Good Things Come

To Those Who Blog!

Last year I posted Christmas gift ideas.  This year, I have only one item to promote.

(This is a subtle hint for MM to get me one.)  I wonder what employees would think when you walk into a store with this?  Would they insist on checking your bag before you leave?  Would you let them?  How far are stores allowed to go anyway?  How do you shop with this bag and not get arrested?

This would be akin to walking into a bank holding a bag saying, "Bank Robber."  Or, going into a restaurant buffet with a bag saying, "Binge Eater".  Or, going to a movie theater with "Camcorder Pirate". Or, walking onto a Military Base with "Suicide Bomber".

I've just had a brilliant idea!  This could make a really good reality show!  It fits the criteria, ie - as far from reality as you can get and nothing you'd normally be interested in but you get sucked into watching it anyway.

Excuse me, I need to call Ashton Kutcher...

MM has a new contract which means he has to go to Los Angeles to a city called Willowbrook.  "Nice," you may say.  "Work is good," you may say.  "But, where is Willowbrook, exactly?"  I'm glad you asked!  It is smack in between WATTS and COMPTON.  Which as you know, is the perfect place for a white guy to go, by himself, in an unblemished vehicle that is transmitting on all frequencies: "Car Jack Me! You Won't Be Sorry."

For the uninitiated, Watts and Compton are about the most dangerous cities in USA.  So dangerous that the guys cannot work there after 3pm because that's when the gangbangers wake up and start looking for something to shoot.  A white man from out of town is considered a perfectly good target.  I told MM he needs to look more inconspicuous.  "Try to look less white!  Don't walk like that!  That's a white man walk!  Wear your pants lower!  Why are you tucking in your shirt?"  It was hopeless.  MM looked like a white guy failing to look like a brown guy.

Plan B.  Whine.  "Can't you send someone else to do it?  Someone less racially challenged?"

No.  MM can't send an employee somewhere where he wouldn't go himself.  Stupid ethics.

Plan C.  Go with MM to the work site.  Protect him.  Act all Hispanic. What?  I can so do it!  I've been to Mexico and they all think I'm related. Everybody spoke Spanish to me.  All I could reply was, "Donde  está el baño?" ("Where is the toilet?")  Even my extremely rugged accent and out of context question didn't convince the Mexicans that I had no Español, I was that convincing.  I can totally get all gangster on someone.

In my dreams.

I think Plan D is the best.  Send C with him.  She already dresses like a hobo so she can lie on the street in a sleeping bag with the other vagrants, and keep an eye on her dad.  Call the cops if anything goes down. I'm sure with a bit of incentive, i.e. some more smelly old sweat pants, she'd be happy to do this.              

Bobs yer Uncle.


(Pic of C, horrified that yet again, her mother has better taste in clothes than her.)




  

I know I'm not keeping up.  I'm trying to read everyone on my google reader and I get so enthralled with everyone's posts, I run out of time to write my own.  And, being honest with y'all, I've been pretty darn boring lately.  Case in point...

Oprah's cancelling her talk show doesn't bother me except for the fact that she is now free to pursue her real goal - World Domination.  Mark my words, there is nothing that woman can't do.

I haven't seen "New Moon" but I am very excited to go see "2012".  Nothing turns me on like a movie with no vampires.
I'm gathering low-carb, sugar-free recipes for Thanksgiving Dinner.  There are some unusual ingredients on my list.  I'm hoping, firstly, that the cauliflower mashed 'potatoes' aren't grounds for divorce... and secondly, that Claim Jumper is open on Thanksgiving Day.  Just in case.

Look closely at these images. Yes, it's the same girl in both pics.  This is Filippa Hamilton, a Ralph Lauren model.  What happened to her between pic 1 and pic 2?  Did she develop an accelerated case of anorexia or contract a flesh wasting disease?  What ailment is it that makes her head bigger than her pelvis?



Filippa was the victim of Ralph Laurens overzealous Photoshop staff.  They were given a mandate to make Filippa look like a cardboard cutout because THAT is the image they want to portray.  Because THAT is what they think sells their product.

To make matters worse, RL then FIRED Filippa for being... wait for it.... TOO FAT.

If that 120 pound, five foot ten 'twig' is FAT, then there's no hope for me... I am gargantuan by comparison.  I have worn RL in the past but who could possibly fit THOSE clothes?

RL did suffer a bit from the media backlash.  They issued statements and withdrew the picture but not before I saw it.

As a result they have officially joined my "Companies in Cahoots With the Devil" list.  I'm throwing out all of my RL products.  Except my decorative throw blanket, I like that.  And my cotton sheet and pillowcase sets... they were expensive... and my plaid sweater, it's really warm... or my jacket... it goes nicely with my cords... and my jeans... they fit so well, but everything else... IS GOING!

When my daughter asked me what she should do about her friend using bad language around her, my suggestion was that she politely ask the friend to not say words like that in her presence.  I told her that most people respond well to this request.  I also mentioned that it wouldn't hurt to cultivate new friendships with less mouthy friends.  I suppose I should not be surprised that my suggestion morphed between leaving the house and arriving at the schoolyard.  What she said: "My mother said I can't play with you anymore unless you quit using bad language."  

We are all responsible for letting this happen in this country.  (Ooh, ONE comment!  I am feeling the LOVE!)

Now that Michael Jackson is IN again, my large MJ cd collection is impressing my daughters no end.  Surprising because, just a few months ago I was constantly being told to, "Stop with the eighties music already!"

Nowadays, I might be the teensiest bit cool.  I can even sing "Billie Jean" all the way through without a kid sneer.

I wonder if I was so musically fickle at that age?

(Picture of C with the Beehives after their Thriller dance at the Halloween party.  Truly scary.  I mean the amount of hairspray that went into this.  Scary. )


Thanks for the picture Maria.

C: Mum, what did you do before texting?
Moi: Good grief, we SPOKE to each other!  We didn't need to text a sibling to pass the salt across the table because we had the ability to open our mouths and issue forth a vocal request!
C: So, um.... what did you do?

Conversation is, apparently, a lost art.  And I am, apparently, old-fashioned and mean.  Because I won't give my children cell phones.

So, A called me wailing on the phone because she couldn't get a ride to the dance.  "Mum!  You've got to text J for me and ask her to come get me!"  Well, this dilemna seemed to have an obvious solution.  "Why don't you, um... I dunno, call her?!" I said.
"She won't pick up!  She only texts!"  (Of course, silly me!  Why use a phone for TALKING?!)  So ensued my initiation to texting.  I sent J a text.  It took twenty minutes.  Is it just me or is this a really cumbersome and time-consuming way of communicating?

When you see five kids sitting in a row silently, they're not actually being silent - there is an intense discussion going on - heads tilted down, fingers hopping...

how u?
cool. u?
cool.
doing?
nuthin.
cool.

Can you see the IQs lowering?  

When I tell the kids they're going to get "finger carpal tunnel" and hunch backs they look at me like I'm crazy.
When I look sideways, and scrunch my eyes a bit, I can actually see the lumps forming...

MM thinks if the situation had been reversed and talk was invented after text, then the kids would never stop talking, marveling at the ability to speak to someone far away in real time rather than typing every conversation.  It just seems that communication technology is going backwards instead of forwards.

I wonder what the next NEW thing will be?  Carving letters into rocks and hurling them at your friends house?

The only thing worse than having girls old enough to get "trainer" bras, is having to go out and buy the things.  Apart from tampons, bras are my least favourite thing to purchase in public.  Standing in the checkout line (i.e.- purgatory) is bad enough.  Then you have to place your goods on the conveyor belt so that everyone behind you can get a better look at your cup size.  At least with tampons, you can have your husband buy them for you. 

But, bras are not something you can trust your husband to purchase.  Not that MM has ever volunteered for the job.  To be fair, it's considered perfectly normal for a woman to browse the men's undies aisles but thoroughly creepy for a man to lurk around the brassieres.  Besides that, men just don't have the necessary information to navigate the confusing selection.  The last time I saw a boy in the bra department, all he did was point at a padded bra and say, "Wow!  Now they have BUILT-IN boobs!" 

I'm not sure why they make push-up bras for twelve year olds but I am pretty sure that Satan was involved in the design of them.  There is a ton of padding stuffed in there but very little actual fabric.  And, they're neon coloured prints with cupids bows and lace!  Oh, I must be in the wrong place.  Somehow, I stumbled into the "Please Turn My Daughter Into A Ho" section. 

I just want a simple supportive bra for a 'barely there' chest.  That's all.  She doesn't need to have a silhouette like Marilyn Munroe.  She's not ready to be hurtled breast head first through puberty.  Even though I've been told that apparently, all the girls wear these contraptions.  Which tells me that their mothers have joined the Dark Side.  There is nothing more disturbing than seeing ten and eleven year olds walking around with Double D's.

As for me... can I please have my baby girl for a little bit longer?  Just long enough for her to realize she will never need to be "pushed up".

If she is anything like her mother, she will be wearing these soon enough...

Just because your pet kitty doesn't usually mind going for short rides in the car doesn't mean you should take him with you when you take the kids to school. 

And, just because you forgot to do it last night doesn't mean you should take the opportunity to run the car through the car wash after dropping the kids off at school while aforementioned kitty is still inhabiting the car.

And, just because of the ripped up seats, involuntary bowel movements and unholy shrieking (causing people to stare at me in horror), doesn't mean you should shove the cat in the middle console in hopes he will calm down and shut up.

Don't assume the middle console cannot be destroyed from the inside.

Don't assume you can remove the cat from the console without having your clothes torn from your body.

Don't assume the kitty's eyes will stop rolling.

Don't assume the vet will not look at you funny.

Don't assume the doctor will not look at you funny.

Don't assume your husband and mother-in-law won't notice the diarrhea stains, then look at you funny.

Don't assume that your children will be able to sit in the car without hanging their heads out the open windows whilst gagging and choking.

Don't assume that these guys will be able to remove the poo aromas but do assume it will cost an arm and a leg.


And don't expect your friends to be sympathetic, "You're not having much luck with cats lately, are you?"

And don't tell me I should know better.

Because I obviously don't.....

...you're looking at me funny.

Moi: Can I re-use this priority mail box but instead send it parcel post?
Postal Worker: Oh, no.
Moi: Why?
Postal Worker: It's a... priority mail box.
Moi: Thank you!  But couldn't I just cover it in brown paper or something?
Postal Worker: No!  The mail room guys will recognize the size and know it's one of our boxes and they will send it back to you.

True story.

I wondered if I should stay with this conversation a little longer and make her look stupid in front of everyone, (my natural inclination) but thinking about what I should do rather than what I can do, (yep, those Conference talks are taking their toll) I allowed her ignorance to be just between her and me, and God.... and you.  And I will be taking my brown-paper-covered-priority-mail-parcel-post-stamped-box elsewhere. 

So there.

One of those days.  Don't get me started.  Murphy's Law has been dominating me today.  Hanging out at my house.  Eating my food and wearing my shoes.

I need chocolate.  And ice cream.  And a box, about cat-sized.  So I can bury the kitty I ran over this morning.  Not on purpose.  I was taking the kids to seminary when I felt this bump and heard A scream.  J looked out the back window and said, "Yep it's a cat." Then, "Yep, it's dead," and proceeded to text everyone at the High School about it.
 
I felt so crappy.  Someone's kitty.  Dead.  I know it's total cowardice but I'm glad the owner doesn't know who did it.  That would really suck. 

So, A says, "Remember the cat you ran over this morning, mum?" 
(Cat, you say?  Ran over, you say?)
"Well, it was my friend's cat and she's really mad at you, and ME.  Thanks a lot Mum!"
(No!  Thank the finger happy compulsive texting girl!  The one whose mother called me to tell me that she: "...dragged the corpse to the side of the road for ya!  You're welcome!")  

So, everything is annoying me.  Even my blog.  Especially the background.  Can it be any more cheerful?  Purple flowers!  Ugh!  I need a serious background.  Someone tell me where I can find a serious background.  One that means business.  One that says, "I don't run cats over willy nilly."

And who asked that girl on the sidebar to smile so large?  It's pathetic.  I need to get that picture off here post haste.  There's only so much happy face I can take...

And I need someone to whine to.  Oh, there you are...

(changed the background... thanks for the suggestion Sherrie!)

Y'all know I am anti-Halloween. You remember why? Not because I've been handing out tofu bars and raw almond treats and now the kids refuse to come to my house. No! They love tofu! Ask anyone!

I don't like Halloween because it is one BIG sugar obscenity. A high fructose corn syrup abomination! A night of pumpkin abuse and horror costumes that transform five year old innocents into Freddy Kruger. (I know YOU wouldn't do that. Your child is going as Harry Potter... or Hannah Montana, right?! And that's not child abuse?)

So what's the deal? Why do otherwise normal and sane (we assume) parents perpetuate the Halloween depravity year after year, contaminating children's minds and stomachs?

And, regarding the "trick" part of "trick or treat"... excuse moi, but that sounds like a threat to me. If I get egged this year, I may have to send out my attack cat. Don't laugh, he's a lethal weapon.


It's time to give Halloween a revamp. An overhaul. A jolly good smack in the bot. The Catholics have been calling for this very thing. Here's a snippet of an article I read... "Human sacrifice is still going on as well as the recruitment of many thousands of teens and young adults into witchcraft and satanism via Halloween parties." (You can read more of this stuff here if you really want to.)

Now you know - Halloween is wrong. Thanks Catholics, for having my back...

Maybe we can replace Halloween with Guy Fawkes. Now, there's a tradition worth repeating! Everyone in cahoots with England celebrates Guy Fawkes. First we make an effigy (scarecrow type of stuffed dummy) of a man who tried to blow up Parliament House in 1605. Guy Fawkes was his name and he was thwarted in his dastardly plan. We celebrate his failure by throwing his effigy on a bonfire and watch him burn chanting, "Die! Die! And die!"

In fact, I have been doing this for years. It's just good, wholesome fun.


Let's not subject our kids to intestinal carnage and creepy neighbours any longer! Let's instead practice our arson skills on a humongous bonfire and burn stuff! I'll bring the vegetarian, organic, non-sugar, soy based, dairy and gelatin-free marshmallows.

It'll be a blast!

People are getting on to me to start blogging again. I feel a little remorseful about neglecting my blog these last couple of days. After reading several irate comments from kind people who thought I needed some rebuking encouragement, I feel like a kid who ditched school and has been dragged in front of the Principal for THE INTERROGATION. "What on earth have you been doing that's more important than BLOGGING young lady????"

So, here's the thing: I'm not sick or lazy or brain dead. Well not sick anyway...
But, I lost my computer unexpectedly and if you know anything about Sudden Death Syndrome, you know there's no getting over it quickly. Ask any cyber junkie about going cold turkey and they can tell you about the nightmares, chills, nausea, sweating and suicidal thoughts. Although I have since recovered, it's still a little painful to talk about...

I'm not getting you down at all, am I?

So anyway, in the interim between throwing my laptop on the train tracks (it was AWESOME!) and getting a new laptop... my lifestyle changed. Something new was introduced to my daily schedule. Something big. Something tumultuous. Something heavy and foreboding... something called "SEMINARY."

Some of you will not be familiar with this so I will explain. It's when we take our kids to church for scripture study for an hour EARLY IN THE MORNING. BEFORE SCHOOL! AT 5.45!
A.M!

I understand that it is good for the children and A has been loving it like she's never loved the scriptures before and I like that, I really do. I think it sets her up well for the day and helps her to focus on her schoolwork. Her grades are reflecting this improvement.

But here's the thing...
It means I have to actually. Get. Out. Of. Bed. At 5am. To drive her there.
I don't do this every week because I am in a carpool with four other parents but here's the other thing...

Now that I get up early.... I go to bed early. And there goes the 11pm - 3am blog time. GONE.
KAPUT.
KABLAM.

Even though I theoretically, should still have time somewhere in the day for blogging, I haven't. You know how it is. If you don't do it at 11pm, you're never gonna do it!

Oh, I have to go. My pillow husband is calling me.

I'll be right back.

There's a food power play going on at my house. One kid and one parent perform a verbal duel until one or the other (usually the parent) is flayed alive. It's quite funny to watch in a masochistic kind of way. It usually takes place during the summer, coincidentally when my step kids come to stay.

Scene I, Duel I... Dad vs. Son... One Fine Morning

Dad: "What would you like for breakfast? Eggs or bacon." (En garde!)
Kid: "Neither." (Quick return jab!)
Dad: "You've got to eat something! You need your energy for all the fun we're going to have today!" (Good side step!)
Kid: "You don't have any food I like." (Counter-parry!)
Dad: "How about we go get you some food you like, buddy?" (Losing ground!)
Kid: (Unenthusiastically) "Okay." (Maintain the pain!)

Intermission

Scene 2, Duel I... Dad vs. Son... $60 Later

Dad: "Here's your cereal! Bon appetit!" (Classic feint!)
Kid: "This tastes funny. I don't like it." (First blood!)
Dad: "But you chose it! You said you like it!" (Backing into a corner!)
Kid: "It's weird tasting! We should have gone to Stater Bros! The food from Albertsons tastes bad!" (Attack!)
Dad: "Okay. We'll go to Stater Bros. later." (GAME! Set and match!)

Dad limps off stage bleeding from multiple wounds. Kid triumphantly flings the contents of his plate into the disposal, then pulls a Snickers bar from his pocket.

I'm eagerly awaiting the next scene wherein Dad parts with more hard earned currency only to have the Kid declare that the food is inedible due to it not being purchased during a solar eclipse and delivered to our door by twelve flying ninja monkeys.

MM let me borrow his laptop knowing that he will not see it for the next ten hours because I have to BLOG. I didn't have to explain that blogging is as important as breathing and is tightly and inextricably woven into the "Meaning of Life". Blogging and chocolate. The two go hand in hand. As evidenced by the brown smears of aromatic chockiness that grace MM's keyboard. I know he won't complain. He will appreciate the opportunity to snack on his ASDFG, courtesy of his loving wife.

So anyway, I was enjoying the obligatory 4th of July firework display... and quite impressive it was too... when I had a thought. Should I ever consider becoming an American citizen in the distant future, could I pass the entrance exam? I know an Australian who recently passed the test and was able to recite the Pledge of Allegiance without saying 'um' once. A tremendous feat you must admit.

So, I found an online "Could You Pass the Naturalization Test?" quiz and took it. The first question was an easy one...

"How many stripes are there on the U.S. flag?" Duh. 13.

Then the questions got harder and I was faced with this one:

"Which of the following amendments to the Constitution does NOT address or guarantee voting rights?
a) 19th Amendment
b) 24th Amendment
c) 15th Amendment
d) 7th Amendment

Say what?

Unfortunately, I only got 25% of the questions right thus FAILING to qualify to be an American. Looks like I need to attend America School. You can only be dumb if you were born here.

But seriously, could you answer that constitution question correctly?

Which leads me to a question I have...

Why does everyone gaily call out, "Happy 4th of July!"? We don't say "Merry 25th of December!" or "Happy 4th Thursday of November!" Did someone sabotage the greeting to oust the "Independence" part of Independence Day and reduce it to a fun day at the fair watching the pig races? Or, is it a slip of the tongue... an innocent omission... a lazy lippage?

The answer to the Constitution question is:
d) 7th Amendment, dummy.

It was swift yet quiet. One death rattle then it expired, taking my link to the outside world with it.

I'm talking about my laptop, AKA "Useless Good For Nothing Piece of Crap".

I am in the library utilizing a free yet uncomfortably public desktop, lamenting the loss of all of my vacation photos, my genealogy info (ten thousand relatives down the toilet) and my schedule for the next six months. Couples are marrying, babies are being showered, and Pack Meetings are being packed without my presence.

This is the equation for my existence right now...

MOI - LAPTOP = WRETCHEDNESS.

I need a miracle. And five quarts of cookie dough ice cream. Heck, gimme ten quarts.

It's a special time of year! Our anniversary is fast approaching and this year we decided to forgo the traditional gift giving of previous years. Not that I didn't love my gifts. "A compost bin? For ME? Ohhh, I'm in HEAVEN!"

Nor did I eschew MM's generous offer to take me to his previous work place. "The dry dog food factory? I'd LOVE to go! Of course, I'm impressed! The dry food section smells WAY better than the wet one! You are so considerate!"

But, this year we decided to give each other a gift that transcends biodegradability ... we are going on a wee trip! We discussed it at length and MM decided he wants to go here:

and here...

while I want to go here...

and here...

So, we are going to LONDON AND PARIS!!

First we'll go to London and look at a clock. Then we will drive for two hours to pay money to join a 'tour' and walk around a pile of rubble for 45 minutes. Are you excited? Because I am.

Then, we may venture on to the London Eye, depending on whether MM can successfully bribe, cajole or otherwise convince me to step foot in it. There better be a REALLY BIG bar of chocolate preceding me on to that thing...

Then on to Buckingham Palace to watch the changing of the guard. These guys can stand still for hours balancing a wombat on their heads. Now that's talent!

Then we will ride in this super fast metal snake that travels UNDER the sea... which won't freak me out at all. I mean, there's plenty of air and no reason to worry about the billions of tons of earth and water above me while I am shooting through a narrow subterranean tunnel at a thousand miles an hour. No reason to worry at all.

So, if I survive the train ride to gay Paree, I will be in need of sustenance to calm my nerves! To the patisseries and chocolatiers toot sweet!

I may never come home or at least, not 'til the money runs out. Which will be soon. As it is, MM already has to sleep in the car for two nights...