Thursday, December 15

Wednesday, September 7

RHYMIN' & STEALIN'

Suddenly back on their game, Victory Bible Church is dead set on driving a wedge between parents and their children. Although to be fair my Mom never said that. She did however tell me not to do drugs, but if I did "just don't pay for them."


I think that this is from
Dr. Seuss' blue period.
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Tuesday, August 30

DOUBLE YOUR FUN

I saw these and immediately thought, finally! There's been a big dry spell with the church marquee's lately. Anyhow, this week I've been blessed with not one, but two. Yea God!

I don't know about you, but I consider
this to be the feel-good message of the year.
Also, what is "steal kill?" It sounds bad.













I don't think that's exactly what they mean.
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Thursday, August 18

OH FOR F@$K'S SAKE! TECHNOLOGY EDITION

Darn this new-fangled
telephone machine!
I'm getting old. I don't like it, but it's the truth.  I'm not only exhibiting the physical signs like arthritic knees and gray hair, but I've started to slowly morph into a hybrid version of my parents.  It's especially noticeable when I catch myself thinking that new music sucks or yelling "slow down!" to some young whipper-snapper speeding through my neighborhood. However, it is when I realize that I'm stumped by some new element of technology that I get really nervous.

I can remember cleaning out my grandmother's house and finding what can only be described as an impressive amateur camera collection. You could literally trace the evolution of the mass-produced camera from the mid 1970s to the late 80s. She amassed this collection because every Christmas someone tried in vain to give her the most simple point and shoot on the market. Kodak instant cameras (multiple), a disc camera, and cameras that had to have flash cubes, lay there virtually untouched by time or Margaret. Photography wasn't her only challenge. I'm not even going to talk about when she finally got cable or the debacle that was call-waiting. 

Don't get me wrong, I am not immune to my own technology FAILs, but it's usually when I'm forced into the server room at my office to do something that is way over my head to begin with (I would like to apologize to Parks and Rec one more time for breaking their security camera system). When it comes to computers though I just tell people to reboot because 60% of the time it works all the time. 

I'm not saying that I've gotten to the point where my junk drawer is filled with the technology of yesteryear, but the other day I did have to Google "how to ignore a call on an iPhone." Some of the smarty features of my smarty phone are just too Big Brother for me. Stuff like how my phone knows my location at all times. How am I supposed to go off the grid and check facebook? It reminds me of this Sci-Fi book I once read about a guy who had a computer chip implanted in his wrist that let him do everything automatically. I hated the book, but I think about it a lot when Fandango sends me updates about movies playing down the street. The only thing that makes the book totally implausible was that the hero was always zipping and zooming around on roller blades. 'Nuff said.

If it's weird now, what's is it going to be like for Piper and Tanner? Will they just have to think about a website and it will pop up like some Minority Report-y hologram? Even now, Piper can navigate her way to a Barbie dress up game before I even have the chance to answer the question "can I get on the computer?" I will admit that Barbie is way better than time I accidentally introduced her to Bebe Lilly. I got to listen to a computer generated baby sing computer generated French Techo. You know you're in trouble when you find yourself mindlessly humming "Les Betises," and you don't even know what it means (I feel like I need to explain that the reason we were on YouTube in the first place was to listen to "Frere Jacques," and Bebe Lilly popped up and ruined my life for two months).

I was also amazed at her very small learning curve for my phone. Yeah, she just wants to play a coloring game, but she can unlock the phone, find the game and color herself a flower without any help from me. When I watch her I can't help but think about my first computer class, which consisted of typing florescent green code on a screen the size of TV.  Don't be impressed. I was in 6th grade and made a "D" in the class. Let me repeat that - a "D." In 6th grade. If you ask me, it's a miracle that I am on a computer right now.

But here's the kicker. Piper is four. Tanner on the other hand, is 16 months old. True he's not going to DeVry or anything, but he's clearly picking up some moves. I'm probably not helping the situation by resorting to the "hey, why not find a lullaby video on YouTube to mellow you out" method of parenting, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Anyway, that's what I was thinking the other night when I located a video of "Rock-a-bye and Goodnight" that played as an eye ball floated around a bunch of bubbles. He's apparently too young to get scared by an unblinking eye, because before I knew it he was trying to hold the phone.

In another great parenting move that I'm sure I'll live to regret, I handed him the phone to see what he'd do. At first he kept grabbing at the screen, but soon realized that it went black when he did that. After about four tries, he was holding the phone on the sides like a pro. He looked so adorable as he basked in the glow of bubbles and eyeballs, that I wanted to get a picture of him. Until I realized that he had my camera.

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Wednesday, August 10

PAYBACK'S A BITCH

I believe in karma. It exists and anyone who says differently just hasn't gotten a dose of it yet. Here's an example. When I was nineteen I hit a car in a parking lot. Knowing that I didn't have the money/insurance deductible to fix it, I drove away and didn't leave a  note. Then about a week later, my totally awesome '85 Nissan Pulsar broke down and cost me $800 to fix. 

My Mom has a slightly different interpretation. "Don't worry, payback's a bitch," was a phrase I heard a lot, usually at the end of some exasperating incident involving me. At the time I remember thinking that karma is something the universe takes care of and payback is usually doled out by other people. Plus, I don't think that payback encompasses accidents like blown speakers in the car (sorry), and bad choices like returning from a friends house with a Flock of Seagulls haircut (not sorry). 

No, I think that payback is more like revenge. For example, say you get  dumped by a guy for some chick that you both work with. Then, knowing that his car has a broken window and no air conditioning, sneaking a bag of frozen shrimp under the drivers seat. In August. Although this a totally hypothetical situation, it would be a great form of payback. As a side note, if someone would have executed this genius plot, it might have been awesome to hear him complain about the smell in his car, which would maybe have opened him up to some great "maybe it's your new girlfriend" comments.

Minor cases of B&E aside, I'm beginning to question the gray area between karma and payback, because I'm realizing that little kids do a lot of shit on purpose. Like throwing things, kicking walls, and pinching stranger's  butts (see Diana post). Plus, a lot of times they make a conscious decision to meltdown, which usually I can spot a mile away. It's like a tornado. It has no discernible path, it makes a horrible noise, and you can't outrun it.

I know that there is no rationalization for behavior that is irrational in nature. The adult mind simply cannot wrap itself around the concept that a hot dog that has been served in a bun instead of by itself is worthy of a 30 minute temper tantrum. Nor is it easy to accept it when you see your child doing something straight from your own "Childhood's Greatest Hits Live Double Album."

Before I regale you with the disaster that was my Friday night, let's have a little background. When I was a kid my Mom wanted to take me to the circus. I was stoked about it all week - until we got in the car to go. For some reason, I don't know if it was the prospect of clowns or what, I decided that the circus was the last place I wanted to be. Looking back, I admit that I was a little shit the whole night. I didn't like where we sat. I didn't like the popcorn. I was bored, and on and on and on.

Where's that crawl space again?
Finally when the circus ended, my Mom took me over to the clowns. And like everyone I've ever met, I was afraid of the them. I didn't want to go near them and refused to pose for a picture. I can remember my Mom stalking back to the car not able to even look at me. At the time I couldn't understand why she didn't respond to my "I love you's" and attempts to make amends. But now? Now I totally get it.

This past weekend, we decided to take Piper to the fair, or we at least tried to. I knew that we were in big trouble when I told her she couldn't wear her Hello Kitty crown. Normally I wouldn't have cared, but it was really windy and I didn't feel like chasing the thing all over horse-poop covered with straw. I must have really pushed her over the edge when I asked her to put on her baseball hat. You know, so she wouldn't get a sunburn. Boy, am I a bitch.

I could see her cumulonimbus cloud forming and braced myself for her unstable atmosphere, but the system seemed to stall out and everything went smoothly during the initial run through of activities. 
Piper was having fun. Mark was
having a panic attack.
Of course she only wanted to go on the Ferris wheel, clearly not knowing that both of her parents are terrified of heights. So naturally I made Mark go. I knew that he's much better at masking terror than I am. I figured that having Mommy scream for the carnie to "stop the fucking ride right NOW" might not be the best memory to carry around. 

Everyone emerged unscathed from the wheel of death, and things seemed to be heading in the right direction, until the noise. Loud noise. The kind that's only made by rides that cause people to lose change noise. A sudden spaceshipy-woooooosh combined with the tunes of Pearl Jam at an ear-splitting volume triggered some sort Vietnam flashback, bringing her to the ground crying.

That's when things began to fall apart. As her emotional wall cloud formed, I heard "there's sweat in my eyes!" I tried to wipe it off, but by then the atmosphere was definitely showing signs of visible rotation. That's when the screaming began. "It burns, it burns!" she cried as the sun block mixed with sweat and rolled behind her sunglasses. I could tell that no amount of baby wipes were going to save this situation. 

I thought fast. As a former fat kid, I knew that my best option was to throw sugar at her. I left her screaming bloody murder at a picnic table with a frustrated Mark and surprisingly calm Tanner. While waiting in line, I decided that a corn dog was in order, because well, I'm still a fat kid at heart. All total I spent $16 on a over-sized, over-priced lemonade, corn dog and funnel cake. I was positive that at least one of these items could stop the rising updraft.

Too late. 

I have never seen a glorified doughnut make a child so angry. "Noooooo! I don't want that! I want my oooooooooooown! No! I don't want that stupid lemonade. Give me soooooome! Daddy, Mommy won't let me have any drink. I want my oooooooooooown! I want my own corn dog." Ladies and gentlemen, we can confirm a touch down. 

By that time, our little F2 held the attention of everyone in our general vicinity and may have gotten some of the livestock riled up as well. To make matters worse, Piper has a habit of screaming "you're hurting me!" if you touch her when she's freaking out. Naturally, this doesn't go over very well when you have 20 police officers standing around. 

This was our cue to leave. In one swift motion, I had Tanner's stroller headed to the exit, putting as much distance between myself and our living Fujita scale as I could. Once we got home, cooled off and ate (oh, I kept that corn dog), the tornado petered out and all that was left was a bunch of emotionally downed trees. Then, the weirdest thing happened. Piper kept randomly hugging me and trying her best to cuddle, all while showering me with "I love you's." I'm not going to lie, I was too mad to respond for awhile. 

Then I thought of that circus so long ago, and all the fucked-up, John Wayne Gacy look-a-likes that my Mom made me stand next to. And even though I was super-pissed at my daughter's behavior, more than anything I was disappointed. I wanted her to have fun so that it could be something for me to remember and look back on. As we all know, I love making the memories. 

After I let go of my pure, unadulterated, rage and finally accepted the hugs and "I love you's," I felt better and so did she. I don't want her to feel like every time she makes me mad I'm going to deny her my affection. Especially when she's learning behaviors that will one day, many, many, many, many years from now (did I saw many years? I meant 30) follow her into motherhood. Because you know, payback's a bitch.
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Monday, August 1

ALL WORK AND NO PLAY

If you’re anything like me, when you think about cabin fever, you probably think about winter. Then, your thoughts may turn to Jack Torrance when he decided to get away from it all at lovely hotel with a great maze (yes, I know that the Overlook is haunted, but let’s not debate Kubrick right now). But, thanks to the surface-of-the-sun like conditions that we’ve been having lately, I’m learning that cabin fever is very real, and very much alive in the middle of summer. 

"Wendy, darling, light of my life!
I'm not gonna hurt you."
Well, you know how the rest goes...
It’s so hot. It’s awful because we’re captives in our own home until the sun goes down and even then it’s only for a few minutes so that I can take inventory of which plants died today.  I admit it. I don’t think that I would ever survive in a post-apocalyptic world. At least if it was the "Mad-Max" hot weather kind. Who am I kidding? I wouldn’t make it in a “Red Dawn” winter situation either.  Me and my weak genes would totally die.

You know it’s bad when I take to wearing sleeveless shirts, and trust me no one wants to see these ham hocks flying free. We went to a birthday party for one of Piper’s friends the other day, and the damn thing was outside. By the time we left, we looked like people from that “I Shouldn’t Be Alive” show. You know, the one where dumb-asses go hiking in the Grand Canyon with only a bottle of Dasani.  Everyone was sweaty and dirty with food smeared all over them. 

The poor dog hasn’t been on a walk in a month. Yeah, yeah I know that I should do it late in the day, but he’s a 10 year old basset hound and he’s so low to the ground that his body would basically spend 20 minutes hovering over a sidewalk that’s been baking all day.  

I am also dreading opening our electric bill. I have a feeling that we’re going to need a micro-loan to pay it.  It’s kind of like Vegas. As those slots roll round and round, your heart beats faster as you wait to see how much money you’re going to lose. 

The worst thing about the heat is the crankiness that comes with it (as if you couldn't tell by now). No one has any patience and everyone is tired. I was trying to fold laundry last night and let me tell you, it works much better if you sit up to do it.

True, we are all out there going to work and school, but our destinations are just more inside, because the only outside you can stand is the walk from inside to the car to take you to more inside. I usually look for any excuse I can find to laze it up inside, because those episodes of "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding" aren’t going to watch themselves. I want to see what happens with Patrick, Paddy, Paddy and Paddy, but not like this. Not by force. Besides, I’ve resorted to no TV and just leaving the New Age station running so that hopefully it will calm everyone down.

I noticed that it’s going to be a blustery 90 degrees on Friday. Maybe this means that we can take a spin around the maze without having to leave a man behind. Because goddamn it H.I., you never leave a man behind.
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Wednesday, July 13

MAY I SUGGEST KNEEPADS?

Victory Bible Church hasn't been much fun lately. I have my suspicions that they saw me out there taking pictures and figured out that someone was laughing at them, which I can't imagine is the first time. They're back. With a vengeance. 

Also, I think that sore knees precede a soft something else.

Indeed they do.
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Thursday, June 9

HUH?

Often when I see something that Victory has put up, I at least have a snarky response to it. This one just confuses me. I don't get it. There isn't even a construction joke in there. My first thought when I saw this was that my Mom would really enjoy it since I'm always telling her to get down off the cross. I don't know... If you have an explanation, please let me know, 'cause it's killing me.

You keep them. The three second rule has totally expired.
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Friday, May 27

ICU81MI

They put this one up after the Rapture FAIL. Not terribly funny, but I thought to myself, "who's doing their signs now, a 14 year-old?" Either that or Prince. I'm going to go with Prince since "I Would Die 4U" could also be a contemporary Christian song.













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Tuesday, May 17

PRINCESS PI

I don't know what I was thinking. For some reason I thought that it would be a good idea to take Piper with me and my Mom to the Princess Diana exhibit. I mean they had the wedding dress on display. I will say that that God-awful poofy mess looked a lot less obnoxious in person.  Not that it mattered because it was Diana's and that's all I need. My friends have often wondered about my affection for Diana since according to them I "don't have reverence for anything." Basically here's the short version. My Mom dragged me out of bed at 5 am in 1981 to watch the wedding, and I made myself get up at 5 am in 1997 to watch her funeral.
I can't explain it except to say that there is just something about a real, live princess. It's just that simple. So when I heard that the Diana exhibit was coming, I had to go. I figured that my Mom should also go since she technically started all this Diana stuff. Then I had the brain storm to include Piper so that she could see a princess that didn't have anything to do with Disney. I know what you're thinking, not such a good idea, and you are right.

While my Mom and I were crying at the wedding dress, Piper ran in front of us screaming "there's more!" Although, she did watch the home movies for a long time, but that's only because she's addicted to anything on a screen. We finally gave in to the fact that a four-year-old + exhibit = bad idea, and took turns corralling her while the other one blubbered over funeral footage. Toward the end I just let my Mom (and everyone else that shelled out $23.50) enjoy the exhibit in peace while I sat with Piper and played My Little Pony. Mind you this was after I pried her off the computer that was designed to let visitors sign a remembrance book online and not to play Max and Ruby.

Since the Diana "experience" was technically my Mother's Day present to my Mom, we decided to have lunch at the restaurant next to the exhibit. After we ordered, I noticed that we were surrounded by a lot of go-getting business types dressed in tweed. We were sitting right next to a table full of them and their business speak, you know "think out of the box" and all that jazz.

Piper was actually now behaving beautifully since she had eaten and was given full access to her My Little Pony's. That's why what happened next was so odd and hi-larious. The business dudes sitting next to us ran into a couple of business friends that came by to say "harrumph, harrumph." Anyway, one of the guys was standing with his back to us. He was wearing a brown tweed suit that I guess was too tempting to Piper, because the next thing I knew I saw her reaching out for the jacket bottom with her thumb and pointer finger. I knew what she was doing, but it took my mind a few seconds to process. I thought "is she grabbing his butt?" And then I thought "hey, is she grabbing his butt?!"

By the time realized that she was actually going to touch this man, she'd already tugged at the bottom of his tweed jacket. It was like she was testing the quality of the fabric or something. The only I could say was "What are you doing?" She looked just as surprised  as I did, and she responded "I don't know." It was like the tweed entranced her and she couldn't help but touch it.  I expect that reaction out of something pink and sparkly, but brown and beige, not so much. Maybe she was just curious as to what exactly this strange matching jacket and pant combination was since she's never seen one before because her father flat-out refuses to buy a suit.

What confuses me more, is that during the entire Diana exhibit she didn't give any of the dresses a second glance. Oh sure she screamed "LOOK AT THE RED ONE," or "THERE'S A BLACK ONE," at the top of her lungs, but none of the historic Versace gowns piqued her curiosity. Even the wedding dress, with its 25-foot long train and gold antique crown was yawn-worthy to Piper. But put a tweed jacket in front of her and she is helpless to stop herself from caressing the scratchy material. 

Maybe I've underestimated my daughter, it's quite possible that she's fooled me with all the pink and ruffles. Maybe she only likes the fairy tale princess because she can manipulate the end past "happily ever after." I for one enjoy watching Cinderella hang out with Barbie and Jesse, listening as they're told "honey, get in the car!" Besides, it's a better ending than the real one got.
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DON'T LEAVE ME HANGIN'

I'll be the first to admit that I haven't read the Bible beyond what I was required to in Western Civ. But I just can't image that there is a passage like this. Then again, I could be wrong.

Crashed a car? Had some wine? C'mon!
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Sunday, May 15

FUTURE GENERATION GAP

Not exaclty Devo 2.0
We have our turntable and stereo set up in the garage. While playing ping-pong in there with Mark, Piper picked out an album to listen to. She chose Days of Future Passed. After a few minutes she decided that she wanted to go in the house, because "this music's boring."
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VICTORY TOUR

I haven't posted any photos from Victory Church's billboard in the last couple of weeks because they haven't been funny or offensive. I guess that I should be happy that they aren't spreading intolerance and poor grammar, but it's not so good for me. I drove by today and it looked like they had an incoherent message, so I will post it tomorrow. 

In the meantime, I've discovered that Piper is quite the concise reviewer of movies and music, so I think that I'll entertain you with that until I get my next post up.
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Tuesday, April 26

HELLO EVERY PONY

It's Monday and I'm actually posting like I said I would. It's a Victory miracle! True, this one isn't very funny, but it does leave me confounded. So, you're telling me that Hell isn't for everyone or it isn't for every body? Maybe it's only for the sexy bodies?

It's cool, I know the door guy, I can get us in.
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Thursday, April 21

MAKIN' MEMORIES SCHWEGMANN'S STYLE

As we've established, I have a lot of screwed up memories from childhood. Sometimes it was my Dad having a bong sitting on top of the TV (which he tried to convince me was a vase), other times it was watching him chop wood in his living room or looking on as my Mom switched price tags on Christmas trees - always a good time.

There do exist other memories that aren't so twisted thanks to the other women in my life, my Grandmothers. When I was a little kid, they would race to see who could get me an Easter dress and white patent-leather shoes first. Oh, how I loved searching through the big and chunky section of Belk-Legget to find pastel perfection. Those white shoes never quite fit thanks to my freakishly high arch, so they were a one-wear type of deal.

Yes, I went to church on Easter. No I didn't pay attention. Instead, I spent the time day dreaming about the exquisite fried meal that was coming my way after the wah-wah-wah-wah of the sermon. Easter dinner is one of the few things that I miss about the South, but then again food is a very big deal there, which is probably why I was so chunky.

Truth be told, I feel bad that Piper is missing out on that aspect of childhood. I want her to experience an unnaturally poofy dress, the thrill of those patent leather shoes for a day (poor thing has my feet) and being forced to sit still during what is quite possibly the longest hour of your life. In order for these things to happen though, I have to go against every fiber of my being and take her to church, and I'm not so sure that's a good trade off in the end.

Eggs? Check. Rabbits? Check. Easter, is that you?
So since Easter service at a church is out, I figured that I could at least let her enjoy the tradition of letting her get her grub on at Easter brunch. You know, the Jesus holidays always bring the best food don't they? I bet on the eighth day God actually made Crisco.

I thought that trying to get the family together would be a fun thing to do. How wrong I was. I made plans for Piper to go to the local Easter egg hunt (the Easter Eggstravaganza - I didn't make that up), and the next day a nice family brunch. My awesome plan first met resistance from Mark who took issue merely with the word "Easter," even if it was combined with "brunch." There is really only one kind of brunch that I would steer clear of, and that's a Holocaust brunch. Can't imagine that the portions are that big (I am so sorry).

Instead of going out, Mark said that he'd just make brunch at home. That's kind of like watching someone have a full on stroke in your kitchen, and then eating at the hospital. Yeah, it's that much fun. After a day of woman pout, Mark finally relented and agreed to brunch in a restaurant with our parents. I'm just hoping that I can talk my dad out of the workout pants long enough to eat. I know I'm in trouble when I get a text that asks "how nice is this place?"

It's not really because brunch is such a big deal, it in and of itself. It's because I'm trying to make memories. It's strange, but I feel like all of the traditions of my family have slipped away with my Grandmothers. What's even more strange is that I miss that silly shit. I miss my Nana trimming the maple crust off the Honey Baked Ham to the horror of everyone at the table. I miss the annual "Airing of Grievances" at my uncle's house. It was BYOB and you'd better also bring your thick skin because on Christmas Eve, everyone got a turn. Not many people get away with calling me "little Linda" and live to tell the tale.

Now I am aware that's not an appropriate tradition for a little kid, but what in the world am I going to hand down to her? A special evening with the Wii? Sitting at the table texting each other? I'm not sure, but this is the year that we start figuring it out. We'll start with food. Like anyone from the South knows, food can pretty much fix anything. Especially if it's both dough and fried. I don't care if I have to drag everyone kicking and screaming to fucking brunch, I Goddamn will. Don't test me. I'm making memories here people.
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Wednesday, April 20

THREE DAYS LATER

There is something about the comparison to our Lord and Savior Jesus H. Christ to a zombie that never stops being funny. It looks like the good folks at the Victory Bible Church agree with that assessment.  My thanks to Mark who risked life, limb and the stink eye to get this picture for me.

 
Quick! To your fortified zombie shelters!
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MONDAY, MONDAY

On my way to work each day, I pass a church billboard that is smack dab in my eye line, which means that I can't not look. It use to be that their missives were rational, nĂ© almost inspirational. However after some time passed I noticed that they'd started taking a rather Phelp-sy turn. It happened so fast that one day as I drove by it I remember thinking "Whoa! Uncalled for." I think that it had something to do with homosexuality, and frankly in this town I'm amazed that no one defaced it. We're pretty gay here - not that there's anything wrong with that. 

My theory was cemented the day that I saw they were advertising/sponsoring a Duggar event. Truth be told, I kinda like the Duggars even though I don't agree with their plan to overtake the world with their litter of children, oh and their religious views - but that's a post for another day.

So just for fun, I've decided to post their little nuggets of wisdom here every Monday, since that's when they usually change the sign. I figured that I'd do it this way so I could spare everyone on  facebook.

This was the one from last week:

And such good grammar, too
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Friday, February 11

MY TEETH HURT

Here we go, brace yourself. The Valentine Cometh.

For me, Valentine's Day is a lot like New Year's Eve. There's too much pressure. Pressure to do something and for God's sake you'd better have a good time. It's always "what are you guys doing for Valentine's Day? Are you going somewhere for dinner? What are you giving? What did you get?" I always want to tell people that a) I've worked in enough restaurants that the last thing I want to do is go fight for a table somewhereanywhere, on the 14th. and b) I'd rather pay a bill than have flowers that die, and some box of Russell Stover which I am only going to cherry pick until I hork it down in under an hour. To be honest, flowers make me sad because they're so pretty and then you have to watch them die, slowly, in a vase. I guess that is a little morbid, but I'd rather think of it as sensitive in a Morrissey kind of way (look it up).

Like New Year's, Valentine's Day can be relationship nightmare especially if you've just started dating someone. As the holiday approaches you have to asses each scenario. Should you suggest something to do for New Years/Valentines? By doing that are you being presumptuous? And if so will your new boyfriend/girlfriend run the other way? Should you wait for them to say something? If so, what if they don't? Does this mean that they don't like you or don't take things a seriously as you do? What if they are waiting for you to say something and if you don't, then they think that you don't take things seriously?

I have a sneaking suspicion that dudes don't put that much thought into it, but I think that women do. At least I did, but I was/am a neurotic mess, therefore it may not hold true for everyone.

When I met Mark, all of that changed. Not the neurotic part, but all the worrying. He too thought that Valentine's was stupid, so we celebrated by going to a Chinese buffet. Don't judge. It was college, we were broke, and in those circumstances it's always quantity vs. quality. So for this upcoming Valentine's Day, instead of getting some schmaltzy card with two ceramic children holding hands, I thought that I'd let Mark know how much I really love him in because/in spite of the following:

  • Telling me stories from the AMB that I don't care about (these are his online "friends" that are the most caustic group of people that I've ever heard of. Although at times they can be funny second hand. I'll never think of Mastadon without laughing).
  • He thinks that he's a better driver than I am. Yes, I may have had more accidents but... I think that I just lost my argument.
  • Belief that the weather is the root cause of everything, ie. colds, flat tires, dog thirst.
  • Wearing his chef's jacket to McDonald's.
  • Refusal to throw out old socks, boxers and shoes because he might need them as "backups" one day.
  • The permanent filing system which consists of tiny bits of paper stuck in his wallet. It's very Costanza-esque.
  • The many, many inventions that he "thought of first." We are still waiting for that Furniture Slider royalty money.
  • Announcing that he is going to "bring back" certain slang terms. I just don't think that people are ready to refer to movies as "talkies" again.
  • Truly believing that 1975 was the greatest year ever, with an equation to prove it.
  • Unwavering hatred for the Doobie Brothers.
  • Thinking that he could survive any type of apocalyptic situation because he was in the boy scouts. Personally, I think that his zombie contingency plan reeks of failure.
  • Not ever letting go the moment, in the heat of an argument, when I said something about his "stupid fucking face." I was referring to the face he makes when he's frustrated. He totally didn't see it this way. Ten years after the fact, I am still defending myself.
  • Pausing the DVR whenever he has a proclamation to make during/about a TV show or movie. I always think that it should be accompanied by "hear ye, hear ye..."
But that list is exactly why I keep him around. He's absolutely my best friend, a great dad, and my longest running relationship. Except for my cat, Mitchell and that relationship was totally co-dependent and abusive. Anyway, Mitchell died, so if Mark can hang in there another three years, the title is his for the taking. Personally, I think that Mark is one groovy dude, you know, the bee's knees, the cat's pajamas. Check me out, I'm bringing it back.
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Tuesday, January 25

I NEED SOME CRACK

Wow, I cannot believe that it's been so long since I've written on this here blog. Believe it or not, one of my New Year's Resolutions was to blog on a somewhat consistent basis. However it seems that this, along with my other resolutions have fallen by the wayside. The ones like losing weight, or keeping my mouth shut.

Truth be known, I'm exhausted. I'm so tired that even naps don't help (not like I get many). I've got a baby that has decided that sleeping through the night is passe, and a now-four-year-old that decides the best time to talk to me is around 5 am. Every. Single. Morning. The other night I fell asleep on Tanner's bedroom floor while Piper was taking a bath. She's perfectly happy to play with the Littlest Pet Shop pets in her "throw up bowl" (it's a big red bowl that we used once when she got sick, now she plays with it, yeah I have no idea what that's all about) in the bathtub. When I came to, I really expected to find a Gilbert Grape situation going down in the bathroom, but instead she was OK and playing in luke warm water.

This is where I mention that no matter how tired I am, Mark is tired-er. Apparently running a bakery means that you have to get up early, so he wins. With that out of the way, I guess I should admit that we're both exhausted. I mean we still have movies from Netflix laying around from December 13th. The sad truth is although I really wanted to see The Other Guys, the thought of sleep is so much better.

I even find myself looking longingly at the space under my desk wondering if I could get away with a Costanza, and I wouldn't even need a shelf for an alarm clock. The other crappy thing is that I am not only forgetting everything and losing everything, but I am starting to sound like my Grandmother, calling everyone by the wrong name. In the past couple of weeks, I've started calling Piper Tanner and Tanner Piper. Luckily it's not as bad as my Grandmother who would sometimes call me Fritz, which was her dead dog. My Dad always told me that was a good thing because it meant I was gonna inherit a lot of money. Oh how I laughed when she'd try to say my name and it came out Rus-Fre-Mon-Ca-Du-Fritz? I'm sure it was because I was the youngest, but that was my childhood name: Rusfremoncadufritz. It sounds both French and German. Oooooh fancy.

What's worse is that everyday I lose my phone, keys, glasses, or all three. Today at lunch I realized that I left my purse at work. Now, to be fair, it was stuck to the computer tower because of its crazy strong magnet used to keep it closed. How ironic that things always fall out. It's so bad that the other day I lost my food. That's right, I came home for lunch, made lunch and then lost it. I lost food. Don't worry, I found it in the garage where I'd set it down when I let the dog back in, but it still doesn't take away from the fact that for ten minutes I had no idea where my food was. The only thing worse would be to lose the car. Not like in the parking lot, because I do that all the time, but like permanently.

Honestly, I'd love to keep writing and come up with something snappy, but I'm tired and I literally can't focus. Plus Mark is watching the State of the Union on TV and it's a little distracting. Not so much what's being said but the electric orange glow of Tom Boehner's skin and poorly chosen pink tie. Also, he's cried like five times already. However, although I'd like to see Bachman's rebuttal to the rebuttal, I'm going to bed.
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