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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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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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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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, né 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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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 somewhere, anywhere, 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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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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