It's been pretty mild here in my part of the world this week, and naturally a young (Talk about poetic license!) girl's heart turns to spring fancies...
Every spring, the Mountain Man plants a vegetable garden. It's mostly for fun. (His gardening sustains us in the vegetable department about as much as his hunting keeps us in meat---He has all the right toys, but in the long run, it's more about the fun than reaping the proceeds!)
Anyway, his garden usually just consists of a bunch of tomato plants and zucchini and cucumbers. But I am (was?) a city girl, and I wanted to learn to garden proper.
The first thing Mountain Man did was buy me a cute little pair of gardening gloves and a pair of work boots. He knows the way to my heart is through my feet (mainly by buying me shoes!), however, the word WORK boots should have been an omen!
Now, the Mountain Man wasn't just a weekend gardener. It should be stated here that his family had hugely sustainable produce and livestock farms right here in our neighborhood since the late 1600's. And we have sheds full of all that (ahem) modern day equipment.
In the yard where our dogs now romp, once grazed cattle, pigs, horses, and chickens. And where there are animals, one can always find animal poop. And after generations of such composting, our soil is perfect for producing the proverbial shit load of produce!
I, who have never grown anything other than a few kids (and the final results still aren't in on THEM!!), was totally ready to do the Ma Ingalls gardening thing. Except, of course, with better foot wear.
Our first planting season together (sounds like we were trying to make a baby---trust me--NOT), anyway, that first spring, the Mountain Man goes down to the local feed store (read-AGWAY) and comes home with packets of seeds.
Just as I am ready to sprinkle them about while whistling "Ring Around The Rosey", he comes out of the shed dragging a contraption that looks akin to something you should hitch a covered wagon up to. "This," he proclaims rather proudly, "is the rototiller". Apparently, before you plant seeds, someone must till the roto, which must be an ancient term for hard as a fucking rock dirt. And that soMEone, was, yup, you guessed it. Me.
I get behind (and NOT in a good way!) this dinosaur of a farm implement, and proceed to push, goad, shove, and curse forward....up and down a huge patch of land. Up one row, turn while trying not to fall on my ass, and up the next row. I may have looked like Ma Ingalls on a bad day, but there's no way in hell I sounded anything like her, as I grunted, sweat, and made up entirely new curse words made just for farming. And my cheerful whistling had taken on a strangely low baritone key as I sung "Swing low, sweet chariot..."
After what seemed like eternity (read - ten minutes), my loving Mountain Man comes to my rescue and shows me that the hunk of metal on the side of my Roto-Rooting-Tiller-O-Matic is what they apparently call on more modern farms, quite simply, a motor. Guess how many new curse words I came up with especially for him!
Well, once we entered the 19th century, the planting and sowing moved right along. We watered, and weeded and watched as our little patch of once hard as a fucking rock dirt became a garden.
Never having produced anything other than the occasional story on a keyboard before, I was awed more and more each day as our seeds became seedlings, then plants, and lo and behold, fruit was born, or borne? Or did we bear fruit? Or maybe bore it, by talking too much? Anyway, frigging fruit was just there one day.
We had ears of corn growing, and while we planted enough corn to bear/bore/boar? 200 ears of corn, no one was more proud than I of the measly six that DID grow.
Zucchini and tomatoes were so plentiful, that our friends would pretend they weren't home if we showed up with a plastic bag bearing (baring?) our fruits. And let me tell you, it's not just during the harvesting season that my Mountain Man likes to come baring his fruits!
One evening, during our daily sojourn through the wilds of our little garden, I noticed that we even had little cantaloupes growing to about the size of a peach. I was simply amazed at how fast things grew out there, and I said as much to the Mountain Man...He, who had helped me to create this little miracle garden....a little symbol of our love, if I may be just a tad uncharacteristically mushy.
The very next night, we tiptoed through our tomato plants with our youngest farm hand (read-unpaid child labor). When we came upon the cantaloupe section, kind of like the sections in the market, except without the air conditioning and WITH lots of bugs, anyway, we came to the cantaloupes, and NOW they were about 7 or 8 inches around!
I marveled my amazement at the growth rate of our garden--think My Cousin Vinny and the magic grits that cooked faster on a stove where the laws of physics do not apply!---
I turned to see one small farm hand and one supposedly loving partner/gardener doubled over with laughter. It seems the two of them had made a few trips to the market, replacing my growth stunted cantaloupes with hearty fresh bought sugar babies.
Yep, one even still had the PAID sticker on the damned thing. They had even tied several ears of corn to the stalks I had supposedly sweat over and nurtured from seeds!!!
Bastards!
I will say this, though, those store bought sugar baby cantaloupe were delicious. And the deformed ones I grew? Let's just say The Mountain Man made for a good target!
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
Rain Man Meets Bill Gates
This is Vinny. He is a friend of the Mountain Man.
He is our personal computer genius. He helps us with everything from all our electronic purchases to teaching us how to take the lens camera off the lens BEFORE shooting pictures that come out crummy anyway. You may recognize him better from this photo.
We LOVE Bill, um, Vinny!
This is the Mountain Man.
When Vinny Gates starts talking about computer stuff, the Mountain Man looks more like this:
When the computer talk gets real intense, he may look like this:
But MY Mountain Man is definitely a better kisser than him.
And it doesn't hurt that he is really as handsome as this:
He's sooo cute!!!!! You just might think this is him.
Then again, that's probably only beacuse I look like this!
Ain't he a lucky man?
 |
| From BILL GATES MEETS THE RAIN MAN |
He is our personal computer genius. He helps us with everything from all our electronic purchases to teaching us how to take the lens camera off the lens BEFORE shooting pictures that come out crummy anyway. You may recognize him better from this photo.
 |
| From BILL GATES MEETS THE RAIN MAN |
We LOVE Bill, um, Vinny!
This is the Mountain Man.
 |
| From Handsome is as Handsome does |
When Vinny Gates starts talking about computer stuff, the Mountain Man looks more like this:
 |
| From BILL GATES MEETS THE RAIN MAN |
When the computer talk gets real intense, he may look like this:
 |
| From BILL GATES MEETS THE RAIN MAN |
But MY Mountain Man is definitely a better kisser than him.
 |
| From BILL GATES MEETS THE RAIN MAN |
And it doesn't hurt that he is really as handsome as this:
 |
| From BILL GATES MEETS THE RAIN MAN |
He's sooo cute!!!!! You just might think this is him.
 |
| From BILL GATES MEETS THE RAIN MAN |
Then again, that's probably only beacuse I look like this!
 |
| From BILL GATES MEETS THE RAIN MAN |
Ain't he a lucky man?
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Marlboro Madness
Way back when, I used to smoke cigarettes. A lot. Probably much more than a lot. In fact, I was apparently such a good customer to Big Tobacco, that they would send me all kinds of coupons and promotions. Every different brand wanted ME and MY lungs!!!!!
The discounts were pouring in with the daily mail. NEWPORT promised me pleasure in their monthly Newport News newsletter. And Kool sent promos filled with happy, skinny, gorgeous people playing water sports. Funny, none of the were actually smoking Kool cigarettes in the ads...hmmmm. Tarryton offered to give me a black eye if I didn't try them (remember the old "I'd rather fight than switch" ads, where the girl always had a black eye AND a Tarryton? Do you suppose it was the Marlboro Man beating her up?) I tried smoking the super slim lady like cigarettes like Eve and Espirits, but it felt like you were smoking something illegal. And funny looking. At the same time. And when half (most?) of the reason you're smoking in the first place is to look cool, funny looking and law breaking just doesn't cut it.
Anyway, I was a Marlboro loyalist for years. And with good reason. Those hunky cowboys smoking on horses while the sunset in the background commercials beat a battered woman smoker any day!
And the prize give-a-ways! Wooo Hooo!!! Entire catalogs came of what I could "purchase" with those little bar codes off each pack of cigarettes! Each bar code was worth five points, and for about 1,800 points (That's 360 PACKS of cigarettes!!!) you could redeem them for a cigarette lighter with which to light more cigarettes and earn more points!!! Yea, Me!
Oh, there were other prizes. The camping equipment for 3,800 points (we got that as a joint effort, my ex and I, smoking up as much as we could for it! Turns out the tent was only big enough to fit two small kids, which was perfect, as OUR tent stunk from all that cigarette smoke!
There was the rolling duffel bag luggage on wheels for a mere 5,200 points. THAT one was a good buy, 'cause after smoking 20,200 cigarettes, there was NO WAY I was carrying anything anywhere!
There were the ash trays, tee shirts, and board games, all sporting the signature Marlboro logo. We even chose the blue speckled outdoor coffee pot, 'cause nothing goes better with that early morning cigarette than some nice caffeine!
They offered kayaks, and bicycles, and canoes. There was hiking equipment and rock climbing accessories. You really had to wonder about these mad ad men at Marlboro -All of whom I'm sure were chain smoking in the brainstorming marketing department while thing up this stuff......
Didn't they KNOW that WE, THEIR adoring loyal customers, were all hacking and wheezing heavy smokers???!!!! The only way I'd be pedaling that bicycle, or hiking, or rock climbing, for that matter, would be if I ran out of cigarettes and needed a ride to the local smoke shop!
Wouldn't it have been more beneficial to offer us iron lungs redeemable for 157,000 bar codes? Or maybe a free cancer treatment for every 90,500 points. How about some new paint to cover up the tobacco stains on the kitchen ceiling? NOW they'd be onto something!!!
But, alas, we took the swag of smokers and told ourselves we smoked for the freebies. Then Marlboro announced they were ending their promotional bar code swaps. Seems the big bad people at the American Cancer Society were making an impact and ruining it for all of us! Those Marlboro Man has throat cancer didn't exactly help much either!
Americans every where had 6 months to light up and send in our codes. I think I even started smoking more heavily as the days ticked down.
I ordered a kayak, and still had some bar codes left over, but not enough to get anything. They did have drawings you could enter though. For every bar code you sent in, you could enter one of many drawings.
They had great prizes.
They were giving away a real horse.
They were giving away a cattle ranch somewhere in Oregon.
They were giving away saddles, and blankets, and all this real cool stuff, that at the very least, you could e-bay it.
I entered. And waited. And forgot all about it.
My kayak came. I never used it. Naturally.
I finally quit smoking.
Two weeks later, I came home to a box on my front porch from my good friends at Marlboro. I. Was. A. Winner! The big giveaway and all those cigarettes and babies with low birth weight finally paid off. I was a big winner.
THIS is what I won.
Yep, that's right. Six feet of steer horns. In New York. Perfect for the great room, no?
Sigh. Well, I DID win something. And it sure is different. I think Big Tobacco only did this because they want me back. Well, they just may have to sweeten the pot just a bit more to woo me. Now, had they sent me a fine pair of cowgirl boots, THEN we could talk, 'cause it's ALWAYS about the shoes on THIS farm.
The discounts were pouring in with the daily mail. NEWPORT promised me pleasure in their monthly Newport News newsletter. And Kool sent promos filled with happy, skinny, gorgeous people playing water sports. Funny, none of the were actually smoking Kool cigarettes in the ads...hmmmm. Tarryton offered to give me a black eye if I didn't try them (remember the old "I'd rather fight than switch" ads, where the girl always had a black eye AND a Tarryton? Do you suppose it was the Marlboro Man beating her up?) I tried smoking the super slim lady like cigarettes like Eve and Espirits, but it felt like you were smoking something illegal. And funny looking. At the same time. And when half (most?) of the reason you're smoking in the first place is to look cool, funny looking and law breaking just doesn't cut it.
Anyway, I was a Marlboro loyalist for years. And with good reason. Those hunky cowboys smoking on horses while the sunset in the background commercials beat a battered woman smoker any day!
And the prize give-a-ways! Wooo Hooo!!! Entire catalogs came of what I could "purchase" with those little bar codes off each pack of cigarettes! Each bar code was worth five points, and for about 1,800 points (That's 360 PACKS of cigarettes!!!) you could redeem them for a cigarette lighter with which to light more cigarettes and earn more points!!! Yea, Me!
Oh, there were other prizes. The camping equipment for 3,800 points (we got that as a joint effort, my ex and I, smoking up as much as we could for it! Turns out the tent was only big enough to fit two small kids, which was perfect, as OUR tent stunk from all that cigarette smoke!
There was the rolling duffel bag luggage on wheels for a mere 5,200 points. THAT one was a good buy, 'cause after smoking 20,200 cigarettes, there was NO WAY I was carrying anything anywhere!
There were the ash trays, tee shirts, and board games, all sporting the signature Marlboro logo. We even chose the blue speckled outdoor coffee pot, 'cause nothing goes better with that early morning cigarette than some nice caffeine!
They offered kayaks, and bicycles, and canoes. There was hiking equipment and rock climbing accessories. You really had to wonder about these mad ad men at Marlboro -All of whom I'm sure were chain smoking in the brainstorming marketing department while thing up this stuff......
Didn't they KNOW that WE, THEIR adoring loyal customers, were all hacking and wheezing heavy smokers???!!!! The only way I'd be pedaling that bicycle, or hiking, or rock climbing, for that matter, would be if I ran out of cigarettes and needed a ride to the local smoke shop!
Wouldn't it have been more beneficial to offer us iron lungs redeemable for 157,000 bar codes? Or maybe a free cancer treatment for every 90,500 points. How about some new paint to cover up the tobacco stains on the kitchen ceiling? NOW they'd be onto something!!!
But, alas, we took the swag of smokers and told ourselves we smoked for the freebies. Then Marlboro announced they were ending their promotional bar code swaps. Seems the big bad people at the American Cancer Society were making an impact and ruining it for all of us! Those Marlboro Man has throat cancer didn't exactly help much either!
Americans every where had 6 months to light up and send in our codes. I think I even started smoking more heavily as the days ticked down.
I ordered a kayak, and still had some bar codes left over, but not enough to get anything. They did have drawings you could enter though. For every bar code you sent in, you could enter one of many drawings.
They had great prizes.
They were giving away a real horse.
They were giving away a cattle ranch somewhere in Oregon.
They were giving away saddles, and blankets, and all this real cool stuff, that at the very least, you could e-bay it.
I entered. And waited. And forgot all about it.
My kayak came. I never used it. Naturally.
I finally quit smoking.
Two weeks later, I came home to a box on my front porch from my good friends at Marlboro. I. Was. A. Winner! The big giveaway and all those cigarettes and babies with low birth weight finally paid off. I was a big winner.
THIS is what I won.
 |
| From Marlboro Madness |
Yep, that's right. Six feet of steer horns. In New York. Perfect for the great room, no?
Sigh. Well, I DID win something. And it sure is different. I think Big Tobacco only did this because they want me back. Well, they just may have to sweeten the pot just a bit more to woo me. Now, had they sent me a fine pair of cowgirl boots, THEN we could talk, 'cause it's ALWAYS about the shoes on THIS farm.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Working it Out
Well, I've finally decided to get off my fat butt and get back to exercising. In the last year and a half, the only thing I've exercised regularly would be my right arm (usually lifting a fork full of food to my ever gaping mouth!). I'm not happy with the state of my body these days (that state being the size of Texas!), and I could no longer find a way to blame it on the Mountain Man, although his gravies and freshly baked breads are definitely enablers in this crisis!
I have a lifetime gym membership at Bally's, and I watch faithfully as our checking account is dutifully slimmed down by twenty bucks a month. That's about all the use THAT little membership is up to!
Not yet ready to commit to the gym , you know, the five minute car ride, the packing of the gym bag, changing into the perfect workout outfit....I decided to get a home bound jump start to this latest workout routine.
I begged/pleaded/demanded that the Mountain Man drag my tread mill (make that my 800 pound tread mill) from it's exile in the garage, and place (read-drag/hump/push/lug/tow)it gently into the empty half of our newly expanded living room.
I was so exhausted from watching Mountain Man do all that work getting the exercise equipment into place, that the only thing I could do that night was make the poor dear a cocktail (or three). Did I mention he hates to drink alone? Thank goodness. Every alcoholic questionnaire in THE WORLD starts with the question "Do you drink alone?"- So our marriage vows included a small verse attesting to the fact that we would never want to have to answer that question as a "Yes". (Don't ask about any other questions that may or may not determine our sobriety! It isn't polite to pry. It IS, however, perfectly proper for me to air my dirty laundry as I see fit to my ENTIRE readership-of one-but THAT'S another posting).
Anyway, day two of the treadmill in the living room went something like this...
I broke out the FANTASTIK and some rags and cleaned the filthy thing from top to bottom. (I HAVE mentioned I LOVE cleaning, no?). Well, once the machine was sparkling (sort of) I vacuumed the carpet it sat upon to catch the dirt recently misplaced from the treadmill. Then I noticed the glass tables in the FURNISHED part of the living room needed dusting. Then the couches needed wiping down. I polished the dining table and then moved on to the laundry and the dishes. By the time the house was clean, I had nothing left to give that poor treadmill.
Day three, I changed into sweats and a tee shirt. Twenty minutes searching for sneakers (try the back of the closet under the laundry basket first, next time!) and I was at least dressed for the part.
I hoped aboard old faithful, and three minutes in, I smelled something burning. Mountain Man wasn't home, so in the interest of family safety (stop, drop, and eat a buttered roll), I halted my intense albeit three minute workout.
Day four, I hop aboard my faithful steed (NOT the one in the bedroom---the one in the living room!). Six minutes in, and the rollers are not spinning the tread part of the old mill. The machine will only make its' revolutions if I push back with my feet and physically force them to move. After ten minutes, I double the calorie count due to extra work on MY part, and call it a day.
It is now Day 5, and my trusty tread mill is staring me down as I sit (oh what a familiar position THAT is!)here typing this post.
Are you mocking me, boy? Yep. I think you are.
I am going to get right back on it ("it" being the dreaded exercise beast of skinny jeans past!) , as soon as I finish here. If there isn't any more laundry to be done. Or dust bunnies to chase. Or Ice Cream in the freezer...
Yep, I'll be running that steed to the ground. But first things first. Is that Dust I see on old faithful? Looks like I'd better get out the Fantastik first.
Oh, hey guess what? In five days of my new exercise regiment? I gained another pound.
Did I mention Mountain Man lost two pounds just humping that bastard machine in the house in the first place?
Sigh. I think I'll drown my sorrows in a box of OREO's.
I have a lifetime gym membership at Bally's, and I watch faithfully as our checking account is dutifully slimmed down by twenty bucks a month. That's about all the use THAT little membership is up to!
Not yet ready to commit to the gym , you know, the five minute car ride, the packing of the gym bag, changing into the perfect workout outfit....I decided to get a home bound jump start to this latest workout routine.
I begged/pleaded/demanded that the Mountain Man drag my tread mill (make that my 800 pound tread mill) from it's exile in the garage, and place (read-drag/hump/push/lug/tow)it gently into the empty half of our newly expanded living room.
I was so exhausted from watching Mountain Man do all that work getting the exercise equipment into place, that the only thing I could do that night was make the poor dear a cocktail (or three). Did I mention he hates to drink alone? Thank goodness. Every alcoholic questionnaire in THE WORLD starts with the question "Do you drink alone?"- So our marriage vows included a small verse attesting to the fact that we would never want to have to answer that question as a "Yes". (Don't ask about any other questions that may or may not determine our sobriety! It isn't polite to pry. It IS, however, perfectly proper for me to air my dirty laundry as I see fit to my ENTIRE readership-of one-but THAT'S another posting).
Anyway, day two of the treadmill in the living room went something like this...
I broke out the FANTASTIK and some rags and cleaned the filthy thing from top to bottom. (I HAVE mentioned I LOVE cleaning, no?). Well, once the machine was sparkling (sort of) I vacuumed the carpet it sat upon to catch the dirt recently misplaced from the treadmill. Then I noticed the glass tables in the FURNISHED part of the living room needed dusting. Then the couches needed wiping down. I polished the dining table and then moved on to the laundry and the dishes. By the time the house was clean, I had nothing left to give that poor treadmill.
Day three, I changed into sweats and a tee shirt. Twenty minutes searching for sneakers (try the back of the closet under the laundry basket first, next time!) and I was at least dressed for the part.
I hoped aboard old faithful, and three minutes in, I smelled something burning. Mountain Man wasn't home, so in the interest of family safety (stop, drop, and eat a buttered roll), I halted my intense albeit three minute workout.
Day four, I hop aboard my faithful steed (NOT the one in the bedroom---the one in the living room!). Six minutes in, and the rollers are not spinning the tread part of the old mill. The machine will only make its' revolutions if I push back with my feet and physically force them to move. After ten minutes, I double the calorie count due to extra work on MY part, and call it a day.
It is now Day 5, and my trusty tread mill is staring me down as I sit (oh what a familiar position THAT is!)here typing this post.
 |
| From Working It Out |
Are you mocking me, boy? Yep. I think you are.
I am going to get right back on it ("it" being the dreaded exercise beast of skinny jeans past!) , as soon as I finish here. If there isn't any more laundry to be done. Or dust bunnies to chase. Or Ice Cream in the freezer...
Yep, I'll be running that steed to the ground. But first things first. Is that Dust I see on old faithful? Looks like I'd better get out the Fantastik first.
Oh, hey guess what? In five days of my new exercise regiment? I gained another pound.
Did I mention Mountain Man lost two pounds just humping that bastard machine in the house in the first place?
Sigh. I think I'll drown my sorrows in a box of OREO's.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Take Your (Sugar ) Lumps
Okay. Time to come clean with my Internet obsession. (yes, I have discussed it before -see mysuetories- the first step is the hardest)-
It all began, way back when my 16 year old son let on that he had a Face book account. I like to think of myself as an aware of what's going on in the lives of my children(read- hoodlums). But when I thought about it, just how much does any mom know about the secret Internet lives of their spawn? That was when I though about how much MY parents knew about MY secret life as a teen.
That's when I panicked. And like any other scared but curious as hell parent, I opened up my OWN face book account. Just to see what the little bastard(read- darling offspring) might be up to.
Well, it turns out the photos weren't nearly as bad as I thought, and truth be told, there weren't many surprises, which was quite surprising in of itself.
But while I was on MY face book account, reading about HIS account, I received an "Add a friend" message. It turns out, I had hordes of old friends I hadn't spoken to in over twenty years, and of course I wanted to be friends with all those people who wouldn't give me the time of day (nor I them) all those years ago.
I went one better, and started stalking, er, I mean, seeking out people I knew. Who would have guessed we could all have virtual cocktail parties on Saturday nites via the Internet?!
I've pretty much all but forgotten my son's Internet usage. Hell, who had time to check his Social surfing, and my e-mails, the constant stalk/search for new people of my own, all while trying to instant message those unfortunate to actually be on line when I'm trolling for victims? Something had to go. So I cut his cyber spacing a little slack (read- completely forgot about him.)
Then today, I surfed a little (no worry about sharks here, chum) and came upon something on You Tube.
Note to all of my Internet interventionists(you know who you are!)- This is the FIRST time I have actually randomly searched ANYTHING! Really! I didn't even know there was a You Tube. OK, OK, I've heard about it, but I though it was just a personalized sock site, ya know? Not to worry. I can stop any time I want to. Just please don't take my lap top away!
I digress. OK. So I stumble, quite literally, like a drunk on a binge(?)and found this little tidbit:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BV0RL7vK44E
Now, I'm thinking two things here.
#1. I really should just take a peek back into my kid's cyberlife now and again (which I did- nothing new there.)
and
#2. Stupid video? Maybe. Entertaining? Juvenile? Yes. But creative and hard work? Definitely.
Let me suffice to say that my son's cyber socializing is a bunch of kids having laughs with acronyms for sentences I can't decipher. But the kid in the video?
I'll bet his Mom is proud.
It all began, way back when my 16 year old son let on that he had a Face book account. I like to think of myself as an aware of what's going on in the lives of my children(read- hoodlums). But when I thought about it, just how much does any mom know about the secret Internet lives of their spawn? That was when I though about how much MY parents knew about MY secret life as a teen.
That's when I panicked. And like any other scared but curious as hell parent, I opened up my OWN face book account. Just to see what the little bastard(read- darling offspring) might be up to.
Well, it turns out the photos weren't nearly as bad as I thought, and truth be told, there weren't many surprises, which was quite surprising in of itself.
But while I was on MY face book account, reading about HIS account, I received an "Add a friend" message. It turns out, I had hordes of old friends I hadn't spoken to in over twenty years, and of course I wanted to be friends with all those people who wouldn't give me the time of day (nor I them) all those years ago.
I went one better, and started stalking, er, I mean, seeking out people I knew. Who would have guessed we could all have virtual cocktail parties on Saturday nites via the Internet?!
I've pretty much all but forgotten my son's Internet usage. Hell, who had time to check his Social surfing, and my e-mails, the constant stalk/search for new people of my own, all while trying to instant message those unfortunate to actually be on line when I'm trolling for victims? Something had to go. So I cut his cyber spacing a little slack (read- completely forgot about him.)
Then today, I surfed a little (no worry about sharks here, chum) and came upon something on You Tube.
Note to all of my Internet interventionists(you know who you are!)- This is the FIRST time I have actually randomly searched ANYTHING! Really! I didn't even know there was a You Tube. OK, OK, I've heard about it, but I though it was just a personalized sock site, ya know? Not to worry. I can stop any time I want to. Just please don't take my lap top away!
I digress. OK. So I stumble, quite literally, like a drunk on a binge(?)and found this little tidbit:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BV0RL7vK44E
Now, I'm thinking two things here.
#1. I really should just take a peek back into my kid's cyberlife now and again (which I did- nothing new there.)
and
#2. Stupid video? Maybe. Entertaining? Juvenile? Yes. But creative and hard work? Definitely.
Let me suffice to say that my son's cyber socializing is a bunch of kids having laughs with acronyms for sentences I can't decipher. But the kid in the video?
I'll bet his Mom is proud.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Holy Cow, I Think He's Gonna Make It!....STOP RIGHT THERE!
Well, the big game has come and gone. The spicy wings and cocktail franks and beer and yummy desserts are all gone, and there's nothing left to show for it besides jeans that are a little (?) tighter today, and mysuestories is a little more tired than usual!
Yep, Bruce still rocks! Looks like he's barely aged a day over the close to three decades I've been a fan. Although I will say that that one slide he did into the camera looked a little painful! Who knew jock straps should be required attire for active aging rock stars?
The only low point of half time was when my 12 yr old asked just who Bruce Springsteen was! Damn. That one hurt me!
Ohhhh! Did I mention we won POINTS? Yep, me and my youngest won TWO (that's right, TWO) boxes worth a whopping total of 550 POINTS! I don't know about him, but I am headed to the nearest shoe store that accepts said POINTS!!!
Oh, the game..... Well, Mountain Man and I were close to winning 2,500 POINTS on the final score, but wouldn't you know the bastards had to change the score with a minute left in play?!!
At which time Mountain Man reminded me that the same exact thing happened to us last year with two minutes left in the game.
So, I've decided to write to the Football Gods (read- commissioner of the game of football(?)- and request that they shorten the game by three minutes. This way I won't get all excited planning on how I will spend winnings that get yanked away from me at the last moment!
And those commercials are hardly worth mentioning. Oh, the Budweiser Clydesdales in heat was cute, bu we expect that much from them. Monster.com had a decent spot with the employee who hurled the snow globe at his boss' head and would now be "Looking for a new job?"! Other than that, I expect a lot more for my $6 million bucks a minute! Not that it WAS my $$$. Even if it HAD been mine, they would have just yanked it away at the last moment!
Oh well. At least we won something! And we laughed and ate and drank all with good friends.
But I gotta tell you, I STILL don't know the final score. Only that I had it, and then *poof* some hero had to go break the record for the longest interception return (?!!!) in Super bowl history. Great. I hope HE'S happy! All I know is now the Springsteen tickets for the new tour are off the table. Sigh. Maybe I can still buy the CD.
Thanks, constant reader, as always, for coming along for the ride.
Yep, Bruce still rocks! Looks like he's barely aged a day over the close to three decades I've been a fan. Although I will say that that one slide he did into the camera looked a little painful! Who knew jock straps should be required attire for active aging rock stars?
The only low point of half time was when my 12 yr old asked just who Bruce Springsteen was! Damn. That one hurt me!
Ohhhh! Did I mention we won POINTS? Yep, me and my youngest won TWO (that's right, TWO) boxes worth a whopping total of 550 POINTS! I don't know about him, but I am headed to the nearest shoe store that accepts said POINTS!!!
Oh, the game..... Well, Mountain Man and I were close to winning 2,500 POINTS on the final score, but wouldn't you know the bastards had to change the score with a minute left in play?!!
At which time Mountain Man reminded me that the same exact thing happened to us last year with two minutes left in the game.
So, I've decided to write to the Football Gods (read- commissioner of the game of football(?)- and request that they shorten the game by three minutes. This way I won't get all excited planning on how I will spend winnings that get yanked away from me at the last moment!
And those commercials are hardly worth mentioning. Oh, the Budweiser Clydesdales in heat was cute, bu we expect that much from them. Monster.com had a decent spot with the employee who hurled the snow globe at his boss' head and would now be "Looking for a new job?"! Other than that, I expect a lot more for my $6 million bucks a minute! Not that it WAS my $$$. Even if it HAD been mine, they would have just yanked it away at the last moment!
Oh well. At least we won something! And we laughed and ate and drank all with good friends.
But I gotta tell you, I STILL don't know the final score. Only that I had it, and then *poof* some hero had to go break the record for the longest interception return (?!!!) in Super bowl history. Great. I hope HE'S happy! All I know is now the Springsteen tickets for the new tour are off the table. Sigh. Maybe I can still buy the CD.
Thanks, constant reader, as always, for coming along for the ride.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Super Bowl Sunday
It's Super Bowl Sunday! And as we are great traditionalists here at mysuestories manor, we shall follow in the steps of those who have celebrated this great day before us!
We will scurry all over town and collect our numbers from the boxes we have been securing for the last six weeks, in the hopes that we will win MANY points! Because points are good and we ALL want to have more of them, right?
Then we will take our carefuly recorded numbers from those boxes (which by the way, pretty much suck-they are the least likely numbers to pay off those elusive POINTS that we continuously seek!), and we will hole up with twenty of our nearest and dearest, where we will play for even more POINTS!
We will eat hot wings, and six foot hero sections, and cocktail weenies, all the while being weenies while cocktailing!
And we will watch football(?), which, by the way, I could care less about besides the fact that I may win POINTS (Yea me!). And we will watch commercials that cost more than my entire shoe collection for a thirty second spot (and they call ME frivolous!).
Oh. And there will be Bruce Springsteen at half time--the love of my youthful music persona! The endless concerts, the vinyl albums...Ahh youth!Ohhhhh, Growing Up!
Yes!!! Bring on the wings!
Do you think anyone will mind (besides my kids!) if I bring my lighter and sway at the end of halftime yelling ENCORE! ENCORE! ? Because Tramps Like Us, baby, We Were Born to Run!
Come on, teams! Bring on the POINTS! Mama needs a new pair of shoes (Really, I do!). Tonight In Jungleland!
And those points sure will help when Sprinsteen tickets go on sale tomorrow morning for the new tour! And tonite, when we collect all those points, I sure hope to set the night on Fire!
Oh, can someone please let me know... who's playing in the big game, anyway?
We will scurry all over town and collect our numbers from the boxes we have been securing for the last six weeks, in the hopes that we will win MANY points! Because points are good and we ALL want to have more of them, right?
Then we will take our carefuly recorded numbers from those boxes (which by the way, pretty much suck-they are the least likely numbers to pay off those elusive POINTS that we continuously seek!), and we will hole up with twenty of our nearest and dearest, where we will play for even more POINTS!
We will eat hot wings, and six foot hero sections, and cocktail weenies, all the while being weenies while cocktailing!
And we will watch football(?), which, by the way, I could care less about besides the fact that I may win POINTS (Yea me!). And we will watch commercials that cost more than my entire shoe collection for a thirty second spot (and they call ME frivolous!).
Oh. And there will be Bruce Springsteen at half time--the love of my youthful music persona! The endless concerts, the vinyl albums...Ahh youth!Ohhhhh, Growing Up!
Yes!!! Bring on the wings!
Do you think anyone will mind (besides my kids!) if I bring my lighter and sway at the end of halftime yelling ENCORE! ENCORE! ? Because Tramps Like Us, baby, We Were Born to Run!
Come on, teams! Bring on the POINTS! Mama needs a new pair of shoes (Really, I do!). Tonight In Jungleland!
And those points sure will help when Sprinsteen tickets go on sale tomorrow morning for the new tour! And tonite, when we collect all those points, I sure hope to set the night on Fire!
Oh, can someone please let me know... who's playing in the big game, anyway?
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