Wednesday, September 30, 2009

If This Machine's Rockin', Don't Come a Knockin'

So, I find myself laying prone on top of the washing machine. The mountain man is standing behind me, my spotter, if you will. I've got a twisted wire hanger (hello, Joan Crawford!), and I am trying to spear paper towel rolls encased in plastic that have fallen behind the washing machine...when suddenly? The wash cycle switches into a high spin. (What? Like this never happened to you?)

I search out for the mountain man behind me. I am precariously dangling over the back of the washing machine, a mere ten inches from the wall, two and a half feet from hurtling head first to the tile floor below.

I glance behind me. Actually, it was more of an upward glance, what with my head being behind the washing machine and all. The mountain man, all 260 lovable pounds of him, is gone.

I am quickly being agitated to a grim demise. "How ironic," I can hear him at my funeral, "It was the laundry that did her in."

He? In my hour of need? Is in the bedroom searching frantically for the camera. 'Cause what the good people of the Internet really need is a final departing shot of my size 10 ass in the air, legs a-flailing.

Ya just gotta love that kind of loyalty in a husband.

Oh and the picture? He never got the shot. There's good reason why I keep that camera locked up tighter than a virgin's....Well, never mind. You get the picture, and more importantly, for my dignity and your mental health, he didn't!

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Ya Caught Me

Well, the three toed sloth is STILL working----granted- all those little "career" jokes the mountain man and I may have spouted (Would you like fries with that order?) have returned to bite us in our collective proverbial ass- but he's working and happy. Oh, and did I mention he now has his own money?

'Tis a blessing, him having his own cash to squander. Then again, it could be a curse.....

Years ago (cue dream sequence music here) mysuestories had a brain storm. I opened up custodial bank accounts for the kids, custodial meaning the little buggers couldn't get their grubby little hands on that moola without the almighty, omnipresent ME present. (Why, yes, I do have control issues. Why do you ask?)

Anyway, for years deposits were made (by moi) and withdrawals were transacted with my consent by them. And so the banking world turned on it's mighty axis.

Fast forward to present day times:

The three-toed sloth is over the age of eighteen, thereby rendering the need for a custodial savings useless in the eyes of banks every where. I may have neglected in revealing this little tidbit of information to the sloth, in the hopes of actually keeping some of his savings in...the (you guessed it) savings account.
Back to yesterday. Friday. The sloth's payday. He, having the luxury of not having to arise at the ass crack of dawn and drive 32 miles whilst still sleeping, called me around noon, wondering when I could get him to the bank to cash that almighty (seventy-five large ones, yo) paycheck for which he (hah) slaved at a drive through window for.

mysuestories: "Well, I could be home by five (if I break most state driving regulations)"

sloth: "But I have to be at work by four!!!!"

mysuestories(to myself): You, sonny, are f*cked. Out loud? I said, "Well, gee, sweetie,
maybe we could go tomorrow.."

sloth: "I need to go today!!!"

mysuestories: "Hmmmn...well, since you just want to cash this huge check, I think you
can probably go to the bank by yourself and cash it against your account. That means they will hold the same (pitiful) amount of money for a few
days until the check actually clears, but they should cash the check."

Who am I kidding...I lost him at you can cash it.

Flash forward ten minutes. That kids must have run to the bank.

sloth: "Mom! They won't cash it. They say they need you here. Why would you tell me to go all the way to the bank if you knew they wouldn't cash the check??
How could you do this to me?"

?!? WTF? I did this? Why that little f*cker.....And so I replied to my first born, he of the twenty six hour excruciating labor..each pain returning to me as I began to answer, my voice a little louder and dripping with more than a little sarcasm:

mysuestories: "You caught me!" I told him, " For eighteen years, and nine months before you were even born, I have been plotting and planning this very exact moment
knowing you would call with a banking problem. I've dreamed about doing this
to you ! So that I could sit here at work busting my ass to feed and clothe you
and then, then, after all that time of carrying you and birthing you and raising
you- then, this day finally arrived so I could make you go all four blocks to
the bank for absolutely no reason! You got me! The gig is up! I. Am. Busted!"

I may, or may not have been maniacally laughing by this point.

sloth: "um, okay, Mom, I'll talk to you later." click

And then I look up from my desk at the faces of my three co workers, who have all stopped performing their assorted tasks, the better to stare at me, mouths agape. And then they , each and every one of them a mother, started to laugh. And cry. And laugh some more.

So much for that mother of the year nomination this year. Sigh.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

I Just Called to Say I Got Nothing to Say

Okay. Fine. Dammit. So I've been absent from this here little space we share(there is a we, isn't there? Otherwise, this would be an awkward little note to myself, no?- well, here's to counting on somebody being out there).

I simply have nothing funny to say. It's a lot like Richard Gere in An Officer and a Gentleman, except he had no place else to go. I've got some places to go, and any number of mysuestories' acquaintances are happy to suggest more without provocation. Helpful little buggers, ain't they? Well, lately, not so much.

Truth be told, the reason for my lack of postings here lies entirely with my family and friends. That's right, constant reader. The folks I count on the most are just not doing anything funny enough to recount in this lil' blog of mine (ours? Yeah, blog of ours -again- I'm relying on that assumption that you're actually out there!)

Anyway, rest assured, oh faithful one(s), that I am putting all family and friends and passer-bys on notice. Either bring on the funny or replacements will be made! Did a funny thing happen to you on the way to work? Share it. Car accident with a humorous little ER story on the side? I need to know. Get arrested after being mistaken for a prostitute-seeking John? (no, granny, please not you on that one!)

So, my small, but distinguished audience....I am still here. Just waiting for someone (anyone, really) to show me the funny. Otherwise, I will be holding auditions to fill the soon to be vacant spots left by my former family and friends!

Thursday, September 17, 2009

The Last Dance

While it may be true that "Nobody puts Baby in a corner", apparently pancreatic cancer is the last dance.

Farewell, Patrick Swayze. And thanks for showing men the world over that real men CAN dance, ( and look damned good doing it!)

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Call Waiting

It's the gamester's return to all that is hell (ie: school) today. We went over his schedule (on top of the backpack), the outfit( shorts and tee), the notebook (just one, black) , cell phone(not taking it)...finishing with the "what time to be outside for the bus" (10 minutes early just in case). You know, us working moms tend to be overachievers in the let's get our shit together the night before department.....

I thought we had covered it all till I got a call on my cell phone this morning. "Mom, the bus just went by the house and forgot to stop."
Strange..That would be 15 minutes earlier than expected on the first day. "Gamester, that was probably the high school bus going by. Grab your cell phone and wait outside. Call me if it's not there, and your brother can give you a ride if the bus doesn't show."
"Where's my cell phone?" He implored.
"On the kitchen counter where we put it last nite when you decided you didn't want to take it." I replied.

"It's not here. I only see your cell phone."
Really? The one he's calling me on?

Oh boy......And the school year is off and running. Again.

And the bus? Arrived 10 minutes later. On time. Pfffft.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Little Johnny Said WHAT?

How do you guarantee a visit from Child Protective Services?

When Officer Friendly comes to your third grader's classroom to talk about the perils of alcohol and drugs, make sure little Johnny raises his hand and asks,

"If the person driving has been drinking, is it safer to sit in the front seat or the back seat?"

True story!!! And no, constant reader (and/or Child Protective Services worker who may or may not be reading this-I AM AN EXCELLENT PARENT) it was NOT MY third grader in question! In fact, this particular child's parent? Works for Child Protective Services!

Ah, the things kids say!