Friday, December 30, 2011

The Dutchess of Notadamnthing shares a Royal Review....

Daddio and I were spoiled rotten by our children this Christmas.

They gifted us with their presence and with a shit load of presents... it was awesome (and a bit embarrassing)...

I mean when the kids each get a couple of gifts and Daddio and I are nearly buried alive in packages..on a level or two it didn't feel right..

ohhh, eff dat crap, it felt utterly amazing.

Since becoming a Mrs. Goog has been telling me about the finer things in life, like really expensive sheets.

I feel about sheets like I feel about wrapping paper... total waste of flow.

Like a plastic store sack that is good enough to carry your cans and a loaf of bread so is a utility cotton cover for your mattress.

Daddio and I inherited some standard sized sheets (and some mismatched pillow cases) from Marmie when she moved.

And then at some point we were forced to purchase a set or two to go on our waterbed when we turned cool and bought one.

(Three pregnancies sleeping on a water bed, both a blessing and a curse... easy to sleep on my stomach, impossible to get out of)...

speaking of impossible to get out of, that king sized water bed was continually being filled not only with water but with children who woke scared in the middle of the night and slept-walked from the comfort of their own beds/cribs to climb in nice and cozy next to mom and dad..when we added the dog and cat to the mix Daddio was forced to cry "uncle" and the kids were told it was them or us...

in other words, Sir Daddio made a declaration that from here to forth no more rotten little fish outta water like sleep mates were to adorn our sleeping quarters...

A new (Queen sized, of course) bed was purchased and our offspring were offered a sleep mat on the floor to which they could flock should they be fearful of gargoyles or mean spirited ghosts and such in the middle of the night

(Evidence that the big guy does have a heart of gold)

And so forth and so on we've happily existed with sheets (two sets) one from some cheap retail chain and the other from IKEA... (a great buy at 20 bucks a set).

For 29 years of marriage that could and very well may be some kind of record.

Speaking of records, my poor kids suffered with cheap sheets too.

You do the Calculus... if given the choice between $125.00 Nike basketball shoes or a set of sheets... just sayin.

So this Christmas Daddio and I were gifted our very first ever really decent set of sheets.

I washed them, and was beyond delighted that there seemed to be an unusually large proportion of good quality material (the better to stretch my dear over the entire side of the mattress and make it's way down to fit generously yet securely around the bottom corners)...

Later when we climbed into bed Daddio and I had a moment to stretch down into the sheets and see if we could feel a difference...

We agreed the sheets felt thicker than we're used to... (and a bit colder)

They felt heavy, but a good heavy.

"They feel like hotel sheets!!!" Daddio exclaimed.

Minus the bed bugs...

(And that right there folks is how the other half lives...)

Queen Elzbieta, signing off... toodles

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Dear Salvation Army...

What the hell was up this year?

I mean, where in the hell were all your bell ringers...?

I totally am compelled to shove at least a folded buck into each and every red bucket I see when I walk out of a store..

And for some reason there were not many red buckets out this year.

Filling each bucket I see adds up to quite a nice amount (from ME alone) for the Salvation Army.

I walk in and out of a lot of stores each holiday season.

Salvation Army bell ringers earn minimum wage (maybe less) and sometimes they are volunteers..

Trouble's grandmother worked as a volunteer ringer on one of the coldest days Michigan has ever known (last year).

It seems like they get the most cheerful, humble people to ring the bell.

I'm not gonna lie, from the bell ringer I expect a payback of some sort when I toss in my folded dollar.. in addition to the back pat I give myself I want something from them..

a "thank you"

a "Merry Christmas"

a "God bless you"...

something, anything to acknowledge my gift.

And I've never been disappointed, until this season.

They sent a dud to the store I frequent most.

Not just a dud, the man they sent to my local Kroger had no angel on his shoulder... he had a boulder sized chip.

And a cell phone

and a texting problem

complete with what appeared to be a personality defect.

On top of that, he didn't give a shit...

My Kroger store has an entrance that is attached to the exit... an open area (where the carts are stored) separate the two...

so each and every time I walked in, I could see him.

Often times he'd be standing with his back to the bucket, punching little buttons on his phone.

Some days I'd see him sitting on a shelf, hiding behind the crane machine, fiddling with his phone.

Other days, I'd see his bucket... but no sign of him.

I'd look for him and I'd find him sitting on the curb smokin a smoke, doing what else? hitting buttons.

The one and only time I shoved in my share he didn't even move a facial muscle.

or open his mouth... (of course his fingers were a movin across the key board of his phone...)

One day when following a wobbly old woman out of Kroger's, a bill clutched between her weathered, bony fingers, she paused, then struggled to get it into the small, cross shaped opening into the red bucket, I was stopped behind her and forced to watch her work in order to donate.

The Bell Ringer thoughtfully moved his phone to his other hand... and helped her shove it in.

He then went right back to his cell phone texting conversation... or maybe it was an intense game of Angry Birds...what-evvvvv-er

"HEY bout a "THANKS" and a "MERRY CHRISTMAS" for this lady...???"

some crazy person (me) yelled.

He mumbled something and tucked himself back into the spot behind the crane machine.

I would love to be privvy to the knowledge of what the Salvation Army's take was from that one particular bucket spot...

I am 100% positive they suffered a loss from previous years.

In this case, that loss had NOTHING to do with a poor economy and everything to do with a poor hiring and follow up process...

Dear Salvation Army...please send us a good one next year, needy people are counting on you.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

While visions of sugar plums danced in her head....

If I had a nickel for every time I had some hair brained idea that started as a nugget of gold in my heart and blossomed into a hair brained plan that tried really hard to live up to my expectations.. yet managed to fall flat on its face and melt like butter on a scalding hot sidewalk I'd probably be having a secretary typing this blog for me...

and a butler to tie my shoes,

and a personal chef,

and someone to hand feed me (peeled) purple grapes...

I'd be that damn filthy rich.

One of those nuggets had me daydreaming about the loveables doing some type of giving back random act of kindness this holiday season.

They had a few bucks in a stash they'd earned by doing a recycling project.

Not really enough to make a dent in my fantasy project.

But,  (if their fearless leader had enough ballzs) we could borrow from the general fund and pay it back later with a bake sale or some other low paying big-ass project.

(She (me) was stupid enough to gather those borrowed funds)

I spouted my poetry laden, watercolor, misty eyed game plan to the thugs and they grunted their approval..

Ohhhh, this was going to be simply lovely... I could feel it in my bones.

With a hundred bucks burning a hole in my pocket I drove to the big box Meijer store in our town.

I spoke with the manager and told him that a gang of thugs group of teens, a group of staff and I would be there around lunch time to scope out his customers and choose a few at random to receive gifts cards (in ten dollar increments) to spend in his store.

"No one has done anything like that here, I don't think" he said with a big grin.

Back at the Mill we gathered the posse and armed them with poinsettia decorated papers proclaiming the receiver "A recipient of a random act of kindness" which were to be given, with the gift cards and a small explanation to the people of their choosing.

I'd asked the cashier that sold me the gift cards to ring the gift cards up separately so that they'd all carry a taped on the back receipt, proving they'd were authentic and had been paid for... (hot damn, I sure was thinking straight).

The lovables were instructed to case the joint and find someone they deemed "worthy" to be surprised and delighted and totally blown away by their random act of kindness.

I know now I should have held some kind of pre-screening effort.

"Gift cards in aisle 9... free to the first 10 or so people who smile and act pleasantly surprised and grateful by these young people's actions."

Yes, in hind site, I shuda known betta....

I didn't count on my loveables scaring people.

When three of them (all different shades of chocolate) ran up to an old white haired (Pillsbury flour colored) woman, she clutched her handbag and looked for an escape route.

"NOOOO, I don't want anything" wild eyed, she cried, as the boys attempted to give her a card.

As this same scenario happened again and again I felt the wind leaving my sails...

(It's okay Marmie,  I know you just put your hand to your mouth and said "ohhhh noooo" shaking your head)

The people who did receive the gifts had to be patient and had to have been gifted with really good ears to hear the kids projectile vomit- whisper their giving speech...

"hereyougoweraisedthismoneyatourschoolandweboughtgiftcardsandwechooseyou.... (a small breath)


I'd asked one of the staff to bring a camera to record the momentous occasion of the implementation of my most recent grandioso idea.

He couldn't figure out how to turn it on.

And when he did, he wasn't fast enough to capture the kids delivering the cards (diarrhea attack style) to the lucky gifted.

Or the people took one look at our motley crew and declined to be caught in a photo op with our gang.

Ohhh, the disappointment welled in me like a Great Lake...

And I was mad at all the stupid people, the ones who it appeared couldn't see past the color of the skin of my loveables or ignore their thugwear.. the ones who couldn't pause for a moment and hear what they were trying to say, the shoppers who rudely shook their heads no as they put up their hand to wave us off...


Stupid plan ruining bastards.

How could they not see past the clothes and the piercings and the tattoos and the swaggers to see the hearts behind the hands that offered the cards...?

In my planning I never gave that a thought.

When the second to the last card was given away we got the recipient of my dreams..

well, she didn't do a cartwheel or sob with sheer joy or anything like that... but she did get teary eyed and say "ohh my goodness, this is sooo nice, no one ever gives me anything, let me hug you, here let me hug you all"....

Back at school I was worried about rehashing what had just happened, but I felt it necessary...

"What did you guys think about our random act of kindness event? I asked and waited for the egg to be cracked on my head or the pie to be thrown in my face.

"THAT WAS AWESOME" one of my loveables said...

"We need to do that again" another one added...

Maybe I'm rubbing off on them after all... their brains had turned to sugar plums.

The event surely wasn't the Norman Rockwell'esque event of my heart led imagination, however, I felt the stirrings of a nugget that could very well morph into next year's plan.

So this is Christmas...

Monday, December 19, 2011

Gubmuh hab…… (read it backwards)

For the first time in years I'm not all bah-humbug-gy this Christmas season.

It feels wonderful..

even though,

I'm finding I don't have enough hours in a day to do the things I want to do... (like make shitloads of delicious cookies to delight and impress my family and friends).

I'm finding that I don't have enough money in the bank to do the things I want to do... (like giving strangers in Meijer gift cards as random acts of kindness).

I'm finding that I don't have the chops to be belting Oh Little Town of Bethlehem... (that matters not, I still do it).

I'd normally rather suffer through a root canal sans Novocain than decorate for Christmas, this year, the pain could be equated with putting your mini pad on adhesive side up...(which is pretty bad, but not nearly as bad as the dental surgery).

This year, I've not been such a sourpuss.

And it feels like a weight lifted.

The Sweet Prince Buttercup had a wonderful birthday (and I snuck a neck sniff while I gave him a birthday trim...yee-haw, I was so slick he never felt the need to throw an arm back to get me off him tee-hee)

Trouble and Googie stumbled upon a $50.00 bill in the grocery store parking lot and took it inside and gave it to the manager, leaving their contact info in case no one came back for it, while the three of us were out shopping later that evening the phone rang, a stranger thanking Trouble for his honesty. The money blew out of a card her young son had opened (a gift from his grandfather), they didn't notice and later discovered it missing, retraced their steps and were reunited with their loot... (now dat shit makes a mama proud)...

and while digging through a lifetime's accumulation of Christmas stuff a discovery of this nature (an 18 year old picture of Bear loving on Santa Clause)... makes all the work and stress worth every minute of all the work and stress....

He's holding his hand...awww

OMG... 6 days until Christmas, and only 5 of them are shopping days... I'm screwed.

(What are you doing reading this blog...don't you have some shopping to be doing too...?)

Thanks for visiting... ho ho ho

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Oreo's + orange juice .....

Last night just as I was beginning to doze off I started talking to Daddio about the past.

"I was in the tub pounding a bag of Oreo cookies and a glass of OJ...remember?"

"It was 6am... remember?"

He chuckles at the memory.

"What time did we leave...? Do you remember...?"

"Around noon...right?"

"Do you remember the first thing you saw...?

"His eyes" he said, remembering.

"So big and blue..."

"Me too, that's my memory too..."

"That was the happiest day of my life"....

"Mine too".....

Happy birthday Sweet Prince Buttercup.....

PS... I can't wait for the day that you finally truly understand how having you changed our lives, made them purposeful and magical.

On days like today I only remember the blessing of you.... ( I promise never to talk about the time I was pulled into Sister Geraldine's office because you'd given out an entire bag of rubber bands to all your male classmates who then, from their balcony seats, used them to pelt and ping the patrons of The Detroit Symphony Orchestra during your field trip there... I also won't talk about the time you took off and walked over to Aunt Mickey's house after another field trip, gaining the notoriety of being the only student your teacher ever "lost" in her 26 year teaching career.." Nope, today will be all about the magic of you... (and not the million crazy ass things you've done over the years which now provide tear wiping cackle fests for us all...)

PSS....You still have the prettiest blue eyes ever.

And I am sooooo incredibly grateful for the gift of you.

PSSS... oh yes, I did play in Paint and draw blue hearts around his eyes... I do love him (you) THAT much.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Season's greetings.....

I was sitting at a table in our work cafeteria talking on the phone with a coworker yesterday.

The conversation was centering around a new client whose case she was now working.

As we talked I saw a group of people walk in thru the door and toward me.

One was waving.

At first I couldn't see who it was.

And when I finally recognized who the waver was I screamed, threw down the phone, and ran across the room and into a hug, big bear fashion.

Two of my very favorite loveable thugs of ALL TIME had come to visit their school "mama"...

and boy-oh-boy was this work mama ever in need of a surprise such as this.

In typical teen boy style they'd both grown nearly a foot taller (and broader too) .

Both had good life reports to deliver, which always makes a mom feel a bit of job satisfaction,

and pride.

"I passed all my subjects, but I got a "D" in Algebra" one said.

"That's passing, right?" I said (forever okay with okay).

"Do your best" I said "it's the best you can do"....

"Yer not gonna like what I am about to tell you" he continued and hung his head.

"I'm dating someone from our old class, someone I used to hang with..."

Ooooooh no, I didn't say... not her

She'd gotten him into so much trouble, the only real trouble he'd ever gotten in while in our program.

She'd snuck him into a corner in a darkened room and offered up a 2-10 (to crack the code simply reference the alphabet)...

He declined.

How do I know this...?

he told me while we fried chicken and talked about his write up

I gave him my best Dr Laura (and Marmie) impression...

"You want to think really hard about who you lay down with" I said "you don't want a crack pot nut job as the mother of your potential children, do you...?"

"That girl is not the greatest news, ya know"

"You will be connected to the mother of your children for all your born days, you get that, right...?"

"Choose wisely son..."

Yep, that was the one... (dammit).

"I remember what you said about her" my loveable thug said.

"I sure don't know everything" I said, a bit ashamed "even if I try to pretend like I do"...

"You are such a good, good boy" I said "I want only the best for you, always...understand?"

He promised that he did.

And then hugged me about seven more times.

An early Christmas gift, fo sure.



Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Mazel tov......

Yesterday The day before yesterday Two days ago on the radio someone mentioned that there are 13 (shopping) days (left) until Christmas...

hoooo-hoooo- hoooo-ly shit, yer kiddin right...???

I wouldn't be so unprepared if  I'd remembered that this year Christmas falls on the 25th....

Which truly is thirteen days from today...

But which in real reality (a doctor I know likes to use that phrase..tee-hee) means that I only have 12 shopping days left, unless I want to be in the mall with thousands of clueless, desperate men on Christmas Eve buying woman's cologne for everyone...(nah)

I get pretty stressed out this time of year, it used to be because we were really broke and I wanted to give the kids a wonderful Christmas, now I get stressed because we are really broke and I want to give the kids a wonderful Christmas...

If I'm being truthful that's not what my holiday freak out is really all about...

the truth may be that I am the worst ever gift giver, it is sooo not my love language.

Or even my first language.

In fact, the language of gift giving is downright foreign to me.

So all this pathetic in the gift giving department has my panties in an uproar and constantly trying to crawl up my azz...

The stress is morphing itself into a bitchy old monster who has taken up residence in my heart and soul...  she's not moved all her things in yet, but she's taken over like she owns the place.

I'm finding myself lashing out at innocent people (mostly cashiers and customer service reps)

and it makes me really not like myself very much these days.

I've made a conscious effort to do better...

and I was..

until yesterday.

I was in the drive thru at Comerica (a cheezy bank with numerous branches in Michigan) , I asked the teller waiting on me if she could give me their branch phone number..

"I'm afraid you'll have to call the 1-800 banking number, I don't have the number" said Mrs Teller

"Oooooo-kay" said ticking time bomb me

I dialed on my cell phone and went through seven or so minutes of prompts where I landed in lala land listening to the Comerica greeting telling me how valued I was as a customer, and how much they hated making me wait for help, but as much as they hated having me wait (because they are horrendously understaffed) they really appreciate my business and (of course) at this time of day (which is any time of day) they have an unusually high volume of calls and you will be taken care of in the order of which you were received (and all that bull crap jazz...)




after listening patiently for too many minutes I again tried to get the teller to give me the top secret information...

"I've been on hold waiting for the seriously don't know the phone number to your own branch...?" asked getting really hot under the collar me

"umm, nope" Mrs Teller said (with a smile, of course) "since we don't have secretaries anymore they don't allow us to give out the number"

"Well geeze..." I, simmering on slow burn, snapped and crackled and popped then said "are "they" scared that someone may need help from a manager?  have a question? need a little help? know could someone be in the mood to foster some type of decent client/customer/banking rep bond?

A real reality relationship with their banker? ...."

...... Oh the grinch-i-ness in my soul really spilled out.

And my teeth bared and I growled and frothed, spit and sputtered.

When I paused to take a breath I felt a bit better...

and I felt my heart (boom, boom, boom) begin to swell and a clarity took over.

I had ideas for gifts...

lots of gifts...

mostly for me...

a personal fire extinguisher (human spontaneous combustion is a real concern)
a shock collar
a muzzle
an economy sized bottle of tranquilizers
a weed card
a new Bible
a coupon for an 18 hour massage

Happy shopping... you only have 11 days left to shop, unless you can find something quality (and on your list) at Rite Aid or 7-11 and then you have 12 11 shopping left.

Hooooo-hooooo-hooo-ly shit.....

Monday, December 5, 2011

Bible soup for the soul....

I've been feeling a tad under the weather lately.

Dizziness and an upset stomach seem to be the symptom(s) du jour...

So I stand up from a crouching position (don't ask) and the room spins like I've had about 14 rum and cokes.

I've been thinking brain tumor,

and the nausea fits right in.

It could also be the beginning of kidney failure...

I take lots of powerful meds for my bloody poo issues.

My thoughts have been working overtime trying to figure out what is wrong with me.

I've been moping around carrying bucketfuls of worries and fears and anxiety (and a shitload of Google'd possible/probable maladies ) for what seems like weeks.

Daddio isn't used to that kind of me... I'm usually clue-less-ly carefree and happy go lucky dippy....

lately I'm more of a wet blanket, the sky is surely falling, kind of sea-hag-y, hormonal, feel super sorry for myelf kinda gal.

Yesterday that poor man got so frustrated trying to pry my jowls and my pout-y lips off the ground that he ordered me to the exercise bike...

and he suggested that I read the Bible whilst I attempted to peddle my problems away (or kill myself with over exertion..either way, he would get a much needed break from my neurosis(es).

"I've tried to read the Bible" I tell him "I just can't seem to get into it".

"It's too hard to understand, too confusing".

"Too many names and far away places for me to connect....ya know?"

"Just open it up" he suggests "just open it up and start reading"...

I tell him you can't just open it up and start reading, how would I know what is "going on"...

"The Bible is not a novel... it has no beginning and end.."

"Just read...and RIDE" he says.

Well who the hell woulda thunk that that hunk o mine could be called a Preacher man...

After a half hour of peddling for all I was worth ( and sweatin like a pig)

and some good ol open up the Good Book and just read(ing)

I felt like a new woman.

And like I totally could handle what ever it was that may be handed to me.

Faith is a powerful healer.

And a mind clearer...

(when I finally cleared the hypochondriac-dical (no, that is not a real word, but this is my damn blog and I can make up words any time I feel like it...oooo-tay) shit from my brain I got to doing a bit of detective work and figured out that the pharmacy tried to play a switch-er-roo with some of my meds and recently gave me a generic... about a month ago I started on these new pills.. hmmm, around the same time as my brain tumor started...)

PS... as always I am not making fun of people who suffer from terrible things, being sick is one of my greatest fears, writing about it takes some of the fear's power away..and so does Bible reading, I highly recommend it.)

Thanks for listening..and a happy freakin ass Moanday to you all... poo-poo-peeee-do.

Oh, one last thought....

"When all the world is a hopeless jumble
And the raindrops tumble all around,
Heaven opens a magic lane.

When all the clouds darken up the skyway,
There's a rainbow highway to be found
Leading from your window pane
To a place behind the sun,
Just a step beyond the rain."

(Seldom used introduction lyrics to the song Somewhere over the rainbow, beautiful, aren't they?...)


Thursday, December 1, 2011

Assuming the worst... (I'm super good at that)

What's that dumb saying about assuming...?

When you assume you make an "ass" out of "u" and "me"... (duh)

My dad has spent the last two days recovering in the hospital, to the untrained eye (and ear) he is the perfect patient, never complaining, polite and friendly.. to those of us who know him well, his suffering is about a 10+ on the discomfort-get me the frick outta here meter.

It was hard to see his large flat feet hanging a foot over the edge of the bed...

And even harder to hear him giving my step mom step by step directions on feeding his beloved dogs over the phone.

While he was in the hospital his basement sprung a leak, his rental property's living room flooded, his brother in law was put on life support, and the old man across the street began hand delivering the mail to his woman...(uh-huh, wink, exactly what I was thinking)...

Ohh, and the cherry on top was my dad being moved from his private room to another room because the room was leaking (yes, Michigan was under siege)..

With all this bullhicky going on at home the last place Bobby Blue Eyes wanted to be was in the hospital laying next to a stranger coughing up a lung every six seconds or so.

Sooo not his comfort zone.

In the meantime, his bookend, my stepmother was home alone and taking care of dogs, and basement leaks and praying for sick brothers, and getting handed her mail from some ancient lothario opportunist...

shit, it was bad, real bad....

I've been keeping tabs on the entire gang (in my usual control freak manner) and seriously, I am pooped and ready for things to get back to normal.

The crack up is that I'm really not doing anything other than worrying myself into an "episode".

And it appears I'm on high alert for anyone else suffering one as well.

My step mom called one evening and asked a very odd question, in her sweet southern drawl she asked "B-aaaath, do you know where your dad is?"

My heart sank..... she really was lost without him.

Using a compassion filled voice I answered back softly "Sweetie, my dad is in the hospital"

She was quiet while she processed my answer...

Then she replied.... "why you DUMMY, I KNOOOOOW where your dad IS!!!! I was wondering if you knew his new room number...."

Ass-out of u and me.....

I got an ass chewing...and believe you me, it felt great.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Many hats....

I find myself slowly becoming more like a parent than a child to my parent.

It's strange....however it's a duty I don't take lightly.

(Probably exactly how he felt when he gained the responsibility of a child)

At least with a child you can hit em... (oh my gawd, I'm only kidding) and tell them to shut up (wink)

I found myself trying to help my dad's green beans taste better with my words..."eat them, they are good for you"...

And trying to talk him into wearing clothes that are not his usual duds... "you will just L-O-V-E sweat pants, they feel just like pajamas..."

"but I don't wear, or  even like pajamas" he counters

"but you would if you tried them".... (pretty pretty pleeeze try on the sweatpants) I coax

(put the damn pants on before I paddle your ass)

"Don't tip your drink like that or it is going to spill on your front"...

"and then you'll be wet and cold"

I move his orange juice to the side so he doesn't tip it over with his arm.

"Here, let me sit you up a bit, you don't look comfortable"

I feel his forehead and his arms, he feels a bit cool.

"are you warm enough? do you want some more blankets...?"

He's trying to be patient with me... but I can see I'm beginning to aggravate him.

I'm sad to leave him and I worry about him through my mostly sleepless night.

I called and checked on him around midnight..

"who shall I say called?" the nurse asks

"just tell him Mother Hen called" I answer.

( those reading who may worry or wonder... my pops had an operation to help with an issue he's been suffering from for a long time, he is doing well and we expect a full recovery....a recovery which will more than likely bring about a big azz kicking...HIM kicking MINE for trying to push him around and tell him what to do when he was down...)

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Stepping up is hard to do....

The step dad of one of The Sweet Prince Buttercup's best friends dropped dead last week, the fourth death of a person I know in the last two weeks

Another victim of a heart attack.

He was 49 years old.

I weaseled out of going to the funeral home... just like I've weaseled out of calling my step-sister who lost her husband of 9 days to a heart attack just a week or so ago....

I'm a weasel.

I've been doing some heavy duty soul searching to try and figure out my weasel-y behavior.

I know the importance of support during grieving.

I remember every single person who walked through the funeral home door when my brother died.

I can still feel their hugs, hear their words of comfort.

And yet, I don't move to offer that support to my sister or to acquaintances/friends who've recently lost loved ones.

Marmie has urged "send a card, pick up the phone" and she really is one to talk, she is a one woman support group.

She runs into the hurricane that is grief.. runs at it, faces it, offers comfort, and cards and love, love, love to sufferers.

I so want to be like her.

I want to have that strength.

Grief scares me...simple as that.

My own, after my brother's death was something I don't dare revisit.

My heart can't hurt that bad again.

I know that is part of my reluctance in getting on the ball and delivering sympathies and love to people I KNOW need it.

I make myself sick thinking about how sick I make myself.

Lame, lame chicken shit that I am.

These husbands that that have died much too early are much too close to my Daddio's age...

And I can't can't can't go there.

I'm trying so hard to be the person I need to be.

And so far, I'm not doing that great of a job.

Thanks for listening....

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

"Suuuuuuuuu-zen has done gone missin....

Susan my sister, (you may know her as the one who would rather read a Pop Tart ingredient list backwards (twice) than read this blog... yeah, that Susan)

anyway, Susan is missing, she's AWOL... absent w/o letting her sister know exactly when it was that she was flying (in her car) south seeking warm temperatures and her mother in law's fine cooking...

I've called her house looking for her..

about four times per hour..

I'm used to her not answering.... (this right here is how she normally "does me"....)

I'm grown accustomed to leaving message after message and getting nothing but a furrowed brow and frown lines...

Normally I'd stalk her through her kid, like most teenagers The Princess of Quite A Lot and her phone are tight... she doesn't ignore miss calls, this time though, I don't want to bother her to bother Susan.

Susan is in nursing school, and believe me, she tries to use that, and the fact that she has two relatively young children AND a job (or 3) and a few health problems as an excuse as to why she is too busy, too tired, too uninterested to gab on the phone,

I don't get it...

I mean who doesn't have time to spend listening to her sister's problems (real and imagined)...?

Who wouldn't be totally "into" (in to...?) hearing all about her sister's most recent disgust that Sears doesn't offer free shipping on over sized items (even though they advertise "Free Shipping")...

I'm getting the feeling that Susan (you know, that Susan) might be feeling a bit fed up with smoothing my ruffled feathers over things like that...

So if anyone has seen my sister Susan (the one who never reads this blog) tell her that she is in deep shit, no call to the Sister-Mom (the motherly sister who stood right beside Marmie trying to raise her into a decent and con-sid-er-ate member of society)  before she flew the coop...

Not a single call to say "don't bother calling me twenty one times a day for the next several days...I'm outta here"


Now, I should dig deeper and say my true feelings... freakin idiot bimbo dumb yellow headed person.... you FORGOT our agreement,

 I am beyond devastated...

So...when you think about calling me to tell me that you forgot to call me to tell me that you and your family were preparing to leave/leaving for the holiday... forget it, don't bother, I'll be fine, I'll get through the next several hundred hours of your absence just great... sigh

( I hope your kid is reading this to you and that you are beginning to feel massive amounts of guilt... if so, my job here is done)...

Hope you have a great today... (you, the readers, not that sister of mine that would rather try and decipher Hebrew than read this blog.. PS... Princess, don't read that last part to your mom, I don't want her to get mad at me and not call me to tell me that she is sorry that she forgot to call her sister-mom and say à tout à l'heure  or even Auvoiur Simone...the bad girl...)

And furthermore dear niece your mother's  phone manners (and her piss-poor 50 year old cob-webbed memory) stink (really bad) and we may have to revisit and revamp her upbringing... just sayin.

(Princess, don't read that part aloud either, k..? Aunt Beth loves you and I assure you that if I'm ever to leave town I would certainly call your mother (even though I am quite positive that she would forget to call me) so that she would know where to find me in case of an emergency, even one as simple as Sears' cheezzzzzeeeey free shipping policy.

PSS...One last thing, I hope that if your mother took that misbehaving little dog with her on her car trip that she does something like this on the way home...

If so, let me know ASAP, I'm in the mood for a good ol hysterical belly laugh)

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

"It" comes in threes....

I hate that frickin statement.

I especially hated it coming out of Googie's mouth yesterday.

I'm superstitious, but when my kid is too I can't help but wonder what kind of stupid crap I put into their heads..( and no, it never occurs to me that they can become "some way" or start to think "differently" on their own, I am to blame for it all... sigh)

Over the last two days I've learned of three deaths... and each one of them has me so freakin angry I want to shake my fist at God...

and ask him "why?" ...

"why now?"


Joyce (my oldest and dearest pal) was phone tagging me all over the last several days (very unusual for her)... I finally managed to catch up with her Sunday.

"I've got some bad news" she said,

"Aunt Dottie died" 

Aunt Dottie was her dad's sister...

more importantly, Aunt Dot was her mother Marie's trusty and faithful sidekick.

For maybe 60 years (and it could be longer even).

And since Joyce's dad has been very ill lately, her mother has really needed her sidekick more than ever.

When I was a kid I was somewhat obsessed with Aunt Dottie ... she was a pint sized beauty with an unusual asset... she had two different colored eyes... one the brightest of blue, the other a soft, suede brown.

I spent hours staring at those eyes...

Joyce's mom (and the rest of the family) is really gonna miss the petite grand dame, and so will I.


My son, The Sweet Prince Buttercup was a high school basketball star. For many years Daddio and I spent the better part of our lives sitting on bleachers in the high school gym cheering he and his team to victory.

Another fixture at each and every game was Buttercup's coach's dad Mr Mangin.

I don't know if Daddio has spoken more than a few sentences to Mr Mangin over the years, but I do know that they shared something...

Members of the good dad club.

Solid as rock, dependable as the stars at night.

Good men, great dads, fixtures of love and never ever ending support for their kids.

Mr Mangin's son (Buttercup's coach) asked for prayers for his dad after he suffered a heart attack...

"like him, is all I ever wanted to be.. I am all that I am because of him (and my mom) please pray for my dad, he is a special man and I will be lost without him"...


Nine days ago after a nine year relationship my step sister Brandy married her sweetheart Ron.

Marmie said the wedding was one of the nicest she'd ever attended.

Beautiful vows, details, frills, family and friends...

Beautiful to witness such love and happiness.

On Sunday Ron suffered a massive heart attack and died.

How can we not be angry with God... how can he leave the world filled with child molesters, murderers and thieves and take people so needed and loved..?

My heartfelt prayers and condolences and the peace and comfort of beautiful memories go to Marie (and the family) and Coach Mangin (and the family) and to the beautiful blushing young bride who just nine days ago took her man's hand and promised to love him until the end of time, to her especially, I say "hang on sweetheart, hang on. Ron will live as long as you all remember and love him and when there are none of you left to love and remember him, you will all be together again"...

Becoming Mr and Mrs Ron Alvey

Monday, November 14, 2011

24 ... I just love that number

My darling dear of a daughter turns 24 @ exactly 8:05 am this morning.

The prior dreariness of each and every single November disappeared with her birth.

I've never loved a month more.

Yesterday I made her spaghetti and a birthday cake and wondered aloud if I could climb in her window tomorrow morning and wake her with heart shaped pancakes...?

Or a kiss on her turned up nose.

She was a bit upset and voiced her concern that she was now in her middle twenties....

this took me back to the Hallmark store and the birthday card I bought her.

The card said my feelings exactly... it said how much I missed her being a little girl, then it said if by some miracle I could turn back time and make her into the little girl she once was that I wouldn't... I wouldn't because as much as I would love to have her back as that little girl, I would miss the woman so much more.

I am head over heels in love with this girl of mine.

You would be too if she happened to you.

Happy 24th dear darling heart of my heart.

(PS... 24 will be an amazing year)

Friday, November 11, 2011

A universal about face....

I am so happy to report on this very special day 11-11-11 that life has settled into a somewhat normal (minus Bear) routine.

There are days I can say I actually like coming into a just like I left it empty house....

Days when worrying about just the Daddi-o and I is kinda nice...

and man oh man has my grocery bill gone down.

I save about seven bucks a week on toilet paper alone.

Walking past Bear's empty bedroom can sometimes feel like a kick to my gut... however, lately I appreciate that the door is open and I can see floor.

Yes, I am incredibly happy to report that I am adjusting to Bear's absence in my everyday life.

I've come to the conclusion that try as I might I can't micromanage him on the phone from this many miles away...

and I'm adjusting.


childless mother that I,

is happy to have the remote in her hand, is thrilled to eat the last Oreo, is giddily happy to iron in her bra and porkies...

Bear is home this weekend and I've taken full advantage.

I've mauled him (slightly)

and lovingly placed all his dirty clothes in my washer (one load at a time of course)

I've handed him pizza on a silver platter and bought him his favorite pop to go with it.

Bear dropped a bombshell.

He is planning to come home next semester.

Live at our home and attend a university that he can commute to.

Wow... Bear is coming home.

He says he's tired of being broke.

And while he's happy to have had the away from home college experience he is over it.

He wants to be back where the toilet paper rolls are never ending, good food abounds, and the maid service is top notch.

Is this some kind of cruel joke....?

(PS...Bear if you are reading this I am beyond thrilled that you are coming home, I've missed you more than I've learned to enjoy the empty nest...much, much more. xoxo)

Thursday, November 10, 2011

It's Ters-day....

If you say "gullible" slowly it sounds like "oranges"... try it.

May your cat not pee on your covers, may you not get into a car accident and total your very favorite car, may your intestines not hurt and may you have a very wonderful Ters-day.

(Confidential to Marmie... no, I did not get into a car accident and total my favorite car, my stomach is doing pretty all right..However, the cat is peeing on the bed and seeing as she is 19 years old I'm figuring she has gone totally senile and her time here on this Earth is short... I'm worried about the cat's ma, please send me some of your best mothering advice.. thanks, love ya xoxoxo)

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Sunrise, sunset...

and another shift of the sands of time...

and my loveable load of loveables is growing by the boy...

boys boys boys and a few more boys.

This mix could be one of the oddest yet.

Cocky.... immature braggarts.

Last week I was in a van with one who reeked of "boy"... (if you have a brother or a son, you know exactly the "reek" I am referring to)... he chattered incessantly about the proper way to "jump railroad tracks"... and about the self-done (quite infected) "Bomb" tattoo that covers most of his hand....

"It's not really all that important" he says.

"The tattoo, or the health and future of your hand?" I ask...

and roll my eyes and grit my teeth

some days I really do not like these children...

I chalk my crabbiness up to a mancold that I've been valiantly battling for almost 10 days...

(the mancold has so been so fierce that it forced me to wake (at 3am) a very, very sleepy Daddio for a ride to the ER a couple of nights ago... there, they made me a Priority Two... in other words, a lack of oxygen is really, truly no big deal... next time, I swear I vow to plunge a screwdriver directly into my nasal cavity and hopefully... oh never mind, I'm just being dramatic...)

I can proudly say that I only missed one day of work...

But I should have stayed home yesterday too....

No one likes to be nicknamed Typhoid Mary...

xoxo...cough cough sniffle sniffle

Friday, November 4, 2011


The young female loveable that I wrote about a couple of posts ago came to school yesterday with her long chestnut brown hair hanging, she usually wears it up.. so I took note, and complimented her.

At lunch, when she turned sideways to grab something I noticed marks on her neck.

Hickeys, g-d hickeys...

Well, the boyfriend's back and obviously he currently finds her good enough...


stupid stupid stupid...

When I lean in to take a closer peek at her neck she demurely tucks her chin to her chest so that her hair covers the marks.

"Wow... looks like you got bit..? Halloween mishap...? Clearly there must be some truth in that vampire literature all you chicklets like to read...?"

She refuses to be pulled into my nonsense.

And her look of shame makes me feel the same for teasing her.

Later, she and I are alone in the kitchen washing some things... always a good time to talk with a teen, face to face creeps them out.

"Soooo, is your boyfriend back...?" I ask, careful not to judge with my tone.

She nods yes.

(You may remember him as the idiot that has a small son that he has dumped on my young loveable and her family, the one that is out sowing his wild oats as others take care of his responsibility... you can read about that foolish fool no good for nuthin here )

Before I can say more she says...

"I have a friend who has a boyfriend that treats her like crap.  He goes out on her, tells her she's fat, just a real douchebag. I tell her all the time that he's not good enough for her and she needs to see other people...  from the outside I see how bad he is to her, she seems like it doesn't matter though, as long as she sometimes has him..."

she bowed her head and continued...

"I get it Beth, I do"....

My heart just about broke in half...

Damn it all to freakin hell...

How can it be so clear....
and yet so unclear...?

She is sooooo worth "saving" from her own worst ememy... but why do I feel so alone in that sentiment?


Wednesday, November 2, 2011


Today would have been my baby brother's 48th birthday...

48... geeze that's nearly a crusty old man...

If there is an upside to an early untimely death it certainly would be that one is forever young.

Forever handsome and strong.

Forever loved.

Forever missed.

Until we meet again I'm sure he'll be busy thinking of some kind of special warm welcome "home" kind of like the one posted below....

Happy birthday to the biggest practical joker I ever met... xoxoxoxo

(PS... sorry that you had to be redirected to Youtube, it seems in order to "borrow" one of their videos you must endure their advertising..that really stinks (to high heaven).

Monday, October 31, 2011

Where troubles melt like lemon drops....

Halloween.... a love story

In 1970 the most important person in my life was my best friend Joyce, and Joyce, my bestest ever friend really really loved Halloween.

Joyce was as fair as I was dark. She had shimmery golden blond hair and a ton of freckles.

And like a true best friend she loved everything that I loved and loathed everything that I loathed.

Halloween was Joyce's very favorite holiday, and the love wasn't for the candy or for the adventure of roaming the streets after dark with parental permission..

To Joyce the appeal of Halloween was the idea that a person could become anyone or anything they wanted for that one special night.

Joyce had a flair for the dramatic.

This particular Halloween she was being very (very)  secretive about who or what she was going to become.

As for me,  caught in the middle of a creative drought and my usual I don't give a shit what the hell I go as for Halloween, I'm only in "it" for the goods mind set Marmie and I decided that I'd be a greaser sort, like the Fonz (from Happy Days).

After a couple of weeks of Joyce annoying me with her stingy non sharing of details Halloween finally arrived.

It was nearly dusk when we heard a soft rap on the was Joyce and her 6 year old brother Ronald.

Ronald was dressed this Halloween as a Marilyn Monroe look-a-like... right down to a strategically placed black mole and an over stuffed brassier.

Joyce waited until the hysteria over Ronald's costume died down before making her grand entrance.

She was inside a HUGE cardboard appliance box...her head protruded from a hole cut in the top and her arms stuck out of holes cut in the side.

"I'm a TV!!!" she announced proudly.

She pointed to the top of her head...her mother had fashioned a set of rabbit ears using a headband, pipe cleaners and aluminum foil balls.

The front of the TV box/costume held assorted sized buttons and knobs...(remember, we had no remote controls then..).

Joyce was proud as hell of that costume.

During our trick-or-treating the box mostly proved to be a big pain in the ass... Joyce figured out pretty early in our trip that most porches were too small to hold her and the box so she'd stay down and the rest of us would go up to the door...

(Hey, don't go feeling sorry for her yet... people did send extra candy to her, in that huge box and in all her glory she was impossible to miss)

There was only one other thing besides the candy that I liked about Halloween... I got a kick out of being able to see all the neighbors up close,  being able to take a peek into their houses..

Some of the houses smelled as wonderful as they looked, potpourri or sweet burning candle smells poured out the doors when they were opened.

Other houses smelled as they looked too.... stinky cabbage, fish or what the gawd awful hell is that smell??? smell.. (stinky diaper? dirty dog...?)

Once out of view of those houses we'd look at each other and plug our noses...

The final house on our haunted journey that year had a large porch... we all went up the steps and using our perfected harmony sang "Trick- oooorrrrrr-Treat...???!!!"....

through the window we saw the homeowner... a huge, balding man struggling to get out of his worn recliner..

we waited for what seemed like an eternity for him to get to the door...

when he finally arrived, we all took a few steps back and to the side to allow him room to open the door...

we later figured out that the man's screen door must have been mounted for a left handed person because when he opened it it swung the wrong way and hit the side of Joyce's TV box...

with one fell swoop Joyce was knocked off balance, she sailed up and out and right into the man's bushes...

she squealed like a pig and kicked her feet and flailed her arms... she reminded me of a roly-poly bug on it's back...

she was too damned heavy to flip herself right side up...

with the exception of Joyce we laughed ourselves sick... the large man laughed so hard he cried.

The man's wife came out of the house and helped him to rectify our traveling television...

she brushed Joyce off and straightened her bent antenna and sent us on our way...

Joyce's body wasn't hurt, but her pride had suffered greatly.

Not one word was spoken on the way home, I was scared I'd go hysterical with laughter...and Joyce was scared she'd cry...

Once home, we spilled our candy filled pillowcases out onto the carpet... and life, as usual, was sweet... and trouble free.

(Dear Joyce... thank you for this memory and a lifetime of more..all sweeter than the next. There is no one in this whole wide world I'd have rather grown up next to. Thank you for the love. It is returned, tenfold. xoxo)..

Happy Halloween all.... (watch for those creative costume types)

Thursday, October 27, 2011

You are what you eat..... (part one)

A couple of years ago totally out of the blue I got sick and an evil, evil, evil clusterfuck took up residence in my intestinal tract...

Stomach pains,  bloody poo and a massive and sudden weight loss took me to the doctor and then to the emergency room and finally to the hospital where I was diagnosed with an Irritable Bowel Disease known as Ulcerative Colitis...

"Irritable"... Having or showing a tendency to be easily annoyed or made angry.

Ain't that the truth...

I've got an easily annoyed gut.

I can't eat shit...

or regular stuff w/o consequence.

Incredibly frustrating to a girl who could eat a kitchen sink (and all it's contents in one sitting).

My gut and I are forever trying to work out a compromise...

I feed it what it will tolerate

and in return I get no pain

and no public embarrassment...

(toots and such)

I'm beginning to realize that my crabby belly would like to me to slow down on the cow and pig and beef up on the chicken and fish.

Poultry had been off my radar as sustenance for years ever since my Grandma K brought a couple of chickens to live with us in the suburban town of Dearborn Heights Michigan for two weeks back in the 1970's...

We city children took to the chickens like ducks to water...

For two weeks we pretended to live on a farm...

and farm living it truly was when Grandma chased down one of our two "pets" and wrung it's scrawny necks right there in our back yard...

and then before our saucer sized bulging eyes she chopped off it's little head,

then put it's lifeless, plucked featherless body into a pot of boiling water where it stunk up the kitchen with such a horrible, horrific stink that I remember it, vividly, to this day.

I watched in horror as she squeezed the chicken body of it's feather roots... like she was popping huge blackhead pimples..

Holy be-jeeesuz ... it was awful.... (AWFUL!!!)

But not the most awful part...

the most awful part came when she sang.....


Oh hell no....

No no no no no no.....

I couldn't devour little Clucky... or any of his kin.

So for years I've managed to avoided chicken like the plague.

However, my crabby belly has different ideas on that.

We make chicken a lot at work and so lately I've been "forced" to partake.

I mean, come on...if I won't eat the food (and yes, the loveables notice when I don't eat their food).. then they probably shouldn't maybe eat the food as well...?

I started off with little bits of chicken smothered in anything that could help take my mind off of the "blackhead" issue...

I kind of hold my breath while I chew and swallow quickly.

Over time is has gotten easier...

Easier especially since my gut doesn't growl or grumble at me (at ALL) when I eat it.

I haven't yet gotten up the nerve to prepare any at my own house...(for personal consumption)

I still find it hard to get that "smell" outta my mind.

Initially I chalked that up to just one more crazy ass personality flaw until I read this little snippet....

The Frontal Cortex by Jonah Lehrer, a contributing editor at Wired

While olfactory associations enjoy a "privileged brain representation," that hippocampal link is less important than the unpleasantness of the smell, which is much better at predicting whether or not we'll remember the memory a few days later. 

This is the bleak truth of the brain: it clings to what we don't like.

So from now on, I don't answer to "hey crazy"...

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

I forgot what I was going to name this post....

Crabbiness has crept into my home. Like an invisible gas it's spilled into crevices and filled empty corners and has become a heaviness that just hangs, just is.

Well what the hell is the problem?

I ask myself that daily...

What the hell is the problem?

Daddio is so damn ornery that I want to hit him in the head with a pipe while he sleeps, he doesn't sleep though, as he is waiting for an opportune moment to hit me in the head with a pipe as I sleep.

We're both lookin a bit rough around the edges.

Even the dog is in a shitty mood...

and being critical...

A passive/aggressive non suggestion about the smell of my bathroom...?

Let me guess, a complaint about the dog food...?

Yeah, it does look like more fun at the crazy neighbor's house...and it probably is.

 While looking for pictures of my sweet four legged girl to post I came upon a picture of a card that I saved for an occasion such as this..

What the frick is wrong with me these days...?

I think I may have stumbled upon something here....

About sums it up...

Have a stupendous one of a kind Tuesday October 25, 2011.

Thursday, October 20, 2011


I've captured the following clip on my blog for those days when I find my menopausal self mourning the fact that I shall never again have a toddler calling me MOMMY!!!!!

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Strong enough to allow weakness....

I'm down to one female lovable in my (currently) tiny class.

She is drawn to me like a moth to flame.

You know how girls like to flock, gaggle and herd.

And seeing as I am (currently) the only female staff in my tiny class...I'm on board with this gaggle herding"flockship"

She waits for me to sit with her before she begins her lunch.

If I forget or get sidetracked I can usually find her sitting with her food, untouched, and getting cold.

She's an interesting girl... and quite mature for her age.

The couple of male loveables in class try all kinds of shenanigans to gather her notice...

They usually get a grimace, a scowl and an eye roll..

but hey.... it's a notice, right?

She walked with me yesterday to help me to carry some things out to my car.

Before we walked back in she started asking for help in warding off the boys unwanted and very immature attention.

"I'm gonna blow" she said "if they don't stop"...

We at Thug High School don't like hearing threats of "plosions" be they im or ex

especially from people who have "blown" in the past.

Often their implosions/explosions are what have led them to be students at Thug High...

This young girl is mature beyond her years, she doesn't act like any 15 yr old I've ever met before.

I tell her often that if we were classmates we'd surely be best buds.

I like her.

It's clear as day that she's is waging a war within herself to recognize her worth.

And fighting a battle to show others her value as well.

I can see a soul deep sadness, that so far, she hasn't offered up in our friendship.

I like to dig deep into a friendship and see truth.

I know from past discussions that part of her truth is that she is attached to a young boy who lives in her home, she knows some day (very soon) he is going to be leaving her.

She's given this kid her everything,

and then some.

She wants to be certain that he won't "forget" her...

I try with all my might to tell her how important she has been to his life and that even if he doesn't remember "her" he will remember (on some level) that he has been loved.

This boy is three years old.

He is the son of her on again/off again boyfriend.

As of this writing he is off again.

And not even in her home... he's off sowing his wild oats, while she and her family care for the tot.

The little boy's mom has not, since his birth, been in his life.

Even though my young friend doesn't admit it, I can tell she hopes her love and care of the boy will be enough to keep his dad interested...

I know better..

while she is special (so very special), there are lots more like her willing to do the same and even more of whatever it takes to try keep a guy.

Even a not so Mr Wonderful guy.

I tell her one of my favorite quotes from Dr Laura Schlessinger "a good one will be willing to swim through shark infested waters to bring you a lemonade"...  that should be your striving point.."

"I sincerely don't think this guy is good enough for you." I add.

We talk about the chances that this baby will be moving on with his dad (and probably on to another girl with a big heart)...

It will happen... just a matter of time.

We touch on this again while outside yesterday.

On our way back into the building she tells me that she doesn't cry over this or anything else.

"Never?" I ask.

"We may need to take a field trip to the Hallmark store" I suggest.

"I don't think that's healthy, we all have to have a good leak every now and then" I say, hoping to make her laugh.

"No" she says "crying is a sign of weakness."

"I don't do weak."

I try so hard to pull some wise words to help with the obvious deep hurt.

"I saw a neat sign on Pinterest" I tell her.

" Do you believe in God..have faith?" I ask her

"Of course" she says "very much."

The sign on Pinterest said "Faith in God includes faith in His timing"....

She spun around quickly so I couldn't see her face...

seems her strength was dripping from her eyes and running down her cheeks.

I gathered her into a hug, happy to see her heavy weakness leave her body.

It was a good start.

Today, I plan to give her a printed copy of the faith sign and also another one of my other favorites

Thank you for listening.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Fat Grandma's House....

Saturday Centus time, a themed writing meme. The challenge is to write 100 words to add to the prompt started by Jenny Matlock from off on my tangent. This week's prompt is a picture.

(Thanks for reading!)

Tennessee bound fetching an ailing great grandmother found this 12 year old scared to enter her home. The wooden porch groaned loudly, threatening to eat my legs. Inside, the place resembled a jr high school History lesson, a wood burning stove, a wash board, stockings hung dry. Packing her things I spied a treasure, opening it I buried my nose in the sweet cedar, more kid friendly than the other smells. The offer of the box came with warning. Her weathered hand tipped my chin and nose to nose she said "take good care, it’s the best thing I got”.

Friday, October 14, 2011

The sight of a newborn always brings a tear to my eye....

*And YES! Y-e-s !! Oh hell yes (yessireebob) Daddio (to answer your question) yes yes yes yes I do, in fact, have better things to do with my time than post pictures of peanut crotches on my silly blog.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011


No doubt about it.... that man o mine has a couple of "issues".

Clothes and food are right up there at the top o the heap...

Saturday I made the flippant decision to make Goulash for dinner.

Goulash is a one pan dish of deliciousness....

I've been actively searching for years for a recipe similar to my grandmother's and I think I may have found one.

An old Better Homes and Garden's cookbook published in 1963 held a diddy that looked similar to the Goulash I remembered from my youth.

There were a few changes I made as I prepared this 1963 delicacy.... the recipe called for about 3 tablespoons ( yes TABLESPOONS) of salt....

Salt, celery salt, more salt, salted beef broth, and tomato juice (which is of course, sodium packed)..

As a recovering salt-a-halic the hefty amount of salt in this recipe had me salivating... yet my wish to stay alive was more powerful and I forced myself to cut the cheese salt.

Even with my light handed salting it was starting to look like a real pot of Goulash...

And then the recipe called for a cup of sour cream.

Hmmm. sour cream.

I didn't recall sour cream in my grandmother's recipe.

I added it and was not much liking the muted red color it produced...

or the probability that that hue would cause a Spanish Inquisition type of questioning from the man o the house.

S.u.r.e as

"Taste this" I said carrying a big bite on a spoon over to Daddio.

"Whoa...wait a minute!!!" his hand coming up sideways to karate chop the spoon from my hand,

"What the hell is it?" he asked

"What's in it?"

"Why is it that weird color?"

"Why do you always make us eat crazy like this...?"


"Why is it this sick looking orange color?"...

"I don't really like to eat stuff that color"...

So I do what any good mother wife does and I lie about the food...

I blame the tomato juice for the sickly orange color.

And like any good kid husband he buys it.

"What is this stuff called?" he later asked as he loaded his pie hole.

"Goulash" I answered.

"I won't eat anything called that" my boy darling said,

"Gooooo-uuuuuuuu-lash sounds as orange and sick(ly) as it looks"...

And in spite of that comment and the offensive name he ate and he ate and he ate and he ate....

He smacked his lips and wiped his chops and then... dum dum dum dum (and poo poo peee do)

The K.i.n.g made a decision which led to a DECLARATION... So let it be written! So let it be done and Goooooooo-lash was now from this day forward to be known as hamnoodlepeppa...

Which sounds much more ummm....


Don't be a hater, this chow is good.. as... hell !!

Monday, October 10, 2011

The post with no name....

I almost (but not quite) had a complete and total breakdown at the grocery store yesterday.

As usual, they were out of one of my favorite items,

..... the hand sanitizer located at the door when you first walk in..

I don't touch the community carts sans sanitizer.

Too risky.

So this day when I walk in and discover that the container is ab-so-lute-ly empty,

(except for an inch of liquid sanitizer hanging out in the bottom of the bag which I could and have used in the past for such an emergency.. but which may (or may not) have been responsible for a couple of very embarrassing incidences of hives appearing all over my arms and face when I have used the liquid-y liquid to wash my cart handle w/o the benefit of a small towelette...)

Frick....where the hell was I.. ?

oh yeah, so this day when I walk in and discover that the container is ab-so-lute-ly empty I am lucky enough to almost walk into (as in a face to face bump and greet) a grocery store employee walking toward me...

"Excuse me" I say "you are out of cart sanitizer."

She smiled at me and said "uh-huh."

Yes, she did.

Then added "yep... all out!"

My panties started tightening and began crawling up my arse

Into a bunch.

"Ummm could you get more?"

"You want more?" she asked (with a smirk)

Seriously.... I almost saw teeth.

What the frick...

As my panties continued bunching I got more irritated...

"DO YOU HAVE MORE?" I asked (really) politely (through clenched teeth)

"Yeah" she said "we have some."

We looked at each other waiting for someone to make the next move..

I stepped up.

"Could you go find some?" I asked (smoke threatening to pour from my ears)

"Yes, I could" she said.

And still made no move to move.

"Do you want them now?" she asked.

Ohhhh freakin holy brother...

I glance around for a camera...surely, this is some kind of joke.

MTV's Boiling Point...?

Candid Camera..?

That stupid television show "What Would YOU Do...?"

"Okay" she said "I'll go now."

She smiled again, turned and headed toward the back of the store.

I waited for so long for her to return that an employee stocking produce came over and asked if I needed help..

(Yesssssssssssssssss arse-hole you could say I need some freakin azz help here...ANDDDDDDDD, I want to see a manager right this instant...the store front is out of cart sanitizer YET AGAIN and I have just been emotionally accosted by one of your freakin azz smart azz fellow yeah, I need some help)

"WELL!!!" I said " I just told a store employee of my plight, that being, the store has no cart sanitizer in the container...and when I did... she stared at me, laughed at me, asked me some very unnecessary questions and then just stood there until I asked her repeatedly to please fetch a fresh container...".


"Was she a mature woman with brown wavy hair?" he asked.

"YEP!!!" I answered "that would be the one".

"Is she normally that way with customers?" I asked.

"Yes she is" he answered.

"She is a very special lady, she comes to us from a program that helps those who are developmentally disabled, she's a great lady, and we try here to be patient with her"...

Hoooo doggie, with the lightening strike I was fully expecting to experience I was never so thankful to be  wearing rubber soles.

edited to add... I am in no way (no freakin damn way) poking fun at anyone but my freakin dumb azz self for being such a freakin dumb azz...

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

I just love it what "this" happens...

An unexpected reason to show your teeth..... (big grin style)

And you said "awwwww" too, didn't you?

This image was shamefully stolen from the Pinterest website... (if you haven't already checked this awesome place out..please do yourself a big fat favor and DON'T, it is a promise that you (TOO) will become (hook, line and sinker) HOOKED...

PS.... DO NOT come back here (once you're reeled in) and say I didn't properly warn you.

It's jeans day at work today... tings don't get much betta den dat !!!

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

My loveable thugs spew psychobabble....

Two statements recently overheard....

Talk of anger and reaction to it turned to this...

"Anger is an umbrella emotion.. now lets figure out what emotion is under that umbrella?"

A discussion about the benefits of medicinal marihuana...

"Weed helps with anxiety and depression"

"Oh my friend that may be true, but when you come down off the weed mellow you still have the issues that caused the anxiety and the depression!"

Out of the mouth of (my loveable) babes.....

Now, were they making fun of their therapists or could they be "getting it"... ?

Like my sister likes to say "hope springs eternal".

(This week I'm really lovin my loveables)

Enjoy this beautiful Tuesday... xoxo

Monday, October 3, 2011

Insurance can come in all shapes and thicknesses....

Dear sweet diary... I'd like to start this journal entry off by saying that I'm making all kinds of effort to not talk incessantly about my empty nest...

It's getting old...

And who wants to read the same old crap day after day anyway?

I want to tell you all about Googie and Trouble's wedding (it was AMAZING and every other word that tries to describe even more amazing than AMAZING..)

It was all that.

And I do plan to tell you everything...


I've got a couple of issues that are preventing me from spillin the beans..

The most pronounced being... I simply can't put into words what I want to say about it.

I can gush on and on (and on and on) about it but there needs to be more substance than just saying things like "the whole day was magical" and "everything went perfectly"...

Seriously though... who wouldn't want a few gory details...?

I can tell you a little story about Marmie...(she can be a bit meddling sometimes)

(and pushy)

(and insensitive)

(and a trouble maker)

It all started with a bathroom visit, her first, the minute she walked in the door from the airport.

"My gawd Elizabeth your toilet paper is hor-ri-ble" Marmie complained.

"It is sooo thin that when I tried to wipe my fingernails went right through it!!!"

"Would you like a nail brush?" (was all I could think to say to counter her attack).

(She wasn't amused)

She took her complaints/concerns/slightly unsanitary fingernails to Googie, hoping to garner some sympathy and support.

And well of course that bimbo sided with her grandmother and they made fun of me and my household.

"Yes grandma" Googie said (nearly hysterical) "we always feel right at home in a gas station restroom"

"Nothing like wiping your can with a maple leaf..."

"Or a Brillo pad"...

The toilet paper situation continued to be a bone of contention the whole while Marmie was here.

At every opportunity she shot daggers and digs about it.

"Mother" I tried to explain, one last time "I happen to like the security of that toilet paper.. the kids can't jam the toilet the paper dissolves sooo fast!"

"LIZZY" Marmie hollered... "you don't have ANY kids here anymore to jam annnn-ey-thing" about a low blow.

And an empty nest.

Friday, September 30, 2011

I guess it's all in how you look at it....

Today could be called the happiest day ever.... one I never thought would get here.

I've had nearly 26 years to think about it and now that it's here I'm feeling a bit like a deer caught in a beam of headlights...


Now what?

Slide across the kitchen floor in my underwear?

Blast my radio and do some 1970's fancy footwork?

Look at old pictures and pine for days gone by...?

It is time to reinvent myself...

Decide what it is I want to do, to be...?

I'm already impatient waiting for an answer.


My house is so quiet a hair falling from my scalp could create a noise when it hit the carpet...

I don't like it... I don't like it at all.

Googie and Trouble came home from New York last night, if it were a "regular" day and Googie was asleep in her room I would bust in and declare her "pretty enough" after all that beauty sleep and I would offer up my checkbook for us to shop or go to lunch... something, anything... I don't much like boredom.

I used to think I did... but that was before I was.

I could call Daddio at work and tell him of my troubles...but usually when I do that he makes lame suggestions that I do some housework or take some junk to the Salvation Army...

Not my idea of a whimsical day...

It's funny how a person's perspective can change... had you asked me anytime during the past 26 years what a "perfect" day would be like I certainly would have said.."a quiet house where I can hear myself think"...

Today, I'd give anything to have my old job back, snotty noses and all.

I miss my babies.

However.... my new world is full of possibilities.

Not all the lyrics apply, but hot damn, what a beat..