You know he loves you when .........

1. You wreck a loaner car and he now lovingly refers to you as "Crash." Yeah we can laugh about it now.

2. You come home from your hair appointment and he says, "I like your hair" before he even sees it!

3. He gets home from work, takes one look in your eyes, realizes "you've had a day" asked what's for dinner, you say tuna fish sandwiches and he says, "Great, can I have three with chips?"

4. He notices three small red marks on his leg, all the same size, evenly spaced, he concludes that the aliens took tissue samples last night and suggests you to check your legs for the same marks.

5. He sends you one dozen red roses to work because he knows you won't tell anyone there that it's your birthday and he wants everyone to know you're another year older.

No, it isn't my birthday, that was in May, but the other 4 things all happened yesterday and I wanted to round off my list at five.

Seymour had his babies!

"Seymour had his babies! Seymour had his babies!" Unfortunately that's me running out of the ladies room at work making the Monday morning announcement. For weeks we ladies at work, The New Girl, Woman of Action, Lady in the Corner, The Animal Lover and me, have been keeping our eyes on the spider in the ladies room. Not just any spider, a freakin Daddy Long Legs. I've been very leery of Daddy Long Legs ever since one attacked me in the shower.
Last week Woman of Action asked us if we thought the spider was getting bigger?
"Yes!" We said in unison.
"It never moves from that corner across from the toilet, it's like he's watching us."
Hence the name Seymour.
"I'm alright with him staying there as long he doesn't make a move towards me, one almost got me in the shower you know."

I started to wonder to myself, huh.... if he's not moving is he still alive? So the next time I was in the ladies room I inched over to the corner for a closer look. No movement. I ever so lightly blew on the web. Seymour's legs moved, he's not dead.
When sharing my day with the husband, I updated him on the spiders progress and the fact that he is alive because I blew on his web and his legs moved. The husband says to me, "Let me get this straight. You women at work let a spider watch you in the bathroom and today you gave him a ........"
"No, no, no, no, you can't talk like that on my blog."

So Monday morning, when I went in the ladies room I immediately checked on Seymour's location, there he was in his web, considerably thinner and a bunch of little spots around him. Holy Crap.
"Seymour had his babies! Seymour had his babies!" Like a freakin lunatic I run out of the room.
"What?" says Woman of Action.
"Seymour had his babies! Come and see." I'm followed by her, The New Girl and the Service Manager. The following conversation is swear to God true:

Woman of Action: We can't have all those spiders in here. We need to think extermination.
Service Manager: Anyone have a lighter?
ME and I still can't believe I said this: Wait a minute, we can't kill them after all this time.
Woman of Action: What do we do with them?
Service Manager: Anyone have a lighter?
The New Girl: Remember in the movie Shrek, when he took a stick and swirled the spider web around it like cotton candy? He ate it, but you get the idea.
Me: I have to get the phones, I'll be back, we'll think of something, don't anyone give him a lighter.

A plan was formed while I was gone. After answering a few phone calls, I walked back down the hall and around the corner to see Lady in the Corner holding open the ladies room door and The New Girl holding open the outside door. Woman of Action comes out holding a stick and bolts for the outside door. Seymour and his babies now reside in a bush next to the parking lot.

Animal Lover was at our corporate office Monday and missed out on what just might be one of the most exciting days at work this past year. This I regret because she's always freeing spiders, flies and mice, she would have loved the opportunity to save Seymour and his babies.
My other regret is that I thought to take pictures, I meant to take pictures, but I didn't. It just all happened so fast.

The son of a bitch is running his chain saw now

Under misguided assumption, the husband and I continue to try to sleep in on Sunday mornings, because someone, somewhere once told us, "Sunday is a day of rest." I think it was God.
Our neighbor with the nice yard, but bags under his eyes, wakes us up every weekend. This morning, to the lovely sound of a chain saw. You have to wonder with the list of things he probably had written down on his "Yard work I want to get done today" list, why is chain sawing on the top of it?
"It's 10 o'clock in the morning, shouldn't he be at church or something?"
You could tell the dog was pissed too, she finally found a comfortable spot after looking for it all night. It was a particularly restless night for all three of us. And we were content to sleep away the bright sunny day. The husbands restless leg syndrome was in full swing last night, the kids were out late and I drank too much ice tea earlier in the evening. Some kind of critter was roaming around the backyard, being the dog of the house, Buckeye has to check out every sound and bark at it, this includes children coming home later than they should. They were totally busted.
The day didn't turn out to be a total loss, the neighbor with the nice yard and bags under his eyes finished his "Yard work I want to get done today" list, is sitting right now in said yard to enjoy it and a thunderstorm is rolling in.
I think it's God's way of saying, "Dude, let thy neighbors rest."

I became a Turd Grabber

I felt sorry for the dog. After a couple rainy days she looked bored. So I assembled the necessary items for a walk, cell phone, keys (because everyone has abandoned me tonight) and a plastic bag in case of the dreaded poop. The plastic bag unfortunately proved to be useful because the boys, who are no longer in my will and legally I only have to feed one of them until April, forgot to mention they never let her out today.
I became a turd grabber this evening. Our normal walking route are the roads less traveled by cars, so we can walk down the middle of the road and Buckeye doesn't stop every two feet to smell other dogs pee. But this road, by the pool was over populated as the swim meet dispersed. I swore like a drunken sailor under my breath. The dog was so excited to see the swimmers, she pooped. Being as excited as she was, she pooped while walking. I've had to maybe grab turds 3 times since we've had her. So with a hyperactive dog attached to my left hand and a plastic bag on my right, I attempted the impossible, in front of a stream of families walking and driving home from the swim meet. Probably, I'll never eat again.

And that's what we call dancin'

One brief moment of my weekend, five minutes tops, just innocently walking through the house with the TV on, because it always is, gave me irreversible brain damage.
And that's what we call dancin'.
Dear God it's stuck in there good.
Cocoon came on the television, you know that movie that lulled us into the warm, fuzzy, sunshine and lollypops feeling that aliens are nice? But we now know after watching Independence Day that they are going to blow us up eventually, unless a meteor destroys us first, 2012 I believe. Wait a minute.
Cocoon.
And that's what we call dancin'.
Gah!
The movie was in the beginning scenes, in the nursing home/retirement village. The diabetic, Quaker Oats man and Mortimer Duke were walking through the nursing home lobby, their was an old lady exercise class going on. And that's all it took to render me an idiot. That one line is deeply embedded into my brain, bouncing off brain cells and killing them. The usually stuff isn't working to remove the catchy tune. I'm slowly losing all logic and reason. Just this afternoon I said to myself, "Self? That song isn't in your head right now. Huh. What was it again?"
And that's what we call dancin'.

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.