Friday, December 31, 2010

Ya me despido... 2010

I say good bye 2010.

Ever stand at a fence at a racetrack and watch a car whizz by... here it comes here it comes here it comes.......whooooooooooooosh....there it goes there it goes...then it's gone.

That was 2010.

What the frick...?

So in good times and all things (well most things anyway) pertaining to my children I want time to sloooooooow down, way down...

actually, I want to go back in time.

Back to a time when they were small and safe and all kinds of "grate on my nerves" annoying.

But then again,  I love the people they have become, the emergence of the grown ups they will be.

Now about those bad horrible tortuous moments when we wish time would just hurry up and gather us up outta the pile of poo in which we have found ourselves to be wallowing in...

Yeah, I don't mind when time flies when I'm having that kind of too?

So I want to eat my cake and have it too.. (on a side note... I really love to say that and have people's brows furrow and a look come across their face like what the fu*k did that dumb ass just say...? Shouldn't that expression be"have my cake and eat it too"...? Well if you had your cake FIRST then you would have none left to it should be (and it is) eat your cake and have it too..., which is not possible, hence the phrase).

I was given a virtual gift this Christmas...the gift was to have a magic crystal ball to see into the future. My loveable's futures. The giver said her gift to me was for me to see the positive effect my loving would have on them.

Ohhh my goodness, that is one gift I won't be returning.

It's a flattering fit and just the right color.

I want to say thanks so much to the people that follow and read this blog.

And to those who joined my "coming out" party the other day I wish to thank you for the confirmation that I'm not only crazy, I do do do dooooo do doooo hooooo have an audience that bears witness.

I not only appreciate your readership and your comments, I thank you for not chewing me out publicly for my poor grammar, my typos, my cussing.

Which brings me to my New Year's resolutions...

forget it...

I hope you come back next year. This blog promises to have even MORE exciting awe inspiring jaw dropping earth shattering posts and valuable giveaways (psst, about those giveaways, it's a bait and switch).

Some Not All Who Wander Are Lost preview highlights of posts to come....

Finally, Daddio's clothing woes are over....

And he learns to make his own lunches (which he still bitches about)...

A peek into the Sweet Prince Buttercup's ohhhh so secretive life...

 Some big love from (and for) the loveables....

Bear Gets a New Car (and other fictional diddies)...

Observe from a front row seat the author of this blog become totally unglued/unhinged/undone as she prepares to let her darling baby girl one Googie Mc(Allmylovin)BlueBird fly the coop....

What a good mom does with her new found closet space....(pooo pooo peee dooo)

Crabs...not all their cracked up to be....

Lets meet back here in a day or two...

Gracias por todo.... (thank you for everything...!!!)

besos, besos, besos (kiss, kiss, kiss...)

Beth Koby,

One very contented author of Not All Who Wander Are Lost (the blog you are reading)...

Over and out.

See you on the flip side.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

To blog or not to blog...that is the question.

Hoooo-kay, so I feel a little dumb that I am forever talking to myself via this blog.

I often wonder is it really the epitome of narcissism to have a public blog?

A place where you do all the talking...and you're not sure if anyone else but YOU is listening...?

A spot where you spill details of your oooooh so boring life and hope others feel sorry for you, laugh at you, shake their heads and thank their lucky stars that they're not as weird as you...?

Hmmmm, now that's deep.

And now my head hurts.

No really, I do wonder who reads this thing...?

I know my mom does (and in case you stop by and read the posts and happen to happen upon the comment will surely see some comments from her, my greatest fan.)

I know my sister Susan doesn't ...AND THAT'S OKAY....YEAH IT'S FINE, REALLY. WHATEVER....(you bimbo).

I want you to know that while I appreciate the idea of YOU... I have no real proof that you exist in any other place but my head, inside my imagination....?

Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight....(wow, now that is a beautiful sentiment, maybe someone should *cap on that and write a song)...

So somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight are my blog readers...maybe.

I could probably justify writing this blog just for me...but then I would probably be forced to ask myself why not just get a diary where you could use vulgar language up the ship-shoot (or is it Shit-shoot?) and not bother to care that you may offend a reader, a reader who could be a Catholic Nun, or a Kindergarten teacher.

A place where your improper grammer and your msipellt words wouldn't matter none at tall ~

A person could use her diary to write all kinds of secretive things and then one day long after rigor mortis has set in and the house has been thoroughly scoured for valuables (ummm, don't bother) the kids would come across the tattered time worn book, they'd peel back the aged pages and open it longing for some grand adventure (ever see Bridges of Madison County...?)  to unfold itself... (again, don't bother I'm a true blue kinda girl).

I guess I already am an open book...

So why write a blog..?

I don't know...why are you asking me?...I wasn't asking you! I was asking my blogging audience...How do you know you have a blogging audience?...I don't, but I can't admit that I'm just talking to myself I would appear insane. You are insane. No I'm not. Yes you are.

The truth of the matter is that I use this blog instead of using Daddio...he's threatened on more than one occasion to knock my teeth down my throat if I say one more sappy word or spew one more flowery sentence in his general direction...If I try to look deep into his eyes and tell him how he rocks my world he beats me off (not literally so get your freakin filthy mind out of the gutter) him. And calls me Mrs.Roper.

Please leave me a comment.

I'm begging you.

Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight sum-one is going to cahhhh-ment and
make my life such fun.

Psssst..Susan, you can comment anonymously (wink).

*cap on that (Urban dictionary definition #20 meaning to capture...the preceding 19 definitions are defining things to do with either weed or penises...if you go there, don't say I didn't warn ya).

Monday, December 27, 2010

The more things change the more they stay the same...

This holiday season goes on record as being the weirdest one ever.

We didn't see anyone except our little family of five, plus the sidekicks.

It started with Thanksgiving...when we made a change of plans, which fell through.

But that didn't change things back to "normal".

Being a true re bounder (not).... it was oooooo-kay.

A few weeks later I went perfect tree shopping all by my lonesome...(it was lonesome).

You know how people can accidentally get a larger tree because in the great outdoors (Lowes garden center) they look much smaller than they will when in your house?

I tried not to do that.

I carefully considered watching Daddio (Scrooge McGrinch) wrestle a huge tree into our tiny stand (ohhh, the thought of all that cussing and throwing of sharp tools had me being very careful)

I worried that with a big tree he would have to drill holes in the wall to attach wires to help hold it up (that kind of crap really leads to the bad words being flung about).

I was positive a big one would drop buckets full of needles that would hide deep in the carpet only to resurface and stick themselves into the softest part of Daddio's big toe sometime in July.

I took all those things into consideration when choosing the perfect sized Christmas tree.

You can only imagine the ribbing I've taken over the tree I picked, which Googie (4'11") can touch the top tip of, standing flat footed.

So the tree looks like a short, fat pear.

On the plus side, it should only take about 2 minutes to put away all 6 of the ornaments adorning it.

So the tree doesn't really live up to any one's expectations of a perfect one.

Any one's but Daddio's.

He's taken this as a sign that were moving in the direction of next year having a fake tabletop one.

So a different than normal Thanksgiving and a smaller than average Christmas tree started it all....

We didn't see my Dad and his sweetheart on the 23rd.

We didn't see Daddio's mom on Christmas eve.

And we didn't party like it's 1999 with the rest of the gang yesterday.

As a family we've suffered some this holiday season.

We've suffered attacks of the heart and gallbladder.

We've suffered with complicated family dynamics.

Thank God though we are a strong bunch.

And have managed to do just fine amidst the many changes.

Things change and it really is okay.

Everything was different with our holiday this year.

Everything, except my Christmas cards.

As usual, I forgot to send them.

Better late than never...right?

Merry is your card.

Friday, December 24, 2010

Pay it forward...

So this was to be my Merry Christmas post....posted on Christmas Eve.

And technically it is.

I may or may not have told you that Daddio is a complete and total Grinch with a side note of Scrooge at this time of year.

He is miserable and sad.

I joke with him that it really is no wonder that he has a wild hair up his tush...what with all the budgeting, shopping, wrapping, baking, cooking, etc that he has to do anyone would be a bit "crabby".

Anyone that knows Daddio and I knows that Daddio does none of these things...he just complains like he does.

Yesterday I put a lump of coal into his lunch wasn't a real lump of coal, it was an illustration (drawn by one Koby Van Gogh) done on a yellow sticky note and stuck to the baggie that held his gourmet (bologna w heavy mustard) sandwich.

He called me later to tell me "thanks for the coal"

"Did you laugh...?" I asked him.

He laughed and said "yeah, you are an idiot".

And that is really why I put it in there in the first place.

You gotta have some humor in your life.


Also some love,

with a dash of hope.

and a sprinkling of faith.

So this morning when contemplating what I would write about this day before Christmas I did a little blog hopping for inspiration.

And where the heck should I stumble...but to a blog whose author was sending a message of hope, faith, love.

She titled it Hold On...

And then wrote about how we all face adversity.

Some wear it on the outside, others not so much.

Their pain is beneath the surface.

They've lost hope.

Have no faith.

Feel no love.

Perhaps suffered a loss.. a loss of a person, a relationship, a job, a home...?

Lost a church.

Lost their way...

Hold on....

the road is twisted and bumpy,

and sometimes it's dark and lonely.

Hold on.....

If you have love, faith, hope...please pay it forward.

If you feel like you don't, and your life isn't what you want it to be or what you thought it would be... hold on.

Our Savior has made promises...

Hold on.

Please hold on....


Wednesday, December 22, 2010

An unintentional brain probe...

The life of a hypochondriac is anything but easy.

Time is wasted worrying about things.

Imagining things.

Making things up.

In the middle of the night I feel bugs crawling in my ears.

Or maybe it's some kind Cerebrospinal fluid that could be leaking from a tiny hole that may be present.

When I wake up and feel this sensation I have no choice but to stagger to the bathroom and grab a toothpick..ummm, I mean, Q-tip.

The Q-tip will either stop the bug that bugs me or it will gather evidence of a Cerebrospinal fluid leak that will once and for all prove to Daddio that I'm not full of shit.

The other night I felt bugs...(or brain juice leaking)

In the dark, I opened the drawer holding the toothpicks, I mean Q-tips, and grabbed a palm full.

Not trying to brag or anything but my multitasker mentality had me peeing and poking at the same time.

In went the cotton plunger, twist, relief.



In goes the cotton plunger.............................


I screamed in the dark when the Q-tip... I mean toothpick went waaaaaaaaaaaaay tooooooooooo far into my ear canal.

Seriously....I POKED a HOLE in my BRAIN...


How in the hell does Kroger sell cotton swabs minus the cotton...?

Probably with this little diddy...with Quality Paper Sticks...

I got poked in the brain by a Quality paper stick... as opposed to what?

A cheap ass paper stick...?

Maybe a cheap paper stick would have collapsed under the pressure and not poked me so hard?

I had planned on writing Kroger a love note complaining about the dangerous toothpicks that they masquerade as Q-tips sitting innocently on their store shelves.

I hoped for some kind of compensation.

And an offer to pay for any medical expenses incurred in patching the hole in my brain.

While examining the package for contact info I came across this message...

Those crafty bastards.

A common sense warning I failed to heed.

If you're not supposed to enter the canal with them why are they 3 inches long...?

Monday, December 20, 2010

Desperate times call for desperate measures (and re-measure)....

Googie weighs about 90 pounds and stands 4'11".

Which means finding clothes that fit, outside of the toddler section, usually proves to be a definite wild goose chase.

So when she found some in the "big girl" section of a local mall...she was beyond thrilled.

They couldn't be totally perfect...(because that is just the way the mop flops when it comes to Goog and clothes shopping)

But things were certainly looking up when the waist checked out, and the rear was just about the right amount of snug.

Googie was in new pants glory.

Times THREE...

Three new pairs of pants to wear to work.

Friends, you have no idea what a monumental thing this is...

Googie now has pants that fit.

Well... they almost fit.

Googie was so high on the excitement of finally finding some grown up pants that fit that she didn't even complain that they were each about a foot too long.

Since 8 inch stiletto eff-me pump shoes are really not an intelligent "fashion do" during a Michigan winter..(not that Googie has any of those far she hasn't been able to find any in size 3, other than in the Barbie dress up section at Target )... 

that meant... we needed to locate a good seamstress.

A seamstress who could work some hemming magic and transform Googie's new pants into wearable.

We called around and got basically nowhere.

The prices quoted were outrageous and the wait time even worse.

Googie was getting discouraged.

Then we called Aunt Sue ( sister, the one who doesn't read this blog) to see if her short self had any ideas.

She suggested the Jeans Store near the mall.

The Jeans Store, although a fixture for over 40 years was somewhat of a mystery to this shopaholic.

I'd never set foot in the place.

But you know, we were desperate.

I called and the man answering the phone said they did alterations...on the spot.

Red flag.

(remember I said that....)

Red flag(s) a plenty.

(remember I said that too...)

I thought I was in the Hip Hop underworld when I stepped into the door of the Jeans Store.

The Hip Hop Underworld of Knock Off Goods and Services.

When I asked for clarification that the alterations were done on site, the young man at the front nodded toward the back of the store.

I turned expecting to see someone with a measuring tape around their neck, bi-focal glasses perched on the end of their nose, a box of straight pins held in their waiting hand...


in the rear corner of the stinky little store sat a lone sewing machine,

 and behind the sewing machine squatting on a tiny stool was the meanest looking little old person I've ever seen.

She was hunched over the machine, working,

and so covered by an over sized, tattered, poop colored down (puffy marshmallow) coat that all you could see was her top half.

Her looooog black-gray hair was disheveled, to put it kindly.

She had a black patch over her one good eye and a burning cigar butt dangling from the side of her chapped lip.

One chipped, brown tooth poked out and rested opposite.

(Okay, I'm embellishing a bit here, but remember, it is my blog ).

At that defining moment I should have judged this book by its cover.

(Seriously...Mom that advice is crap.)

When she growled at me when I attempted to ask her a question I figured that English was probably not a second language.

Red Flag.

(remember I keep saying that..okay)

 Googie came out of the makeshift fitting room wearing her too long pants.

The young man that was working behind the register came over and placed a pin..(very, very half-assed I might add) near the area of the pants he'd hitched up..marking the place where the pants would rest on Googie's shoe when the alterations were a done deal.

(Now that was a real big RED FLAG)

The young man said Googie could pick up the pants a couple of hours later.

The alterations would cost ten bucks per pair.

Later she called to let me know that she'd picked them up and that the hems looked a bit sloppy.

(Well, really what the hell do Googie and I know about hems...? If we knew anything we could have sewed them ourselves in the first place).

The next morning I was out shopping when Googie called me to tell me all about her pants.

She'd just put them on.

You thought I was going to say that something was wrong...right?


When she later modeled them for me I did what any supportive mother would do...

I collapsed on the floor in hysterics.

Normally this would send me into "frothing at the mouth" angry...however, I just peed my pants.

And howled so damn loud I scared the dog.

I'm thinking about asking Aunt Sue to take Googie and her too short pants back to the Jeans Store.

She can tangle with the cigar smokin seamstress.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

To each his own....

This post is a themed writing project challenge taken from Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent.

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. Jenny posts a few words, a prompt that we work from. This weeks prompt is in bold italics.

Meredith squirmed in the uncomfortable plastic chair trying hard to fit her voluminous can in the child sized seat.

Almost in unison her Fantasies Anonymous group scooted their chairs inward toward the center.

New faces always peaked special interest.

Not that the old faces weren’t of the fascinating variety.

Gumby, Bozo, Yogi and Felix sat captivated.

And Betty Boop tried hard not to giggle.

SpongeBob’s foot picked at a lifting tile on the floor as he spoke.

As he spilled details of his affection Meredith began feeling even more out of the loop, especially when Kermit leaned over and whispered "What was he thinking? OMG! Elves are soooo 2009..."

Friday, December 17, 2010

The life and times of a very patient wife.....

So yesterday I got myself a little chuckle.

(actually, it was more like a big cackle...)

I bought Daddio a new winter jacket a couple of days ago

I bought a size smaller than I usually buy because he has been complaining that all of his clothes hang on him like they belong to his much fatter older brother.

Daddio doesn't have any brothers.

Moving on...

this jacket is the second, noooo third one I've bought this season.

I took the others back after they didn't cut the mustard,

for a myriad of reasons...

One coat had a collar that had "fuzz" on it

the other, was puffy, puffy like a marshmallow

the puffy one, in all its horrific puffiness provoked one question from His Royal Highness The King of Fussy..."who wears a jacket in that color...?"

Moving on....

So the third jacket I bought was pretty close to perfect in every single way.

No fuzzy collar.

Svelte, like a diet marshmallow.

And blackish know, a regular color.

A color a regular guy would wear.

Day one Daddio wears a big smile on his face along with his new coat.

The next morning, when he plucked his jacket off the wall hook he said "this jacket is a dust magnet, look how dirty it looks after wearing it only once".

(Looked fine to me)

Moving on...

The morning after that Daddio fetched his jacket from the closet in the hall.

He slipped it on over his shoulders.

Something wasn't right.

Not right at all...

"Seeeeeeeeeeeee" he said pulling at the sides of his new jacket "two damn wearings and the thing is already ALLLLLLL stretched out...".

Upon a close up, super-duper inspection by one Detective Beth Koby it is discovered that Daddio does indeed have a little jacket problem...

"That is your old jacket" she revealed.

Daddio breathed a sigh of relief that his jacket hadn't let him down after all.

And then he asked me...

"Do you see dust when you look at this jacket...?"

"Ohhhh yeah" I said " very, very're starting to look a lot like Pig Pen from Charlie Brown".

(Sometimes he brings out the mean girl in me...tee-hee)

PS...some of my devoted followers may suggest to me that I allow Daddio to do his own (damn fussy ass) shopping...well then, if I did, I'd have no fodder for this blog...just sayin.

 Have yourself a merry little Friday.


Wednesday, December 15, 2010

A face a mother could love....

We got ourselves a new loveable.

I walked over to meet the person hunkered down under the big thick gray hoodie.

Only a pair of hands, texting on a cell phone could be seen.

When I was standing in front of the lump of person I introduced myself and waited for a response.

The lump continued texting and grunted something inaudible.

"Ummm excuse me" I said "you need to look up when you are spoken to".

He tossed his head back and pulled his hood off.

I almost peed my pants.

The kid looks so much like The Sweet Prince Buttercup it took my breath away.

Same blue eyes, same big white teeth.

Same high cheekbones and puffy lips.

Holy shit...I was smitten.

By this boy who could be my boy.

My big grown up man in front of me a boy again...

Okay, so I knew, just knew that this would spell trouble.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am head over heels in love with my perfect children.

They can do no wrong most of the time.

That I am nothing more than putty in their hands.

Well by the looks of things it appears this kid will be getting away with murder.

So as this first day continued this familiar looking loveable proved quite uncooperative.

He liked to take his phone out and text.

And tell us, when reprimanded, that he was checking the time.

Cell phones are not to be used during school.

Well, my fuse was short yesterday.

And like I said before my children can do no wrong (MOST OF THE TIME)....

When the text happy loveable continued to disobey and disrespect, and look just like my kid when he did it...

I had no choice but to treat him like my own.

"I'm telling you one more time to put that phone away" I said "if you don't...the next time I see it I'm going to twist your ear or slap you in the back of your head...DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

What's that expression...Familiarity breeds contempt?

Disclaimer: While I did beat the holy hell outta my own kids...(wink), I would never in a million years touch a loveable (and leave a mark).

Monday, December 13, 2010

Crazy shi* the kid's Dad(dio) says.....

The enormity of Christmas, actually it's probably more the commercial enormity of Christmas and my reaction to it that sends Daddio into a (not so) jolly rant.

"I hate Christmas" he loves to say.

"Why exactly do you hate Christmas?" I like to ask.

"I guess it must be really hard to watch me bake, cook, clean, budget, shop, wrap, mail, transport, return and all the million other things that this wonderful holiday has me"

"Yes, it must really suck to be you at this time of year".

(He only has one person to shop for and that person is me...and he doesn't know that I know this...but he bribes his darling daughter into doing the dirty work for him ;-)

So with Daddio wallowing in his own personal brand of holiday spirit, coupled with the weather which is ferociously cold and wintry it just seemed fitting that a potential (financial and other wise pain in the ass) crisis would be in the cards.

The clock read 10pm when Bear called to tell us that The White Dragon (his old car) was down for the count.

It sat, refusing to start in the Divine Miss M's driveway.

Bear secured a ride home (smooches Trouble & Goog) and all the while Daddio tossed and turned, fretted and worried about how he was going to help Bear out of this pickle.

Hooptie cars are Daddio's Achilles heel.

They're the chink in his armor.

I fully expected him to hit me with his usual battle cry.

"Why did we ever have kids....?

Which is always my cue to remind him of all the wonderful things having children has brought to our lives.

The list, a big verbal Valium, usually sooths his freak out right down.

This time though he tricked me.

And went in another direction.

He went for his other words of wisdom... the ones he uses when he figures a huge financial issue is lurking just around the bend...

"You shoulda married a rich guy"

Ho ho ho....

So I ask it appropriate to add hooptie cars to one's nightly prayers...?

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Twist it (shake your tail feather).....

This post is a themed writing project challenge taken from Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent.

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. Jenny posts a few words, a prompt that we work from. This weeks prompt is in bold italics.

An involuntary gasp of shock escaped my lips when I opened the shoebox and saw the pointy-toed shoes, then tears slipped down my cheeks.

The new shoes were a gift from my girls, and not in any way unlike, other than size, the pair I wish I’d been given 50 years earlier.

At that time the needs of a small, poor girl went seemingly unnoticed, except maybe by God.

I don't know if there were others who knew too that I had no proper shoes to wear to a wedding…?

But my daughters knew the story and wanted to end it differently.

So 50 years later,

at this anniversary party I would dance.

Wearing my new shoes.

Not part of the Saturday Centus...but just in case a little girl who once had no shoes (yet still managed to dance) happens to happen by...this is for her.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

An eye opener....

On a Mom's website I visit we are currently discussing "losing" one's self to motherhood and wife dome.

A strange thing occurred to me as I read what the other women responded.

I didn't lose myself when I became a wife and mother.

That's probably when I found myself.

It was an eye opener that's for sure.

Mostly because I have been known to be uber critical of those women around me who are wives and mothers and who seem to be not as devoted to that as they are to themselves...

So for me it was easy to be a wife and a mother.

I didn't feel like I was missing myself or anything else.

When my "mothering" was not so needed at home anymore..I did what any self respecting woman who is addicted to "mothering" would do... I picked up a bunch more kids.

Even my Patron Saint (chosen at age 14 when I was Confirmed) screams "you were meant for this job"...

St. Martha (Marta)...the Patron Saint of Homemakers...


I guess I owe some apologies...

You weren't lame and lazy after all...

I was just in my comfort zone and that is why I felt so good, so comfortable.

And that is why I never really truly resented all the work.

Safe and happy in my own little zone, it was easy to criticize from up on my high horse.

So if I ever told you to "buck up" or anything similar to that...forgive me please.

xoxoxoxoxoxox and all that jazz.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

The third time's the charm....

Proverb.... The third time you try to do something, it will work.
A long time ago my mom and dad married each other and while I'm so happy they did (DUH) they really were never very well suited for each other.
In time they went their separate ways.
And both met (and married) new partners relatively soon after their split.
The gentleman my mom married was a really great guy...just not for her.
And my dad's new pick....gosh, I hate to say it, but the phrase "evil step-mom" or the name "Virginia Woolf" comes to mind when I think of her.
In time they too went their separate ways.
And then again both met new partners.
My mom has a wonderful husband of over 20 years. He is kind and generous and puts her above all others.
My dad has a wonderful woman of over 20 years. She is kind and generous and puts him above all others.
The third time is the charm.
And it has been heavenly for my sister and I.
We don't have to worry about either of them.
They've both have found "true love" and happiness.
And really... what more can a person ask for...?
My dad's other half suffered a heart attack on Sunday. She is currently in the hospital and fighting really hard to come home.
I don't know "who" your God is...but I ask you to kindly say a few words on my step-mother's behalf.
Could you ask him please to hold off on taking this one...she is very needed.
And loved,
by all of us...
especially my dad.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

This post is a themed writing project challenge taken from Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent.

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. Jenny posts a few words, a prompt that we work from. This weeks prompt is in bold italics.

The bin of tangled up holiday lights always signals the beginning.

Soon there’d be slightly muffled cussing of crooked tree trunks and the fact that we’re Catholic instead of Jehovah Witness.

WHO in their right mind puts a tree…

A FRICKIN DIRTY TREE in the middle of the living room?

It smells,

it sheds,

it drips annnnnnnd...


Next year, I swear, NO REAL TREE.

NO TINSEL, nooooo tinsel..

This year I WON”T be pulling tinsel out of the cat’s ass.

Have I told you how much I hate the holidays?

I don’t know WHY I put myself through this every year.”

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Wooooooooooooooh is me (part deux)......

One of the coolest things about having a blog or a diary is that you have a written, easily assessable chronicle of your life at your fingertips.

Like when my Dad says "What were you worried about a year ago today? Seeeee you don't even remember" to prove to me that my worries pretty much go in one ear, eat at my brain for about two seconds, and then exit out the other...not to be thought of or worried about again.

So Dad... I might be able to tell you (if give me a moment to log in) what I was worried about a year ago.

But do I really want to know?

On one hand, it may feel good to be worrying about some new things...

on the other,  it may be reassuring to know that all things cycle...

and somehow stay the same.

But do I really like being a hamster on a wheel...?

No. I don't.

But on some level, I must.

Which is evidenced by my continuing to spin my wheels and worry about things that come around, and go around, and all things in-between

I get stressed out man.

Reeeeeal stressed out.

So yesterday I'm putting on some makeup getting ready for work and my small dog is laying near my feet.

She's in a little heap right up against the vanity where there is a duct that blows delicious hot air all winter long.

That dog is sooo me.

I love warmth and coziness almost as much as I love Daddio.

So anyway, the little dog is even cozier than normal this morning, cozier because she's wrapped in a hot towel.

Hot as in... fresh from the dryer, folks.

When I brought the towel up from the basement she allowed me to wrap her submarine sandwich style with both ends tucked in.

It didn't take too long for her to wiggle free.

But she didn't come all the way out of her cocoon.

No, she stayed wrapped in that warm bit of heaven and just poked her nose out.

Just enough for a sniff of air.

Looking at that cute little dog suddenly had me thinking of my "woe is me" attitude of late...

and even though she was totally unaware she gave me a bit of advice...

I'm going to wrap myself up tight..real tight in a warm wrap of my blessings..with only my small nose poking out to sniff the air every once in a while...

it seems soooo safe and inviting.

Maybe you should try it too...?

PS....Googie in case you were wondering I did not recycle this towel, it is back in the laundry. Really though, it probably would have been okay since (no matter what you say) she really doesn't smell like shit .