CLEANING IT UP

My new Freecycle friend, Richard, e-mailed me this picture.

I took one look at that license plate and immediately thought that it was something my daddy would have had a hand in coming up with. He was always cleaning things up for my delicate ears. Here are just a few of his favorites:

- Colder than a well digger’s ELBOW in Idaho
- Colder than a witches BOTTOM IN BRASS BRITCHES
- Cold enough to freeze the APPLES off a brass monkey
- Wish in one hand and SPIT in the other and see which one fills up fastest
- Does a bear SNEEZE in the woods?
- Son of a BISCUIT EATER
- Scared SPITless
- Fidgetier than a WHALE in church

Of course, I didn’t know until I was mostly grown that he’d taken it upon himself to rewrite those jewels of good old boy-ology. And I’m sure there are others that have slipped my mind at the moment.

In keeping with Dad’s literary licentiousness, I, too, over the years have utilized revisions of certain expressions. These are things I often think, and would usually LOVE to say outright, but instead clean up for more fragile audiences:

PPA (Pi## Poor Attitude)*: The mood resulting from any number of undesirable stimuli, including, but not limited to having to:
· Get up early in the morning. (Ok – so that one’s probably just a “me” thing!)
· Pick up after everybody in the house – again.
· Finish a lazy/sloppy/stupid person’s project so the whole group isn’t penalized – again.
· Stand in line for 10 minutes at Wal-Mart at one of the two open registers while 15 store employees stand around chatting and laughing. (You KNOW they are taking bets on which customer will be first to get mad enough to just leave the basket and walk out!!)
· Cook dinner AND clean up afterward – again.
· Get up, walk half way across the house to let the dog/cat in/out because the people sitting in the same room as the door have INCURABLE CONVENIENT HEARING.
· Explain the rules of the Stair Dance. Again. For the 100th time.

GOBS (Good Old Boy Syndrome) – Not a permanent condition, but instead the intermittent attacks of overbearing, chauvinistic, stubborn-headed, idiocy experienced by all men (and some women).**

Terminal HIB – A disorder caused by having ones head so deeply imbedded in the lower-most body cavity as to cause permanent, irreversible stupidity.**

FMD (Rhett Butler syndrome): The lack of sympathy or concern over the continued bad results gleaned from another person’s perpetual bad decisions. “Frankly, my dear…” (I came up with this one after watching Gone With The Wind at the end of a very long day of dealing with whiney employees giving ridiculous excuses for why their projects weren’t finished.)**

Newbossitis: The condition in which a person recently promoted to a position of authority temporarily loses all common sense and alienates those on whom he must rely to keep his backside out of hot water. The condition is not terminal unless the person also suffers from Richarditis, but does usually involve a long recovery period.**

And lastly, (with sincere, profound apologies to my new friend who sent me the picture and started this whole thought process; Really! This does not apply to him!)…

Richard Craniumosis or Richarditis – A socially fatal character flaw illustrated by the sufferer’s inability to understand how to cordially interact with others. Gets its name from the part of the male anatomy that shares its nickname. **

Now, since the sun is going down and I don’t want to develop PPA when it gets cold enough to freeze the apples off a brass monkey in this house, I’m going to go close the windows and get dinner ready.

Wishing you Peace, Blessings, and useful euphemisms.


Credits:
*I have no idea where that came from or who said it. If you know, please share the info so proper credit can be given.
**This is mine – straight out of my warped old brain.

SOME SQUIRRELY THIS AND THAT.

Part I: If it’s already hot water, why are we worried about heating it??

Today has been a weird day. It started off with me waking up and not knowing what day it is. Hubby was up, dressed in some jean shorts and a t-shirt like it was Saturday but it was still dark outside. What was he doing up so early?? But wait, isn’t this… mmmmm…. I laid there truly stumped! I finally got an explanation when he noticed that I was awake: he’d just come down from the attic after determining that the 5-month-old water heater wasn’t working. Something to do with the regulator thingy and the pilot light being out. Thank goodness we got the kind that the gas shuts off if the pilot light goes out! But then if the regulator thingy isn’t working, doesn’t that mean the gas shutter-offer thingy could fail, too?? I’ll be glad when the plumber comes to check it out tomorrow!

After chickening out on taking a cold shower I opted to instead heat up some water in the microwave to use for a spit bath. What a really nasty term – spit bath. I never was one of those moms who spit on her finger or a tissue and wiped off her kid’s face. YUUUUCK! Instead I’d make THEM spit on the finger or tissue and use their own slime to clean off their own grime. Do we think that maybe that’s why they both learned at an early age to keep their faces clean?? Anyway – back on topic - I couldn’t wash my hair, though!! If the plumber doesn’t get me worked in tomorrow I’m going to the beauty shop and have them wash my hair for me and then backcharge the water heater manufacturer for the cost! (Don’t we wish it worked that way! LOL!!)

Part II: DO NOT Scare the Crazy Lady!!

I have an eye lid infection. I found this out when I went to the eye doctor today after not being able to wear my contacts for two days. No, it doesn’t really hurt. It just feels irritating like when there’s something stuck in your eyelashes – like a sideways lash or something.

While waiting at the light to turn into the parking lot at the doc’s office, I was suddenly startled into nearly peeing on myself by this very loud TOOOOT TOOOOOT of the horn of a really large vehicle that I frantically realized was a fire truck pinned into the lane behind me. I looked for a path to get out of its way, but there was nowhere for me to go either. Then I realized that they had no lights on. It was just sitting behind me honking its horn! The cars in front of me ooched up some, so I was able to pull forward a bit and look in the outside rearview mirror that I’d tilted all the way up for a better angle. THEY WERE WAVING AT ME! OK – Now I’m thinking, what’s wrong??? Is my car on fire? Is my gas cap open? I sat there trying to figure it out until the light changed and I was able to turn into the parking lot… and they went on by like nothing had happened! What the…?????

Well, being the efficient (read: anal) person that I am, I whipped out my trusty cell phone and dialed the already programmed number to the fire station office. When the secretary/dispatcher answered, I told her where I was and that she needed to tell those goofballs not to alarm people by honking at stoplights! She asked if I could think of any reason why they’d be honking at me… Then it dawned on me! I think they were the guys who’d tried to get Hunker D. out of my car. The dispatcher cracked up when I told her that. She said I they’d probably recognized the car and were just being friendly. I told her to tell them that it’s not nice to scare crazy old ladies that early in the morning!

Next time I catch a squirrel I think maybe it’ll get to go on a romp in their bunk house. Let’s see who gets startled then!

Amazingly, there is actually a third part to this wacky day's tale, but this story is already too long as it is, so I’ll save the rest for tomorrow and close for now…

Wishing you peace, blessings, lots of hot water and no big toots.

MEME – 7 things

Mary over at Motherwise tagged me. At first I was dreading the need to play this silly game again, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that there are lots of things I want to say, but that really aren't all that blog-worthy. So... here goes with some of them.

1. I collect bottles. But typically only the ones with product still in them. Unless they are really old. Or really cool looking. Or really small. Or glass (no plastic). Or... mmm... I collect bottles.

That's just a few - very few - of them! That printer's tray alone contains 33 tiny bottles. None of them are worth much money, but they are just so darn cute!

2. I am not a picky eater – unless you try to feed me liver. Or English peas. Or raw onions. Or raw meat (bring on the shoe leather, baby!). Or squid. Or figs – I hate figs! Or … mmm… I’m a picky eater.

3. I’ve been spotlighted on three different television shows. Twice on local news broadcasts – once when I was 8 and once when we were adopting Daughter. And in October of 2006 I was on the Montel Williams Show talking to Sylvia Brown. First and only time in my life I ever got stage fright! It was worse than dealing with the ghost I went on to talk about! LOL!! It is a cool story, but I’m copycatting Motherwise and making you ask if you want to hear it!

4. I had a dog once that got eaten by an alligator.

5. I played the clarinet in high school until the summer before my senior year when I took money for teaching twirling lessons. That put me in the “professional” category, so I couldn’t play with the band for UIL competitions and thus became the band secretary. I was bossy and mean. So mean, in fact, that on my off period which was right before band, when I’d go to the band hall to hang out, the other students would flip on Elton John’s “The Bitch Is Back” when I walked in!

6. I was head twirler in high school for both my junior and senior years. It was the first time in the school history that a junior had been named head twirler. It was the first time is the school history that anyone was named head twirler two years in a row. I was good. I knew it. I had a big head. People didn’t like me much. Refer back to #5 for the rest of this story.

7. I’m no longer mean and nasty and (as) bossy… unless I have to be. But I don’t enjoy it like I did in my teen years. Well, not most of the time. Heh heh heh. (See Customer Service Rant for examples – that’s pretty much as mean and nasty as I get these days.)

OK – that’s my 7. And I’m absolutely STUMPED on who to tag. The Meme 8 took me nearly 2 days to put together because I know so few people here. So I’m going to ask those of you who read this, and email me behind the scenes instead of posting comments to EMAIL ME WITH 7 (or 1 or 2 or...) THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF that are fun, interesting, and/or just plain weird. I’ll post them here. No - I won't use your name. But I do get to make up a funny nickname for you if you don't just post it in the comments under a name of your choice. Talk about making my blogging life easy! LOL!!

And if you need a feel-good for the day, go check out Motherwise . She’s warm, creative, and very funny.

Peace, Blessings, and a prayer for lots of 7s up soon!

Customer Service Rant Update

Home Depot actually responded to my email! This is too funny! Out of all the times I’ve complained, this is the first ever response! I guess invoking the name of their biggest competitor got their attention?? Here's an excerpt from the email I got and my thoughts as I was reading:

Home Depot is committed to continual process improvements based on the input of our customers. … especially our persistent ones. And please note, we said PROCESS improvement – not customer service improvement. There is a subtle difference there that we certainly hope you don’t catch.

Please know that the feedback you have provided is taken seriously and will be used in the overall evaluation of the services we provide to our customers. ...what a poopish copout buzz phrase!

We would like to offer you a $20 Home Depot gift card in the hope that your next shopping experience will be a more pleasurable one. … NEXT shopping experience?? What didn’t they understand about “AND I’M NOT COMING BACK!" Well – maybe just once more – to spend exactly $20.00 and not a penny more! I’m stubborn, but I’m not stupid!

In addition, it's a way for us to say thanks for taking the time to provide us with this feedback. … If you were really grateful for the feedback, YOU WOULD HAVE RESPONDED TO THE 3 or4 PRIOR COMPLAINTS!

They wanted me to confirm my address, which I did. Then I got a second email saying that the $20 is on the way. This is what it said:

We value your inputs and comments as we rely on our customers? feedback to help us to improve in all areas of the store and we hope you would give us another opportunity to serve you better. ...Notice that ? after the word “customers”…Freudian slip, much?? LOL! And I've already given you "another" opportunity -- and another, and another, and...

We look forward to your continued patronage and assisting you with all of your home improvement needs. ...not a snowball's chance in hell!


OK- Bug, if you are reading this, you may now stop shaking your head and saying, “Let it go, Mom.” I’m done.

xoxo

Customer Service Rant

OK - I know this isn't what I promised the next post would be, but dagnabbit I'm so miffed that I can't seem to get started on the Thanksgiving thing I'd planned!

Does anybody else have problems at Home Depot? I can never find anybody to help me at our local store! I typically restrict my home improvement and hardware shopping to Lowe's even though it's nearly 5 miles from my house instead of just down the street. At least in our area, their prices are lower and the customer service is WAY WAY WAY WAY better.

Today I'd bought groceries and then remembered that I needed to pick up gutter clips so we can hang Christmas lights tomorrow. So, against my better judgement, I stopped at the Home Depot on the corner 3 blocks from my house. 30 minutes later I was home - with no clips, but with a full head of steam! Here's the complaint letter I put in their website's contact form:

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DEAR HOME DEPOT,

I just spent 15 minutes roaming around your store looking for someone to help me find gutter hooks to hang my Christmas lights with. I SAW EXACTLY 3 PEOPLE ON THE FLOOR. I saw 2 ladies at the checkout, but one of them was counting out so couldn't be bothered to answer a question or call someone to help me. Instead, she hollered over at the self-checkout lady. The lady at the self-checkout (nobody at all was at the customer service desk or other checkouts) rolled her eyes at me, heaved a huge sigh and told me that she worked in the f.r.o.n.t. (she had to say it slowly because I obviously looked too stupid to be able to understand English) and didn't know where that stuff was. I asked her if she could call someone, but before she could find the phone and figure out who to call, more exasperated people showed up wanting help and/or to check out. I put my stuff on her stand and told her that I'd be glad to remove myself from her frustration equation... and I LEFT... AND I'M NOT GOING BACK... AND YOU DON'T CARE SO WHY AM I WASTING MY ENERGY HERE???? I've complained about this store before... My husband has complained about this store before... You never call or email that you give a rats behind, but I thought I'd try once more JUST BECAUSE I'M SO COTTON PICKIN' PEEVED!!! Ok.. Done ranting now. Happy Holidays... mine will be because I no longer have to worry about where to buy my hardware supplies... LOWE'S, HERE I COME!
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Is anybody else out there sick and tired of the way customer service doesn't even remotely resemble "service" anymore??? So many places just don't care. I guess because they figure that for every ONE of me they lose, there'll be TWO MORE willing to just put up with it!

OK - I'm better now... Gonna go write my Thanksgiving story. Thanks for letting me vent.

Pre-Turkey Day Greetings and Giggles

I got an e-mail containing this stuff from my new friend, Elyse. This is her first Thanksgiving in her very own, new apartment, with her wonderful significant other, and I hope all goes really well for her! Tomorrow I'll tell you about the first Thanksgiving Hubby and I spent together in our first new home. For now, though, sit down, take a break, and have a giggle on Elyse and me.

Sorta legal stuff: Don't know where any of this stuff came from. If you know, please tell me so I can give proper credit.

Not angry – just not guilty. :o)

It has been pointed out that my Jailbird post sounded angry. Sorry about that. I’m really not angry about anything – Just very adamant about the fact that I’m not to blame for my kids’ choices that put them behind bars.

My strongest reason for talking about this stuff is so that other parents might understand that they aren’t to blame, either! Unless you happen to be the scumbag who introduced my 12-year-old son to pot. Then you can rot in hell for all I care! Or if you are the even worse scumbag who so seriously abused my daughter that she has both physical and mental scars that can never be erased. Then you can rot in the deepest, darkest recesses of the places so far below hell even the devil is afraid to go there!

Now, as far as I’m concerned, this chapter of my blog is closed to all future negativity. (As you can tell, I haven't published any of the negative comments, and won't, so give up!) As I tell all those I counsel – the best rewards come from the hardest lessons. There WILL be rewards for my children at the end of the lessons they are learning. There ARE definite rewards already for me.

I marvel at all the people who email me behind the scenes because they still can’t bear to talk about it openly. Even those brief notes are steps on their road to healing the hurts they’ve nurtured (often for many, many years) about raising what the world calls “bad” kids. As I tell them, if you fed them, clothed them, educated them, and loved them with the expectation that they learn through that love how to be caring, honest, hard working human beings IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT THAT THEY GOT STUPID!

This is a week of Thanksgiving. I am thankful for many, many things, but most especially my children… all of them. Even the ones that have disappointed me, hurt me, ignored me, used me, neglected me, and/or abandoned me. If you are one of them and you are reading this right now, know that you are still loved unconditionally. If you are one of my “lost lambs,” read this and know that you can come always home. God keeps giving me second chances – how could I do less for you? Xoxo (Dear readers - this relates to a very long and sad story that I would rather not go into. Please don't ask. Just pray for my lost lambs. Thanks.)

Peace, Blessings and fond wishes for a Grateful and Plentiful Turkey Day.

My Jailbirds - Answers to Meme queries

The fourth of my meme 8 has spurred some interesting questions. Here is a brief (well as brief as I am able to make it!) explanation.

My oldest son is 28, married, lives in Michigan with his wife and my two grandkittens, and is the assistant manager for some store there. I call him Bug for 2 reasons - he was always bugging me with very insightful questions that I didn't have answers to and he was fascinated with insects even as a small child. He and his wife (that still sounds strange to my Mommy ears!) are coming in for Christmas and I am so excited/nervous I can hardly stand it!

My 2nd is 25 and is, for at least the next 2 to 3 years, a guest of the Federal Prison System. He got involved with drug trafficking to support the habit he began when he was about 12. I always asked if a parent was going to be home at friends' houses. I always talked to the parent to confirm their presence... I never EVER thought to ask if the parent would introduce him to drugs!!!

By the time he was 18 we had spent close to $50,000 on lawyers, rehabs, counselors, fines, military school. We had also moved 2 times to try to get him into a better situation. NOTE TO THE WISE: If your child is hell bent on doing what he/she is going to do, moving will only provide an opportunity to find the same people wearing different faces in the new place. By the time he was 19 he was in state prison. By the time he was 21 he’d gotten out of state, reoffended and was in Federal Prison. He has not spent a birthday or a Christmas at home since he was 13.

THANK GOD his brain is now kicking in. Sadly, he’s realizing what a mess he’s made of his life. Happily, he starts college in January. Once again, it will cost us money, but we will gladly pay the price if it means he has a chance to straighten his life out for good. Right now he thinks he wants to be a counselor to try to guide kids away from the path he walked. I’m praying that his history will lend such credibility to his counsel that he will be able to spare other families the agony we have endured. He also wants to pursue his musical career. He writes some unbelievable stuff!

My 3rd is 16-1/2 and currently a guest of the County Juvenile Corrections Residential Facility. We adopted her at 11. We knew she came with a load of baggage and we will continue to stand by her and help her deal with her problems. However, after some reaaaaly bad stuff that happened in October, we told her that she would always have a place in our hearts, but she no longer (at least for a while) had a place in our home. When she went to court for her sentencing, we asked them to help us help her. The court, knowing that in the last 5 years we've spent over $30,000 on her counselors, lawyers, rehabs, psych hospitals, and medications (not including the adoption costs), agreed to keep her locked up, for her own benefit, until January when she should be going to military school. As long as she's confined and not out in the free using drugs or beating people up, she can't screw up her scholarship.

I do have to give her some serious credit, though, because when the judge asked her if she wanted to go home, she said flatly, NO. She explained to him that she knew she could not make it “out there” and feared she’d do something so detrimental that there would be no coming back from it. Her long term goals are to join the military, possibly the Coast Guard or the Marines. The school to which she has a scholarship will help her decide which is best. They will also help her learn self control and discipline in a way that we, as her parents, have been unable to manage. The program has approximately an 82% success rate with kids just like her. We are SO, SO, SO VERY BLESSED to have found it!

I am blogging all of this stuff because I know there are lots of families out there who deal with such issues, but are too ashamed or guilty feeling to mention it. I, on the other hand, have n.o.t.h.i.n.g. to be ashamed or guilty about. My children were raised with the right moral values in a loving, upper middle class home with both of their parents doting on them from the first moment we laid eyes on them. They were expected to do chores, earn an allowance, get good grades, tell the truth, and be respectful.

Were we perfect parents?? NO. Did we make mistakes along the way?? YES. But we always did the best we could with the tools we had, and EVERYTHING we EVER have done has been for the benefit and wellbeing of our children. PERIOD. We could have retired by now if it wasn’t for all the money we’ve spent trying to get them the help they need. But it’s not about the money – it’s about the LOVE. We could have thrown up our hands and walked away a long time ago, but that is not who we are. And it is definitely not in line with the moral values we want them to understand and live by.

As for those who think we somehow did something that screwed them up: I REFUSE to allow anyone to make me feel like a bad parent or a low life because of my kids’ choices. I REFUSE to hide my “dirty laundry” in an effort to avoid offending anyone, including the miscreant kids who dirtied up the stuff to begin with! My husband and I live by, and taught our kids to live by what we call the headline test: If you would be embarrassed to have it splashed across the front page of the newspaper, then DON’T DO IT!

If you are a parent with perfect children, get down on your knees and thank your creator that you were so awesomely blessed. If you are the parent of a child who, like ours, has spent a good part of life with his head stuck up the wrong part of his anatomy, take heart. If you know you did the best you could, then hang in there and believe that God is in control and things will eventually all balance out. If I didn’t have that to hang onto, I’d have to be locked up now. In a rubber room. With a nice clean white coat to help me hug myself to sleep.

Speaking of sleep – I’m going to bed and try not to have nightmares about what could be happening to my kids in places where I can’t protect them. A mother’s job, truly, never, never, ends!

As always – Peace and blessings, and sweet dreams.

The Sound of An Empty Nest

A friend of mine with two sons barreling into adolescence, full speed (and sound) ahead, asked me, “What is the sound of an empty nest?” My first response was “Bliss.” Then I listened more closely.

The sound of an empty nest is chicken cordon bleu instead of chicken nuggets; McAlister’s Deli instead of McDonald’s playground.

It is the completion of a movie without the click of the channel surfer and the quiet evening spent enjoying a good book by the fire instead of a loud and rowdy game of Uno at the table. It is the soothing sounds of cool jazz on a peaceful drive to the shopping center instead of the giggly, energized chatter over boom-boom-booming rock.

It’s the tick, tick, ticking of the clock waiting for a call from 1000 miles away instead of footsteps running to catch the phone before the latest crush hangs up.

It is the silence of tears falling as a long forgotten lovey is stored away in a now empty room. It is the soft whisper of arms aching for the warmth of a hug, of trembling lips longing for just one more goodnight kiss.

It’s the echo of regret mingled with the soft voice of hope that one day, in the not so distant future, the clatter of little feet and the clamor of little giggles will drown out the noise of the empty nest.

Lucille TAGGED ME!!

mmm... Thanks??? LOL!!

Please go check her out at http://whosgoingtotellyou.blogspot.com/. She's great and her Walgreens saga is what legends are made of! LOL!! As a matter of fact, I think she's so cool that I copied her instructions on how to do this...

Here is how it works. I have to write 8 random things about me and then pass it on to 8 people. (Think chain letter.) There are a few rules one must follow to play the game. When tagged, you must link to the person who tagged you. Then post the rules before your list, and list eight random things about yourself. At the end of the post, you must tag and link to eight other people. Here are 8 random things about me:

1. This is not my first blog. I had one elsewhere... it was boring... I abandoned it and pray that some day it will just vanish into the cyper-ether.

2. I use to be a model.

3. I relinquished a beauty pageant crown and the scholarship money that went with it to get married the first time.

4. I currently have two children in jail. No, they weren't raised that way... And I don't feel shame or guilt because I'm not responsible for the stupid decisions they made that put them there. Long story - watch the blog for coming details.

5. My favorite nontraditional comfort foods are: Banana & Mayo sandwiches and Pork 'n beans & Corn soup. Another long story - watch the blog for an explanation.

6. My first car, purchased in 1976 after I was out of high school and earning my own money, was a 1969 or 1970 pastel yellow Ford LTD with forest green landau roof and interior. It looked just like the one in the link. It could comfortably haul 9 drunk college girls safely home after a night of disco dancing. And the green carpet hid barf stains quite nicely. No - I did NOT pick it out! My father did. A friend of my boss offered to sell me a 1969 Corvette... let me say that again... 1.9.6.9 CORVETTE! (It looked like the link only with white accents on the sides.) But my dad refused to co-sign for it because he said I'd end up killing myself. He was right. I still hated him for it, though, until I had teens of my own. They also wanted fast cars that I wouldn't buy. AAAAAHHH the circle of life! And, Yes - I loved disco. (Truth be told, I still do! I hope they bring it back by the time I'm ready to move into a retirement home.. I'll show 'em a move or 3!! I will now pause a moment to allow you to regain control and stop laughing uncontrollably!)
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..... Better? OK.. continuing on...

7. I am ALWAYS the designated driver because I don't drink. Not that I don't like drinking - I LOVE a good margarita! - I just don't like who I am when I get drunk. Yes - that's another good story I'll be blogging about soon!

8. I think a boyfriend secretly videotaped our.... mmm... encounter one time. He was weird enough that it's probably now on the internet somewhere. At least I HOPE it is! If someone finds it would you PLEASE tell me so I can link to it to prove that at one time I was actually fine enough to have qualified for numbers 2 & 3 above??!!??!!

OK – I am so new here on Blogger that I don’t yet have a big circle of blogging friends… so what I was going to do was keep hitting the next button on some random blog and choose some that look interesting and sound like they were written by nice people that I’d like to get to know better. HOWEVER.. HAVE YOU EVER JUST KEPT HITTING THE NEXT BUTTON??? O-M-G!!!! The blogs that are out there AACK!! So, I opted, instead to follow comment links from blog to blog and read a little about each one. Here are some really cool looking blogs that make me want to know more about the writer.

If you are offended, I’ll apologize now. If not, I’d love to know when you complete your 8 things list! Email me at damama002@yahoo.com, please, so I can read all about you, too!
http://followingmycatracho.blogspot.com/
http://amandacreates.blogspot.com/
http://swampsuburbia.blogspot.com/
http://nsdesperatehousewife.blogspot.com/
http://ablogonastick.blogspot.com/
http://motherwise.us/cracks/
AND YOU.. if you are reading this and would like to participate, please let me know so I can learn about you, too.
I know, I know. The game isn’t called Tag 6 people. But I was up until 1:30 a.m. reading the six blogs I picked and here I am again this morning trying to find more… I GIVE UP! There a just too many great ones out there! I can’t spend all day reading them and then still have to figure out which two are most interesting!

LOL… so call me DaWimpyMama for today.
As always, Peace, Blessings and much, much, much more time to read all the wonderful stuff you folks write!

Booze, Beans and Boys - NOT a good combo!

While I was eating a PB&J for lunch today I flipped on Maury Povich . He’s always good for two things: 1. Comic relief; 2. Affirmation that my life is not NEARLY as bad as it sometimes seems. Today, though, he came in handy for a third thing – jogging my memory about the events of my first wedding.

R. and I met while we were both working at a steel fabrication company. We first became good friends, and then started dating. The crowd that he ran with had been together for years and so they were a very tight bunch. When we decided to get married it was only natural that we would ask the father of his best friend to perform the ceremony.

Reverend W was an ordained Methodist minister. We were getting married in a Baptist church. Why then, you might wonder, were we not being married by the pastor of that church? Well, I’m glad you asked. R. really did want Reverend W to marry us from the get-go, but I wanted to get married at my church home. However, after the pastor of the church I’d attended for most of my life told me that he wouldn’t bless the union unless I put my whole life on hold, found my biological mother (yes, I’m adopted – REALLY cool story for another time), and PERSONALLY told her that I forgave her for abandoning me, I was so ticked off that I decided to get a little payback by having a Methodist minister, robes and all, perform the ceremony in his very staunch Southern Baptist church. Minister Holier-Than-All was horribly offended, as I’d hoped he would be (this wasn't the first disagreement he and I'd had), and insisted on being present anyway, so we had two ministers at our wedding. But even two ordained ministers cannot trump Murphy when he decides to impose his law on any given situation.

Now, as I said, R and his buds were a tight bunch. They had a long standing tradition of taking the groom out the night before the wedding and getting him plastered. Knowing this, and knowing that R could handle his liquor quite well, but failed miserably at dealing with the ensuing hangover the next day, I threatened them with their very lives – or worse – if they got him drunk. I should have stipulated that NONE of them were to get snockered, but in my youth I was not nearly as detail oriented and controlling as I became later on. Come to think of it, the events that unfolded here may well have been the birthing ground for my later tendency toward extreme control freakishness. Anyway – moving on…

Having managed to get all the way down the aisle on my dad’s arm without having him 1) stagger so bad that he knocked me down, or 2) escalate our argument into a full-blown fist fight (yes, another long story for another time), I stood relieved and anxious, holding R’s hand. Reverend W, being not only R’s second dad, but also a very verbose orator, felt the need to give us some really great marital guidelines during the ceremony. During the rehearsal the night before he’d warned us that what he had to say was long, but important. We both loved and respected him and were honored by his concern that our union begin on solid biblical grounds, so we were willing to endure… tolerate… accept… wait patiently for him to conclude his pronouncements. Five-year-old ring bearing boys, however, are more easily distracted.

I stated earlier that I should have broadened my booze ban, and that fact became clearer by the minute as the best man, R’s very best friend in the world, began to sway noticeably during his father’s speech. He had apparently taken it upon himself to consume R’s portion of the liquid refreshments the night before. At a Mexican food restaurant. So, now, not only was he seriously hung over, he had a case of gas that would have made a whole family of skunks envious! The smell was almost palpable. I was afraid to glance sideways at him for fear that there might actually be a green cloud hanging around his back side! Of course, the ring bearer had to keep making faces and gagging noises – that’s what 5-year-old boys do at times like that! We were all trying to ignore both him and the malodorous emanations. It was difficult, but we were managing.

When the time came for the blessing of the rings, Reverend W extended the bible toward the Green Gasser. As he reached to place the rings on the bible, leaning forward ever so slightly, concentrating solely on delivering the rings without dropping them, he apparently forgot to control his rear muscles… AND HE RIPPED ONE! In the middle of my wedding, he let go a long, loud, almost juicy sounding gas explosion that I figure could be heard roughly 10 rows back. Someone in the first row – probably my mother— started giggling. R and I tried almost successfully to stifle ourselves. And poor Reverend W, for the first time in his career, almost dropped the rings off the bible when the ring bearer, having maxed out his ability to contain himself, turned and shouted to his mother who was sitting several rows back, “MAMA, HE FARTED AND DIDN’T SAY EXCUSE ME!”

The moral of this story, as the title states: Booze, beans, and boys are not a good combo – no matter how old the boys may be!

THEY DIDN'T FORGET!

About the time I hit the publish button last night my phone rang. It was my Twig (the food critic) calling me at 11:30 to tell me happy birthday and that he loves me! Then, as I was hanging up from that call, my cell phone announced that I had a new voice mail. It was Bug (the anatomy specialist) with his wife, Lady N, hollering in the background, both wishing me well. The timestamp said 8:31 p.m. my time. That's 9:31 their time. (Why, then, did my cell phone carrier take THREE hours to get it to me?? grrrrr!!)

So, I must now offer up my apologies for having thought that perhaps they'd forgotten... I must further eat serious crow because I DID forget Lady N's birthday which was on the 9th. I can only offer up the very lame reason (definitely not even a lame excuse) that this is the first birthday she's officially spent in our family... I've only been her mother-in-law for about a year now. OK, so they've been together for two of her birthdays... OK, so I'm a big heel all the way around. Can I claim Old Timer's Forgetsey?? Better yet, I think I'll just head over to that gift certificates website and pop them a belated something or other.

Well - it's off to Walgreens to check out the Wrinkle Decreaser recommended by Lucille over at http://whosgoingtotellyou.blogspot.com. I figure, what's it gonna hurt to at least TRY to conceal some of them?? LOL!! But before I spend a wad of money on that name brand product, I'm going to make sure it's not the exact same stuff they put in hemorrhoid cream. No, wait hemorrhoid cream is for puffy eyes... OH HECK! Now I'm completely confused. Maybe I'll just buy both. Then I'll be covered from top to bottom! Believe me, it cannot hurt!!

WHAT GOES AROUND…

Today is my birthday. I turned 51 years old. My children seem to have forgotten. Well, my 3 legal children apparently forgot. The one that should have been mine and a bunch of the others remembered. It’s not like mine always forget – just, well, sometimes… at least since they got old enough to have their own lives. When they were younger their dad always reminded them. I have some really neat mementos of those childhood well-wishes. However, left to their own devices…

I guess what goes around truly does come around.

One of the few regrets I have not been able to overcome since my parents’ deaths in the mid 1980s is that I so rarely made any big deal of their birthdays and anniversaries. The only thing I can chalk it up to is that I was going about doing what my mother had raised me to do: living my life independently.

In 1982 my mother turned 50, five months after the birth of our youngest son – you know, the little dinner skeptic I wrote about earlier. I was so wrapped up in my life with a 3-year-old, a new baby, and a new job that her big FIVE-0 just slid by (as mine did) virtually unnoticed. I think I called her at work that day, but that weekend when she and Dad went to their lake house and celebrated with friends there, my little family was just too busy to take the time to make the drive. There would always be next year. Within 6 months she’d been diagnosed with colon cancer. Within 2 years she was gone. Her 51st birthday was the last we were able to celebrate with her. (And NO – I do NOT intend this to by MY last!!).

In 1982 my father also turned 50 – four days before Mother. She would razz him unmercifully for those four days… “Hey old man.” “Careful there, Old Guy. You know you can’t keep up with this young chick!” She loved him so very much. My relationship with him, however, is a whole ‘nother 500-page essay. I loved him too, but… Just suffice it to say that for the most part I wasn’t interested in making sure his birthdays were pleasurable. Then, in 1987, 3 months before his 55th birthday, just when we were getting our problems worked out and becoming friends for the first time in our lives, he went and died on me, too. The doctors called it massive, multi-system failure caused by years of drinking and smoking too much. I knew it was from a broken heart – he just never really got over losing Mother.

Now here I sit 20+ years later understanding all too well how much it hurts to have your children forget those special events that mark the passing of your life. But I’m not really upset or feeling sorry for myself – I’m once again feeling sorry for my parents. And I’m feeling sorry for what my children might go through if I were to be gone suddenly from their lives.

So, here and now, I deputize you all to be my voice if in, say, oh, 50 or so years from now I happen to shuffle off this mortal coil and my children should express any guilt over having somehow “let me down” because they lived their lives as I raised them: strong and independent. It’d hurt me a whole lot more to think of them as being anything but who they were raised to be than it does to have my birthday occasionally forgotten. I know they love me. No question. Period.

Now, get off that computer, go call somebody important in your life and tell them that you love them. It doesn’t have to be a special occasion – it just has to be heartfelt and frequent enough that they don’t have a chance to forget it. Believe me, it will help all concerned if you ever miss an important date.

Peace, Blessings, and Love to all.

The Squirrel's Tale

Sorry folks... he did this while I was out yesterday and after all I put him through, I didn't have the heart to erase it. Warning - it's long but very interesting. Enjoy.

Dear Peoples,

Hello. My name is Hunker D. Squirrel, and I would like to take this opportunity while the crazy blonde lady is away from here for a while to tell you about what she did to me. One day a few weeks back I was mindin’ my own business, layin’ in the middle of the street restin’ after havin’ the nuts scared out of me by some goofball in a speedin’ car who'd had almost squished my tail. I was just startin’ to think about movin’ on when this woman drives by and sees me. Now, unlike the rest of the relatively sane people who passed by, this woman apparently felt the overwhelming need to turn around and see if I was dead or what. She pulled her car right up next to me so close I thought for a minute there that she was gonna finish what the goofball had started. When she got out of the car I laid there lookin’ at her expectin’ her to notice that I wasn’t bleedin’ or anything and then go on, but NOOOOO, she has to be one of those peoples who think they know better about everything and so she decides that I need help!

Now I know you are probably wonderin’, as I myself have wondered several times since then, why I didn’t just take off runnin’ when she went back to her car to get a net to scoop me up with. Well, I guess I was just so curious about what the heck she was up to that by the time it dawned on me what she was doin’ she already had me in a big orange bag and had cinched down the drawstring so I couldn’t get out. And to tell the truth, once she put me in the car on that nice soft seat I did realize that maybe I wasn’t quite as OK as I’d thought and so decided that I might as well take advantage of the soft, dark, warm place and take a nap. Well, that plan lasted about 5 minutes. I’d almost drowsed off when her loud, insistent, irritating voice startled me back awake. She spent the next 15 minutes makin’ phone call after phone call tryin’ to find a rehabber to take me to. Now why she thought I needed to go to rehab really confused me. I’m not like that wino rat that lives 3 trees over. And I never eat the loco weed and go crazy dancin’ in the moonlight like old Billy Bunny does. Maybe she thought that I was drunk ‘cuz I didn’t run from her??? Well, I could have told her, curiosity may have killed the cat, but it caught this squirrel! Anyway, I digress…

She finally talked to the rehab lady and found out that she was gonna be gone for a while which meant I’d be stuck in the bag until the rehab lady called back to say she was ready to take me off the crazy lady’s hands. At that point, Her Craziness decided to go ahead and go on to her friend’s house to await the rehab lady’s call. I was never so glad to hear a car door close as I was when she left me in the car to go into the house. She’d parked in the shade and left the windows rolled half way down and a nice cool breeze blew across the bag makin’ for perrrrfect nappin’ conditions.

I don’t know how long I slept, but when I woke up I felt much better. The twitchy, jitteries in my legs had completely stopped. I was a little stiff, though, so I stretched reaaal big and rolled back and forth a couple of times just to be sure everything else felt OK, and it mostly did except for a bit of a sharp pain in one side, but I figured that’d go away soon enough, too. I’m not the young pup I use to be, so a few aches and pains are to be expected. Anyway, as I was movin’ around, I noticed that I had loosened the bag’s opening some. I stuck my nose up to the bag to see if I could smell Ms. Nut Job anywhere close by, and when I didn’t I WENT FOR IT! It didn’t take but a couple of tries and I had the bag open enough to be able to climb out, but I miscalculated where the bag was pointed and ended up down on the floorboard in front of the passenger seat. Well, all that effort got my side really hurtin’ so I thought I’d just rest there a minute. BIG MISTAKE! That decision ended up costin’ me a couple hours of pure misery!

I’d just about decided that I could stand the pain in my side long enough to climb back up onto the seat and jump out the window when I heard that voice comin’ t’ward the car. During the split second I hesitated before actin’, she saw me see her through the driver’s side window. I had one, all consuming thought scream through my head: HIDE! And I proceeded to do just that. In the nearest available dark spot: the dashboard of her car.

Yes, upon reflection I DO realize that this was NOT the best possible choice. But I didn’t get the name Hunker Down by bein’ the one to take off runnin’ at the first sign of trouble. I much prefer to find a dark, tight hole to crawl in. And there in the dashboard of that car, snug behind the steering wheel, it was nice and tight and dark. I figured I’d just wait her out. Once again – bad decision.

Now I have to give her some credit here for not screamin’ like a banshee when she realized I was actually loose in the car. Instead, she just started laughin’ sayin’, “Oh honey, what have you done??” I’m not sure if she was talkin’ to me or herself, but she was still laughin’ as she headed back inside the house. In a few minutes, here she came again. This time, with someone she called Ed in tow. I guess she figured Ed, bein’ a man and all, would know something about how to get a half crazed squirrel out of his hidin’ place, and he did shed some light on the subject – literally. Suddenly my nice dark cubby was flooded with light. Ed had pulled the side panel off the dashboard and his hairy face was leering at me through the opening. To my gratification he told the still laughin’ crazy lady that there was no way they were gonna be able to pull me out of there. They were just gonna have to open the doors and go back in the house and watch to see if I’d climb out on my own. Now that was the grandest idea I’d heard all day and couldn’t wait for them to get far enough away that they couldn’t get to me before I could escape.

As soon as I heard that house door close and started to back out of my hole I realized that my side was still achin’ pretty bad and so I was gonna have to take my time gettin’ down. I’d moved about 6 inches when I’ll be danged if that daft old lady didn’t head back to the car sayin’ something about maybe I was thirsty and some water would tempt me out. Naturally, I stopped right where I was to wait until she put the bowl of water down and left. Problem was, I never heard the house door close again, so I wasn’t sure if she was still standin’ there or not and I wasn’t about to go find out, no matter how tasty that water looked. I’d heard stories about what goes on in a rehab (Billy Bunny get’s real talkative when he gets into the loco weed), and I wasn’t about to give her a chance to catch me and put me back in that bag. So there I sat, waitin’ to hear the door slam so I could make a quick getaway. You’d think at some point my luck would improve, but not a chance as long as Ms. Batty Broad and old Hairy Faced Ed were around!

Next thing I know, here they come again sayin’ somethin’ about stinkin’ me out??? What?? And just how did they think they were gonna do that? I’ve lived next door to a family of skunks for 5 years and if that hadn’t made me move I didn’t figure these peoples could come up with anything that would budge me now. I was wrong.

The first thing they tried was puttin’ a bowl of somethin’ nasty smellin’ on the floor apparently hopin’ the fumes would crawl up into the dash and thereby cause me to make a run for it. However, they neglected to take into consideration that the same nice cool breeze that was so comfy to nap in would carry most of the smell away before it got to me. Once that fact became evident, though, my real agony started because Ed decided that more proactive measures were in order.

Ed left for a minute and when he came back he had some contraption that looked like a huge black straw attached to a yellow canvas bag. He told Ms. Wacko to soak a paper towel in the ammonia (ahh, that’s what that stuff was!) and hand it to him. He then held the wet towel in front of the big black tube and turned on the contraption which roared into action blowin’ that foul smellin’ concoction right at me! Well, after about 5 seconds of that I figured out two things: 1. My side didn’t hurt as bad as that stuff smelled, and 2. Mr. Skunkels was in for a big surprise when I got home and could finally pay back him and his boys for the time they decided it would be a funny practical joke to re-oderize my home. Smell this, sucker! Heh, heh, heh. That whole thought process took about ½ a second and, before the peoples could grab me, I skittered out of my cubby, back down into the floorboard and, for some reason I will never, never, never understand, BACK UP INTO THE DASHBOARD on the passenger side of the car! The door was open. Why didn’t I just head for the hills?? The only logical explanation I can come up with is that maybe those fumes had clouded my judgment?? I guess I’ll never really know for sure because the crazy lady didn’t give me enough time to really think about it. When I realized what I’d done I stopped to give myself a minute to regroup and figure my next move and only then did I further realize the folly of my ways.

Having seen Ed do it, that demented dame figured out pretty quickly how to get the side panel off the other end of the dashboard. But, since I’d stopped short this time, she couldn’t see me through the hole. Then Ed suggested she open the glove box door and sure enough, I’d been stupid enough to stop at a point where the lower part of my body was hangin’ half down into the glove compartment. Well, the next thing I know, that blasted old bat had grabbed my foot and was trying to pull me loose. Now I may be an old squirrel, but I can take the youngsters in a tree climbing race any day and you don’t do that by bein’ a weakling. I just latched onto the inside of that dash board and waited for her to give up on tryin’ to jerk me out of there… which didn’t take long, especially since Ed was yellin’ at her to let me go ‘cuz she was gonna get bit. Now don’t get me wrong, if I could have reached her without lettin’ go, I’d have taken a chunk out of her fat claw. After all, she did deserve it for bein’ so very, very stupid, but then she’d have had the opportunity to get me back in that bag, so I just hung on till she finally did let go and closed the glove box door.

Now what happened next, I’m not sure because I seem to have dozed off for a little while. What woke me up was once again that annoying voice talkin’ on the phone to the peoples at Animal Control askin’ if they knew of any way to get me out of her car. Apparently they said they had an idea because she said she’d be there in 10 minutes. Next she made a call to somebody named Tanya about keepin’ her daughter for a little while longer. Then I heard her say, “Hey, I have to go. The firemen are out there washing their trucks. I wonder if …” the rest of it was said so mumbled that I couldn’t understand it, but I was thinkin’, FIREMEN!! HOORAH! I’M SAVED! I knew that firemen had helped lots of my friends out of tight situations and I figured they’d know just what to do to get me safely away from the fruitcake of a woman.

I felt the car come to a stop and heard her holler to someone, “HI! I have a silly question.” (duh.. did she have any other kind of thoughts??) There was a muffled response from outside the car that I couldn’t hear, but she continued, “You guys have those big, heavy gloves that fire can’t burn through, right?” The fireman that came to the window said yes they did. “Well,” she said, “do you think a squirrel could bite through them?” Now, I was looking through the side panel hole at the mirror and saw about 6 heads pop up from behind fire trucks when they heard the word squirrel. A young, blonde fireman came over to the window and asked why she wanted to know.

She laughed again and asked, “Do you know anything about squirrels?”

“That they taste good,” he replied as a bunch of other firemen gathered around wantin’ to know why this goofy lady was askin’ about gloves and squirrels. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” she chortled, “I’ve got one trapped in my car and if you can catch it you can eat it.” Then she popped opened the glove box and pointed to my danglin’ nether regions. OH GREAT! Now I had somethin’ even worse than rehab to worry about. Thank goodness the guy was just kiddin’ and declined her offer of a free dinner on me.

As male peoples tend to do in times of crisis, they headed for the tool box and within mere minutes they were all brainstormin’ on the best way to get at me. I never in my life wished more that I was bilingual than I did at that very moment, because then I could have told ‘em that if they’d just get her to go away for a while I’d gladly come out and head back home on my own! But nope, there she stood, on point ready to grab me and chunk me back in that bag, and I’d rather be skinned alive for a winter hat than go willingly to a rehab.

The first big thinkin’ fireman went into the fire house and came back with his firecoat and a pair of those big, bulky gloves on. He planned on grabbin’ me but didn’t want to get bit in the process. I wished I could tell him that the only one I wanted to bite was the bimbo who got me into this mess in the first place, but again, I digress. Now, this big, strong, brave fireman, while on the right track with the idea of pickin’ me up went about it in completely the wrong way – he tried to grab me by my tail. Apparently he's had no experience with critters of my ilk or he would have known that YOU CAN’T CATCH A SQUIRREL BY THE TAIL, ESPECIALLY WHILE WEARIN’ BIG BULKY GLOVES. Underneath all my pretty, fluffy tail fur is a very skinny, typical rodent tail which I simply pulled up and out of his hand. With those gloves on, all he managed to do was pull out some of my fluff which stung like the dickens and royally ticked me off! How would he like havin’ his tail hair pulled out by the roots?? Well, when he reached for me again I skedaddled up as far as I could into the corner of the dash behind the struts that hold it to the car’s frame. And quicker than you can spit, I tucked my tall under me and backed into the tightest crack I could find. Come try to get me now, glove boy! And he did try, but those gloves kept him from gettin’ anywhere close. So now the rest of the guys kicked in to high gear, more determined than ever to save the poor lady from the crazy squirrel. Yeah, right. We all know who the crazy one was in this story!

First, they pulled the glove box completely off so they could get a better look at my hidin’ place. I was so far up there they actually had to get a flashlight to find me! They poked and prodded and tried to get me to budge, but I wasn’t goin’ anywhere as long as she was in sight. I just scooched further back into my tight little spot and grinned at their futile efforts to get at me. When they finally figured out that they couldn’t reach me from the front, some of them decided it might work to come in from the back and started talkin’ about how best to take off the wall at the back of the engine. That’s when the lady from Animal Control finally arrived. One look at her and I knew that she had real squirrel sense. And she proved it by tellin’ the helpful firemen that she’d take over from there.

After checkin’ on my whereabouts for herself and seein’ that I wasn’t in any danger of gettin’ hurt, the nice Animal Control lady had Mama Flake follow her back to the Animal Control office and gave her a private dinin’ room for me to use if I chose to come out later, and, God love her soul, she told Ms. Nutso how to put all my favorite snacks in it. Then she instructed her to drive to her house, park the car, and leave me the heck alone for the rest of the night. She said it was my choice if I wanted to stay put or come out later and get myself a midnight snack. If there is such a thing as reincarnation, I wanted to come back and marry that lady!

Well, by now it was nearly 7 p.m. The goofball had tried to kill me right after lunch, so this whole ordeal had been going on for about 6 hours and I was famished, so it didn’t take long for me to decide to grab a quick snack after Ms. Wacko finally left me alone in the car. I had come out of the dashboard and was just about to jump into my private dinin’ room when I’ll be darned if that crazy woman’s whole family didn’t show up, starin’ at me through the rolled up car windows. By then, though, I was just too tired to try to beat a hasty retreat back into my dark hole. I just sat there starin’ back at them. Thank heavens they were hungry too and decided to go out to get some dinner instead of expectin’ me to share mine.

After they were gone, I tried to get into my room, but that blasted female pain in my bushy tail hadn’t opened the door right and it snapped shut before I could get in there! I sat there for the next what seemed like an eternity just starin’ at my food with my mouth waterin’ and thinkin’ of as many ways as I could to sink my teeth into that blonde nutcase the next time she got in the car.

A while later I heard them comin’ back and skittered right under the driver’s seat, hunkered down and waited for her to sit down so I could have my revenge. I didn’t count on her noticin’ that I wasn’t in the dinin’ room right off the bat. Instead of gettin’ in and sittin’ down as I’d hoped, she opened the car door and started lookin’ for me. That woman had so much junk piled up in her car that I was sure she’d get tired and have to sit down before she found me, but once again, my luck failed to hold. I could have cried when she finally spied me hidin’ there under her seat. To my amazement, though, she just smiled and said, “You poor baby. I’ll bet you are starving!” Then she apologized for not settin’ the door right and put the dinin’ room right down in front of me with the door wide open.

As kind as that gesture was, I still wasn’t sure she wouldn’t grab me up and stuff me in the bag again, so I had planned to just stay there and wait until she remembered what the Animal Control lady had told her about movin’ from my spot bein’ my choice. I was sure prayin’ she’d hurry up and go away so I could get at that food ‘cuz I was so hungry that the leather seat was startin’ to look tasty. I was so focused on the yummy food that I didn’t notice that she’d opened the back door until it was too late -- that dadblamed lunatic woman poked me in my butt!!! It startled me so bad that I jumped right into the dinin’ room and only realized it was actually a cleverly disguised trap after the door slammed shut on my tail! I said a couple words my momma would’ve boxed my ears for and officially retracted my potential reincarnation marriage proposal.

Next thing I know Lady Loco is holdin’ me up lookin’ at me through the cage bars cooin’ somethin’ about how everything was gonna be alright now, and that I shouldn’t be scared ‘cuz she was gonna get me to the rehab now. If I could’ve reached her face I’d’ve clawed that phony smile right off her it! Then she put me in the back of her car for the ride to the rehab place and I was finally able to get my mouth on some of that food I’d been sniffin’ for the last 2 hours. MMMM MMMM MMMM! I never knew peanut butter could taste so good.

It didn’t seem like a very long before we were pullin’ into the driveway at the rehab. But the ride had given me time to think some and I’d pretty much resigned myself to a life of shock treatments and daily counseling sessions. I guessed Billy and I’d have some pretty interesting stories to share if I ever got back home. So can you imagine how pleasantly surprised I was when the place turned out to be a real live animal hospital?!? A place where peoples take wounded critters to be patched up and then returned to their homes safe and sound!! And as it turned out, the place was less than a mile from my tree house!

It was 10:30 p.m. by the time Ms. Margaret, the nice rehabber lady, finally got rid of that flipped out female. Then she very gently checked me over and discovered that the pain in my side turned out to be a cracked rib. No wonder it hurt like the devil when I moved too much! Fortunately it would heal on its own, she said. And since there wasn’t anything else she could do to help me, after a couple of days rest she set me free and I hurried off on my way home.

A few days later, bein’ the well bred gentlesquirrel that I am, I sent the nice firemen and the Animal Control lady thank you notes and some cans of mixed nuts. As for the crazy lady, well, in the end I had to sort of change my attitude toward her. In her own weird way she really was just tryin’ to do the best for me she could… but I still run like the wind every time I see a car that even looks like hers – that kind of help might just kill me next time!

Best regards and safe nut huntin’,
Hunker D. Squirrel, Esq.

p.s.: Does anybody know where I can get some of that ammonia stuff? The Skunkels are goin’ out of town next weekend and asked me to watch their house… Oh yeah, I’ll watch it alright! Heh heh heh.

IT MADE HIM WHO HE IS.

I had lunch with my very dear friend, MJ, today. Like a lot of old and true friends, even though we may not see each other but every 3-5 years, when we do get together, it’s like we were never apart. Today we lunched on Italian and once again caught up on life’s exploits.

When we got back to her house after lunch, she honored me with the privilege of looking at the scrapbook she put together for husband and the love of her life, Mr. B. In it she has lovingly and completely illustrated his life. Not only did she include pictures of his ancestors, his siblings, his childhood, his children, his former cars and former homes, but she also included all available pictures of both of his ex-wives. Seeing those exes in that book momentarily caught me off guard. I’m not sure that I’d be kind enough to include Hubby’s ex in the stuff I put down the garbage disposal, let alone memorialize her in his life book. But today I realized that that is wrong thinking.

As I sat there today with MJ this notion struck me, and I told her how awesome it was of her to honor Mr. B’s history is such a way. In doing so, she is acknowledging the part the exes played in making him who he is today. Without the lessons he learned in those relationships it is doubtful that he would now be the light of her life.

Through the years this warm, wonderful and strong woman has taught me many life lessons. I always come away from my time with her changed and enlightened. Today was no different. Thank you and I love you, my dear, dear friend!

SPAMMED-A-LOT

I’M RICH AND WANTED and with minimal effort can be beautiful and well dressed, too!! I can go anywhere, get unlimited funds, find the perfect lover and lose 20 pounds in 2 weeks (SIGN ME UP!). At least that’s what my email tells me.

Because I’m one of those inquiring minds who wants to know, I sorted my spam folder by subject. Here’s a (not so) brief synopsis of my 500+ (this month alone!) good and fortunate opportunities (the number in () at the end of each is the average number of emails PER DAY on that particular topic):

I can travel with Free Airline Tickets – FIVE notices (one a day for the reviewing period) wanting me to confirm my voucher for free tickets. How nice of them to be so aggressive ... tenacious... dogged... generous (!?!) in their attempts to give me free tickets! And all I have to do is adhere to their Program Requirements which include, but are not limited to: Signing up for free samples (just pay shipping and handling that is, amazingly, roughly equal to the value of the item offered), taking out a loan, applying for and activating a credit card, and/or making purchases. And, joy of all joys, they can change the rules and/or requirements at any time, without notice, and it’s my responsibility to catch the changes and adhere to those too in order to get the tickets!! Mmmmm… thanks, but no thanks. It’d be less painful, cheaper, and probably a lot safer to just hitchhike to Las Vegas! At least then I’d have a chance of getting there with money still in my pocket!

Then came offers for Bank loans for anything from cars to computers to vacations to pocket money (8 of them a day!) And the bonus is that I can finally stop worrying about that pesky credit rating thing because THEY DON’T CARE! Next, let’s not forget the free merchandise – laptops (a pink one, even!), clothes, business cards, ringtones, jewelry… OOOOOO AAAAAAHHHHH..

There are ways to get smarter for both pets and people: Bird Trick lessons (actually that might come in handy… maybe then my kids would stop referring to my conure as “the bitch bird from hell” or “pin cushion in waiting.” Just 3 of these this month.); or how about instructions on How to sell on Ebay. I have some junk and a camera… (OK, I have a LOT of junk. My children and hubby are hereby ordered to stop shaking their heads in sad, resigned disgust!)

There are a number of ways that I can reduce my weight (colon cleansing (6), diet patches – WOW! 20 lbs. in 2 weeks! Sign me up! (1), or consume some amazing, all natural concoction guaranteed to provide results in 30 days or your money back. I wonder if those come with any survivor benefits? HEY!! Maybe that’s a new market for some rich entrepreneur to explore: providing health care and survivor insurance specifically to people unfortunate enough to be desperate enough to fall for this crap!

I can do almost anything for free with the many $500 gift certificates that I’ve won from places like Lowes, Home Depot, JC Penney and Wal-Mart! All I have to do is pick something to have shipped to me and I only pay the shipping and handling, or sign up for a credit card, or apply for a loan. HEY! That sounds an awful lot like those airline ticket Program Requirements. I wonder if there’s any connection there?!?!?

I can change my career by: becoming a mystery shopper (4); by typing and filing forms from home (listed as a Google Business?? Didn’t know Google was THAT diversified! (3 a day!) ); by training for careers in Nursing (2) or Criminal Justice (2) OR!!!!... BEST OF ALL!!!…

PART-TIME/FULL-TIME Positions Available Now!
Salary: $6,239/month!
Position: Manager
Experience: None - We will train!
Requirements: Work from Home Positive Attitude Honesty and Integrity
Schedule: 5 hours/week - You choose your hours!

THAT’S $287.95 PER HOUR!! I want THAT job!! And there are obviously a lot of them out there because in a 28-day period, I received 49 different messages that all say this! And upon closer inspection, they are almost all from DIFFERENT domains! HUH???? There is either an overabundance of these jobs or this is the amazing psychic head hunter’s network where they all think so much alike that the rest of us should be verrrrry afraid!!!

And now for my personal favorite: MY SECRET ADMIRERS!! I am SOOO glad that there are so many people out there who want crazy old me. Isn’t it just my dumb luck that I had to go and fall head over heels, stupid in love with the man of my dreams 27 years ago?? Oh well, guess I’ll check them out anyway – it never hurts to have a backup plan! Let’s see: 36 eHarmony matches and 48 new crushes in just the last 20 days! WooHOO! All I can say Hubby better watch his step!

OK – I’m done and after all this studying and data compilation this is what I learned about the internet marketing community: THEY THINK I’M STUPID!

Have a blessed and peaceful evening!

BY ANY OTHER NAME…

He was 3-1/2 years old and, having "discovered" himself, had managed to irritate his little male part to the point where it burned when he tinkled. Not knowing this yet (after all, he was my first born and who knew that they actually did that at that age!), I feared he might have a bladder infection and so scheduled an appointment with the most wonderful pediatrician in town, Dr. O'Brien.

Now, part of the reason I loved Dr. O so much was that he was a very straightforward, no-bones kind of doctor. If he thought I’d benefit from being scolded about how I was parenting, he felt it was his duty to scold away. And I appreciated the help, being a first time mother and all. Anyway – on this particular day, on the way to the appointment, I suddenly remembered one of Dr. O’s favorite scolding topics: using the proper names for body parts. How many times had I been told that in order for children not to grow up embarrassed by their bodies, the parents must instill in them the knowledge that there were no bad parts… just normal parts with medically correct names and functions. And as the good listener I was, I had promptly begun, early on, referring to my son’s privatest part as his weewee. Now here we were, on the way to the doctor and my wonderfully intelligent, very verbal 3-1/2-year-old was about to tell the very stern doctor that his weewee hurt when he pee-peed.

Knowing that I’d get “the look” as soon as Bug told his symptoms, I figured it was better to start his medical education late than never. “Doctors have the funniest names for our body parts,” I began. “Really?” he said. “Yep,” I replied, “like they call your head your cranium.” At that he giggled, so I couldn’t resist the urge to repeat it silly-style, “currraaaaaaaneeuuummm.” His sweet, beautiful laughter served to encourage my instruction. Moving from the head down the rest of the body, I told him as many of the medically correct names as I could remember – right down to the part in question.

“And they call your weewee a penis,” I said in the same sing song voice I’d used a zillion times to conclude bedtime stories... and they all lived happily ever after – the end. Little Bug sat there for a few minutes, mulling over this new information and then asked what, to him, was a very logical question: What do they call your hiney?

I WENT BLANK! “Ummmm… let me think…” I stalled. I swear to Pete, the ONLY word I could think of was A__hole. Thinking that that probably wasn’t the best thing to teach a 3-1/2 year old, I copped out and told him that I couldn’t remember so we’d just have to ask Dr. O when we saw him. Patting myself on the back for skating the issue so deftly, I started to reach for the radio volume knob when the little light bulb in his eyes clicked to bright. “I KNOW!” he said , very delighted with himself that he’d figured it out. “You do?” I asked. “Uh huh,” he beamed. “So what did you figure out?” I asked anxious to see what his awesomely creative mind had come up with.

“POOPUS!” he exclaimed! “Poopus??” I marveled, “Why do they call it a poopus?” “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “it’s a poopus ‘cuz if you pee with your penis, you gotta poop with your POOPUS!”

Works for me!! Now I have to get off my poopus and go finish unpacking my kitchen!

Peace and blessings to all!