked back in the Spice Box (Hmmm, now THERE"S a new member name for THAT band!), and sure enough, I thought we looked short one Spice Jar, by golly. Damned if I wasn't gonna crack thse case. (ok, it was a very dull day, and did I mention we were broiling out there in the heat?)

I approached this complete stranger, whom I was sure was also a felon (or at least a shop lifter!) who was now cruising through someone's old Patsy Cline cds. Sure. He'd probably shot me to lift one of those! I walked straight over and demanded my Spice Jar back. Right. This. Instant! To which he of course said, "lady, what ARE you talking about?"

Throwing all caution to the wind, (and knowing Mountain Man had my back, and trust me, he ain't ever letting anyone any where near that!)
I boldly pointed to the man's pants, which by now looked like he sporting an erection sideways from the pocketful of Spice Jar. I put my hand into the front jean pocket of a complete stranger (I kid you not!) and retrieved my Lipton Tea Spice Jar. I then turned in a huff and returned Mr. Tea to his rightful place in the Spice box. The stranger pursued me with two cds in hand and stated that he wanted to buy those items. I stared incredulously and removed MY Patsy Cline cds from his dirty thieving mitts, and told him to "GO. Just Leave. Don't buy anything!" Of course Mountain Man was right there for me. Yep. He collected two dollars for the cds and even bagged them for the man. Got my back? More like THIS baby Got Back. He grinned sheepishly and said, "Hey, nobody ELSE was gonna buy those cds."

Yeah. That's pretty much how that whole weekend went. And when all was said and done? We had a huge pile of stuff. Still. It went in the trash. And that night, and the night after that, people came to our house as we slept(!) and tore apart our garbage in search of a broken treasure. We never had another garage sale again.

And the spice jars? We cleaned them up. filled them with every imaginable spice, and they hang proudly on our kitchen wall. I absolutely love them. Some times, something just needs a good story to become a favorite family heirloom. Apparently, a little criminal activity makes some things more attractive. Hence the peopularity of the Ocean's 11, 12 , & 13 series? And Lipton Tea Spice? Why he's my Brad Pitt.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Picture of a Dead Fish......Priceless

M'kay. Let me start with a little explanation for yesterday's post. The finished published post was a picture of a fish. Not the pretty colored salt water swimming in an expensive fish tank, kind. It was a yellow fin tuna, and the only thing it was swimming in upon the killing table of the boat we were on in Costa Rica, was it's own blood. Let me 'splain, Lucy.

I like to think I am an educated woman of the twenty first century. I zipped through high school, and hold not one, but two degrees. Yep. If your ever need a criminal justice major who did NOT go into the field, just give me a ring. And if a bachelor of arts degree in English literature turns you on, then I'm your James Joyce (or would I be Evelyn Waugh?). All this education and what I thought of as mostly self taught computer efficiency, and it's all for naught.

For weeks (months?), I have been trying to bring the majestic world of Kodak memories to my blog. Think of the accompaniments to my posts I could add! I mean, nothing sums up my life better than a picture of my two male dogs humping TOGETHER, while the third (the only female) looks on forlornly. Imagine the kick up of embarrassing moments to my family as I am able to reveal their most intimate moments ALL WITH PICTURES TO PROVE IT!

But, alas, all the education in my world had not prepared me for the web-traveling highway of sharing picture and photo albums. Granted, I was not a criminal justice PHOTOGRAPHER , which just might have been helpful. And hell, not ONE English lit anthology had so much as a picture in it. So, maybe I had a handicap.

So I researched, and fiddled with Picasa Web Photos. Oh, and did I mention I spent many hours that may have been better spent cooking and shopping for my family, yep, many, many hours trying to post a single solitary picture to this blog. And in the end, after copying and pasting dozens of html addresses and more than a few curse words later......I got nothing. Yep, Me and Richard Gere. We got no place left to go.

So I did what any other mature wife and mother and full time working lady of the evening (OK- so I work days-It just sounds so bland that way!)--so I did what any other woman of my educational and professional background would do. I called my daddy. Yeh, the one who couldn't work the VCR for years, and finally admitted defeat by putting a piece of electrical tape over that damned blinking 12:00 that could not be made to go away. This, the same man who hadn't touched a computer up until two years ago.

I called, I whined, I lamented my woes at the complexities of the cruel cyber world. And then I hung up, not having accomplished anything other than unloading and sharing my miseries, even if my dad had not a clue as to what I was bitching about.

Two days (and many more hours of useless photo fiddling later), I received a call from the dad of the dark ages. It seemed he was surfing (? -he can DO that?) in search of a solution to my photographic ineptness, and thought he might have stumbled upon a solution. With more than a little reservation, I promised to attempt again that evening to post a photo HIS way.

Well, if you saw my post yesterday (and if not, take a look today- it's always nice to know what the hell I'm rambling about - Lord knows I don't always know!) You can see, proudly displayed for all eyes...A picture of a dead fish. Believe it or not, as usual, Daddy DOES Know Best. And, granted, the picture claims it's a slide show, even though it is just. the. one. picture. (OK, I'm an overachiever with higher expectations than talent). But we have made giant leaps and bounds in the development of mysuestories history!

Of course, once I was able to post a photo, it occurred to me that I had nothing of marginally any interesting value to post. It appears that photo of my two male dogs humping while number three looks on is forever floating out in cyberspace somewhere between the e-mail to my photo album and the actual post office box in space. So I had to settle for the "I'm just a poor fish minding my own business, looking for a little lunch, and now I'm left high and dry in a boat and someone just whacked me in the head with a club" dead fish photo.

A true Kodak moment. It would make a father proud!

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

We No Longer Sleep With the Fish!

Hooray for mysuestories! Hooray for pictures on blogs! ( Thanks, Daddy!)

Monday, January 12, 2009

Some Things Just Ain't Write!

It's another Monday. The alarm goes off at an ungodly hour. We roll out of bed still weary. I shower while he makes our breakfasts and lunches. A quick kiss, and another long week begins. A commute ends, Mounds (or is it pounds?) of paper work shuffled, tabulated, recorded, analyzed. Another commute. Dinner on the table when I arrive home.

Am I complaining here? Well, I thought I was. I figured I'd rant and rave about how Monday's really bite the big one (Rest assured, constant reader, they do!). And yet as I recap the day, I realize rather selfishly that maybe it ain't all that bad. Oh yes, it does suck to have to drag my lazy butt out of bed and it IS awfully cold out there. But hell, at least I AM working, and there is food for breakfasts and lunches, and with minor sniffles and coughs and colds, we are all healthy. Heck, no one in our house has ever even be arrested, ever. Now isn't THAT something you can hang your hat on?

Oh, and did I mention that I have the most wonderful of husbands who makes all those hot and delicious meals for our family? Or that for all their teenage or nearly or nary teenage grumblings, we do possess three of the greatest kids you could ever wish for (if, that is, you were crazy enough to wish for teens either pre- mid- or post stage at all!)

And our house is warm and heartfelt with the ever present scent of fresh cut wood in the stove. (Again, thank you Mountain Man.) And the freezer always full. Yep. And our health! We are all healthy and happy or sometimes healthy and grumpy! But we are all well.


Okay! Uncle! Uncle! I wrote the first half of this post this early this morning. I was already at my desk, and I dashed off what early morning thoughts were bouncing in my early morning head. Usually, not much to read about, just a few ramblings to get my creativity mojo flowing for THE actual post. These are early morning thoughts, after all. I had my breakfast (cold pizza, my favorite! -Thanks baby!) and called the house to make sure those darling kids I mentioned earlier were all up and running for their school day.

That's when it happened. A sick child answered that phone, hacking and coughing away. Our youngest, who last night when I pried the X BOX 360 Live controller from his kung fu grip at 8:30 last night, was a perfectly healthy child. He was fine while he was sleeping all night, and seemed to be sleeping comfortably when I checked in on him before leaving for work at the ungodly hour of 5 am. In fact, this brutal junky cough due to cold that has him seized in its grip appears to have attacked at the precise moment I wrote the words "we are all healthy".

Drats! Why couldn't I have been writing about us winning the lottery? Hey, wouldn't THAT be cool? I could type up fancy cars to appear in the driveway. Ohhh, and I would delete more than a few pounds of body fat (and probably a few people as well!) I would type up the perfect teen personalities for the kids. And our alpha male would no longer feel the need to mark our entire house as his domain! Oh, and the $$money$$!!!! All that money that would actually grow on the proverbial money tree out back. Except it wouldn't be just a tree. Nope. We'd be living in an enchanted forest even Robin Hood would envy with all it's money tree forestry........


I just checked out the backyard. Nothing there but some leafless (and money less) oaks and pines that have been there since the beginning of time (at least since the beginning of MY time, anyway. sigh. It figures. My magic keyboard only focused on the sniffles and coughs and colds line of this post. And, oh shit....What did I write on that very same line???!!!

Heck, no one in our house has ever even be arrested, ever.

What do I call this? Bad Karma? Tempting the Gods of NOT FUNNY UP THERE?

Shit. I think I'll just call it a day. Maybe I'll just swing by the bank and pick up some extra cash. You know. Just in case someone needs bail.....

Friday, January 9, 2009

They Call Me The Brain...Or Was That The Pain?

I am so slick. This is a little re-cap of mysuestories brain storm last night. I get them a lot, you know. No, smart ass, not nights. Brain storms. And this is pretty much how they all end up.

Mysuestories: Hey, babe? I've got an idea.

Mountain Man: (makes noise, something a kin to a moan/groan)

Mysuestories: No, really. I really have an idea. And this time it's a good one.

Mountain Man: (another, louder grunt)

Mysuestories: Remember when you went hunting with the guys and said it would be a good idea if some day I took a little trip with the girls some time?

Mountain Man: No. That didn't happen.

Mysuestories: Sure it did. You suggested I could maybe plan a girl getaway.

Mountain Man: No. That was when I was telling you how fifteen years ago I went fishing in Alaska with a bunch of buddies, and all our then-wives were going to plan a trip for themselves, but they never pulled it together, so it never happened.

Mysuestories: Are you sure that's how it happened? Because I thought I remember you telling me to go away with some girls some where.

Mountain Man: (with wary eye upon me) Where exactly are you thinking of going?

Mysuestories: Well, you know how much I enjoy my blogging....

Mountain Man: And...

Mysuestories: Well, there's this convention every year. And it's really educational. And I could learn a lot, like how to finally post those pictures in the middle of my stories and how to get more advertising on board. You know, so I could help our family earn more money. It would of course only be for the good of the family.

Mountain Man: And where would such a for-the-good-of-the-family gathering occur?

Mysuestories: Hmmm...I don't really know. But I'll bet it's probably out in the middle of a mid west state. Nowhere mainstream. I'm sure. Nothing like Vegas or L.A. or Chicago, or anything.

Mountain Man: And the kids would want to go?

Mysuestories: Um, no. They would stay here with you. That's why it's a girl-cation. But an educational one. To learn stuff.

Mountain Man: And you'd go alone?

Mysuestories: Well, um, maybe I could go with one of my blog friends, like or something. You, know, the one I occasionally chat with on long weekend nights.....Or I could ask my kister. You know how she'd love to spend some time with me and a bottle of wine.

Mountain Man: OK, we'll look into it. Find out where it is first. Oh, and mysuestories? Don't be booking any flights just yet.

Of course I didn't hear that last part. He may have not even said it. I don't know for sure. I was in the other room on line with the travel agent. Oh, and guess where the convention is? Chicago. Isn't that great? See you in the windy city!!!!

Of course, I should probably find out when it is......oh well, first things first. I gotta go pack.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Let Them eat Cake- Shared!

It's funny how some things happen to certain people, and it simply amazes me that history can repeat itself in completely different circumstances.
As I may have lamented lightly about before (Heh!) -ie: Merry Birthday, Baby!- I have the very distinct and individual pleasure (?) of having my birthday fall upon Christmas Day. Just a little something to make me, mysuestories, a little bit different than the average person. A little SPECIAL, if you will. Boy I can't count the times I've been that. Yep, it was quite the honor, being the sole Christmas baby in my classroom, in my home, as a youngster. Then the world began to expand for little mysueshortstories (as I was known at the time- or would have been, had there been a blog ville then).

Yes, the world turned and I became aware of extended family. At some point in my young years, I learned that I had both an uncle and my cousin, (his son) also were born on the Most Wonderful Day of The Year. So much for basking in the adoration of my family as a birthday cake was proudly brought out during Christmas dessert bearing my name. Oh, the cake was still there, only my name was written a lot smaller, as it now included the names of both my uncle and my cousin (hi, Eddie!). And so, the golden years of youth and limelight diminished for my Christmas/Birthday.

As the world turned, and people grew apart, there came a time when my cousin and uncle were no longer a big part of our holiday celebrations, and, much to my delight, my name was again center stage on the ever present Christmas/Birthday cake.

Fast forward ten years, and I meet and marry the man who will 15 short years later hold the dubious title of having been "my then-husband". (Trust me, it takes A LOT of work to get to even that much affection here). Christmas time rolls around, and as Christmas Eve approaches, I am quick to learn that my then-husband's brother had the audacity to be born on MY BIRTHDAY. Granted, he was born a good ten years before me, but it was still MY DAY, dammit. Once again, the lettering got smaller as my anger increased. The only small consolation was that said brother-in -law's wife shared the same birth date as MY then-husband. Take that! Order one more cake with small lettering!

One Christmas Eve evening, my then-husband and I stopped at a local pubbery for a hot toddy or two. If you have the pleasure of knowing both my then-husband and myself at this period in time you are probably saying, "A pubbery? How shocking!". Yes , it's true, we WERE known to imbibe on rare occasions. In any event, we find ourselves celebrating the impending holiday with a few of our nearest and dearest unknown bar tender and patrons. It so happens that on that particular Christmas Eve, a birthday party was being thrown for one of the patron's by his wife. Upon further investigation (which I'm sure included plying the guest of honor with alcoholic beverages), I learned that this patron's birthday was actually On (yep, you guessed it!) Christmas Day!

Well, we continued to revel and celebrate his AND my approaching birthdays with many a good "Happy birthday to you, my good lady!", to which I would reply with a clink of our respective cocktail glasses, "And Happy birthday to you, kind sir." (Although truth be told, it probably sounded a lot more like "An apeee Birfday you, kinda", by this point.

When Mrs. Birthday Boy started taking pictures, I made it a point to manage to stick my face/ head/ other assorted body parts into each and every single picture taken. After all, it was my party too, dammit. Wasn't it? OK, maybe it wasn't, but it WAS my birthday, also! The night ended, and I don't think we ever revisited that pubbery or saw my birthday buddy again.

Spin the globe another decade, and I am now estranged from my cake-sharing brother-in-law. I know, I didn't divorce him, but you'd be surprised how divorce no matter what the reason cuts those family ties like a knife in the back. On the lighter side of things, My name was center stage once again on that cake!

One relationship fails and another blooms, and with it a new love springs eternal. Or something like that. All i know is that our first holiday season together, I actually asked my mountain man hubby if he had any relatives born on Christmas. Nope. Not a one in sight. "Break out the cake," says I.

Our first Christmas together, and two weeks before my birthday, hubby has his annual work Christmas party- a lovely catered affair, something akin to being "and Guest" at a wedding, where there are way too many drunk cousin Ned's. Mountain Man proudly introduces me to his colleagues and cohorts (more of the second, I'd say). And half way through the rounds, I am face to face with my birthday drinking buddy from the pubbery of Christmas past. "mysuestories," says the mountain man, "I'd like to introduce you to my best friend, Mikey. His birthday is on Christmas, too!"

As I sighed heavily in defeat, Mikey's wife exclaimed in a not so quiet, let everyone over hear voice ,"OH MY GOD! You're the girl from all of Mikey's birthday pictures! We couldn't figure out who you were!"

Well, of course you couldn't. I share a birth date AND a cake with half of the population of my county alone.

Well, Mikey's wife is having a big birthday this year. And she's throwing herself a surprise party. Turns out Mikey of shared birthday status isn't much for putting one over on her and has admitted defeat before botching the entire thing. So, we'll be reveling in her birthday at the same pubbery of Christmas/Birthday's past. And the real kicker? Her birthday is on the same day as the Mountain Man's! Heh. Enjoy that cake with the small Birthday name lettering. I'll be over there. I think someone is taking out a camera!

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Taking Back the Nut House- Story of a Siege

It is open season on squirrels in MY neck of the woods tonight! No, we don't live that far out in the sticks that we actually hunt the little critters, but if given a chance, there's at least one of the little buggers that I'd let have it with both barrels!

It seems we have a squirrel who has taken up residence for the winter in our thankfully not- attached to-the-house garage. Why live up in a tree with leaves for a nest on those cold winter nights when the folks at this house are subletting their warm, cozy, fully insulated (except where the bastard ate it!) garage for this winter season?

I've seen the new occupant now living amongst my snow shovels, hammers, and John Deere lawnmower. He is HUGE! No kidding, he (? I haven't gotten that close that I can tell it's gender, and even if i had, I still wouldn't know how to tell) he is the size of a small dog. Wait, I take that back. I have three small dogs, and he is bigger than two of them! With the full winter coat this carnivore is sporting, he is definitely intimidating.

I would think he would have to be, seeing as his path to our fully furnished garage/rental bisects the middle of our dog pen. Yep, that's right. In order to trample what little sanctuary one can possess of a garage, this king of all squirrels must cut right through our dog pen to invade our detached portion of our home (hey, in some cultures, there could be a family of twenty immigrants living in there!)

Did I mention we have three dogs who spend a great deal of time every day in the pen attached to aforementioned squirrel homeland? And yet, as much as they love chasing squirrels and dutifully barking there ever-loving heads off at those squirrels safely bounding from tree limb to tree limb, even THEY recognize the severity of this monster's sheer size.

After yet another night of having had my garbage pillaged (Can one actually pillage, if it IS only garbage? Or does the fact that the squirrel finds my garbage worthy of ransacking automatically make it pillagable?) Again, I digress, sorry. Anyway, after having to pick up the remnants of my garbage that are apparently even unworthy of a hungry squirrel in the dead of winter - I mean, we are talking the garbage of all garbage here- after once again, cleaning and re bagging the same garbage---I had had enough.
Doing what any good wife of any ferocious hunter of animals -large, small, roadkill, - I sent my mountain man hunter of a hubby to task. You know of whom I speak: the great wise hunter whose deer heads, boar heads and assorted antlers adorn said garage -how creepy is THAT you Hannibel Lecter of the squirrel world, living amongst your once lively (and alive) fellow foresters?

To the rescue, my dear heart immediately and expertly set up a have-a-hart trap in which to snare said forager of trash. Of course, the have-a -hart trap was a last resort after explaining to hubby that blasting away at a squirrel with a double barrel shot gun in suburbia in BROAD DAY LIGHT just might be a bit wee problematic. Anyway, the trap was laid, the neighborhood children spared of buckshot spray, and like the king of all beasts that we are, we awaited the capture of the elusive squirrel, which just like any fish that got away, grew tremendously with each passing conversation.

The following day, I returned to the homestead to learn that our own slayer of wild beast had indeed been successful in his quest. He had snared a squirrel. Not THE squirrel, whom I suspect was quietly chuckling from the rafters of his safe haven, our garage. Hubby had succeeded in trapping a smaller, less furrier relative of our nightmare tree climbing/but garage living rodent. Still, encouraged by his success, our mountain man went about the task of disposing of the pesky critter. (Don't ask, and I won't tell....Kind of like the Army and gays.)

As hubby prepared to take care of his capture, the little bugger scampered out of the cage and right past him and up the nearest tree. None the worse for wear , and now with a full belly courtesy of the garage owners, this squirrel and his burly friend who STILL eludes capture as I write, are advertising our humble dwelling as a bed and breakfast, with the comedy show of watching the mountain man try to scamper after the little f**kers while the lady of the house (yours truly) screams and squeals like a ten year old girl at a Hannah Montana concert.

And just in case, while we sleep soundly and securely in our bedroom, if a certain squirrel happens to be logging on MY laptop and reading this, know this you little bastard: We have not yet begun to fight, and those acorn shells littering my garage floor; well those just may not be the only nuts left rolling when this is over.

Oh, and faithful reader? If you should notice any changes to my MY SPACE page such as "MYSUESTORIES likes big nuts" or maybe "MYSUESTORIES has fallen out of a tree and landed on her head just one time too many"....please report to the authorities, that I may have met with an untimely "accident".

One more thing, oh constant reader, could you please ask them to look for the mountain man, too? Thanks. Forever in your debt --mysuestories

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Wake up, Little Susie, Wake up!

Today I sent my son to school tired. It seems the 9 hours of sleep that was enough for him, is no longer. We stayed up until 9:30 watching a Mummy movie that I had planned to have ended by 8:30, but due to technical difficulties,(the DVD player kept freezing, and it took us forty minutes to figure it was the machine and NOT the disc itself that was screwed up-sorry Blockbuster, all those offensive phrases were truly unwarranted!), we were off course. So, the poor kid was sent off to school a little tired.

I haven't not been tired in over 18 years. Since the words "you're pregnant" were uttered, I have not been fully rested. Not once. I have lagged, sagged, and drooped through these past 18 years with not so much as a single nap. I have stayed up all night with puking kids (my favorite puking moment -wait, did I really just write that?- My favorite was when my oldest son was about four. He came to my bedroom where I was enjoying the half sleep of a parent with toddlers and uttered that most instantaneous of wake up calls "Mom, my tummy don't feel so good."

With a leap worthy of Bruce Jenner going over a hurdle, I sprang from my slumber and ushered the bemoaning youth in front of me into the bathroom. Apparently retching one's insides out is a natural born instinct, because this never before yakked child knew enough to perch over the bowl while his breakfast, lunch, dinner and lets not forget the bedtime snack-2 cookies and milk-decided to make a grand reappearance in a somewhat more fluid manor.

I had just washed and changed him into fresh bed clothes and was settling down with him in my bed when he leaned toward me and asked "Mom, what was that brown stuff that came out of my throat?" How to explain the volcanic forces of a flu bug to a four year old? Well, first, you stifle a snicker, and then you dead pan. "Sweetie, that happens to all the little children who don't eat their vegetables". OK, OK, I was tired, AND I hadn't been able to get the kid to eat a vegetable in two and a half years. Some call it cruel. Me? I was multitasking, and making the best of a yucky situation!

Another sleepless night: There is nothing like being awaken (again middle of the night -apparently really bad, need to be dealt with immediately things only happen in the middle of the night when-yup you guessed it---I'm sleeping)- anyway, nothing like being awaken by that sleepy sounding child's voice. "Mom, I don't feel good...."

I opened one sleep-encrusted eye wide enough to see a sleepy seven year old covered with (peanut butter? syrup? dear god not feces?!!?) holy shit.... it's blood! The kid was covered in blood! All over his jammies, blood. His face , covered. His hair? More blood. Talk about hit the ground running!!! After we (read I-my then hubby grunted and rolled back to sleep---hmmm an indicator of things to come?)- ascertained that, no, he had not been stabbed by intruders, nor had he massacred his still sleeping siblings Ala Lizzie Borden (although I DID have to double check the oldest step sister-Geez, that kid could sleep through an earthquake--I am pure green with envy there!). It seems Son #1 has poor sinuses, and having turned the heat up before bed time, I inadvertently dried out the poor bugger's sinus cavity, thereby causing a nose bleed. He then proceeded, in his sleep, mind you, to wipe his nose on to every surface on or about his body. (That kid is a slob even when he's sleeping!!!)

And so it goes, another sleepless night for Mom. Well, the kids are older now, and the nosebleed kid is starting to drive. And his curfew is past my usual nine o'clock bedtime. Needless to say, I am more tired now than when they were babies. And there's a heck of a lot more to keep me up all night worrying, even when they are home in bed.

So, if you're a little tired from movie night, kiddo, just think of it as a little payback. And not to worry, 'cause I got us ANOTHER movie for tonight. And just maybe it's a wee bit longer than last night's feature film. Hey, I can't help myself. At least while he's watching the movie, maybe I can catch a nap!

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Just When I Thought I Was Out, They Dragged Me Back In

An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old one leaves.
-Bill Vaughan

So what kind of person watches three hours of the new 86 episode Sopranos collection and is fast asleep by ten thirty on New Years Eve? I'm hoping it is the kind of person for which only good things happen in 2009. 2008 was a year of mixed blessings and sorrowful goodbyes, but I'll leave THAT kind of reminiscing to the professionals. Me? I'd rather bitch about stuff.

For example: Why, pray tell, will a 12 year old complain and moan about cleaning his bedroom for THREE days when it would only take him One hour to clean it? And on what feng shui chart does any room NOT include the closet? Or is that only when cleaning aforementioned room?

Why is it not such a great idea to piss away money on Chinese Take Out at the mall when it is the money of my 17 year old we are talking about? Does the cash in MY not even going to the mall handbag self pro-create?

And what IS it about my dogs, that they only feel the need to throw up on the SAME day as I have washed the kitchen floors ---In fact within hours of having done so, (which by the way, was the first time I've gotten to those damn floors in about a month---The entire time of which all dogs were healthy as horses, darn it!)

Did I mention we got dumped on by the Satan of Snow again? (To view mysuestories love of snow, check this post No Business Like Snow Business). Yep, and my abominable, yet adorable honey was there to the rescue, spreading pounds of ice melt salt all around the porch steps in the front of the house, the side door to the mudroom, and the deck off the back kitchen door. So, needless to say, we did NOT slip and break our ever loving necks on the ice. But that is NOT what I'm going to tell the coroner when I kill everyone for tracking all that impossible to clean salt off the tile and wood floors! (I think they are all conspiring with the dogs!)

And as long as SOMEBODY is listening.....

Does anyone else have that one person in their office/life that is just blatantly unaware of personal space? I have this one person(?) in my office who is just always upclose and personal. And she cannot order from a menu until she reviews and challenges EACH AND EVERY other person's order. Then she will change her own order a minimum of three times. I kid you not. Then, when your food does arrive, she will insist on getting up close and personal with " What did you get?" , "How is yours?" . I tell, you, there are just some days you want to deck her! Ignoring this type of person NEVER works! Trust me. I've tried to the tune of Chinese food, Italian, and Mexican. It just doesn't go away. I eat like a prisoner, all hunched over and growling, just a little something I learned from my alpha male dauschund. A big attitude from a little source. All this does not make the dining ala desk a soothing experience, let me tell ya.

And exactly what is the age of belief for a parent when offspring ask to take a plate upstairs and permission is granted after an interrogation Guantanamo Bay has yet to think up. And upon swearing under God, Flag, and Country, said offspring assures this parental idiot who just WANTS to believe in SOMETHING/ANYTHING they say......that said dish (Exhibit A) will return to kitchen IN dishwasher within seconds of all food upon it being inhaled.
So, why, dear reader, why do I find myself even mildly surprised to find that same plate with most of the same food now glued to it two weeks later while cleaning out the bathroom linen closet? (Hey, don't ask me...maybe it had something to do with all those "If you're going to chew like an animal you can eat in the barn," threats as toddlers?--Something along the lines of "When eatting shit......???!?)

Well, I don't know about you, constant reader, but I'm going back to my 86 hours of Sopranos episodes. Carmella's eggplant would NEVER have ended up in the bathroom---at least not in it's uneaten form. And Tony and his friends? At least they put the enemy out of his misery quickly. Time to go to the mattresses.