From the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude Files

I've been quietly observing my scary Asian dry cleaning dude for some time now. In the past here and here and somewhere else I can't seem to find, I've posted about how this little guy looks like he belongs in a Chuck Norris movie staring as a evil prison camp guard. But my during weekly stops to the dry cleaners, I've noticed the woman seems to be taking charge of the place. She has inadvertently fallen into some American customs. Always on the phone when I stop for the husbands shirts and doesn't bother to hang up, she just chatters away in her native tongue and tells me to "have nice day" when I leave.
She has advanced herself to a phone stuck in her ear and now she can continue to work at her sewing machine while chattering, instead of waiting on me she yells something to the scary dude and he hops to attention, bringing the scariness down a few notches. Hmmmmm. The charm and ambiance of the stereo-typical Asian Dry Cleaners has been removed from my weekly routine. They've Americanized, a simulated into our rude culture. What a drag, they were a good source of blogging material.

Buckeye's First Kill

We're pretty sure. In the two and a half years we've had Buckeye she's killed 4 comforters, 7 shoes, 38 moths and chased countless flies and bees. But the dead mouse in her backyard "space" has been identified as her first kill, by the boys.

"MOM! Buckeye killed a mouse! Hey, Boy #2! Buckeye killed a mouse!"
"Awesome. Where is it?"
"I'll show you, it's got teeth marks in it."
"Awesome."
"Wait a minute." I interrupt their delirium. "How do you know she killed it? You didn't see her do it. Check and see if she has mouse breath."
"Mom, she's got the taste for blood now, she'll be going after squirrels next. Won't ya Buckeye? Good dog."
Buckeye had no idea what all this new found attention was about but she was loving it. My baby is the sweetest dog ever, there's no way she's a mouse killer, no way.

What is she trying to tell us?

Learning from experience over the years, I know now that I'm not capable of remembering stuff. Like the great ideas I get for a post, the ones that take over most of my brain cells and render me useless until I write it down. Sometimes I have a list, but most of the time I write things down on post-it notes at work and stick them in my pocket. These little pieces of paper are what got me thinking, that and too much TV.
What would happen if I was murdered on my way home from work and the crime scene investigators found these little post-it notes tucked away in my back pocket? Would they think they were clues? Would they ask themselves, "What is she trying to tell us?" Would my mindless drivel, written down on little folded post-it notes throw the CSI guys off the murder trail? It took my 2 days just to decipher one of my own notes, Lady Zipper, last year. How can my murder be solved if I inadvertently direct the investigation in the wrong direction? How do you, my fellow bloggers, remember your ideas?
Thank you in advance for your advice and thank you for reading. I must go now and figure out what to worry about next.

Do your boobs hang low? Do they wobble to and fro?

I'm not going to lie to you, going to the pool this summer and last summer has become more like nap time than exercise time. If I'm going to see anything interesting, it's got to be when I first get there. Because when I lay down on that lounge chair (and there are new, more comfortable ones this year) I'll nod off. So it's a good thing I spotted the woman with the buoyant boobies right away. I had all my stuff put in it's proper place, sunglasses on and watched this woman bounce around in the pool as she prattled on with her friend. And when I say bounce, I mean she was actually bouncing up and down like maybe she was exercising, maybe. The boobs had a mind of their own, bouncing to and fro going every which way they could. It wasn't their fault really, the bathing suit offered no support whatsoever. I decided to hold off on my nap, I wasn't going to miss her smacking herself in the face with those things. I started to worry about the children, would they get taken out with the big boobs or see more than the should?

Sadly, she got out of the pool before her boobies could do any damage and I drifted off.

My feet have to be comfortable.

"I need new shoes."
"Again?"
"These are 2 years old and have holes in them."
"I know I just bought you shoes."
"Those were for work, I need Converse All-Stars for Warp Tour. My feet have to be comfortable, there's a lot of walking."
"But I've been put on a spending freeze."
"I can pay for half."

The very last thing I want to do in the whole wide world is take this kid shopping. The word stubborn just doesn't come close to describing him. I remember wrestling him to the ground when he was 4 years old just to try a winter jacket on him. My mom stood as look out to make sure social services wasn't called. "It fits, it fits, let him up."

"Get in the car. We're going to Kohl's."
"I hate that store."
"We......are......going......to......Kohl's. Get in the car honey."

We found his precious Converse All-Stars, "$40! They'll cost less at Famous Foot Wear."
"They cost the same there."
"Then let's buy them there, it's four stores down."

Four doors down at Famous Foot Wear the Converse All-Stars cost $44.99.
"Listen to me, we're going back to Kohl's, you're going to keep your mouth shut, try on a pair of shoes, wiggle your toes, walk around and then we will make our purchase. Or my darling precious baby boy #3, you will wear two year old shoes with holes in them."
"Do you need a hug mom?"

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

Erv and I sat at our cousins Big Fourth of July Pig Roast Blow Out eating chocolate cake that we are pretty sure came straight from heaven. The kind of cake you look at and your teeth hurt, it was that good. Nothing was going to make us sit that plate down until it was empty. I wish someone would have thought to bring me a cup of coffee though. As we shoveled in tiny bits of every candy bar imaginable our dear mother emerged from the house clutching a plastic, 5 foot, punching bag wrestler. She proceeded to mingle with the crowd and show everyone where the wrestlers belly button was.
"Are you writing this down?" Erv asked me in between glorious cake from heaven bites.
Am I writing this down? The imaged is burned into my retinas. Mother continued to mingle and we continued to eat our cake. Our cousins laughed at us as we discussed who's house the nursing home should be closest to.
I'm not sure if this is where the Big Fourth of July Pig Roast Blow Out began to spiral out of control but it might be. Grandma's boys (I'm not claiming them as Boy #1 and Boy #2 in this story) decided to give Karaoke'ing a try. That Karaoke equipment looked expensive, I'm glad they are both over 18 and legally liable for damages. Amazingly enough nothing got broken. Here is the video of my offspring trying to be the life of the party, you know to out do grandma. They are singing Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. Give it to about 45 seconds in to stop jiggling, Precious Baby Boy#3, the good one, was having a hard time holding his phone still.

I'm so very proud of Boy #3 and his knowledge of getting this video onto my computer from his phone. Didn't he do a good job?

Hey Uncle Silly Willy and Aunt Fluffy, I don't have the pictures yet!

The Traumatic Spider Incident

Being in a house full of testosterone I usually don't have problem finding someone to kill stuff for me. But while in the shower, innocently shaving my legs, I'm pretty much on my own. I could have yelled for the husband to come kill the Daddy Long Legs that shimmied down it's web strand at an alarming speed, but he was in bed and I would have never, ever heard the end of it or I would have given him a heart attack. Both options were ones I didn't want to live with. Plus it all happened so fast, the traumatic spider incident, that's what I'm calling it now.
I've always let Daddy Long Legs spiders live ever since I saw one star in Honey We Shrunk Ourselves. It saved the retarded parents that shrunk themselves, accidentally of course, by giving them a ride to safety. But when I have a razor in my hand, gently pressed upon my leg and out of the corner of my eye I see the star of Honey We Shrunk Ourselves shimmy down from the ceiling, obviously in attack mode, my first and only reaction is to KILL. It's a wonder I didn't have a heart attack myself. I didn't actually touch it, because it managed to reach the tub without landing on me. I would probably be in a padded cell right now if it had. I swished water on it and it circled the drain while I shaved my legs.
The husband shuffled into the bathroom and I told him of my horrific experience and the fact that I saved his life. "You know, it probably had about a million baby spiders and they're all gonna come after you tonight, take you to Spiderville and lay eggs in your brain."
So now I have that to worry about.

Spending the day with my horny teenager

"Your blood pressure is 132 over 82."
"Is that good?"
"It's a little high."
This is when my brain started knocking on the inside of my skull, snapping my head to attention and getting my nose out of an outdated magazine. I started to listen to the conversation Boy #3 was having with the cute, little medical assistant.
When the doctor came in I asked him about the blood pressure, he took it again and it was 118 over 70, huh.

"So, " I asked Boy #3 in the parking lot, "when the cute medical assistant...."
"She was hot."
"Yeah, when the hot medical assistant takes your blood pressure it's high and when the guy doctor takes it, it's normal?"
"Yeah."
"Then what are we thinking here, the blood pressure cuff is some kind of Gaydar?"
"She was hot."

And this concludes the two posts I received while spending the day with my horny teenager.

How come all the hot girls are stupid?

Now I know people aren't this stupid and I know people say things and regret it, konk themselves on the head later and say, "Did I really say that?" So you have to give some people some slack. But if you say something that makes a blogger blow a blood vessel in her brain while trying to suppress uncontrollable laughter until she gets to the parking lot, it's gonna be blogged about. It pretty much has to be. Because if I sit on this conversation I had with a gas station cashier, let it just bounce around my head with no where to go, it might cause irreversible brain damage.
Conversation (Boy #3 is with me the whole time):

Cashier: Can I help you?
Me: Just these.
Cashier: That's $3.79.

Digging through my wallet, I find my money and a fist full of coffee cards.

Me: I think one of these cards is yours, is it this one?
Cashier: No.
Me: Huh, I thought this was the card for here.
Cashier, seriously, this is what she said: I can stamp it for you, I thought you were asking if it was mine personally.

At that time it was really a bad idea to make eye contact with Boy #3, but I did it anyway. And we really should have left the store immediately but I had to get my coffee card stamped. Sometimes if you raise your eyebrow really high and open your eyes really wide you can keep from laughing. And that's what I did.
Once in the parking lot though....... "Oh yeah this is your card, I've had it for a couple months now and thought you'd like it back."
"Why would she think you had her card? She doesn't even know you? How stupid was that?"
"Way stupid, Oh My God."
"How come all the hot girls are stupid?"
"Yeah, I saw you checking her out, don't bring stupid girls home to meet me okay? I'll come up with some kind of stupid girl test for you okay?"

My Michael Jackson Post. Damn it Unfinished Rambler

I was perfectly happy to be the only blogger on the blogosphere to not post about Michael Jackson, really comfortable with that plan. Until I was innocently drinking my mocha, reading blogs, not even planning on posting today because I have baked beans to make and stopped by Unfinished Ramblers post about the King of Pop. I watched the video he posted and then another, and then another. I became hypnotized by the dancing. You can't watch that guys earlier years and not realize what a great entertainer he was. Yes, a lot of your attention goes to his nose and it's transformation over the years and yes, he grabs his pee pee more that an entire baseball team at the bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, tie game, but he entertained the hell out of the world. It is too bad he's was a kookamonga.

Unfinished Rambler, I'm afraid you are the one that has to explain to my mom why the baked beans are not done for the cookout today, sorry. But it is kinda your fault.

What the nuns couldn't teach me.........

I learned from School House Rock. When the nuns screaming, rulers and praying couldn't penetrate my thick skull, catchy tunes on Saturday mornings did. Thank God three is the magic number, it saved me a few times from being called a boob by Sister Helen.
My favorite catchy School House Rock tune is The Preamble. This is the song I use to get other songs out of my head. I gave this advice to poor Leigh over at Inside My Head (that might be the problem right there) when she posted the lyrics of a song she had stuck up there.

This didn't seem to work for her. I don't think she gave it enough time. A good two to three hours of School House Rock videos will knock anything out of your head and send you to sleep thinking of Learnin about the USA, hooking up words and phrases and clauses, Bills sitting on Capitol Hill going off to the White House and Mrs. Jones the lady on Hudson Street that sent her dog to bark at my brother and me. Give it more time Leigh! The reason I didn't post yesterday is because I got all caught up in adverbs, it's a word that modifies a verb you know. Take that Sister Helen.

This way I don't have to listen to you

A lot of bloggers write open letters as a post, I've never done one but today I feel compelled to do so, my life a leisure hangs in the balance.
I must address all the mom's of small children at community pools. My homeowners association forbids me to put a pool in my yard, so you, your children and I have to mingle all summer. I've come up with a few guidelines for you to follow.

1.) Sun screen, believe it or not, this can be applied to the child at home. That way when you get to the pool they can jump right in and I won't have to listen to you telling little Johnny to stand still when you slather him up and I won't have to listen to him whine about how you got it in his eyes.

2.) Cell phones, there's over a 50% chance that your child will drip on it, because you're at a pool, that big cement pond filled with water. There's over a 50% chance your hair will get wet too, actually everything you bring to the pool can and will get wet eventually, so put them in a plastic bag or don't bring them, this way I don't have to listen to you yell at your children for something that is your fault.

3.) Water-wings are stupid. If people trust you enough to carry your child around on land with out a parachute then you should be trusted to hold them in a pool without dropping them. If they are older put them in a pool that they can touch the bottom and teach them to swim, water-wings give a kid a false sense of security, teach them to rely on themselves, this way I don't have to listen to you and your child whine about putting them on.

4.) The Ice Cream Truck. When it parks itself in the swimming pool parking lot, commit to either always buying an over priced popcycle or never buying an over priced popcycle. There is no middle ground when it comes to the ice cream truck, this way I don't have to listen to your child badger you for $3.00 continuously.

5.) Marco Polo, take your children home if they play this stupid, God-forsaken game.....please.

I, in turn, will try to be quiet while I read my book.

The Huge Favor

"Honey, where are you right now?"
"I'm at WalMart." And a woman and her kids walked out the entrance when I got here so the record of the whole entrance/exit door confusion isn't broken yet. Every time I'm there they use the wrong doors, they can't read.
I was calling mom to see what my dad wanted for Father's Day. She knows what he wants, he doesn't.
"I was wondering if you would do me a huge favor." A huge favor to my mom is like picking up some dinner rolls because she forgot them.
"Sure, what do you need?" Already starting towards the bakery.
"Would you go to the Home and Garden Center and ask someone there if they have Gazing Ball Stands...............please?"

"Why the hell did I call you?"
"I have the Gazing Ball but I need the Gazing Ball Stand."
"You want me to go and ask a WalMart employee if they have a Gazing Ball Stand? Seriously, what is a Gazing Ball Stand?"
"They'll know what it is."
"Nooooo. They won't. I'll call you back."

WalMart Employee #1 was clueless and thought I was asking for Gazing Ball Sand. "Ball sand?"
"No."
"Hey, Nora do we have ball sand?"
"No, no. Gazing Ball Stand. Stand not sand."
"What's a Ball Stand?"

I called my mom back. "I just would like to thank you for sending me over there for a Ball Stand. I can never go back to that Garden Center, they probably have me under surveillance now. Are you laughing at me?"
All I heard was a snort.

The Amish in their Natural Habitat

When we got sucked into the world of travel baseball we traveled. We traveled an hour and a half to play a seven inning game and then turned around and traveled an hour and a half back home - good times. The family knows I'm directionally challenged and they were afraid for me. The coaches soon found out the extent of my directional illness and exploited it. "I'm following you coach, don't loose me."
"Okay! Try to keep up."
I adapted and put as many of the ball players in my car as I could fit, that way if they lost me they wouldn't have enough players for the game. I specifically sought out the starting pitcher for that days game. And threw him in my car. I may not know which way to turn at the end of my driveway but I'm not retarded. Diesel, this is like number 4 or 5, is it working?
On our way home from one game out in farm country it was just me and the baseball player, Boy #2. "You didn't notice this on the way out here because you were too busy changing my radio station and burping with your buddies, but we're driving through Amish country."
"The real Amish? Those are their houses? Are they having a barn raising? Is that a horse pulling a buggy? It is! It's on the road with the cars! Look there's some Amish people in their yard."
He bounced around the car, smooshing his nose to the windows, taking it all in.
"You know you've seen Amish people before, they did our roof, remember?"
"Yeah, but I've never seen them in their natural habitat."

When Grandpa Forgot His Teeth

When my boys were small my father-in-law use to take his teeth out to get them to giggle. I have more than a few pictures of him with a big toothless grin and a laughing grandson on his lap. The guy was as comfortable with his teeth out as he was with them in.
We were reminiscing through some old pictures one day and came across some of my sister-in-law's wedding photo's that I took. I remember the hustle and bustle that morning in the living room of my in-laws house, my sister-in-law fussing over her dress with my mother-in-law, pictures being snapped, the men folk outside smoking and discussing the car order to the church, my father-in-law walking down the hall without his teeth.
Yep, I was trying to keep Boy #1, the only one I had at the time, out of the way when I saw Dad walking down the hall adjusting his suit, he looked up at me and smiled, I smiled back and took his picture, then saved him. "Hey you look great, now go put your teeth in for the pictures."
"Oh! I forgot them." He was genuinely surprised.
We haven't seen that toothless grin in person since 1997, but when my boys found the picture they held it up and just inquired, "Mom?"
"That's the day Grandpa forgot his teeth."
Then they giggled.

I Think I'll Smoosh These Two Ideas Together

I have two ideas for a post running through my head, actually one good one and one YouTube video that I just didn't want to stick on my blog and call it a post. So here's what I came up with.
Last week I was linked in a post by The Dyer Boys, they listed 7 bloggers they enjoy reading, one of them is me! Thank you guys.
Being a middle aged mother of three I enter Doug and Phil's blog with some trepidation. Which brings me to the video I wanted to have on my blog. This is kind of how I feel when I visit The Dyer Boys. And I mean this in the nicest possible way.

The Dyer Boys post outrageously funny Top 5 Lists and posts like this one, I Swear, People. I read them, laugh, look around to see if anyone's looking and ask myself, "Should I think that's funny? They typed the word penis in their post, wait a minute, I did that once too. These guys are alright."
So I will continue to read The Dyer Boys and I suggest you stopped by for some laughs too. Just ease out of their blog slowly and you'll be alright.

The Fine Line Between Road Construction and Mass Hysteria

Close one more road and I'm popping this SUV into 4-wheel drive and driving on them anyway. Hell, I'll start driving through my neighbors back yards. Getting from point A to point B is becoming increasingly difficult in my neighborhood. I deal with this detour everyday and will do so for the rest of the summer, because some "Powers That Be" decided we need a circle intersection instead of your basic plus sign kind. 50 feet away from that sign is more construction but they just work on it intermittently, when they feel like it, whenever they feel like stopping traffic altogether, whenever they think, "Hey, today would be a great day for a cluster f$&@." (erv, I'm not sending this post to mom and dad's email machine.)
Here's a thought - finish one road before you start another one. And how about calling before you dig, you know before you hit that gas line. I could see my house, but had to double back through the detour, through 3 different cities and around the back way into my development because some retard hit the gas line. I turned around and muttered to myself for about 2 miles before I realized I had a child (the good one) and a dog in that house that I could see from the hit gas line incident. I should have probably asked the nice officer that sent me packing if they were in any danger. Nah, I just call him and alarm him with useless information.
"Hello?"
"Are you still sleeping? It's 2:00 pm are you just getting up?"
"I was playing video games all night."
"Oh, no way. That's not how this summer is going to go."
"Mom......"
"I'm going to start leaving you a list of chores."
"Chores? What, are we living on a farm?"
"You are not going to sleep and play video games all summer."
Silence
"Did you fall back to sleep or has the house blown up?"
"Huh?"
"There's a gas leak up at the corner, make sure my dog doesn't blow up."
"I love you too mom."

Apparently I'm anal about my perennials

The Project Manager aka the husband has taken on the responsibility of organizing a work force to clean up the yard. I am in charge of the flower beds that go around the house because apparently I'm anal about my perennials. That is only because there is not enough Weed Be Gone on the planet where the husband is concerned, he's spraying it everywhere. If it isn't grass he's killing it. I'm afraid to let the dog out.
When the husband takes on a project the boys scurry around like frightened mice, trying to find an exit plan. I've blogged about this before - here. So far they've been unsuccessful. They have the glamorous job of preparing the other flower beds for mulch.
"There's poison ivy in there you know."
"That's not poison ivy."
"Then rub it on your arm."
"It's not poison ivy." And he walked away.
Showing up the Project Manager is frowned upon and I'm hoping later in the board room I get fired.

I'm Lazy and I'm Outraged

The grocery store wants me to scan my own food, weigh my own produce and put it all in a bag myself? And the Italian Bread at the bakery is a dollar more than it was the last time I bought there? Hold on just one minute. It's an act of lunacy.
There were grocery store employees floating around helping us morons communicate with the machines they have been replaced with, but you know that won't last. They'll expect us to catch on to this modern age of grocery shopping. Haphazardly scanning our own Rice-a-Roni, with no-one there to listen when we say, "Did you scan that twice? I think you scanned that twice."
I saw a little old man wandering back and forth looking for a cashier, hopelessly lost, wondering how he was going to get his food home. And just as my heart strings were about to be stretched enough to take action (perhaps by standing on the grocery conveyor belt and screaming, "We're mad as hell and we're not going to take it anymore, waving my fist too) a grocery store employee/formerly cashier guided the man by his arm to a cash register and proceeded to scan everything for him, his store card, credit card, Ben-Gay and weighed his prunes. I, on the other hand, struggled with the technology on my own, pushed the wrong button and had to listen to the pleasant computer voice say, "Please wait for assistance, please wait for assistance, please wait for assistance."

Can I have another car, I wrecked this one?

"Let me get this straight," says the husband. "You haven't been involved in a car accident in 18 years, and I love you for that, but today you decide to get in one when you're not even driving your own car?"
"Well, to be fair, one never really decides to get in an accident, sometimes your foot just misses the brake pedal. And I love you too."
"I can't get away from work, you're going to have to take that car to the dealership and tell them what happened, the truck isn't ready yet you know."
"I'll get another car, don't you think?"
"You might want to call someone to pick you up. And let me know how much this is going to cost us."

The good news is he still loves me after I wrecked a loaner car.
The bad news is the repairs are well over our deductible.

We wouldn't have had a loaner car if the repairs on our truck didn't take four working days and a weekend to get fixed. But the dealership is now government owned so what did we expect really. They gave me another car.

God bless the woman I rear-ended, nothing was wrong with her car and she didn't even want my name, number, insurance information and firstborn. Then again, maybe she felt guilty for talking on her cell phone and slamming on her brakes because she missed her turn.