Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Ommmmmmmm.......(and all that jazz)

A Wayne County judge who works with troubled youth has decided that she wants to follow a slow(ly) growing resurgence of something that was all the rage in the 1960's and 70's ... Transcendental Meditation.

If you have first hand experience being alive and didn't damage your brain with LSD experimentation or heavy pot use during the 60's and 70's (or you did damage your brain with LSD experimentation or heavy pot use during the 60's and 70's) you may recall hearing of Transcendental Meditation.

The mere mention of it a while back brought crazy images to my mind. Memories of oddball, flower carrying, bald headed, toga wearing weirdoes canvassing airport waiting areas spreading, oh I don't know, flower petals, peace/love/dove ...maybe??

Today some cool celebrities have hopped on board with this rad mod fad. Celebrities like Oprah and Dr. Oz....(so who in the hell wouldn't think this was wonderfully great and totally on the "up and up" if these two were riding the train...just saying)

According to some crap I read on Google they both have trained their staff(s) on the how to's and the benefits of daily meditation, Transcendental Meditation style.

Anyway, back to the Wayne Co judge that is interested in this stuff and what is happening in my neck of the woods.

A few months back it was decided that a couple of our staff would be trained in TM and that we would lead daily meditation with our youth once the youth were all trained in the practice.

I won (or lost, depending on what you think of this) the coin toss and was trained in Transcendental Meditation.

It's weird, it's odd, it's totally me.

I'm currently meditating as often as I am able to find time.

I love it and look very forward to seeing what it can do for our lovable thugs.

The cost of our training was picked up by The David Lynch Foundation... they will also fund the training for the kids.

It is outrageously expensive...


our loveables have the option of opting out (or their parents may opt them out)... so we won't be shoving anything down anyone's throat.

Please check out these links and give me your opinion(s)...

Go here



PS... Please don't be a hater.


Thursday, June 21, 2012

Caution, your eyes may dribble....

A friend of mine posted this ( link below) recently on Facebook.

She challenged us to read it and not shed a tear...I lost.

You will too.

Go here...

May your today be filled with possibilities.


(Thanks for reading my blog)

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Math and reading, (obviously) not my strong suit....

Monday is my grocery shopping day.

I've often remarked that my job is just like being at home, cooking cleaning, laundry and a shit load of rotten azz children to look after.

My Monday workday starts when I get my cash advance check for items needed, hit the bank, then the grocery.

I normally shop at my favorite (NOT) grocery store Kroger.

I try not to give my business to the Kroger near my house (they have a management problem) so I hit the store near my work building.

I picked out a huge amount of groceries for the week.

While searching for a  checkout line my work cell rang.

I slumped against the cart, my chest low on the bar helping my one arm to steer as I answered, then held the phone against my face using my shoulder and my other hand to carry on a conversation...(you know exactly how I looked).

I found a lane with only two people ahead of me, their baskets not too full and managed to maneuver my full basket into it.

I placed 100 2 liter soda pops, 10 bottles of poupon mustard, 10,000 boxes of crunchy taco shells, 3 large bottles of bleach, a couple of gallons of milk, an unbagged group of (uncooperative) lemons, a bag of tomatoes, (assorted varieties with different "scan codes") and another hundred or so items on the belt

I then grabbed for the divider to add a few items I'd gotten for myself (an impulse buy or seven and an orange).

Just as I was putting my second order on the belt a lady came up behind me.

I noticed (out of the corner of my eye) that she had two or three things in her hands.

Ohh brother, I thought, I hate it when that happens.

Will I be mr nice guy and let her go ahead?

Sometimes I will...

But, not this day... I was too wrapped up in my convo and feeling a bit in the bitchy mindset of " Lady, we all have to wait our turn, and if I were you sister I would have gone to the u scan or chosen a 15 or fewer lane. I would not stand in line behind a gabby woman with a cart full of crap and hope to invoke a merciful, kind gesture from said woman in front.

I vowed NOT to make eye contact.

I won't even begin to notice her and her two items waiting patiently (*not really, I'm sure she was just hoping I would allow her to jump in front of me so she could get her business done and over with and be on her way).

I had her number and I wasn't biting.

Having ended my conversation and beginning to feel a bit of guilt at not letting the woman go ahead of me I began to help bag my cartload of groceries.

When it was time to pay I couldn't find my envelope of money.

While I dug through my messy purse my phone got tossed overboard and hit the ground.

The battery came off the back.

And the back hit the ground and slid under the metal lane.

The lady behind me bent over and dug the paper thin phone back out from under where it had slipped and handed it to me.

"Here you go dear" she said.

The cashier then began my other order.

As the cashier finished bagging my stuff, I searched for my debit card to pay.

I looked high and low in my purse.

Eventually I found it, hidden inside my coupon folder.

I was so flustered I entered the wrong code (three times).

On the fourth try I had success and glanced behind me and mouthed an apologetic "sorry".

It was then that I looked up and noticed that I was in the 15 items or less aisle.

THE 15 (FIFTEEN ITEMS) items OR LESS lane....

I wished right then and there that a huge crack would appear in the middle of the grocery store floor and swallow me whole.

I did the only thing I could think to do...

I blamed the cashier

"Why didn't you holler at me when I started to unload?" I asked

"Let me know I was in the wrong lane?.." I continued

I looked at the woman behind me, she smiled at me.

Not a smirk or a painful grimace.

She hadn't clicked her teeth,

or loudly sighed.

She didn't say.. "she musta slept through first grade" (out loud so I could hear).

All the things I probably would have said and done if it were me in the same situation.

"I'm not in a hurry" the nice, smiling lady said to me.

"It's no big deal, really, it could happen to anyone" she went on sincerely.

I thanked her for her kindness and apologized (probably ad nauseam) for my blunder.

I promised to pay her lovely attitude forward.

No teeth clicking,  no loud sighs,  no eye rolled curtly delivered accusations of "lumpy mashed potatoes for brains"...

Kindness, it appears, is contagious.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Do I know how to pick em, or what...

I do brag endlessly...

about what a good guy I picked to procreate with.

Those created all made sure yesterday to let their ol man (Daddio, the man, the myth, the legend) know how good they had it, and continue to have it with him as their dad.

His best girl showered him with love (and some really soft and cozy lounge around shorts and a CD, which she kindly gave to me to give to him (I will reimburse you honey, I promise :)...a sappy card and of course she hugged him round the neck, nice and tight like only girl children can do.

In addition to all that nice stuff Daddio also received a separate card from Googie's Trouble claiming (in writing) that Daddio was the best father-in-law he ever had (smart azz..tee-hee).

For all the world to see Bear posted a pic of he and his "Pops" on Facebook... knowing full well he'd get lots of awwwww's when people saw it.

(and that he did)

The Sweet Prince Buttercup wrote in the card he gave his dad... "Thank you for turning me into a good man"....

Now that just about says it all, doesn't it.

Daddio, you and your love did all that.

Enjoy reaping what you've sown, you  more than earned every single "good job" and "thank you" you will ever get from our children.


Thursday, June 14, 2012

Holler, scream, even whimper your life just may depend on it....

Around late March (when we'd had a lovely sprinkling of 80+ degree days and the whole state thought it was early Summer) I bought some herb plants to replant as gifts for Sweetie (my dad's best girl) and Trouble (my best girl's best guy).

I was so full of myself for purchasing them well in advance of Easter morning, the day I was planning to gift them.

When you tend to be chronically late for every damn thing in your life, you have to take any and every opportunity to give yer-self an atta-girl every now and then when you do "shit on the pot" (as opposed to choosing to get off the pot...kwim?)

So this year Lil Miss Last Minute had her poop together (so to speak).

Go me....(tee-hee)

I brought the thriving plants home and placed them lovingly on the back deck.

I watered them thoroughly.

Later, I watered them again.

When I let Jersey out to pee I gave them another small drink.

And before I went to bed I gave them a bit more.

For extra insurance (in case they dried out through the night) I gave them a nightcap (I should probably say a night-cup).

Those babies were swimming in H20.

And looking healthy as hell.

I repeated this process for a couple of days.

And then I totally forgot all about my poor little herb plants.

I gave them not a thought until the evening before Easter when I suddenly remembered that I forgot all about the herb plants.

It had been maybe 10 days since I'd even looked at them.

Easter is all about resurrection and I had high hopes.

Until I couldn't even find the plants.

I looked high and low, they were nowhere to be found.

They'd been moved (OF COURSE THEY HAD) because Daddio later explained to me (for the zillionth time) that he gets embarrassed by my dead and dying plants and flowers hanging out at the house.

He likes to hide them on the side of the garage where they can't be seen from the street or the backyard.

"It looks like the Adams' family home around here" he likes to say.

"And YOU Morticia...have done it AGAIN"..."You've killed the plants, killed them dead"

"Yes, you are the plant world's Dr. Kevorkian, someday you are going to realize that plants come to you to die." he goes on to say.

(Thanks man, I'm feelin the luv).

When I found the basil plants around the side of the garage they were much smaller than I'd remembered them, much darker too.

In fact, the plants were dry as a bone.

Dead as a doornail.

They must have died a horrible death.

Shriveled up like raisons on sticks.

Damn, I hate it when I do that.

I once saw a (supposed to be funny) sign that said "I wouldn't kill my houseplants if they could scream for food and water like my kids and pets do"...

Amen sista...

Hardy har har... but true as hell.

I knew I wouldn't be able to replace them before we gathered together for Easter, so I figured that I'd explain the sit-chee-ation and that my loved ones would understand.

I promised Sweetie and Trouble that I'd make good on my gift of potted herbs.

They kindly understood.

(Maybe they rolled their eyes when I wasn't looking..?)

Time got away from me (OF COURSE IT DID) and after a couple of good, squirmy self examining moments/days/weeks/months of "what a freakin lame bimbo you are, dupin people out of gifts you promised, why do you always procrastinate so? No one can count on you to do the things you say you will do, no one can count on you to remember anything you pathetic lame, windbag, bimbo you"

in addition to my darling dear dad feeling the need to add to my squirm by saying (on a couple of occasions) "Where in the hell are Edna's basil plants???"

and other such sentiments casting a glaring light on my ineptitude-ness (don't write me and ask me if I know that that is not even A word or the correct's my fricken azz blog and I can write whatever nonsensical gibberish-y crap-oooo-la that I choose..u dig)


The heat was on.

The heat was onnnnnnnnn"

The heat IS on to get my behind in action and get the gifts made and to their waiting recipients.

And suddenly when I am finally on my game and ready to roll there are no basil plants to be found in the city of Detroit (and it's surrounding suburbs).

There are no basil plants to be found in the whole friggin state of Michigan.

Today I learned that there is a shortage of basil plants all around the country.


Damn plants they should have hollered or screamed or something.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

She used to be my best friend....

My portly Chihuahua (the one and only) Jersey girl suffers greatly when the temperature rises here in humid ol Michigan. Her fur is thick and long and the extra poundage she carries around (no thanks to me, I don't feed her from the table) doesn't help.

As a good mother, her comfort and well being is of upmost importance to me. For years I've been debating about getting her groomed.

Daddio and I were duped some years ago when we adopted Jerz from a reputable (??? umm, sure) "breeder" in Jackson. We'd been looking for a chihuahua ever since Googie decided she wanted to be the girl from Legally Blonde and had to ( just had to) have a small, fawn colored dog to put in her purse.

We've had lots of comments about Jersey' girth lately... we've also had quite a few about her "heritage".

"That dog is not all Chihuahua" we've been told a time or two.

"She's mixed with sommmmething" they like to say.

That kind of crap really pissed me off... she haaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-s "papers".

Well, not really. 

The shady lady breeder never sent them.

You've probably heard the story of how we'd planned to surprise Bear with a dog for his 12th birthday. He'd been pissin and moanin for years ("caboose child syndrome") that the other two (much more favored) children of our home had been gifted with numerous pets (dogs, cats, rabbits, and a couple of other critters) and he'd only ever been allowed to be in charge of a bubble eyed fish (he named Flip) who went belly up after just a couple of days in his care.

He wanted a big dog, one he could ride around the backyard.

After much consideration (all for myself, selling points like small poop, baths in the kitchen sink, and thoughts of Googie's accessorized purse) I found him a wee pup that looked like a miniature deer. Certainly he'd fall so in love with this darling girl he wouldn't notice she wasn't a Huskie or a German Shepard.

What she lacked in size she sure made up for in cute and personality.

The first couple of years we had her I'd be surprised by the amount of hair that came off her body and stuck to things like my furniture and my guest's asses.

As Jersey has aged she's gotten even hairier... and a recent search of Google Images has confirmed what many have called her...part Pomeranian.

Pomeranians have lots of hair.

Even with the seasonal hair loss, poor Jersey still suffered greatly under the weight of a heavy hair suit.

I've been searching for a good (read cheap) groomer.

And by goodness, I found one.

The groomer agreed to take us on Sunday evening, around dinner time.

I wasn't going to be choosey about the day or time, it was last minute and she was "fitting me in".

Jersey was so excited to go for a car ride, her reaction caused a bit of guilt on my part, as I knew she'd be freaked out by the whole grooming thing.

The address where the groomer's shingle hung was a (rather dirty and dingy) "new" pet store in a neighboring town.

The groomer turned out to be a young (chatty, chatty, chat chat chatty chatty)....girl, clothed (she confided) in her husband's black Metallica t-shirt, a mixture of worn appliqué and a colorful array of animal hair and fur. 


I put a very scared, shaky Jersey up on the table and the girl asked me "what kind of haircut do you want?"


Do dog cuts have names...?

Give her the "Benji" cut...

Or the Clifford bob?

The Cujo clip...?

Cut the damn dog... 

"Cut the dog whatever way you think the dog should be cut..." I instructed.

 DUH .....

She began using a set of hair buzzers that hairdressers use (I have a pair at home) and the guard she put on wasn't cutting enough. I asked her to get a tighter one.

She did and took a huge chunk out of the hair on Jersey's back.

As she progressed, the haircut was looking choppy and you could see weird lines in Jerz's fur. 

Not the look I imagined....

"Ohhh" she said trying to explain the odd clipping around her the scruff of my baby pooch's neck...

"with this big roll of fat here" (she said pointing to Jerz's neck) it's not going to clean up real well" she told me.

(ohhh brother, blame the fat dog for the crappy do)

When the hair debacle was all done it was time for a bath.

The groomer treated Jersey to an anal gland milking and encouraged me to watch.

It was one of those times when you don't know whether to shit or go blind... I couldn't watch, yet I couldn't look away.

We've both been scarred for life, I'm sure. 

During the bathing my poor dog had her ears pried up off her body. She endured cleaning crap squirted deep inside them. She had her face roughed up, and her eyes nearly wiped off the front of her face...

WHAT A FREAKIN AZZ CLUSTER...(and I was sooo responsible for it all)

Jersey didn't take her petrified eyes off the traitor that brought her to this horrible place... and the traitor's heart broke (in more than a million pieces) as every moment passed.

An old laundry basket held a pile of towels, the girl grabbed one off the side (it was wet as hell). When she saw me evil eye-in it (AND HER) she thought better about using it.

"I need to find a clean towel" she said as she left the room.

With her spirit appearing broken Jersey shivered in the large, stainless steel sink.

When the girl came back she was carrying a rumpled t-shirt in her hand. It was to become a makeshift towel to dry my dog.

When she pulled out a shop vac to finish the task I almost lost it....

For as long as I allowed, she blow-dried Jersey with the cold air the vacuum forcefully blew.

When I cried "uncle" she said.."wait a sec, one more thing" she then tied a cheesy (silky paper) BLUE ribbon on my female pup.

"Awwww, look at that handsome guy" the cashier said when I went to have her service rung up.

We made our way slowly to the parked car, my wet girl and I, her blue bow sagged underneath the uncooperative fat patch on her neck.

Upon seeing the pictures of Jersey post grooming my dad suggested that she lay low (stay in the house) for a couple of weeks so the neighborhood dogs wouldn't laugh at her.

Yes, (inquiring minds may want to know)  I DID PAY FOR THIS ATROCIOUS, MONSTROSITY  MASQUERADING AS A GROOMING...the girl was nice, and appeared broke, and put us in on a Sunday evening for cryin out loud.... (oh eff it...ever hear of Stockholm syndrome ?)

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Something more...

Joining in on Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus, a writing meme that she's been doing for many, many's lots of fun if you like to write.  Anyone can join in. 

You can find Jenny at her blog off on my tangent, there you can read what the other writers have contributed.  Jenny gives us a PROMPT (which is in BOLD ITALICS below) and this week she gave us 100 words to add to it to make a small "story". 


Isn’t it just like some people to not be grateful?

For what they have,

for what they are.

For where they’ve been,

for what they’ve done.

Always wishing for something more,

something better.

You could have had it all, they whine to themselves.

Never seeming to be able to see what the rest of the us see,

that they already do have all of "it",

and more.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Ohhh Susanna don't you cry for me....

I got word late last night that one of my Old Dolls had passed away.

"Where will she be laid out?" I asked.

"We aren't invited to attend." one of the caregivers told me.

For a minute my blood boiled and I thought if I could figure out where she was, I would go, invited or not.

Last I heard we live in a free country, right?

Her only family member is a son who would come in the front door carrying a supply of diapers, walk right past her not saying a word, not even a nod in her general direction.

He'd toss the plastic bag in her closet and back-track right out the front door.

I'd been told that he once confided in one of the caregivers that his mother had been a "real bitch".

Well hey, I'm sure the children of my womb (the Koby-brats) could say that about me a time or two hundred.

Aren't we mothers all real bitches every now and again...?

Real or perceived....

What do we owe our mothers...?

Personally, I owe mine the world.

On a silver platter.

With a cherry on top.

I hope when my time comes that my children do more for me than begrudgingly deliver a bag of ass coverings once a week.

(I am more than certain that they will, I've been blessed with some wonderful children)

We (mostly) all deserve better than my old doll got.

If for nothing more than a simple payback for the 9 months you grew under our hearts.

Rest in Peace my dear, sweet, darling Miss Deedle.

I will miss our fun.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Turning a frown upside down....

Bear went to work the other day and gave his opinion to the the upper management that some of the decisions they were making were not economically sound.

He offered fixes for the perceived wrongs and he was listened to.

His ideas were given consideration.

And an amount of time to see if they could work.

Sometimes the nerve of that kid astounds me.

To be young and mostly free of the hindrance(s) of life.

To not give a kitty if you get shown the door and asked not to let it hit ya in da ass.

My goodness, what freedom.

Or stupidity... ???

Why is it that we sometimes hold on to things we know aren't helping us?

May be even hurting us?

Who says it's wrong to just let the wind (or fate or The Good Lord) take us and deposit us right where we are supposed to be?

Throw caution to the wind (grow some big ass balls) and just tell it like it is.

Not giving a rat's can if you get the boot, tossed to the curb, escorted out by security.

The hard part is just letting go and trusting.

The easy part is just letting go and trusting.

It would so much easier if we were sure we were doing the right thing or if we had an undo button.

Leaps of faith take practice.

A devil may care attitude helps too.

And a belief that that while you may have lots to lose if you do, you'll have lots more to lose if you don't.

To all those contemplating big ass decisions today... go for it, you only live once.

Unless you're a cat... or you believe in reincarnation.

In that case you'd have absolutely no excuse for not walking to the edge, plugging your nose, and diving (head first) into the life you've imagined for yourself.


Edited to add.... I probably am not one to give advice since I'm a Libra (The Scales) which we all know are people who tend to weigh things out and make up minds on particular issues only to then tip/dip from side to side and change directions, then repeat.

And one more time.

I've always been of the mindset that considers making really difficult decisions tantamount to an all natural birthing of a breech positioned porcupine so I must say since there is no redo or do-over or undo button that you use that big ol brain of yours and think your decisions through and through.

Up one side and down the other.

That said, you do only live once.

Then again...,


Friday, June 1, 2012

I love how you...

We had a going away "party" yesterday for one of our loveables. He's not going far, or for long, but he still wanted to be fussed over.

He was asked what activity he'd like to do for the last "group" he would be joining us for.

He wanted to do a bonding game they'd played once before. The youth gather in a circle and take turns (counter clockwise) telling each other what they like about one another.

The facilitator schools them on the rules.

"You can't just say "yer cool" she says.

"You can't like someone's clothes" she continues.

"Well, you can say something like "you wear cool hats", but you can't say "I like your hat".

Around the group they go.

I love to watch them soften before my eyes.

And they amaze me with some of the things they say about one another.

The stuff that appears important to them is the stuff that is important to me too...

"I like that you got my back" says one.

"I like the times when you've been on my team, that we work tight".

"I like that you are funny as hell and do all kinds of crazy stuff to get us to laugh".

"You know I don't just like you man... I love you"

Sounds about right...

Watch over me, help me, let me count on you, make me laugh and love me.

To the staff they say things like,

"You are so easy to talk to"

"I love how you mother us" (this one was to me... (my heart heart heart's a flutter).

To a staff member who both loves and hates,

to think he's mostly invisible, the leaving loveable says,

"I love how you help us do our work, and I know you push us because you care, I know that man, I get it and I appreciate it"

The staff member refuses to let go of a huge smile (threatening to blossom in spite of his stoic facade) and instead tips his head in response.

They continue on with each other and when they're done they turn to the staff to allow us to say something to the departing loveable.

I tell him that I love how hard he always works for me. I never ask you for anything, I say, that you don't do.

You are respectful to me and I love that about you.

I tell him about a country song that I love that talks about how you don't have to be the person you used to be...that you can change, and the change can be for the better.

The staff, in private, talk often about leopards changing their spots.

It can be done, I insist.

It helps to be a diehard optimist in my line of work.

One who lives to believe "they will live up to,

 or down to,

 your expectations of them".

The young man is off to a 30 day program to help him straighten his life (a rehab of sorts).

He is voluntarily entering the program.

You gotta get up once more than you're knocked down.

I love that about him.

This song is for you J. 

Your school mother has lots of faith in you, a diamond under all that dust, fer sure. 

PS... While I know my readers are all smart as all get out (you're a reader of my blog...right?) please don't click on commentor's comments that are horribly misspelled and hard to understand. Or they just plain "don't look too right" know what I mean? do so could result in your computer getting a virus.