Thursday, December 24, 2009

The Things I've Missed Out On

Let me preface this by saying that I will not be dedicating all future stories to the Dog. There are plenty of other weirdnessesesesss' out there, but this one just happens to start with the dog.
It's come to my attention that there seems to be several, if not, multiple things that have slipped my notice over the years. Things that would appear common knowledge to my fellow peeps, it seems.
The most recent revelation? Apparently my Dog has anal glands. And I'm assuming he must have 2 of them, as he has 2 butt cheeks, but I didn't ask. And I suppose all dogs have these anal glands.

From Wikipedia: (warning the contents you are about to read may not be suitable for small children, those taking blue pills on Tuesdays and my Husband)
In dogs, these glands are occasionally referred to as "scent glands", because they enable the animals to mark their territory and identify other dogs. The glands can spontaneously empty, especially under times of stress, and create a very sudden unpleasant change in the odor of the dog. Dog feces are normally firm, and the anal glands usually empty when the dog defecates, lubricating the anal opening in the process. When the dog's stools are soft they may not exert enough pressure on the glands, which then may fail to empty. This may cause discomfort as the full anal gland pushes on the anus. The glands can be emptied by the dog's keeper, or more typically by a groomer or veterinarian, by squeezing the gland so the contents are released through the small openings on either side of the anus. Discomfort is evidenced by the dog scooting its posterior on the ground (commonly referred to as "butt-dragging"), licking or biting at the anus, sitting uncomfortably, difficulty sitting or standing, or chasing its tail.

I'm just going to let you know right now that I did not read the above passage. I just made the Girl go to Wiki and copy and paste for me, so I hope she looked up the correct word.
But I like my readers to be informed...
So. The reason I know that Dog had anal glands is because he took a trip to the Groomers! Whipppeee! Ok. I now have a dog, that involves littleness, clothes, and a need for grooming. If you've read my earlier story about Dog, you'll have learned that he has hair issues. He is a terrier/poodle mix, and his hair looks pubic-esque. I really never thought grooming was in his future until the day the "Tuft" arrived. He has the kind of tail that curls up. And I kind of started noticing that the hair around his anus or "butthole" was beginning to grow a ring or tuft of hair around it that you just SIMPLY could not stop staring at. I stood out like a little shrub. But, I never said anything. Until I think..well, I'm not sure who brought it up first, me or Husband, but one of us threw the Tufty Elephant in the Living Room out on the the carpet to be discussed. Basically, Husband said he couldn't "Deal" because it was so "weird" and he was "getting to point where he couldn't walk him anymore because he couldn't....deal".
The Tuft had to go. We discussed our options. I tossed a few ideas around in my head for a few seconds. Plus, he kind of smelled like cornchips. I called the Groomers. We had an appointment at 2:30.
We roll up, me, Dog, Boy, Girl. We have absolutely NO idea what to expect. They go over the basics.
They are going to : (the following are all the Groomer's words)
give him a bath clean his ears express his anal glands give him a cute teddybear cut around the face get rid of his little beard he's got going and totally ages him smooth out the hair on his body trim the hair on his tail and cut his nails.
Now, simultaneously we have TWO things going on here. I just want the Tuft gone and it has yet to be addressed, and right at the VERY beginning, did she just say something about anal glands??
So, I decided I'm on a mission, a need to know kind of mission, and I need NOT know about anal glands, so I 180 Dog around and say :
"We really need to address the Tuft on his butthole"
Girl just groans, Groomer is just like "Sure!! Come back in 3 hours!!!"
3 hours?? Yeah, sure, Ok, whatev.
45 bones...Dog looked awesome...I mean, he really did. Tuft was gone, clean as a whistle. I'm assuming the glands were able to be expressed. How liberating for everyone.
Now, about this whole anal gland thing. Apparently, EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD knows that dogs have them. Because as I was relating this story to people they're all like, "yeah, they have these things in their butts!! Makes 'em SCOOT!!"
And I'm wondering why I never heard of this before. Where was I?
1 year in the back of an ambulance, 12 years in surgery, you'd think I'd pick up on some sort of anatomical dog talk. I'd think. Right? Hell, I don't know...
There have been others.
I recently figured out who "Mommy" was kissing when she was kissing "Santa Claus".
I'm 35. Just put 2 and 2 together.
IT MAKES DADDY!!!!!
Then, there was this one time, I grabbed this book that looked awesome. So I read it in like, 4.2 hours. And I was going around telling everyone about it, how great it was, and, wow, you should READ THIS!!! It's a great story! You never want it to end!!! Have you read it??
The Thorn Birds?
No...nope, guys. NO. I did NOT know it was made into a wildly popular movie.
Oh well, it's all good. Makes life still interesting..
I got the Dog home from the Groomers. He smelled awesome, he looked good.
Husband still made fun of him. And as the Dog has no sense of personal space, he managed to get peed on his head by Boy as he was using the toilet. This happened 4 hours after we got home.
~B

Monday, October 19, 2009

My Name Is Becky, And I Own A Little Dog


I was thinking today of Zack. It's been a year since he died. Still makes my heart squeeze in a not so good way, and makes my stomach squishy when I think about him.


Of course, when he died, I wanted another dog immediately. Not to replace him, but I needed that dog-ness around. It was an ache. But I got vetoed.


Until July 3rd.


Everyone, except me, wanted a little dog. An ankle-biting, quivering, yipping inbred dog. And I've never really been a fan of that breed. At all. But, I wanted a dog, so I started the search. We (the boy and girl and myself) did vast web searches for the perfect dog. And we looked at a lot of little inbred dogs.


But I came across this video of this little spazzy dog.


And. I. Fell. In. Love.


Jet.


His name is Jet. And he was at a rescue in Poland, Indiana. Bring the jokes...buh-RING 'EM!!


We've actually deemed him a Polish Terrier just because we are tired of trying to explain what he is to all the other parents at obedience school. Husband has also determined him to be a Pubic Terrier as an homage to Jet's hair issue.


But...let's go back.


I drive the kids 2 1/2 hours away to Poland, dealt with customs and what-not, and picked the lil guy up. He was everything I never wanted in a little dog. I didn't want a little dog. But I wanted him. 300 bones for a rescue dog. Yeah, I know..wha???


9 pounds. Full grown at a year old.


It's like having a permanent newborn baby, except, you know..different.


We get home. The next 10 days and $200 in vet bills were spent dealing with Kennel Cough. We had no idea what kind of personality our PubicPolish Terrier had, as he slept. All the time. Jet was quite ill.


Day 10, the switch turned on. The BELL RANG! HE WAS HEALED!!!!


It was also gametime. We had a TERRIER!!

Some people call him "cute". I've heard "pitiful, but cute". And perhaps he looks a little rough. Husband just flat out calls Jet "ugly" TO HIS FACE!!! Everytime Husband does this I play "Beautiful" by Christina Aguielera just to build his esteem up from the "hater". But Jet has street cred. He did time in the pound, the humane society AND then the rescue. And he was only 1. Jet rocks. And he knows it. He OWNS it.
We're still working on manners.
Mostly..he likes to jump on your head eat chewies while sitting on you peeing pooping terrorizing the cat chewing things peeing pooping drinking out of toilet chewing the cat peeing pooping mopping the floor with the cat running from you chewing peeing pooping standing on tables peeing and pooping. But he's working on it.

His hair.
His hair issue requires...clothing. And once I started, I kind of had a hard time stopping. Because he wears his clothing SO well. Lil guy gets cold, so he owns a few jackets, a t-shirt for mild days, a Snuggie (just to irritate Husband) and then there is the pumpkin costume. Other than that...
He cries when the kids go to school all Lassie like. He loves ALL kids. A lot. We had a humping phase which prompted an "explanation" as to what "humping" is and that it is NOT "funny/cute".
Anyways...I know you don't all give a shit about A Girl And Her Dog...but I do. I think Zack would have just log-rolled him around, but he'd dig him.
My name is Becky..and I own a little dog.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Weird


So, it's about 20 minutes after putting the boy and girl to bed. They are like litter mates, and still sleep together most nights. Get over it.

Girl comes out to find me and starts talking :


Girl: So, mommy? I was just about to fall asleep, and as usual, weird things pop into my head. Scary things, and now I can't fall asleep, but I don't want to tell you about it.


At this point, 5,267 items that qualify as "weird/scary" come to my mind.


Me: Well, why don't you try to tell me, I swear it will make you feel better to get it out of your head.

Girl: Well, I don't feel comfortable telling you.


(I'm thinking now, of like 4,963 more things, wondering if I should have the police nearby, you know, to take a report)


Me: I think you should try, honey.


We spend the next 5 minutes in negotiations..


Girl: Well, ok. I know this is wrong, and I shouldn't be doing it..but. Well, sometimes at night, when the Boy falls asleep, I play with his face.

Me: Play with his face?

Girl: Yeah, you know, I squish his cheeks up, or I open his eyes up real big. I just make faces. And I KNOW it's wrong mommy. But sometimes I just do it.


Please trust me when I tell you the images in my head at this point are beyond hysterical, but also troubling.


Girl: And so, I was starting to fall asleep, and these pictures came to my head, you know, like when cartoon characters eyes get all BIG and RED and there are like, red LINES in their eyes. And I started thinking of Boy's eyes getting like that, and now I'm all freaked out.


Me:


Me: Ok, honey. Ok. I think you should at this point, go back to bed and lie there, thinking things like "Boy's body is his body". "Boy's face is not something to play with when he's sleeping".


And then I threw in the motherly..."You know, you could really hurt him by doing that". Just for guilt's sake.


Girl: I know, Mommy...I know...(as she's shaking her head, looking down). I know it's wrong, and I'm sorry, Mommy.


Me: Good luck to you, Girl. Sweet dreams!!!


So. I held it together. I don't even think I realized how weird and funny and awful it was. The poor boy, just dead to the world, as his sister is contorting his face in the dark.

Goes to show you, one can't assume what "weird" qualifies to a 9 year old girl. Weird is not screwing around with a sleeping boy's face at night. Weird is imagining his eyes going all bloodshot and cartoon-ey afterwards..

Saturday, August 29, 2009

I Did It For The Boy


I don't even know where to start. How about?? Wednesday night, last week...

Danny. The Leopard Gecko. His kind hails from Pakistan and Petsmart.

We've been proud gecko owners since June 2008. Danny is the name the boy gave him, as Danny was the first pet of the boy. There was quite a bit of love for Danny. Leopard Geckos are quite friendly, don't bite, and like to crawl on you. They eat worms. Like it warm. And there's a complicated lighting system involved. Other than that, pretty easy.

Ok. One day, Danny is fine. Perhaps a little lethargic, but they get that way before shedding. I thought.. "maybe it's shed time" That's what I said to myself. In my head..not out loud, that'd be weird.

Well, next day, I'm looking at him..he's not looking too good, and his hind legs are limp. Not moving. Nothing, Nada...zero zip. And he's just...looking...bad.

Shit.

Um.

Oh God. Do I? Do I take a 6 inch Gecko to the Vet? But the boy. The boy is like, "Call the Vet."

What do I say? "Oh no...his life isn't worthy of veterinary care (read: $$$$$). ? That's only for things with fur and collars. "

Ok..in hindsight, Yes, I should have said that. But I didn't.

I called the vet. The SAME DOG KILLING VET. Well, he didn't KILL the dog, just, humanely ended his life as I'd asked. But, still...

They got us RIGHT in.

So there we are, with Danny in a shoebox.

And the vet is going on about calcium and UV lights and calcium and in the wild and captivity and it's not your fault and a year and a half is quite a long time and never walk again and you can try to put more calcium on his food and it doesn't look good and broken back and cardiac arrest.

Shit.

Ok. We've also covered that I DO NOT deal with dead things. And I DID NOT want to some morning be dealing with a dead Gecko. But..of course, the thing deserved some dignity and no pain and all that stuff. I mean, he was never going to walk again. Still a creature of God. And my boy loved him. I kind of half whispered "can you actually euthanize a gecko?" I mean, I'm waiting for them to bust out laughing and look at me like: "You freaking idiot!! Who the HELL would actually PAY to euthanize a gecko?? Just take it home and flush it..." Or something along those lines. But no.

"Of course that's certainly an option." he says..

Hmm.

Ok.

I turn to the boy and I tell him the deal. That Danny has to go to heaven. His body is in bad shape and he won't get better and we love him and that's why we need to let him go. And that God shared him with us, and will be so appreciative of how much we loved one of his little creatures (even though I skimped him on calcium apparently..but I tried to give it to him, he didn't like it...I'm rambling) and he'll be with Zack...and oh my...crap.

The tears. He's clutching the shoe box, and tears are dropping on Danny. It was just awful. That little image is burned into my retina. I felt sick. I wanted to punch someone. I mean, I wanted to kick someone's ass. My boy was hurting. And I KNOW what he was feeling, and I hated it for him.

But then he handed the box over. And they took Danny. I didn't want to ask how they did it. Surely...they wouldn't flush him, right?? They'd use medical type stuff, right?

I'll never know.

I go out for the bill.

Which, is basically the whole point in me writing this and sharing it with you all.


I paid $71 dollars to euthanize a six inch long gecko.


The End.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

pool


I'll keep this brief. And I'm going to say what needs to be said.

And then I'll probably feel real guilty about it later...but if I don't get it out of my head, it stays there and festers, and I think I can help myself become a kinder, gentler, better, more tolerant person, when I vomit out all my thoughts right here..

Thank you.


Last weekend, I had the opportunity to visit a State Park, pool.

So, in a nutshell, what this means is :

Public Pool in the middle of NOwhere.


So.


You get the peeps there, camping. (Us)


And you get the local peeps. (The real freaking scary looking people who had rebel flag tattoos and those lil weird kind of inbred looking faces and OH LOOK! There's a lady who shouldn't be wearing a bikini, let alone, walking upright without the assistance of steel support beams. Her skin around her bellybutton (?) look like draperies, EWWWWWWW I SAID IT, but it does..and of course there's the kid with the mohawk, but not the cool kind, like shaggy and whatnot, but buzzed mohawk, so quite honestly it looks like a landing strip, if you get my meaning, it's kind of weird, the lifeguard suck, during adult swim I believe 2 people were trying to make a baby ohmyfreakinggod, and then there is the creepy kid trying to drown a beetle, and says, "why won't it just die?" and he's poking it and poking it, saying "I just want to see if it will drown" and you say to him "maybe you ought to give up at this point? why bother?" and he just looks at you like, "you flippin retard" cuz that's how they talk out there you know? they use uncool words like "retard" and everyone knows that is SO NOT OK and then there is the ultimate the prize the GOLDEN EGG, the dude...the dude with the ankle thingy, the house arrest ankle thingy. Here at the pool and sometimes, sometimes, you just get creeped out by your fellow man, and you shouldn't but that's why you practice on your love love love for mankind.)

Friday, June 19, 2009

The Ultimate Mickey



So, we made it. After many years of wondering "when is the right time?" and "when, financially, is the best time to go spend shitloads of money?" we decided that the Summer of 2009 was the best time to hit Disney World. Now..I'll footnote, my parents, saints that they are, footed the bill. They took the 4 of us, themselves, and niece and nephew. 8 peeps. Airfare, hotel, 3 days at the parks, mealplans, and then 7 days at the beach with our own condo...God Bless 'Em..tough grandparent shoes to fill someday, ya know??



However, we still managed to be drained roughly $2k.



But it was worth every dime. It was.



Excuse me..my ramen noodles are done cooking....I'll be right back...






Going to Disney...As a parent, as an Adult. I don't know where to begin. It's overwhelming. The mechanics. The SHEER amounts of people, the WORKINGS of the place. It's downright creepy and in the same move comforting too. I like it, but I question it, you know?



Let's move along. We show up to Magic Kingdom on a Saturday. On 2 hours of sleep. And that's OK. The first thing..the VERY first thing Husband and I start silently noticing are the large amounts of red shirts everyone seems to be wearing. And the large amounts of men that seem to be wearing them. And the large amounts of men, wearing the red shirts, that are holding the hand of the red-shirt-wearing man next to him. Upon close inspection of said red shirts...we read: WALT DISNEY WORLD GAY DAY 2009!! It WAS Magical, Indeed....



Quite honestly, I've never seen so many uh...red shirts in my life...and there's nothing like watching the Magic Kingdom Parade at night on Gay Day, I'd say....
The only problem was there seemed to be a lot more adults in line that day to pose with all the Princesses, making it rough for the little ones.



There's more...but...well..



Ok..the meal plan. We. NEVER. FIGURED. OUT. THE. MEAL. PLAN.



And I'm quite sure the cashiers have never figured it out either. I would just hand them my card and shrug with my hands in kind of an outward pose like "eh? whaddya think?" Kind of like being in a foreign country with foreign currency that you just throw at them and you just hope you give the right amount and get the right amount back and don't look like a complete shmuck.



On our last morning, we were just trying to buy out our credits and just get some cereal boxes and some bottles of water, and a few nanners and Vidishyma from the Ukraine, or whatever just slumped her shoulders...and said,



"dees ezz not a brakefest. You aff to ave meelk weeth the ceereal."



Well, we were leaving for the beach, and I didn't want to take the "meelk" with us on the drive, so I just said..



"Pretend the milk is there, it's all good, we don't need it, I'll just put one of the waters back instead"



And she slumped her shoulders again..



"I can geet in huge trouble for thees"



I said ..



"It's ALL GOOD!! I'll put the water back, pretend the milk is there, but it's not, really!!!" (I'm TOTALLY smiling by the way)



She's all like..



"No, no, keep the waterrzz....ezz ok" looking all bummed....



So...anyways...I was all bummed all morning, worrying about Vidishyma from the Ukraine..



Disney, I think, uses some aerosol drug that makes people want to buy their shit...


All I'll say is, that when we left, I was wanting more Disney store time. And I was trying to figure out how I could make that happen. I was picturing the Earport store at the airport, a long 7 days away after some time at the beach, as a mental calming tool.


It dawned on me, like a ray of light, that there was a Disney Store in OUR VERY OWN MALL less than 3 miles away from my house...I'd have that TOO!!!


Everything was going, to be...alright.


It was all, going to be...ok.


What the hell??


I'm happy to report, the drug was out of my system withing 36 hours.


It seems that even though Disney administers their mind-controlling aerosol drug "during" the stay, it seems to have a very short shelf-life, and the residual effect is minor. The liver, on a good day, seems to metabolize the drug in short order.


I harbor no ill-will for being slipped the ultimate, Mickey, if you will..


All in all, Disney World is amazing. Our weekend was gold.


I dig that the magic is still out there..



Friday, April 17, 2009

You're Not Helping Me



It's just not working out. I don't understand this notion of having the "U-Scan" aisles at grocery stores, or the self check in kiosks at the airports. It doesn't help, it's not convenient or neat.




Let's start with the grocery.




I'm at the grocery yesterday on my lunch break. I have a loaf of bread, an avocado and a tomato.




There is only ONE lane open for regular peeps. And it's got a long line. So, I hang my head, and walk down to the U-Scan area. It's quite full too. Let me describe who's using it.




A lady who's looked a little overserved most her adult life, buying a lot of liquor. Everytime she scans the liquor, an alarm goes off, and the "attendant" (we'll discuss her presence later) has to pull some lever or something to allow Ms. Drinky to continue. Then there is the couple in their late 50's, who as I soon come to find out, not only can NOT find bar codes on groceries, they also can't read the sign that says "U-SCAN, PLEASE 12 ITEMS OR LESS" as they have a cart full of groceries. They require a lot of assistance from the attendant standing 6 feet away, and this slows their process down a lot. I watch as they flip a case of water over 15 times trying to find the elusive bar code, and I start to boil. After what seems like 15 minutes, it's my turn. Again , I only have 3 items. I have to weigh 2 of them, I get it, I know how to do it, I'm an advanced U-scanner. But you have to wait for instructions designed for 3 year olds before you can proceed or weigh or enter numbers...again, slowing down my process. Then you have to properly put each item in the bag, and if it doesn't sense the item being put in, (which for some reason, this happens 1 out of 3 times) the checkout process STOPS until the attendant clears you to go ahead, but she's busy with the freakshows over at U-SCAN station 1.



"Do I have any coupons?"



NO!!!



"How will you be paying?" And it announces all the variety of ways you can pay, slowly, and clearly....



CASH!!!



Big mistake. As I try to cram my 5 one dollar bills into a machine apparently NOT designed for actually taking bills, I'm starting to scream in my head. This is what I'm screaming :



"WHY CAN'T THAT ATTENDANT OVER THERE JUST WORK AT A REGULAR CHECK OUT LANE AND GET PEOPLE THROUGH THIS HORROR A LOT QUICKER?"



I mean, they have the manpower. She's right there. Working. Doing something. It's not convenient, this U-scan thing, no one is getting out any quicker. Why? It's so DUMB and icky and stupid and gross. WHY am I doing the work? I'm paying for this food, YOU scan it, weigh it, bag it. What the hell?



Let's go to the airport...



The Self-Check In kiosk. Now, you'd think the word "Self" would mean "by yourself because you're in a hurry and ALL the other employees are busy at the desk helping other travelers, and if you'd like, you can HURRY up and check yourSELF in all by yourSELF".



No.



There is always an employee there, asking "Would you like to check in?" And then they just stand there while YOU type your OWN information on the screen, while YOU find your destination, and, now PAY FOR YOUR FUCKING LUGGAGE, they are just standing there. All they do then is check your ID and put the lil tape on your bags. Now, a lot of people are..well, "slow-witted", and can't deal with these things, so I assume sometime the employee is there to help these people with their "self check-in process".



BUT!! BUT!! WHAT IF? What if that SAME employee hopped over the little place where you put your $15/per bag luggage, and stood behind the counter, and did the EXACT same thing she's doing now, only...only, this time, SHE'S the one entering in the information so that Bud and Susie, who's never even driven in a parking garage, let alone try to check themselves in for a flight....ok, so SHE'S the one :


Doing
It
For
Them?


Chances are, things would be downright zippy.


I just don't understand some of these "self" automated bullshit. I can understand it if they are so sucky that they can't properly man their businesses so that they have to go automated, but when that employee is standing right there, watching us all like a bunch of toolboxes poking at screens and standing around with our mouths hanging open in a look of bewilderment, I think it's time to just go back to the way things used to be.


That's all.


Monday, April 13, 2009

Dumb #2


Husband and I are watching some Amazing Video show, you know the type, where they show the action at least 10 times in a row?

And there's this guy that has somehow managed to get himself to the edge of Niagara Falls. And he's standing there, and there's all these people trying to save his ass from falling to his death.

How or why he got there, we don't know because I turned to this show "already in progress".

So I'm like :

Me : Dang!! Check out this DUDE! How sketchy!

Husband : You know, there was some guy that just recently went over Niagara Falls.

Me : Really? For, fun? Or was it a suicide?

Husband : I don't know, I don't think he had a barrel or anything, so it was probably suicide...


I swear to God, that was one of the funniest things I've heard in a long time..

b

Thursday, April 9, 2009

"I Saw A Mouse" Is Not Code For Anything.



Just in case you're interested, if you ever receive a text from your spouse saying "I saw a mouse last night", it is NOT code for anything interesting, like I thought it was. We recently got texting phones, and Husband likes to send the default texts to me like "Sorry I missed your call, I was in a meeting, what's up?" sort of thing, when, I had never even called, and he'd been to no meeting..but, we get chuckles out of that sort of thing, so anyhoo..


Anyhoo..


So, when I received this text "I saw a mouse last night", I assumed it meant, ya know, he'd had a fantastic poop, or Hell, I don't know really, but, I certainly did not take it to mean that he ACTUALLY saw a mouse in our home.


No. I did not.


So, I called him back, and said..


Me: So..ha ha what's this "saw a mouse" thing all about? ha ha.. (like, "you rascal!") What's that code for??


Husband : It's not code for anything..I saw a mouse in our bathroom.


Me :


Husband : Hello?


Me :


Husband : I was sitting in the chair watching TV and it stuck it's little head out and then went back into the bathroom.


Me :




At this point, I'm just trying to keep my field of view open, as it's getting real narrow and fuzzy for some reason, and...why am I so sweaty all the sudden?? Did someone open a window? I feel cold...so..cold..




Because, this bathroom, where the Black Death carrying rodent is taking up residence, is the bathroom leading into the bedroom where I had been sleeping.




So then Husband starts going on about Def-Con or some weird mouse killing agents and traps, and I have all these images playing out in my head, and NOT a ONE of them are good.


We hang up the phone and I get on with my day at work..where I encounter a co-worker who has dealt with mouse traps a-plenty.


I'll spare you the details, but all of them result in a carcass.


Here's a thing about me.


I don't deal in dead things.


Here's another thing about me.


In my line of work, I can, and I have, had my arm up to the elbow, inside someone's abdomen while retracting for surgery. And that's just a sliver of what I'm capable of doing on the icky spectrum. But, dead things? I don't do.


So, after hearing about these traps, I immediately called Husband..


Me : We have to get the humane traps, because I don't want any dead mouse carcasses in the house.


Husband : Yeah, ok sure.




Wait. What? It was almost like he was expecting that one from me. I'm just that weird, I suppose, poor guy.


He didn't even try the whole "Babe, seriously, just DEAL". Because he just KNEW.


The man knows.




Soooo...I come home from work. We discuss going out later to get these traps. Meanwhile, I'm eyeballing the cats, saying things like, "Guys? Seriously? You gonna be so cliche like that on me? Be the typical house cats that DON'T get the mouse?"


LAME!


But, our little talk does nothing because, well, shit, they're cats and they can't understand me.




Ok...so buckle up, because get this..


I'm vacuuming. And....


ewwww...hoooo.....


We have this Oriental rug, and things get visually lost on it quite easily. Ok? Ok, picture this.


Husband is in the other room. I'm vacuuming. Daughter is in chair next to me watching TV.




I COME WITH IN 1.5 INCHES OF SUCKING UP THE DEAD MOUSE IN MY VACUUM.




It's just lying there, all curled. And dead. dead dead dead dead.


So, I can't just freak and alert the children, because I just can't deal with the questions.


So,the vacuum gets shut off, and I very calmly call for husband.


Husband walks in, and I don't even look down, but I point. He gets it..He sees it, he very calmly walks away and gets a paper towel and DEALS.


Daughter is all..


Her : What are you doing? Why did you just stop all the sudden? Why did you just call Daddy?


Me : huh?? ha ha?? Oh...I just forgot to ask you who you sat with at lunch today?


Her : What?




Ok, so the mouse is gone...the mouse is gone..the kitties!!! NOT cliches!! I'm proud, so proud, and impressed.


Thank God we found it...Husband and I started laughing at dinner about the potential tragedies avoided had we not found it in time...


Scenarios like...a kid laying down on the floor, watching the tube..relaxing, and then standing up and walking by one of us with a dead mouse dangling from the back of their hair..


You know, weird shit like that..




Still, I'm not convinced it's over..not 5 minutes later I saw another one run into the garage from outside. It's ON. Bring it Micessss.


As for now, I am not walking barefoot in my house, and I keep getting the image of the lady in Tom and Jerry who jumps on the chair and lifts her apron up and starts wailing..


Cause I GET it now... I totally get it..




Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Fight of Flight


There are certain things in life that really help you get to know a person.

One of those things is flying with someone. I got a quick glimpse into Husband's soul the first time we ever flew together..

It was on our way to Bermuda for our Honeymoon. I'll be honest, what do you really know of a person?? But what I thought I knew, was, this guy has travelled the world. Flying should NOT be a problem. NO. Never crossed my mind.

So, when I decided to make small talk, something along the lines of : "Boy, it sure is noisy when you sit over the wings, it's like, you don't know WHAT the Hell that noise is all about!"

I got this response:


"Would you just shut the fuck up PLEASE???"


Now, any, and I mean ANY OTHER person who would have said that to me would have had that tray table stowed in the upright position so far up their ass, the airline attendant would have had to be a proctologist to pass out drinks and peanuts. Seriously.

However, you did not see the look in Husband's eyes. This was a pure Fight or Flight scenario. I let it go.

Apparently, Husband, is not, a fan, of flying.

Everytime we fly, or rather, take off, and land, Husband's eyes are shut tight. And he looks very very calm. He looks like any other traveler catching a few z's. However, I assure you he is praying prayers worthy of an entirely new book in the Bible. He's THAT good. He ALONE is keeping the plane intact and free of fireballs and watery graves.

On our most recent trip, I get this on after our first landing :

Husband : Does this guy know what he's doing??

Me : Why?

Husband : He just kept BANKING and BANKING. And speeding UP and slowing DOWN.

Me :

Husband : Seriously, I don't think he knew what he was doing....

Me : Well, we are now walking around in a different airport...


On another flight, I noticed someone say behind me, "She passed out!". And, indeed, some lady had passed out in the back. Husband hadn't noticed that tidbit as he was playing Hangman with Daughter. What he did notice was the voice over the PA announcing "CODE RED" and then people running to the back...

It was later that he told me, oh God, I'm laughing as I write this, I'm sorry Husband...

Husband : I heard CODE RED, and I thought we had 5 minutes and we were going DOWN.

Me : Seriously?? You didn't notice the people running with the medic bag?

Husband : Well, when I saw people running, I then thought they were having to tackle someone in the back.

Flying just really sucks for him. I think the worst is the banking. We take off, and Husband thinks we have trick pilots, because he'll look at me and say:
Husband : Why does he just have to immediately go into a roll like that??

And everytime we bank for a landing, he just turns to me with this look like, "What the Fuck? Who let the Blue Angels pilot on here?"

You know the look..

He does alright..I'm not a fan of flying either, as I've disclosed in an earlier story. But watching Husband certainly takes my mind off my own anxiety. And I thank him for that.

We all have our something. At least he can sleep with a closet door open at night...

B

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

An Extraordinary Chain Of Events


So, I'm chatting on the phone with my Dad, after I'd just sent my kids outside to "PLAY!!!" I'd basically had to scream at them to go outside and "PLAY!!!" and then my phone rang and I had to act all normal on the phone.

Not seven seconds later I hear screaming and crying and I'm all "Gotta go" and Dad's all "Gotcha" and I run to the back door. Boy is collapsed by the door holding his finger screaming the high-pitched scream one makes when one slams a door on one's finger. It's got a certain pitch to the scream. We all know it. And if you haven't heard it, you'll instinctively recognize it the first time you do. It's like a primitive recognition thingy programmed into our minds from our monkey ancestors who'd slam their fingers in rocks trying to crack open nuts, or something...I think.

When I get there, Girl is standing there, and I say "Honey? Run and get me a baggie of ice!!" and she's off!! She comes back a moment later with a large, and I mean LARGE bag of full size ice cubes, and she' standing at the top of these 3 stairs that we have leading into our family room. And Boy and I are WAY across the room. Before she comes to bring me the ice, I also ask her to bring me a damp paper towel, because Boy's finger is bleeding, and that's REALLY freaking him out. Girl says "OK!" and I turn my attention back to boy.

Now. I know she was trying to be helpful. I know she was trying to speed up the process of first aid. I get it. She's a helper. She was panicked. There was screaming and blood. But I didn't see it coming. I didn't see her throw the GIANT ZIPLOCK BAGGIE FILLED WITH FULL SIZED ICE CUBES ACROSS THE ROOM to us. I didn't see it coming. Her aim, I'm sure, was to land neatly at my side. Bag intact. She put her back into it. A lot of effort.
What actually happened, is, it came full speed at the side of my head, hitting me like a sack of rocks across the lower part of my eyesocket. The bag of ice exploded on impact. I saw the stars. I saw the birds. And when I opened my eyes, I saw my cheekbone swelling out. I saw the look of "HOLY SHIT" on Girl's face. Boy was still in the process of screaming. I was dazed. I was. I didn't know what to do first. Boy? Girl? Me?

He was still freaking, she was emotionally scarred, and my face was swelling and I could feel a little wetness of blood on it as well. We were all just collapsed by the backdoor in one giant mess. It was just like, What the HELL? How weird is this shit??

Ok. So, I picked up the ice. Boy didn't want the ice. Didn't want the paper towel for that matter.

I pulled him on my lap. I held the ice to my face, and told Girl it worked out anyways!! She looked like she wanted to barf. I FELT like I wanted to barf. She said "I did more harm". Which was quite dramatic in a sad kind of way..I said "This is going to be a very funny story at some point..." She didn't look too sure..

She meandered outside. But she was going to be OK.

Boy and I sat. Husband walked in 2 minutes later, I'm sure thinking "What the Hell goes on when I'm gone?"

After explaining things to him...his first comment to me was, "yeah, wow, I bet that hurts." His second comment was "I don't want to go out in public with you so people don't think I'm beating you up."

Thanks..

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

All Conversations Eventually Lead To This :


....this morning.....



Husband: I hate using the Port-a-Potty at work, because when I take a dump, the blue nasty water always splashes back up and hits me in the ass.

Me : Why don't you poop in a bowl and pour it into the Port-a-Potty?

Boy: Laughing HARD

Girl: Laughing HARDER

Me : (retrieving old blue bowl from cabinet for demonstration)

Husband: I am JUST NOT going to poop in a bowl and POUR it into the Port-a-Potty!!!

Me: Suit yourself...you'd probably just get the blue stuff splashed on your hand anyways...


Poop.

At least, in my world, many, many times, most conversations, have eventually lead to talking about poop. Pooping. Smelling it. Seeing it. Wiping it. Someone else's poop. Baby poop. Toddler poop. Dog poop. Bird poop. Emergency poop. Cramping poop. Bed pooping. Drunk Pooping. Pooping behind a tree. I could go on.

And I will.

For some reason, I've surrounded myself, personally, and professionally, with people who have no qualms discussing poop. Except my father-in-law. Farts, even, are meant to be taken to another room. But aside from him, everyone I know is a "go" on the conversation of Poop.

And NO MATTER WHAT, I swear to you, it always goes there.

First off, poop, as we all know, is the great equalizer. Your Principal pooped. Your doctor. The news anchor takes a special dump at Eleven. Oprah, unloads her Favorite Things. Obama, sits on the Oval Chair. Everyone has had the moments of being in a public restroom, JUST getting ready to drop, when someone comes in, and it's panic time. Do you let go? Or do you Turtle it back in? What do you do? Everyone...has had those moments. Everyone has been driving on the road when the cramping starts, and has probably had to pull what I call, a SLEPM, which is a Straight Leg Emergency Poop Maneuver. Basically, your left leg is sticking out straight in an attempt to keep the poop IN. Everyone has pooped their pants. Past the age of 3, if you get my meaning. You know who you are..

We've had debates as to whether you sit down to wipe, or stand up to wipe. I know someone who likes to stand up and "face the poop" as if it had been a challenge, or a duel, so to speak.

At work, if someone poops during surgery, we call it a Code Brown. I usually keep myself real busy with my instruments at that point, as I don't deal with Code Browns too well.

Some people share that they often find themselves in the middle of nowhere, away from a toilet, and they have to dump outdoors behind a tree. And this happens to these individuals more often than not. I always seem to have the urge when I walk into a bookstore. Don't know why...

I've been at work with a room full of professional people. Surgeons, nurses, etc. And we are ALL sharing poop stories. And not just little cute baby poop stories. Adult poop stories. Personal Poop. We talk about it during surgery. Medicine is an emotional, heart-wrenching field. Humorous Poop Talk gets us through the tough times.. Tough times...

But there is the kid poop. I remember being in bed, recovering after the c-section. And Husband is changing Daughter's diaper. I hear hacking sounds..I hear "OH GOD EGGKK AHHK!"" and then more hacking sounds. As I struggle to roll out of bed I then hear : "SHE'S POOPING!! SHE'S POOPING!! OHMYGOD!!!" I race in there, and he's got her by the ankles, but he's bent over looking away, and there's little newborn baby poop on the changing table. He just keeps saying over and over "It looked like the Playdough Factory!!! OHGOD I've never seen anyone POOP before!!!" It was fairly traumatizing for him, to say the least.

Of course, there were the incidents of bathtub pooping. The Boy had pooped in the tub. And I was not at home. Daughter apparently was screaming, and Husband scooped both kids out of the tub, and then drained the tub. He left the poop in the tub, and then used toilet paper to waffle it down the drain. I DON'T KNOW WHY HE DID THAT. Why not just pick the poop UP and flush it in the handy toilet right next to the tub?? He panicked, he said...he panicked.

Poop.

Some find it crude and tasteless.

Ha!!!! I think it tastes like SHIT!

No..Ok..some find it crude and tasteless to TALK about. But we all do it. At least everyone I know. And that's why I like my pooping friends. So next time you find yourself in my company, be prepared for the eventual conversational path that will lead straight to the toilet.

B

Monday, February 2, 2009

Thankyou, and Goodnight



I've had a week to chew on this...to contemplate. I've had a week to think "Where, on Earth, do I even begin?" and I still don't think I've narrowed it down...but I have to get it out..and get it out I shall :



The Weather Reports:




Ok. Where do I begin? Last week, we had some snow. Ok? Now, we live in a snow-potential place. There is the potential for snow. It. Could. Happen.






It. Did. Happen.




And thank THE LORD for the Storm Team out there, with their snow shovels as props, standing on the side of roads to report, that it is, snowing.




These lifesavers, are standing on the side of the roads, creating a visual distraction to drivers, who are already experiencing a numbing sensation in their crotch from the amount of grip their hands have applied to the steering wheel of their vehicles in an attempt to just stay in the direction of forward. Forward. That's it. It does not help to have some big bright light on the side of the road with a toolbox standing there, wearing a giant parka with huge reflective stripes adorning it, shoveling snow, in a live broadcast to people at home who can look outside and see that IT IS SNOWING.


First off, GET off the side of the road. Please. Ok? You shoveling the snow just looks stupid. If you want to shovel snow, go shovel some old ladies' sidewalk.


Ok. Now I live in Indiana. We are called Hoosiers. There are random stories as to why we are called Hoosiers, and me telling you why will only set me further off the edge. Just know that we are. It's stupid. And the StormTeam people just LOVE LOVE LOVE using that word as much as possible. "Hoosiers are making the slow crawl home tonight!" "Hoosiers have some shoveling to do!" "See why the snow may be good news for some Hoosier schoolchildren!!" (as they knowingly smirk that "snow day" smirk) "Hoosier Headaches!!" "HOOSIER HOOSIER HOOSIER"


OH my God...I swear...I want to go to the exit ramp of I-69 and 96th street where StormTeam Sally is reporting and grab that shovel and shov.....


Ok..


They actually talked about how.. "How would Hoosiers handle a snow event like this, if one were to happen, in 2012 when the SuperBowl was about to take place?"


They did. They really did. If the kids weren't watching, I'd have thrown the remote through the TV.


They always go to the Salt Barn. Always. Everytime. They show the snow plows loading up. I don't know why this is interesting after the 5th time. But I've seen it, like 9,472 times. I'm intimately familiar with the Hoosier Salt Barn at MLK and 21st street.


I mean. They spend all morning talking about it. It's snow. It's snow. It's snow. It's been around. It happens. Every year. Couple of times a year.


If you are talking a storm of Locusts? Maybe you have my attention. Asteroids pelting rooftops? I'm on it. Let me know when and where. And I'm glad to know that there will be snow. It's helpful. It is. But, I noticed that it was snowing. I also noticed it had NOT stopped.


I noticed it got taller. And taller. So weird.


That's all you need to do. Come on. Say. It's going to snow. A lot. It will stop _________. And be done.


Please? Seriously? It's so....gross, the way you are doing it.


One year, there was this day they predicted snow? It didn't snow. They had the bright light shining on the toolbox wearing her parka on the side of the road. She actually said this :


"I'm standing here on US 31 in Westfield..and right now, it's not snowing."


She did. She did. Why? Why did she have to do that?


Is it just me? Is this what the "others" want? The other people watching the news??


Usually, I only hear other people just go "what the??" when they are watching the news...


So it's either, I'm surrounding myself with like-minded people, and the masses out there are just hungry to be spoon-fed crap (I haven't counted that theory out yet) or the News People just have their heads very very far up their asses they don't notice that the rest of us..."notice".


ThankYou, and GoodNight


B

This Isn't What You Think


We had a party yesterday. Oh! The look on a newly 3 year old girl's face, all dressed in a princess dress, as her Uncle hands her a giant pink present...


She actually squeaked. There was a squeak. I believe that meant "thanks". She was overwhelmed.


Her brother and cousins took turns randomly wrapping toys she already had in foil, letting her open them over and over again before the party, I think, to give her practice, for what was to come.


As the cake barely came around the corner, and the first words of "Happy Birt.." were being sung, she may have lost a few eyelashes as she ran to the cake to blow out her 3 candles.


No one, told her what she had to do, she knew.


The presents...dolls, dolls, a baby bed, magic wands, a pretty dress, hair accessories.


She was surrounded by the people who love her, her family.




Yesterday, I was able to focus the majority of my emotions on just what we "have" and not on what we "don't have". Not on what she doesn't have. Or what we've all lost.


Whenever those creeping feelings of anger and "this isn't fair" started to knock on my door, I just looked around and saw people smiling anyways. She was smiling, right? For now? Was she missing out? Really? It didn't appear so...


I knew who was missing out....I know. I wonder if they know. I wonder if they will ever know how much they are missing.


I thought holding onto my anger would help. It would bring justice. If I stayed angry on behalf of my parents, and my niece and nephew, and my children and my husband, and myself, it would..I don't know, it would stand as a symbol saying "WHAT YOU'VE DONE IS SO FUCKING WRONG" like, this...shield, like this billboard. I mean, who am I fooling?


They aren't reading my signs...


Anger.


You can be angry. But holding onto anger makes you a victim twice.


You get wronged. But when you live with the drudgery of anger, it's like "they" or "it" are screwing you all over again, by making your life so icky and crappy. Anger, it doesn't serve me anymore. What makes me angry? And why? Well. Anger is a justified emotion. I have rights. I do. I have every right to be angry. And things will happen again that will make me angry. It's the holding onto part that I've been having some trouble with..


It's a cancer, a drug...it's turned me away from all things "light". I hold my anger like a security blanket. But it's smelly. Time to give it up.


Because the thing is, these 2 people, have no notion or concern for my anger. If my anger had any influence over them, things would be different, right?


But...here it comes. Forgiveness.


My stomach just turned. It did. As I typed that. Hah!! Funny. Ok. So, Forgive. Forget..


Not the same, those 2.


I think I have forgiveness backwards. I've always thought it's all about the other guy. But forgiveness can be just as much about "ME" as it is for them..when I forgive, I'm letting go. But if I let go, I'm LETTING THEM OFF!! NO! Stop it, Becky. I'm not letting them off....


Wait. There's that knock again. Let's regroup...


Here's why when I forgive, It works.


I am letting go of the cancer that keeps me away from Light.


I am handing it over to God.


I am not letting them off...because of this...


They were not the ones watching their daughter turn 3 yesterday. I was.


And anger had nothing to do with that. It's not about my control, or anger, or lack of control, or lack of anger. Their lives and actions put them in that spot. My life and action put me in that spot.


Anger had nothing to do with it...


They are the ones who have to live their lives...my anger isn't going to "make it worse" for them. I am not their judge...


It sounds spiteful, kind of like "nah nah boo boo I was there and you weren't" I don't mean it like that...(well, kind of) but I mean it like, me carrying around my anger as an attempt to help keep justice on behalf of all my wronged family members, including myself, is pointless!!


WE are already in an OK place! Could it be better? Of course!! Wouldn't it be nice if the party was thrown for the 3 year old BY the parents AT the parents house BECAUSE they were healthy and functioning? And NOT because niece and nephew have lived with Grandparents for over a year? But...well, Shit!! That's the way the cookie crumbles, I suppose!!


I guarantee you I would have had a miserable time yesterday, if I was still holding on to my anger blanket so tightly.


If I was busy thinking about what should have been happening or what could have been happening, I would have been too busy to have heard her squeals, or have seen her smiles, or to have felt the love in the room that was there for HER. And it was ENOUGH. There was enough love.


I still have some scraps of my anger blanket in my pocket. I'm not completely weened.


I still grieve. I still mourn opportunities missed. I miss. You know? I miss him. And it provokes sadness..and that provokes anger..and then I get mad and angry..and then I get sad...and then I get tired. But, the good news, I'm getting pretty tired of "it' consuming me. I'm realizing that hanging on to those feelings doesn't create that sense of justification. Letting them go frees me up, so that I don't become a victim twice.


It's a work in progress...I'm just figuring it out. There will be more ammunition for my arsenal..but I do know, that I enjoyed yesterday in many more ways than one...and I'm breathing a lot easier today for it.


B


Sunday, January 25, 2009

Things Are Looking Up


I've mentioned that I've smelled things. Nasty things. I have.

This is about one of those moments..


It was May. It was warm outside. Husband and I were outside walking around our Estate.

We have critters on our Estate. I've seen horses. I've seen deer, coyote, yeti, raccoons, hawks, squirrels, moles, butterflies, mice, chipmunks, and fox.


A bad bad bad bad bad smell is in the air. It is the dead smell. I've learned to differentiate between the dead smell that comes from Husband's ass, and true, dead smell. He had not dealt it. It was strong. It was close. We look around, we start the search. behind rocks, near rocks, by trees...I mean...we are walking in circles.


I don't. I don't recall what led me to look......up.


But when I did, and what I saw, caused me to launch the loudest AND most profane tirade heard in a 3 mile radius.

High up in a tree...in a hole in a tree. eeeeeeuuuughhh.. it's so gross.

Ok. There was a squirrel. Stuck. Halfway in...halfway out...in a hole. Winnie the Pooh Style.

Except, it's head was facing out..it's arms stiffened out in a pose like Superman.

dead.

OHMY#$#$(#*()*@&#&*(&)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!HIT!!!!!! WHAT THE F#($&#(*&(*&(@&(*@&#()(*&THATSDOING#(*****&&&CKINGTREE?

Husband has to clamp his hand over my mouth, I think he's screaming, "LOOK AWAY!!! LOOK AWAY!!!

I was all like "how the HELL did that thing die, and we not notice?" Oh yeah, Ok...we had just come home from vacation. Ohshit! Poor thing just was all alone, squeaking and squirmi....ohmyGOD...the poor thing....that JUST SUCKS.

I was overcome with a mix of emotions...horror..sympathy...despair.

Oh yeah...here comes the sympathy...the POOR thing......like...I could cry. Now. Instantly.


Moving on. What do we do? The thing is like, 20 feet in the air, stuck in a tree??? I can't just let the thing slowly start to decompo...you know what I'm saying...it's so sick. SICK. I can't have little bits just dripping and dropping off hither and nither..I have kids. I mean, that would be messed up. Like, a little dead bloated squirrel ala Winnie the Pooh, missing half it's face? Like therapy isn't already on their horizon?? I gotta add this to the queue? No. Thank. You.

Squirrel is coming down.

And it smells BAD. I mean, bad. So, we know this guy is working at our neighbor's house, and he's got a tall ladder. We offer him $20 and a case of beer if he will get the squirrel down.

I felt like such an asshole, I did. I mean, really. Who...does that? We did.

So, we supply him with a trash bag...and I'm out there with an aerosol can of Febreeze. I am.

I'm trying to be supportive. I'm emptying the contents of Febreeze into the open breeze, just trying to get Ramone some relief as he climbs the ladder, because it smells so much like dead ass.

Ok..So, he sticks his hand inside the trash bag, and grabs ahold of SuperSquirrel. Gives a little tug.

I'm TOTALLY imagining the thing crumbling and disintergrating...I mean, I've got all these gnarly images already happening in my head, I am looking away, kind of.

But, he gives a tug...and stops. Gives another tug...and another.

He looks down at us and says :

"ees stuck"

Ok.."NO!!!! It's NOT STUCK RAMONE!!!"

I mean...it HAS to come out. I'm begging...I'm spraying...I give him some thumbs up...sign for "give it another go"

Ramone tries again....


and it came out...it. came. out.


Ramone got his $20 and a case of Bud.

The squirrel got a ride to a landfill.

I had to buy some more Febreeze.

And my other neighbor now knows that it's totally cool to swear around me.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Please

To Whom It May Concern, Dear Sir or Madam,
I will keep this brief. No one finds it cute. No one finds it unique. No one finds it exhilarating. No one finds it at all "freaking awesome!!!!!!!" that you are in a McDonald's drive-thru, riding in a limo, with your windows halfway down.
Just please, if you find yourself in a limo, refrain. If you have the need for McFlurry, just have the driver park the damn thing, and walk in and get the thing yourself.

Please?
You just look stupid. I don't know why, but you do.
Thankyou,
B

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

I Never Imagined


I never imagined myself in the Cots Tub and Further store, standing in front of the clerk, getting ready to say...

Well, let me preface this by saying I was on a birthday present quest. For the perfect present. For the person who has everything. I knew what I was going for. The exact model. The make, the brand. No substitution would do. No cheap imitation, no scaled down version.

Daughter was with me, wondering, "why, Mommy?" As in, why are we getting this? How do I explain the power of this present? The sheer genius? The hours of entertainment? Not only capable of individual use, it is capable of bringing families together. It can be used in the workplace. "It's multi-awesome, daughter"
It brings joy. It brings smiles.

What we find first, is indeed, a cheap scaled down version. A key chain model. Without the many features of it's advanced cousin. In truth, it sucked.

Which leads us back to the beginning of the story. I found myself asking a store clerk something I was pretty sure no one has ever had to ask a store clerk before.
What was I asking the clerk? This:

Me : Excuse me? But do you have a better Fart Machine brand than this one?? (holding lame inferior machine dangling by it's chain)

Daughter : oh Mom! SHEESH!!

Clerk : uh.

Me : I'm looking for one with a remote control, please.

Clerk. Um.

Clerk : Let me ask.

Now, I nearly squealed with excitement at the thought of this clerk going on the PA asking some unseen entity for the deluxe Fart Machine model "in the back".
But, instead, she turned around, and asked some other lady..

Clerk 1 : Do we have different Fart Machines? With remote control?

I'm nearly peeing my pants at this...

Clerk 2 : I know exactly what she's looking for...I'm going to the back.

My heart did a leap...

So, daughter and I are waiting and waiting...and daughter says something I never imagined an 8 year old girl has ever said anywhere in the world..

Daughter : Mommy, let's just get THIS fart machine and go already...

Me : Honey, we are waiting...

So Clerk 2 comes back with not one, but TWO Deluxe Fart Machines. In fact, they are called, The Electronic Whoopie Cushions. They come with a remote control button, that you can set off from anywhere. Ohmygod, I was dying. They were perfect. She came with TWO!! Of course, we had to have one for our family!!! What else do we do on cold winter nights????

Daughter had to take them away from me before we even left the store. I could barely get through the store without setting them off near every person we passed.

Well, obviously, the gift was a hit. It was worth it. I put my neck on the line. I will say stupid things to get what I want. And I promise to tell you all about it.

This Is Huge



It's Easter. And we are at my sister in law's house. There is a lot of people, food, merriment.



"We", being sister in law's side of the family and friends, are all huddled in the kitchen. Sister in law has actually come down with a bad case of hurling her guts out. So, she's locked away in her bedroom, missing all the fun. Brother in law is entertaining his side of the family and friends on the other side of the house.

Anyways.
Here we are in the kitchen.

My husband is laying down on the floor, with his head on a bathroom scale. And we are all lined up behind him, to see how our teeny craniums measure up.


But first, I think we should back this truck up.


My husband comes from the Island of the Really Freaking Huge Heads. That is how it was labeled on old maps. It did say "Freaking". His people were once mighty rulers there. Ever seen pictures of those head statues on Easter Island? Tribute.

The island is no longer on the map, having sunk. I think you can gather the reason why.

Having been set apart from the rest of civilization, they were able to evolve into super beings, with the ability to have..well, basically, just really huge heads. That's it. I don't care what else he tells you.

His Grandpappy's Grandpappy, Chief Thomas Michael Thomas Thomas Michael, was one of the first to notice the the island tilting. Realizing something was amiss...afoot...he ordered everyone off the island.

"Swim to your new lives. Go out in the world. Save yourselves. GET OFF!!!!!!!"

And other wise shit.

So, my husband's family swam and swam to Indianapolis.

Time passed, they married. They had babies. Mostly, the huge head thing stayed put. Even if they married a spouse with a meager melon, the babies...the babies, had huge ones.

I remember the pediatrician having that "concerned doctor look" on her face, contemplating "Which neurosurgeon do I refer these people to for their daughter?" as she was measuring her newly born head. I reminded her of Daddy's lineage.

It comforted her. Slightly.

He doesn't look weird. If that's what you're thinking. He's quite proportionate. He's a handsome shmandsome devil. It's only when he's sitting next to someone, do you notice. Usually, you notice the shadow first.
He tells me of bets he has won. Kind of like :

Husband walks into a bar:

Husband : I HAVE THE BIGGEST HEAD HERE!!

Drunk Rowdy Patrons : BET YOU DON'T!!! HOOOOOO-EEEEEEEEE

Bartender whips out measuring tape. Good bartenders always have measuring tape on hand.

Think about how many time you hear in a bar: "BET I HAVE THE BIGGEST......"

Bartender has to help square the bet.

Heads are bent over the bar....one after another after another. Measured. Submitted.

Husband walks up. Leans over. Measured. But wait. They've run out of measuring tape.

Cash is collected, Husband drives on to his next town. Eat his dust, little head people.

In Boston, he went into a hat shop. Wanted a baseball hat. Warned the guy :

Husband : I have a really big head.

Guy : We have really big hats. Don't worry about it.

So...well, let's just say, there's a picture of Husband in that shop with the biggest baseball hat they could find perched on top of his head like a cherry, taken, I suppose, for it's freak show essence this Guy wanted to share with the rest of the world.

Honeymoon. Bermuda. He's experienced renting scooters before, and the helmets that come with them. He just said to me :
Husband : Watch this.

Me : Ok.

Husband : I need a really big helmet.

Scooter Rental Girl : Oh, yeah. We have big helmets, no worries.

They bring out the helmet. He tries it on. It looks like the top of an acorn on his gourd.

OHMYGOD. I had to sit down....I was nearly wetting myself.

They had to use a box cutter to cut out the foam inside the helmet, just so it would at least fit somewhat down around the skull. And also to cut down on the drag.

I could go on and on and on.

But we find ourselves in the kitchen. With the scale. We were just sitting around. The topic of huge heads came up. I don't recall who suggested the scale. But we got it. Husband was on the floor in the middle of the kitchen. Head on scale.

Now wait!! I know what you're thinking. To get a true cranial measurement, the head needs to be severed at the 3rd vertebrae and be devoid of all hair, to get an accurate weight.

But, well, that obviously couldn't happen. So we decided we could at least just measure all the same way, and just compare the difference. It was the best we could do.

Everyone else. And I mean EVERY one else weighed in between 9-12 pounds.

Now, get this!! I Googled "average weight of human head" later that day....

8-12 pounds.


His was 16 pounds.
Bow down.


















Sunday, January 18, 2009

Nuh-UH!!!


So I'm standing in line to board this plane from Phoenix to Sacramento. And this airline offers general seating. You get in line, you walk on the plane..you sit. So, clearly, you want to do a visual sweep of you fellow passengers before you get in line with them.

Man....I'm smiling right now, because I've got SO many descriptive qualities of the kind of people who you would NOT want to sit next to..but, well, it just borders on cruel and sick, and I've turned my ways, I have...I have.

And I trust in you, to be able to discern, who is probably NOT a good idea to hop in line with..

( see that newlywed? the drunk one? she's getting ready to remove her nail polish with one of those nail polish remover tubs with the sponge in it..she will stink up the whole cabin..and she will be yelling across the aisle to her new husband, asking him if he's "getting airsick yet honey?", even though we've not even left the gate.)

So I see a harmless looking gentleman. Older. I was 21, so, he could have been 41 for all I know.. but he had a sparkle in his eye. His mouth is closed, and his nails clean.

We are in line together. We start talking:

Him : So, where are you from?

(no one in Phoenix, is FROM Phoenix)

Me : Indianapolis, originally, I've been out here 2 years.....::blah blah blah mah mah mah:::

Him : Oh! Indianapolis! I flew a plane over the Track for the Race last year.

(note, I've never been to the Indy500, but I do know you capitalize the word Track and Race when referring to either one)


Now...for some reason. Him saying "I flew a plane over the.." did not flip any switches, or hoist any flags in my brain. What it did trigger was this response :


Me : So, you're a pilot??

Him : uh huh..

Me : That's GREAT!!!! (readers, please remember what I'm about to say, just for future reference) So, like, if this puppy started going down, do you think you'd be able to go up there and fly it?? (oh GOD!! I know the ending to this story..and everytime I remember that question I asked this man... I cringe. Hard)

Him : Uh....yes.

Me : We should sit together!! I hate to fly!!


So..we find our seats, I give him the aisle seat, in case he needed quicker access to the cockpit...

our conversation resumes..


Him : I was a pilot in The War. (again, I know when and where to use Caps...WWII)

Me : Wow...

Me : My Grandpa was in The War. (I should teach young girls the art of conversation)

Him : I shot down ( I forget the number...let's just say...) 8 bazillion German planes.

Me : Dang.. (what should I name my school?)

Him : I was shot down over France...

Me : No!!!


So. This is the part where...well. Ok..I say,

Me : My name is Becky Andrews, by the way.

Him : My name is Chuck Yeager...nice to meet you, Becky.

He shakes my hand...


Yeah...chew on that.


I yank my hand back..and I'm instantly looking around. Like, what the?? Does anyone else KNOW this? That DUDE from the RIGHT STUFF is here??? The pilot? The bad ass??


Wait....wait wait wait wait wait.


Me : No. No you're not.

Him : (laughing) What?

Me : Let me see some ID.


I CARDED CHUCK YEAGER, people. What kind of asshole am I?


Him : (laughing) You know who I am?? (reaching into his pocket to get his wallet) You are pretty young to know who I am...

Me : hand it over...(I'm doing the finger to palm thing with my hand..like..gimme gimme) Of course I know who Chuck Yeager is!!!!!


So, yeah. Brigadier General Charles Yeager (I should know, that's what it said on his Air Force ID card I just looked at) handed me his driver's license, his Visa, Mastercard....

ALL of them said Charles Yeager. And as I'm looking...it's all coming back. His face. It is him.


DEAR GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I just said some...no, not some...I said ALL DUMB things to Chuck Yeager...and then I carded him.


And then the plane starts the taxi to take off....


We have about 2 hours.


Just me and Chuck.


Our time together was special. I asked him deep and probing questions, like :


Me : Does your face really go like this (pretended it was flopping back in the wind) when you are going, like mach 40??


We talked and talked and talked. My conversation skills finally blossomed once I got over my initial "we are just 2 strangers on a plane, why are we talking in the first place?" weirdness.


He shared some personal thoughts with me like :


Him : Becky, I'm fearless, but you scare me..


(I swear on all things Holy...he said that. He DID!!!)


I guess I said some "goofy" things...who knows? He was smiling when he said it though...


Chuck was a cool dude. He was a bit of a flirt for someone that could've shared a beer with my Grandpa back in the day...but, I was secretly flattered.
Back then, I used to work at a lot of concerts, so I got to meet a lot of the people who perform at the concerts. And, well, once you see ONE heroin afflicted asshole, you've seen them all. NOT that they all were like that...but, well...I kind of got over it.
But. I was starstruck. I was. Now I knew why all those people at the concerts were freaking out to get backstage...they wanted to FEEL what I was feeling...this...OHMYGOD feeling.
But...this was Chuck, right?? This had some TEETH to it!!!


I was flying to Sacramento to see a boy. He actually lived in the same small town Chuck lived in...so, Chuck gave me his phone number, in case I needed "any assistance".

And we walked off the plane together, arm in arm. He wanted to wind up the guy I was coming to see...Chuck just smiled and handed me off..


I'll never forget that flight.

Who gets to say

"I flew with Chuck Yeager"?


I do.



Thursday, January 15, 2009

I've Smelled Dead Things


I've smelled dead things, and they've come out of my husband's ass.

Alright. Let's just clear the air....HA!! I didn't even intend to pun!

Ok..so, alright. No more secrecy...cloaked in darkness stealthiness business. Because, in order to really tell you this story, I'll have divulge, that yes, I work in healthcare. Yes, I work in surgery. Yes, I expect to break some sort of HIPPA violations someday...

(knock knock..."who's there?" HIPPA!!!! "HIPPA Who?" Can't tell ya!!) just a 'lil joke for ya there...as an added treat...

But, screw it, oh well...I will use no names, places, faces, or any other descriptive body parts.

But here's the deal. I worked in a trauma hospital for 10 years, ok? So, I know what icky poo-ee smells like. I know what it's like to put wintergreen oil on a paper mask, because things smell so threatening and ripe, with it only to result in it seeping through the mask..in which case, your upper lip starts to burn...and all you're really smelling is wintergreen and the stank du jour...with or without maggots. You know the idea. Air freshener in the potty. You deposit a load. You spray the floral spray. And now the potty smells like floral spray and poop.

I had a 4 month stint where I couldn't eat grilled cheese sandwiches due to a stinky poo case at work once. But I'll spare you the reason why....

BUT! I never ever NEVER ever ONCE threw up. Not once.

Never, from ANY smell, have I ever thrown up.

Until, one day, I was minding my own business..enjoying a shower.

Husband walks by like a terrorist with an apparent concealed AND deadly weapon. He opens the shower doors, points his weapon at me, and drops one of the most:

Silent

BUT

Deadly

Bombs

known to mankind.

And then he holds the gas chamber doors shut as the fumes invade my airways, the passages singed as the bomb seeks out my gag reflex. And seek it does...and found it has. An unfamiliar response is triggered. In fact, it's been unlocked, and it's working. The glands in the side of my mouth start responding...holyCRAP. I'm gonna BARF. SERIOUSLY???? From a Fart??SHIT!!! I JUST ATE RAMEN NOODLES!!

I start screaming for water to drink...I know from my pregnant days...drinking water will reverse that gag reflex...

So, this is Husband's response :

"You're standing in some!!"

And.

Well.

I'd like to say I didn't stand naked, in front of my husband, barfing up Ramen noodles, in the shower, after being attacked by his ass-bomb.

But.

I did.

And I had to squish the noodles down the drain with my toe.

Now.

So...Husband has the nerve, to act...horrified, by what he's just witnessed...saying :

"I've never been more disturbed by what I've just seen in all my life, I feel like I need to go to Church"


This...as I'm nudging the last noodle down the drain..



Monday, January 12, 2009

Vlogging Rated R


So I'm following this lady in her Moon-Rover. And in our state, you can have license plates for every interest. If you are interested in Blogs, you can have a license plate that reads: "Blog Rhymes With God". If you are interested in Llamas : "My Llama Beat Up Your Honor Student"

And so anyways, this lady in her Moon-Rover apparently takes special interest in kids.

"Kids First" it says...

Kids First. Go kids. I know for a fact it deals with kid's and their safety. Keep 'em safe she says.

I dig it. I'm down. And she's driving a Moon-Rover with enough girth to make a dent in a bunker made of Krypton.

Why then, do I see three of her kids bouncing around in her car practicing for their next Tae Kwon Do belt test? Does "Kids First" really mean : "Kids First Ones Out The Windshield As Projectiles"?

Why is the kid who found Mommy's .9 mm in her purse and received a self inflicted gunshot wound, the same kid that has never had any vaccines, because, "vaccines can mess kids up"? So can lead poisoning, I say...

Why do parents want to talk about what a special smile their kid had..or how much they will miss their child, and those same parents act so confused when their child is tossed from a car, because they just haven't yet understood the small silver part of the buckle clicks into the bigger black part??

"OOOOOOOOOOHHHH LOOOOORDDDD!!! WHYYYYY????? WHYYY?????"

They say.

Why? Because you let them ride their bike without a helmet down a busy street, and you have no idea where they've been for 2 hours.

Awww...look at that. Look at Billy help Daddy cut the grass.

"OOOOOOOOHHHHH LOORRRDDDD!!!!!!! WHYYYYY??? WHYYYY???? LOOK AT HIS FOOT!!!!!""

They say.

Why? Because 3 year olds fuck around and shouldn't be anywhere NEAR a lawnmower, and neither should his dumb-ass father.

I'm not perfect. At All.

Far from it. I'm stupid at times.

But I'm tired of people being so fucking stupid it defies stupidity. I'm tired of people doing some of the dumbest shit, and then moaning and moaning about it, and then people sympathizing all over them for it....."aww, the poor soul....lost her boy.."

Well. Yes. I know. Not very nice of me. Sometimes I'm nicer, I suppose. I do sympathize. There are mistakes. Misinformation. Miseducation. I get it. I do. I've done it. I have.

But when people repeatedly do some of the blatant things, I don't get it. Um. Car seats. Been around for awhile. Seatbelts. Longer.

Guns. We know what they do. Or rather...we know what the "people who use them" do.

(cite NRA)

Heads. We know they dent pretty easily.

Large sharp whirring blades....cut things.

I could go on.

I'm just vlogging. Vent/Blog. Look it up in Wiki.

Ok...gotta go. The boy needs a ride to the gas station to fill up the can. His chain saw is running low on fuel, and he's not done with the tree pruning just yet..

B

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Oh No.


So Husband is up at the altar all dressed in his rental...standing on the side for his friend, who is about to enter into matrimony.
And I'm Wife, "getting to know" new people. Getting to know these attached friends and their friends and some of the people he wished he'd never see again...and I'm also getting to know the new significant ohhs. So, I'm dealing. I'm on it. Even if I have two mini humans poised to thwart my every classy move.
The girl deals. The Church setting chills her..she's fine. The boy. Well, he's little.
I'm pew-side. Smiling. I'm approachable...and friendly, see?? Right? Regardless of what my nearest and dearest say of my demeanor...
Ceremony.
Words.
Touching-ness.
All of the sudden, boy gets down on floor.
Ceremony.
Quiet moment of Ceremony.
Vast open Church.
Echoey.
Boy starts grunting.
I lock eyes on my husband....praying. Praying he doesn't hear. Because if he does, we're done.
If he sees a glimpse of snickerness, we're done. If he sees me blink in awareness of what boy is currently unleashing in his Pampers, we're done. If. He. For. One. Second. Catches on to what is happening, and he for ONE Second finds it AT ALL funny....WE, are done.
If he starts, we are done.
We ruin months of planning.
Years of fairy-tale dreams.
If he starts, we welcome talk.
If he starts, it's over. It's become his ceremony.
Of what, I don't know.
I look down...I'm choking.
The boy is still delivering. Still grunting and it's echoing in yodel-like form.
Dogs are howling a return..
Natives are yelling "Over HERE!" for no reason....but just for the need to respond to the loudness of this communication.
The boy is pooping. And it's work. It's birth.
And if husband hears it..hears grunting, AT ALL...he'll know the source, he'll look up...he'll look at me..and then we'll be done. He'll lose his shit altogether...it sounds like crying...but he's laughing, I'll say...I promise...he's laughing.....
And then I'll crack. I will.
And then.....