All I Need Are Some Tasty Waves, A Cool Buzz, And I'm Fine.

Most mornings I arrive at work promptly at 7:30; this morning was an exception. I arose as usual at 5:45 to the persistent buzzing of my alarm clock. I soared out of bed, slapped the alarm clock to activate the snooze, crawled back under the covers and proceeded to dream about that really cool traffic map in the right-hand column of my blog (please don’t ask; I have no idea.) The following conversation took place this morning at approximately 7:21:

*ring*

*ring*

Boss: Good Morning, this is (insert boss’s name here), how can I help you?

Me: Hey it’s Marn. I’m running late, I’ll be there as soon as I can.

Boss: What’s wrong with the bus? (Isn’t he a funny guy…..)

Me: Dude, I totally slept through my alarm.

Boss: *hardy laughter* ‘Kay, see you soon.



Dude????

Totally????

What am I, the reincarnate of Spacoli? My boss is now Mr. Hand? What the hell came out of my mouth?!?!?


Thank goodness they deliver pizza to my complex; it looks like it’s gonna be one of those days.


Dude?

*sheesh*

Believe it or not, I pulled into the parking lot at 8:01. My hair may have been wet but I made it in record time.

What's A Little Poo In The Big Scheme Of Things?

This is not a recent story but every time I think of it I laugh out loud. It is also the prologue of another story that happened earlier this week.

Picha dis (did anyone see My Cousin Vinny?)

One day not too terribly long ago my best friend Magillicutty was mindlessly folding laundry in her family room while watching reruns of Trauma: Life in the E.R. Her son, Seraphim, walks into the family room and announces, “Mom? I got poop on my hands.”

Magill turns to him, sees poop all over his hands with a smear here and there on his clothing and says, “Honey, mommy has told you that if you have a messy poo to call her so that she can come help you wipe your bottom.”

They walk through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the bathroom. Magill is greeted with poop on the toilet seat, poop on the hand towel, poop streaks in the sink, on the faucet handles, and along the wall by the toilet paper holder.

With horror straining her vocal cords knowing that she will be cleaning this horrific mess, she squeaks out “What happened? Why didn’t you call mommy to help?????”

He shrugs and give her that I don’t know look.

After disinfecting her son, she grabs her HAZMAT suit and gets to work on cleaning up the rectal explosion that has coated most every surface of the bathroom.

The subject was forgotten.

The next afternoon Magill and Seraphim are riding down the road in the proverbial soccer van when out of the blue, Boy-child states, “Ya know mom…..sometimes poop’s messy.”

“I know Honey, that’s why you call mommy next time you have a messy poo so that she can come and help you clean up. So tell me, what happened in there, Buddy?”

“Well ya see, mom, it’s like this; I was sitting on the toilet takin’ a poop and I could tell it was gonna be a reeeeeealy BIG poop so when I was done I jump down and I turned around so’s I could look in the toilet and see how big the poop was and then I saw it and it was really, really, really big and I looked at it and went WWOOOOOOOWW really loud………and my gum fell in the toilet.”

Gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turn white, she exclaimed (quit loudly) “Do NOT put ANYTHING from the TOILET into your MOUTH!”

I got yelled at.

I gave him the gum.

Like I knew he was gonna try and dig his gum out of a colossal poo he took in the potty.

Morning Boredom and Mindless Crap

I was visiting Megan's site and ran across a quiz to determine which Star Trek character you are. As just about everyone in the office is on vacation this week, I had a free moment to "fill in the blanks". Go on, have fun, see if you're the red shirt of the day.

Here's mine:

Your results: You are Jean-Luc Picard
A lover of Shakespeare and other fine literature. You have a decisive mind and a firm hand in dealing with others.

I know, y'all could've gone all day without knowing I was destined to be your captain but what the hell.

I'll be back later - after I've caught up on my real work - to post something you actually don't mind wasting your time reading. Off you go now, grab a seat and prepare for warp speed.

Which Star Trek Character Are You?

Post Scriptum

(Not only do I look hot bald, but it seems I’m a bit of a dominatrix.)

Secret Boyfriend Number 43

I’m bringing these to my office as they’re taking up too much room at the house.

Any suggestions where I should put them or do you need pictures of my office?

Toora, Loora, Loora

I think the Florida State University College of Engineering has combined forces with their School of Chemistry and released into the air an experimental biological warhead containing spores which induce narcoleptic-like symptoms in all living forms.

This weekend was spent fighting the need, no the physical necessity for sleep not only by me but almost every human being I spoke with. I took a nap Saturday morning….MORNING…before lunchtime for crying out loud. When I spoke to my mother, my ex-MIL, and my best friend all three of them had napped Saturday as well. It affected the young and old alike.

Even Spawnette, who usually slithers to her Moravian sarcophagus just as dawn is breaking, had succumbed to a comatose slumber by seven thirty last night; the dog right there at her side.

If the trend continues, I’ve considered purchasing the new and improved SGE 400 complete with the Drager 40mm NBC Filter. I have five days to get my work at the office caught up with nothing sitting on my desk. The Spawn and I are leaving for a weeks vacation and I want nothing…..you hear me NOTHING standing in the way of a totally and completely irrelevant and meaningless vacation. A vacation spent drinking beer by the poolside and reminiscing with my girl Kat about all of the trouble she caused during our years in high school.

Crap, you already read yesterday’s post, didn’t you? I like to pretend I was a sweet, kind, and caring young lady back in my teen years. Can you guys play along with me, please?

I haven’t yet figured out what has been causing the need to sleep. I have hypotheses other than airborne pathogens expelled into the air with malicious intent to infect the good people of Tallahassee with experimental bioweaponry but I’m going with my first suggested explanation for now.

Sleep well, my Brethren, and dream of peace.

Sibling Harmony

I’ve been quite busy this past week so I am hoping to spend the day catching up on blogs I haven’t been able to read lately. I didn’t have a chance to write anything this morning but with a stroke of luck, a shortage of never-ending thunderstorms, and no unexpected trips the ER, I’ll get some free time later to actually write a story and not just copy what I posted on my photo blog.

I haven’t really taken the time to introduce you to either of my siblings. Let me take a moment to present my little brother. In our younger years, older sister and I would take turns tormenting him by convincing him the things we asked him to do were actually cool, not gross or dangerous. There was the naked run around the block right as the garden club was leaving the church, the trip down the laundry shoot to determine the strength of the clothes “cage” at the bottom, and the drinking of pee to establish his chance of survival should he ever become ship wrecked on a deserted island.

I don’t think it was our treatment of him left too many lasting scars on his perception of life as we know it, just a little one here and there. (Okay, my sister will burst a vein when she reads this and I don’t admit that…maybe….most of these things were my idea)

This is Finnie:

Isn’t he handsome?

This is Finnie enjoying a day of family fun:

Isn’t he athletic?

This is some of the equipment used to measure his athleticism:

Isn’t that nice?

I swear it's ALL my sister's fault he turned out this way - she's a cruel, cruel, soul.

Okay, so maybe not but she's far enough away that I can blame it all on her.

Love ya!
Mean it!

Nocturnal Hydrosis And Vasomotor Symptoms

I don’t know but I think I had my very first hot flash. I can’t figure out if it was an “official” hot flash as I have no one in the family to ask. Neither my mother nor my grandmother ever went through menopause; they just kinda got old. My sister is two years older than me but she has yet to experience the joys of the “normal” symptoms involved. I’m okay with menopause. I don’t need my ovaries any more. No really, I’m well past the need to reproduce and if I feel the need to hold a babe in my arms, I’ll get another puppy. (Wonder if “Tiger” will be a PETCO again this Saturday.) I guess at my age a hot flash would qualify as early menopause but hey….no more periods? I’m cool with that, too!

Has anyone ever experienced a hot flash? Was it because of menopause? Here’s how my flash went down: Merlee Odell, Spawnette, and I were sitting on the couch watching a movie last weekend. All of the sudden this wave of extreme heat washed over my body. I began to sweat profusely from beneath my boobs and under my ass. I jumped off the couch and knocked the air conditioning down to 62º below zero and turned a box fan on to circulate the snowflakes gently falling from the ceiling vents. Merlee and Spawnette both grabbed blankets and thermal socks while I shoved each to the furthest ends of the couch. It didn’t come on quickly and diminish after a brief time; this lasted all night long. I didn’t sweat like an anabolically enhanced female Russian body builder,

I just got hot.

By the morning - *poof* - all was better. I can’t figure out if it was result of an actual hot flash or if it was due to the fact I had squeezed myself into the 4.73 inch spot left on the couch. The spot nobody ever wants because you’re sandwiched between two 98 degree bodies with no wiggle room. I don’t know what it was but let me tell you people, for once in my life, I was HOT!

Merlee Odell Goes Shopping

This past weekend Merlee Odell had a date. Yup, my girl was venturing out into the scary world of dating after divorce. She hadn’t been on a date for probably twenty-five years so in order to best prepare herself for this frightening adventure she figured a bit of retail therapy was in order. She asked if I would be willing to assist her in shopping for a new outfit for the date. Me. ME!!! I’m like the WMD of fashion. A Waredrobe Malfunction Disaster waiting to happen. I shop in the boys section of Target because the cargo shorts not only fit better but they’re cheaper than those in the woman’s section. If I could, I would wear my navy blue Van’s or sandals with every outfit I own. I think a baseball cap with my hair pulled through the closure at the back is equivalent to an elegant chignon or French twist. And my girl wants me to go shopping with her. I do have an eye for color so what the hell, I said I'd go with her.

Friday night Merlee comes to the house with a twelve pack of beer, an over-night bag, and her best pair of pajamas. To set the mood for shopping, we had a girl’s night filled with beer, snacks, chick flicks, and lots of laughter. Merlee and I didn’t stay up as late as Spawnette because we knew we’d need our strength for the shopping excursion planned for the morning. After watching Under The Tuscan Sun, Merlee and I hit the sheets. I shared my bed with a cover-stealing cuddler. Okay…….I’m a cuddler too but for those that were going to ask, no, we didn’t take pictures.

I arose at 6:30 a.m., started a pot of coffee, walked through the house to Purgatory (that’s where Spawn and Spawnette reside) to awaken Spawnette and get her ready for a morning of golf with the guys. I reached down and gently brush her arm and she whips around, stares me unblinkingly in the eyes and says – I’m not kidding here – FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHAT DO YOU WANT!?!?! I returned to the kitchen and made sure the coffee was ready because it seemed she was going to need a jumbo cup of Seattle’s Best.

After shoving her out the door and into her father’s care, Merlee and I refilled our cups, sat on the back porch and planned out our day. Kohl’s followed by Governor’s Square Mall, Marshall’s, and PETCO (Merlee was not looking for an outfit there; I was babysitting my neighbor’s pets and ran out of food for the moulting canary.)

For those that love shopping I’m sure it sounds like the perfect day for you. I’m not one of those individuals. Remember how I make it through holiday shopping?

Lucky for us, our first stop, though long, was a great success! Merlee found a lovely blouse, I found some great halter top dresses, and we got out of there before dark. Here's Merlee grabbing some things to try on at Kohl's:

OH!!! And this is the spider we saw crawling up the wall of the store right above the jewelry. That bastard was literally the size of my face!!! We decided to forgo the jewelry for shoes.

We hit Marshall’s “just in case” and I lucked across a fabulous coverlet for my bed. Hi, my name is Marnie and I’m a bedding whore; Hi Marnie! Crossing the street we parked at PETCO for a quick “run in and grab what you need” stop. This is where I ran into difficulties. As most of you have experienced, PETCO, PetSmart, and most retail pet supply stores have adoption booths set up on Saturdays. We, of course, were shopping on a Saturday. The booth at PETCO was set up RIGHT inside the front door so this is what I walked in to:

After sitting on the floor of the store for thirty minutes with that gorgeous guy named Tiger in my lap I quickly grabbed the bird food I originally came for and RAN from the store. I. Was. This. Close. To. Adopting. A. Puppy.

Merlee and I vaulted into the SUV and I drove us back to the house in twenty-seven seconds flat. She grabbed her duffle and headed for home so that she could nap and SSS before her date. I guess the date went well because the guy called her back and asked her out again.

She’s much braver than I. I’ve given up the dating scene but DAMN that guy “Tiger” from PETCO was cute; I may have to see if he’s still available and wants to come home with me.

I’m such a slut.

All They Found Was The Camera

I know, I've been remiss, I'm hoping to post later this afternnon BUT to entertain you for a moment, I've left a cool video for your veiwing pleasure.

See you guys in two and two.

I Love It When A Hot Guy Knows CPR and I'm Choking To Death

Sitting in my office this morning with a hot, young guy discussing an upcoming conference in Orlando for the State Medical Response Team we are both members of, I asked Mr. Hottie to hold tight before leaving as I wanted to introduce him to someone.

“Ben-Honey (I call him this because not only is he a cutie-patootie, he’s just so damn sweet, too), I’d like you to meet V.Ice. He’s been having an extremely exciting summer. He’s currently taking some much deserved R and R while deployed in the Middle East, but I know he won’t mind taking a minute to say ‘S’up?!?!’ Ben, this is V.Ice; V.Ice, this is Ben.”

I then proceeded to literally start choking as I inhaled the sip of coffee I had just taken at the same time I started to read.

Thank God Ben knows CPR.

Thank you sweet baby Jesus that Ben is hot.

Thank you moì-même for brushing your teeth.

But most of all, thank you Alice for the best laugh I’ve had all week.

This medal is presented to you for your bravery and fearlessness in this war against humanity. This war of ennui. For this I am eternally grateful.

A-men.

Dammit Big Daddy

My neighbor is out of town for a couple of weeks. I get up at 5:30 every morning to go over and let her dogs out, feed them, let them get a bit of exercise and then go home for a either a shower or a cup of coffee and a little relaxation, depending on whether it’s a weekday or the weekend. Saturday morning after finishing off a pot of coffee and a book, I thought I’d head back over to my neighbor’s house to let the dogs run a bit more. As Spawn was up and waiting for his Big Daddy to come and pick him up, he graciously joined me on my excursion through the azalea bushes that line the property between myself and my neighbor. We let the dogs out and after quite a bit of prodding, were finally able to un-Velcro the Doberman from the left side of my son’s pants. (The neighbor’s Doberman thinks the sun rises and sets on Spawn.)

As the dogs frolicked around the live oak trees and barked at the chattering squirrels, I heard Big Daddy honk the horn of his truck. Spawn and I walked together through the neighbor’s house so that I could hug him goodbye and watch him leave to spend a day with is grandfather. As Big Daddy is pulled away from my house I noticed that he had pulled off of the street and into my yard a bit. Well, more than a bit, actually. In fact, he had pulled so far into my yard that as he slowly started to drive away I could see from the Florida room of the house next door that his truck had hit some sort of hole in the yard. A hole? I don’t have a hole in my yard. Then it hit me; mother ƒü¢k!!! The man had done it again! This is the third time he’d done it; two times in less than a year. Big Daddy had proceeded to drive over my water main and burst a pipe.

I quickly locked up the neighbor’s dogs, dashed from her house, exploded through the azaleas, and threw myself on the ground by the water meter. I grabbed the metal lid, tossed it to the side, and sunk my arm into the dark sludge that had gurgled to the surface around the shut-off valve. I quickly turned the water off destroying the mini-geyser that had sprung forth from a water pipe that had been severed in half. Sitting back on my haunches I wonder how long I am going to be without water as this is a small Southern town on a Saturday morning. Will I even be able to get in touch with the city utilities office to report an emergency? Thank you sweet baby Jesus I had already brewed another pot of coffee or people would have started disappearing off the face of the earth never to be heard from again.

I was lucky enough to get in touch with a live human being and would you believe that a representative of Tallahassee Utilities was at my house no more than twenty minutes later? He got out of his truck, looked into this,

and proceeded to tell me I needed to call a plumber because the pipe that was severed was 2.1678 mm past the shut off valve so it was my responsibility to pay to have it fixed, not the city. Who the hell issued THAT f’ing measuring tape?!?! Before he was even able to straighten up, get into his work truck and drive out of my life forever, a representative of Lance Maxwell Plumbing pull into my driveway. As the plumber got out of his work truck I hollered over to him, “Jim call you?”

“Yup,” he replied. “Told me to come on over without calling because he ran over your water main……..again.” He states with a laugh.

This is Will.

He was the plumber that showed up at my house courtesy of Big Daddy, the General Contractor. I know Will. I went to college with Will’s brother, Roger. Roger and I are friends. Can you tell Roger owns three tattoo shops around town? (I have a big thing for guys with ink.) Will is the BOMB!

Will had the severed pipe finished in next to no time BUT when he was through replacing that pipe, he points down into the depths of sludge and says. “See that drip? That’s from the base of the shut-off valve. You’ll need to call the city back and have them send another guy out here to fix that before you turn your water back on.”

“That’s awesome, Will, thanks.”

He giggled.

I went back into the house, called the city utilities office, and again requested an emergency service repair to my water shut-off valve.”

To make a long story short (or maybe not as I’ve already taken way too much time to tell you a crappy story) I had one plumber, two city water guys, three french hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree spend the day with me Saturday.

At least I had my coffee.

Southern Hospitality

So as many of you know I recently began taking public transportation to save a bit of money due to high gas costs (I drive a rather large SUV.) This morning I waited at the stop as usual, the bus was a few minutes late, and as I got on board Suavé Dave the driver told me to go ahead and sit down, the ride was on him. Thanks Dave, but I’m still not going out with you. Most of the riders are regulars and as Southerners we tend to chitchat with each other getting to know one another on a more personal basis than most public transportation patrons. Ms. Hilda has been riding the bus since the invention of the wheel so pretty much everyone knows her. She is a very kind woman who I help off the bus each morning as she uses a cane and needs her extra hand to disembark.

Today was a special day. When we arrived at the downtown terminal all transfers exited the bus as usual. Suddenly, another driver boarded the bus with a bouquet of flowers and a balloon. Why you ask? Today is Ms. Hilda’s birthday so in an off-key chorus of mismatched voices we all sang Happy Birthday to Ms. Hilda and wished her a most fabulous day.

I know, is this some crazy shit or what?!?! Flowers, balloons, birthday celebration, ON A CITY BUS! Knowing how skeptical of my silly stories a few of you can be, I had a picture taken with my phone to share this joyous occasion.

Happy Birthday Ms. Hilda!

Betty Ford Ain't Got Nothin' On Me

So, I guess I should fill you in on the actual conversation I had with Spawn about the beer because it really wasn’t as bad as I made it out to be. I will do my best to relay the conversation as accurately as I can remember it verbatim. (Is that grammatically correct or did I just totally and completely rape the English language?) We’ve had conversations in the past about alcohol, driving, and all the ramifications of drinking underage both legally and at home. So here goes – as good as it gets:

QB - *drops herself down onto the couch and schlumps up next to Spawn* S’up?

S – Nu’in’

QG – So man…..didja get my note?

S - *slightly turns his head toward me and raises and eyebrow* Huh?

QG – Dude, you are so busted.

S – What?!?!

QG – So who drank the two beers I found in your garbage?

S – I don’t know.

QG - *drops her head slightly and looks at Spawn over her glasses* Come again.

S – I drank one.

QB – Who drank the other one?

S – Cooper

QG – Dude, you are such a dork; who drank the other one?

S - *shrug of shoulders*

QG – Z…… (That’s his nickname)

S – Okaaaaaaaay, I drank them both.

QG – Dude that is so totally uncool.

S - *shrug of shoulders and dropping of head to the side*

QG – Man, I am so disappointed. Number one, those beers were mine and not for you to just take. Number two you drank alcohol while I was outta the house knowing how I’d feel. And number three, I really don’t want to have to worry about you going to a buddy’s house and roaming the streets after a few beers. Do you know how uncool that is? You do remember it’s illegal, right?

S - Yeah.

QB – So you know I don’t want you in a car if you’ve had any alcohol, right? You remember this conversation we’ve had?

S – Yeah.

QG – You’d call me?

S - *slowly swings his head toward me and raises one eyebrow*

QG – Cool.

S – *Throws his arm over my shoulder* Yeah, cool

QG – ‘Ja eat yet?

S – Chicken wings.

QG – Whatcha wanna watch?

S – Knockaround Guys

QG – Cool, Vin looks hot in that wife beater.

* Long pause*

S – Love you mom.

QG Love you too, Baby.

Oiy, The Drama

I know, I’ve neglected some of my loyal readers all three of them as I haven’t posted for almost an entire week. A whole week bereft of my sarcasm, my humor, and my biting wit. I’ve been dealing with that proverbial “laundry” that needed airing out but is now neatly folded and tucked safely back into the closet. I could always blog about that but come on, do you really want me to bitch, rant, and rave about a failed relationship? I didn’t think so.

Not much to report on in my neck of the woods as the spawn have both been gone and I have been lazing around the homestead for the most part. I did some reading and some cleaning (as you all know) but nothing other than sparing with my former Man and addressing issues at hand which I know would humour you but I would feel guilty about sharing. OH WAIT!!!! OMG, so as ya’ll know I spent what felt like DAYS cleaning the house. While in my son’s room scraping away layer upon layer of dust and grime, I turned to empty the hated Florida Gator garbage can and do you know what I found? Evidence he did not even bother to hide from my prying parental eyes? Two empty beer bottles. (You were waiting to read condoms, weren’t you? I’ve already run that marathon so no news there. Remind me to tell you all about the heart-to-heart we, or rather I had about sex and sexually transmitted diseases. Spawn. Was. Mortified.) So anywho, I found these two beers in Spawns garbage can. Not only were they not hidden but those were two of MY beers. MY BEERS! That little bastard went into my stash of Bud Lite that I keep in the vegetable crisper, (because really, who keeps vegetables in their refrigerator’s crisper anymore?) snagged two beers, and drank them both. I wrote a short note and taped it to one of the bottles that said “WHAT THE HELL?!?” and waited to see how long it would take him to see the 4x4 bright green note hanging over the edge of the gator’s head painted on the garbage can. Nothing, that little worm said not one word to me. You know why? HE DIDN’T SEE THE NOTE! In fact, the note I had written and left for him Saturday is still there! I had to bring up the subject and go through the whole “this is unacceptable”, “you’re throwing your life into the gutter”, and “you’re going down the path your father chose, is this where you want to wind up” conversation and he acted like it was not big deal. NO BIG DEAL!

So what do I do? Should I leave it alone, just count my beer bottles, and not worry about it until he does it again (because we all know he will - he’s sixteen). I’d kinda feel like a hypocrite if I continue harping about this to him, you know? Because come on, raaaaise your hand if you hijacked some beer or liquor from your parents when you were a teenager. Yup, just as I thought; every single one of you has your hand raised. Okay, how many of you had smoked a hog-leg or two of skunk weed by the time you were sixteen? I see that a few hands have gone down, including my sister’s, but I still see quite a few raised. So what do I do? Help me out guys, I’m floundering and that’s not a swimming stroke I’m comfortable with. What? Only two of my readers have teenagers and those kids are straight A students who have never traveled the wrong side of the law? None of those cute little kindergartners have ever stolen a beer or smoked some weed? None? Not even the ones that live in California?!?!?!

CRAP!!!! I’m doomed to a life of eternal lecturing, aren’t I? I hate lectures. I’d much prefer condemning him to a short stay in an iron maiden than lecture him. You guys got any good lines I could throw in as a good moral to my lesson? No? Ooooooh, you want to hear more about the sex talk instead, don’t you? Alrighty then, your wish is my command.



(to be continued)

(Don't you hate those words? Right when you're getting into a story or movie and you KNOW you've figured out the plot, those evil little words pop up outta nowhere ruining your entire day.)

BASTARDS!

Marnie Is A Slacker

Okay here’s the deal. I am a slacker. I have not done one thing around my house in the past week that could remotely be deemed constructive. In fact, the only thing I’ve done here at the house lately is read, sleep, shower, and drink coffee. I haven’t even cooked a meal since the spawn have been off gallivanting the land-o-Satan. I am taking the day off to do all of the cleaning, laundry, and chores there of that make up…….well, in my mind they make up purgatory. Yeah, I think if I had to draw you a picture of purgatory it would be a world of endless housework. Crappy house work like scrubbing toilets and cleaning grout. So here’s the plan; I am taking the day to get caught up and as I have the rest of the weekend off I will treat myself to a job well done by doing nothing but getting caught up on reading blogs and actually leaving comments.

Instead of leaving a funny story or antidote, I’m going to plug my other site and have you guys check out the photoblog….I promise to try and put up more funny pictures, need to scan a lot of photos as I’m more of a “film” girl and just getting around to the digital world. It's new but it's fun. Enjoy the picture of my first mammogram; that one always makes me giggle..

Cheers and much laughter for the rest of the day. Think of me on my hands and knees scrubbing bathroom floors and be glad it’s not you. If that doesn’t make you feel better – you are so screwed!

Public Humiliation

Is it just me or do other parents wake up in the morning with thoughts of how they will embarrass their children in public on any given day? Does anyone else find the need to plot revenge for impertinence or come up with strategically planned and properly executed practical jokes knowing your kids will roll their eyes and pretend ignorance of your existence?

When the spawn were young and impressionable, grocery shopping and trips to the mall were fun. It was a smorgasbord of slap-stick comedy and props and took nothing more than juggling tangerines at Publix to get a belly-rumbling laugh from either one of the two. Now that the spawn are fifteen and sixteen “respectively” (insert your own chuckle here), the acts of sabotage are more difficult to achieve.

I’ll give you an example. A few months ago Spawnette informs me there are still a number of items she needs before going on her ninth-grade class trip. The next day. It’s Easter Sunday. In a small Southern town. Where the hell did she think we were going to go? But ah-HA, there WAS a store open. One bound to be extremely crowded on this Easter Sunday afternoon. And what store would that be? None other than the dreaded life-sucking parasitic desperado…..Wal-Mart.

I despise Wal-Mart. It leeches tolerance, kindness, and patients out of all humanity. It turns sweet, blue-haired ladies into the vampiric creatures of small children’s nightmares. Its horror descends upon the unsuspecting leaving nothing but bloody stumps and appendages behind. It’s every human being’s nightmare come to life in 3-D Technicolor. It is hell.

I do not want to go shopping; I hate shopping. And I really do not want to go shopping in the only store open this lovely Easter Sunday. Spawnette is a browser. She has difficulty deciding upon which pair of white socks she will wear every day of the week. All her socks are the same. We. Will. Be. There. For. Hours. Hours of shopping are unacceptable so I must put my thinking cap on to devise a way to get in and out of hell as quickly as possible. What gets Spawnette moving faster than a speeding bullet? Humiliation and embarrassment. Wow, the ideas were endless. Should I change into my flamingo and trailer pajamas, grab my green frog slippers, and roll some pink curlers into my hair? Pajamas – check. Slippers – check. Rollers – SHIT – I don’t have any rollers. I looked for a breast plate and helmet so that I could do my impersonation of King Leonidas but failed to locate the necessary costume for an authentic reenactment of the Battle of Thermopylae. Crap. I had to call in forces and submit to the deviously scheming thoughts of Spawn. He liked the King Leonidas idea and went off to construct a leather skirt and wrist bands. “Good luck with that, Honey, let me know when you’re done.”

And then it hit me; I had just organized my arts and crafts and sewing materials. I had brown fake fur and some tartanesque material. I had plastic swords and daggers and a nice leather belt. I had the makings of William Wallace and I was raring to go. I slipped on my work boots, wrapped the pieces of fur around my shins and tied them on with yarn. I threw the plaid material over my shoulder and fastened in to my waist with a belt. Dagger in boot and sword in belt I left my room and headed for the front door hollering over my shoulder to Spawnette that Spawn and I would be waiting in the car. (He never did come up with leather for the skirt and wrist bands so he settled for a little kid’s plastic police helmet and a big foam sword.) Would you believe she was so busy primpin’ and make-upin’ that she never did notice our attire? Until, that is, we got out of the car in the parking lot of hell. She whipped her long hair over her shoulder and with piercing eyes and lips pulled back in a snarl she told me I wasn’t to walk closer than ten feet behind her and I was not to say one word to her because “I will not respond to ONE word YOU have to SAY!!!!”

Walking into the building I ran into a supervisor from work; he told me I looked good.

We were in and out in under 25 minutes.

Learn. From. The. Master.

Wanna see what I looked like?

Cooper thought that I looked HOT, even with my highlander scowl.

Wish Me Luck

So I’ve just initiated contact with a dog breeder. For years I’ve been looking for a reputable IW breeder somewhere within a five hundred mile radius. It’s hasn’t been as easy as I thought it would be.

What is an IW, you ask? An IW is an Irish Wolfhound. For those of you not familiar with the breed, they are kind, gentle, sweet-tempered, and pretty much the worst guard dog known to man. They are a member of the site–hounds with a course or rough coat giving the dog that “old man” look about the eyes. They’re not the heaviest breed but they are the tallest averaging around 33 – 36 inches at the withers or shoulders.

I’m so excited. I hope this breeder calls me back so that I can go meet them sometime in the near future so cross your fingers and say a prayer for me, ‘kay?

Here are a couple of photos of the breed; are they GORGEOUS or what??

All photos found through Google Image Search