Tuesday, October 27, 2009

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.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

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!

Friday, October 16, 2009

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?

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

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!

Friday, October 9, 2009

When The F*ck Will I Learn.........

I just don't know when to stop. Really. I don't. That is why it usually ends so badly for me here at mysuestories manor.

Yesterday, I decided to play a little game of naming the five words I hoped my children would use to describe me here: MYSUESTORIES: STOP!!! THIEF!!!!!

But that wasn't enough. I had to then go ahead and name the five words my children would probably use to describe me.

Still not enough.

I went ahead and actually asked my eighteen year old sloth what five words he would actually use to describe me.

These are his answers.

1. Naggy. I prefer to think he meant to say "inspiring", as in "Mom, stop "inspiring" me to clean my room.

2. Lovable. Meaning? I still haven't killed him yet for puking all over the den twelve years ago.
Or my bed eight years ago. Or the bathroom floor two weeks ago.

3. Old. As in more than 25, but less than 75, at which point he would probably classify me as ancient.

4. Happy. Apparently he was not looking at me and my reaction to #3 when he blurted this one out.

5. Awesome. This one came out when he finally registered my look from answer #3. But that I can live with.

And apparently I have raised a child with a very useful life skill. He can bullshit his way out of a paper bag when necessary.

And that, dear reader? Is Awesome. In a naggy, lovable, old, yet happy kinda way.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

STOP!!! THIEF!!!!!

Okay, let me fess up right up front here: This idea started over at www.TalesFromtheDadSide.blogspot.com , so by all means, take a moment to check out the original. Then come on back to my side of the trailer park and this is what you'll find:

In his post, Sci Fi Dad ponders what five words he thinks his kids would use to describe him in the future. It's a well written post with some shining parenting examples. Actually, his whole blog is a prime example of How To Parent a Future Harvard Grad. If that's what you like, you'd better head back on over to The Dad Side, 'cause homey don't roll like that, yo. Here at mysuestories manor? We are all about teaching our younguns the proper way to say, "Would you like fries with that?"

But I thought I'd go with the 5 Words I HOPE My Children Would Use to Describe Me

1. Motivational ---All that yelling and screaming to get their asses to school on time had to impart something positive on the little buggers, no?

2. Organized --Hey, there's a reason I am the Queen of All Things Lost. I simply put shit back in it's rightful place. Really. No higher education needed.

3. Nurturing. This one I OWN. Those little somb*tches have been sponging off of me for years. Who else's rugrats go through a week's worth of groceries within ten minutes of carrying it all through the door (by myself?) And here's the kicker......I also have to supply the toilet paper. You know...For when it exits the little f*ckers.

Word number 4-
4. Life teaching. Yep, I calls 'em like I see 'em. For instance, it isn't easy imparting the brutal honesty of "If you break your neck on that sled/skateboard/ski/car/etc., I'm gonna kill you!" In our house? That is a viable threat. And no, I am not kidding.

5. Loving. It's true. See #4. Only a mom filled with love would be willing to take away the very life she created and nurtured and then entrusted to them. I'd rather they go out my way. At least they'd have clean matching clothes on at the time!

That's' what I HOPE they would say when describing me. But I'm no fool. This is what they'd probably say.

1. Cheap. Everything is too much money to buy something so useless. And who would call a 54" flat screen HDTV for the new XBox360 useless?

2. Poor. See #1. Cheap.

3. Unfashionably fashionable. Is it really that important to wear colors that match? And why in the world do we have to separate winter clothes from summer clothes? Did it ever kill a kid to wear long sleeves in August?

4. Neat Freak. Does a bed have to be made? And sheets on those beds? Totally overrated.

5. Tardy. Maybe if she got up a little earlier in the morning, we wouldn't always be running around late to everything. She could use an extra ten minutes to get our stuff together for us.

Sigh. Hope is such a big word...

And as for #3? No, dear reader. Little Johnny did not die from wearing a long sleeve shirt in the summer (probably with clashing corduroy pants). It was his mother who died. Of embarrassment.

Friday, October 2, 2009

Almost Cut My Hair...

Well, constant reader, fall is definitely approaching here at mysuestories manor in northeastern America.
"Gee," you may be thinking, " How is it you know this, oh great wise one, mysuestories? Is it the changing colors of the leaves? The blustery blowing of the wind? Perhaps it's the fact that your body "head lights" are on as you dash to the car in the pitch black mornings? What is your personal Fall Is Coming indicator, mysuestories?"

Why, dear follower, it is nothing as common as any of the aforementioned publicly approved signs of fall. A sure sign that colder times are upon us? Why, it's my personal coat of hair on my hyde coming in thicker.

It's true. Sad, yes. But true, nevertheless. And because I speak the truth here at mysuestories, (at least when it's a funny truth)- I am compelled to share this with you.

I used to get my eyebrows waxed religiously every two weeks.....When it comes to pulling the little f*ckers one painful hair at a time, I am a wuss. Not to mention, I am not in the least bit artistic, so that I always end up with one eyebrow going flat over one eye, while the other is raised dramatically, creating an "I am always freaking surprised" look that just doesn't work for me!

So, I guess I somehow lost my due diligence lately in taming the nests above my eye lids, and I dragged myself into the spa. Okay, okay...so my "spa" consists of twelve Asian girls lined up like hookers, in a strip mall store abutting Dollar Tree. This is as luxurious as I get some days.

So, here I am, an exiled patriot in my own country, where I just know all that cute little foreign language banter is directed at the Sasquatch that is me that just entered their little piece of Chinatown.
Without even having to ask, the size 0, lanky dark haired flawlessly waxed maiden at the door says, " You here for eyebrow wax?"
Gee, ya think? Actually, by this point I'm thinking, f*ck it, I'll just braid them....But my balls are bigger in my head than out loud, so I smile meekly and nod.

I'm now laying on my back in a back room where Buddha only knows what goes on after hours, and I am in the midst of having my eyebrows painted with mother f*cking HOT wax and then r-i-i-i-p-p-p-e-d off of my face. (Ain't womanhood grand? First I get to internally bleed externally seven days a month, and now this. Hey, God? While we're at it, let's make the females of the species push eight pound watermelons out of an opening the size of an apple.....(He's not completely cruel, ya know. At least the whole hemorrhaging to death every frickin month stops in preparation for the upcoming birth of the Great Pumpkin through the Pea Opening!)
Any how, after ten minutes of plowing the field that is my eyebrow hair, this (dare I say) woman proceeds to take out a scissors (!!!!) and starts to trim my eyebrows. I mean, lordy, how long were those suckers, any way?

And that ain't the only thickening of the outer coat I am experiencing, folks.

My hair (ATOP my pretty little head- just to be clear, 'cause I know what kind of people I generally attract!) has become so thick and full bodied that I can barely force a comb through it. Lately, I can't even get it to fully dry, even with the four-and-a-half minutes I allot myself for just that procedure every morning. Naturally, by the time I get to work (at the ungodly hour of 5:30 am, need I remind you!) I look like I've been playing with electrical sockets. I've been using more hair grease to tame this do than an entire Mexican dance troupe!
So I sucked up my pride and finally made an appointment for a hair cut. For tomorrow. Don't you know my hair came out perfect today? Not a split end or frizz in sight. It's like its friggin' scared to be cut.....
Who knows, maybe it hurts to be a hair when it's cut....Now look! I'm feeling sorry for my frigging hair....and the only reason I'm cutting it in the first place is because it won't behave to begin with!!!!....Do ya think hair has feelings? Oh, yeah...this is how my sick mind works....
I almost called off the whole hair cut thing...And then I remembered the pain of the eye brow wax.......

Screw it.....I hope it hurts the little buggers like hell!!!!

Next week, we tackle the woolly mammoth limbs I call my legs!!!!!