The voice inside my head

The voice inside my head was chatting me up today at WalMart. I think it's because of the flu Boy #2 so graciously bestowed upon me two days before Christmas. Not completely over the sinus infection and no time to go back to the doctor, I left myself vulnerable. But I'm still letting Boy #2 take all the blame. So with my brain floating around in snot, gently bopping against the walls of my skull it misfired quite a bit up and down those WalMart aisles.
I will try to remember what it was saying as I arrived and was desperately trying to contain it:

"No bell ringer today, gonna miss him."

"Thank you for walking in the clearly marked exit door. The record of some moron walking in or out of the wrong door remains intact."

"I need to go to the pharmaceutical aisle first. Maybe I can find a magical cure for the flu or just knock myself out with Nyquil shots."

"I shouldn't have left the house alone. I feel like hell and I just got here."

"Seriously? The whole family has to do the grocery shopping? Mom, dad and 2.5 children? They clog up the whole aisle. What do children contribute to grocery shopping besides annoyance?"

"What bra did I wear today? Why do the straps keep sliding off my shoulders?"

"Move out of the way, move your cart, move it now. I'm going to ram into it, I swear I will."

"Is my tea on the very bottom self?"

"Note to self: buy nothing on the bottom self today because standing back up makes you dizzy."

"I have to blow my nose."

"I can't believe mom found this little bottle of lavender scented hand sanitizer, I love lavender."

"Get out of my way."

"If you stop and text in front of something I want I'm going to give you a heavy sigh."

"These effing bra straps."

"I'm probably going to faint. Why is it so hot in here?"

"I will not sample whatever it is you are cooking in your little toaster oven, it smells bad. I'm avoiding eye contact and walking right by you."

"You haven't seen each other in years? That's wonderful, but would you find somewhere else to catch up? Preferably somewhere I'm not. You are hindering my progress along with the people that insist on bringing their entire family with them."

"This bra is coming off as soon as I get home. If I ever get home. I might not ever get home."

"Put your cart on one side of the aisle. Pick left or right, not the middle. The middle is stupid and you know that."

"Finally. They are getting rid of these Christmas decorations and putting up the Valentine's Day stuff."

"Get out of my way, damn it."

That is basically how my first venture out of the house since Christmas day went. By the time I got home I needed a nap and a shot of Nyquil.

Here's what happened

I'm not a wine person. Everyone knows I have a weakness for orange juice laced with vodka. And now that they started putting fruity flavors in vodka a whole new world has opened up to me but I digress. Let me explain the wine bottle and the events that followed.
I was baking yesterday, applesauce cake. It's an old family recipe. Quite a few of our ancestors didn't bother to write their recipes down on a little recipe card, I suppose they just thought we would channel the ingredients and amount from the great beyond. My mom managed to get the 'Christmas Applesauce Cake' recipe from my grandma and most of it is clear. Except for the vague ingredient 'small glass of red wine'.
Year after year I make the said cake because mom gave up on it, she really doesn't like baking and throws rolling pins across the kitchen if she tries to make cut-out cookies. Every year I buy a bottle of cheap red wine with a screw off top. So you can imagine my surprise when I tore off the foil wrap on my cheap red wine and found a cork. The pursuit of a cork screw began.
One year the husband received a gift at work with a cork screw in it. It was in a lovely box and also had a bottle topper and a couple other things I have no idea what they are used for. I dusted off the box and grabbed the cork screw. There were several people in the house but I felt confident that I could screw that thing in the cork. Which I did. The problem, yes we finally got there, I couldn't pull the cork out. After about five minutes of swearing and being totally ignored by the people in the next room, I gave up.
I took the bottle to the husband and ask,
"Did I put this thing in right?"
Without speaking he took the bottle from me. I didn't want to give up the bottle because I knew he'd try to open it while sitting on my couch but it all happened so fast. While he inspected, I looked up at Boy #2 and Boy #3, who were putting up the Christmas tree and trying to get the amazing invention of a pre-lit Christmas tree to, you know, light up. That's when I heard the glass break.
"Give me the bottle before you spill cheap red wine on my couch."
"I have glass in my hand. There is a shard of glass in my hand. I need my glasses and a flashlight."
This is when the almost daughter-in-law slash nurse got up, grabbed his hand and took the shard of glass out before the husband could ask for a band aid.
"Give me the bottle before you spill cheap red wine on my couch."
I went back to the kitchen followed by the almost daughter-in-law slash nurse who told me,
"I'm a wine drinker now."
I responded,
"Really? Grandma and Aunt Erv are going to be so happy."
My mom and my sister-in-law are avid wine drinkers. That's why I took the picture of the mutilated cheap red wine bottle with a happy smiling snowman head, to ease their pain. So I asked the almost daughter-in-law slash nurse if she would like a glass of wine. I'm not going to dump the whole bottle into 'Christmas Applesauce Cake' it only needs a 'small glass of red wine', she said,
"Let me just taste it first."
As I turned to get a juice glass out of the cupboard I bumped into Boy #3 who asked,
"Can I have my very first taste of wine ever mom?"
We gave him a 'OMG you are only 20 years old' fake surprised look and I got two juice glasses. I poured them each a glass. They both decided they were wine connoisseurs, they held their juice glasses up and swished it around, brought them to their noses and smelled the wine, took a sip and spit the cheap red wine into my kitchen sink. My kitchen sink!
"Get the hell out of my kitchen. I'm stressed. Holiday stress has sunk in. Get your fathers credit card and order Sunday dinner, I'm not cooking for you people."

Secret Santa. It was my idea, so I'm in charge.

My family is doing a Secret (I will use that term loosely) Santa gift exchange this year. Mom and Dad, Erv and his family and my crew decided to pick names out of one of mom's bread baskets when we had a family dinner early in October.
The idea being that Christmas has basically become a gift card exchange. Pretty much we give each other a gift card and say,
"Go get yourself something nice."
My brilliant and economically sound idea was to just buy for one person, spend $50, write your name and at least three things you want and keep it secret. We all wrote from the same pad of paper and I made a rule to not put down gift cards.
Before we left the dinner table just about everyone knew who had who. My niece folded the corner of her piece of paper, I yelled out "I thought I said no gift cards." Erv looked at his paper and said,
"I don't know what any of this stuff is. Is this English?"
That was a give away that he picked Boy #3's name. The geek, and we are not sure what language he speaks. He has had to provide a picture and a two paragraph explanation of each item on his list to me since he was about twelve. I could tell Erv wanted to put his name back in the basket. I looked at Boy #2 and his girlfriend, they were showing each other the names they picked and then they looked at me. My dad is a stickler for rules and stuck to them saying he wasn't going to tell anyone who he had. He put his name in his pocket and avoided eye contact with mom. A tell tale sign that he picked her. Had he picked anyone else she would have been given the name because dad don't shop.
The Secret Santa drama continued for a few more minutes and then we did the dishes. Time will tell if my money saving, brilliant plan will work. I think everyone is happy to cut down on the Christmas present spending. The secret part blew out the window immediately which isn't a surprise because no one ever listens to me anyway. I'm still in charge though.

Here's how it happened.....the phenomenon

It all started in the garage. The husband and Boy #3 were cleaning in there. Yes I know, cleaning the garage, it's one of those jobs that is more like a punishment. But they were just cleaning it for the hell of it. That's what they tell me anyway. I know it's because they can't find stuff when they are reconstructing my house.
So you can imagine my surprise when I saw a bag of rock salt next to the front door. And when I took a look see in the garage I saw the sn, sn....I can't say it, shovels neatly stacked in the front corner. Three of them, one for each kid, that's how it works, don't let anyone tell you different.
In addition to this all of my sweaters are out of the cedar chest, washed, dried and hanging in my closet. We are prepared. This is very scary for our house full of procrastinators.
Usually the first time the steps are iced over this conversation ensues:
"Did we have any rock salt left over from last year?"
"Can't remember."
"Have you seen any half filled bags of rock salt down there?"
"Don't think so."
"Well the next time one of us is out we need to pick up a bag."
"K."
"Are you listening to me?"
"Huh?"
The first time the driveway needs to be shoveled this is the conversation I have with the shovelers, which has dwindled down to one this year:
"Are the shovels in the shed?"
"Can't we just buy a sn.....?"
"Shovels. Where are they?"
"I don't know."
"You have to find them and start shoveling. I'd help but I have a bad back. And when your father and I made a list of the Pros and Cons of having children, shoveling was like third on the list of Pros. Don't make me regret our decision, get out there."
And when it gets cold, I put off dragging my sweaters out of the cedar chest. So I wear my gray hoodie every single day of the week, people start to talk. The phenomenon is that we are, as far as we are concerned, prepared for the winter season. The only explanation for this is that we will have a very light winter. Your welcome Northeast Ohioans.
There is another plausible scenario and that is that while watching the squirrels scoop up and hide a bumper crop of acorns, more than I can ever remember falling in our yard, they, the squirrels, have sent us telepathic winter warnings while running back and forth across our roof.
Time will tell.

It was probably a bad idea

In 1995 the husband and I went to see the movie Outbreak. This was my idea because I had heard an interview and review of the movie on the radio and thought it would be a nice movie and dinner date. But it was not to be. The movie freaked me out, I let it mess with my head and afterward at dinner I couldn't even eat. All I could think about was getting home and locking all the doors while armed with a can of Lysol. Eventually I calmed down to my normal germaphobe state of mind and even made some jokes about global killing germs.

This past Thursday the husband was watching football and I had a head pounding sinus headache. So I tucked myself in bed and watched a movie. Guess what I watched? Contagion. Because I'm a moron. This movie didn't freak me out but I did wake up sick and have remained sick through the weekend and still today. 

Hurricane Sandy saw to it that it rained everyday of last week, by Wednesday the dog was bouncing off the walls. She needed a walk so I took her both Thursday and Friday morning, in the rain. Yes we, the sissy dog that is afraid of rain and me the one with newly formed germs swirling around in my veins, walked in the rain. This is about three or four bad ideas already right?
 
I called my doctors office this morning, that hates me, my doctor doesn't hate me, the witches in the office however do not care if I live or die. My doctor is apparently 'booked up solid' the whole week. Which translates into 'we can't squeeze you in because that would involve extra work for us, we know we are in the health care profession but you sick people kind of throw off our day and we have stuff to do.' I was told to go to urgent care.

"Insert a string of profanity laced sentences here."

So now I sit and wait for my possible strep throat to mutant into a global catastrophic event. I, the host, plan to vote tomorrow come hell or high water or bubonic plague. So everyone watch out, I'm going out in public tomorrow and taking my germs with me.

Elevator Conversations

How the conversation actually went:
I stepped into the elevator on my way to my doctors office and pushed floor 3.
"The third floor? All the way to the top? What's up there?"
The old man who had pushed floor 2 smiled as he asked me. I responded,
"Girl stuff."
The elevator mercifully opened and he quickly stepped on to floor 2 shaking his head.
Hey he asked. I answered without elaboration.

How the conversation went in my head while I sat in the waiting room:
I stepped into the elevator on my way to my doctors office and pushed floor 3.
"The third floor? All the way to the top? What's up there?"
The old man who had pushed floor 2 smiled as he asked me. I responded in wide eyed disbelief,
"You don't know?"
And in turn the old mans eyes widened and said,
"Uhh no."
"Seriously? You're not fooling around with me are you?"
"No."
I looked at him and explained,
"I'm going to get my GPS chip inserted into my brain. Didn't you get your information packet?"
"Huh?"
I rolled my eyes and continued,
"Everyone is suppose to get a GPS chip in their brain. That way if you ever get kidnapped they'll be able to find you, no matter where you are, they will always know. It's just minor outpatient brain surgery. Actually they put it in the brain stem. They only have to shave a little bit of your hair and that will grow back but you'll still be able to see the tattoo."
"Tattoo?"
"You don't know about that either? They tattoo 666 on the back of your head."
"Who?"
"The global government. It's in it's early stages but should be in effect by 2015. You really should get up to speed on this, if you miss the deadline they put an extra 6 back there."
"Huh?"
"Hey? You're not one of those right wing Christian nut jobs are you, that think you're going to disappear and your clothes, jewelry and dental work will be piled neatly were you stood?"
The elevator mercifully opened and he quickly stepped on to floor 2 shaking his head.

See what happens when my words bottle up in my head? That elevator conversation will stay in my head unless someone really deserves it, like the man at the Cleveland Clinic. If I should ever run into that smart ass again, I'll try to make him pee his pants.

Sometimes life turns you into a different direction

Due to certain tragic events in my family I have lost my funny bone. I have no idea how long it will last. But this will give me a chance to work on some serious stuff and my novel. I will be writing to keep myself busy and will stay alert on the dog walks. I'll take notes and keep an eye on the neighborhood.
Until then my friends.

A new character in the Kookamongaville cast

The garbage man has managed to take a reoccurring role in the neighborhood drama I've created in my head. He is a Friday character as Friday morning is garbage day. My observations have revealed he is a real go-getter.
We live on a corner lot and he parks his garbage truck on the street next to the side of my house. This area is part of mine and the dogs route, nice guy, I wave to him every Friday morning. I can't speak to him unless I yell because the garbage truck is loud. And I never engage in conversation with anyone in the morning so I'm certainly not going to yell, just a friendly wave.
I'm sure this all sounds normal to you so far and it does to me too. Let's get to why I have classified him as a Kookamongaville character. It's the go-getter part that leads to his kookamonga tendencies. Apparently he has a certain start time but arrives early. Why does he arrive early? Well he has to apply his sunscreen. And then he has to do some stretching. Swear to God, hand on the bible he looks like he's getting ready for a football game. Running in place, loosening up his neck and swinging his arms around. This garbage man takes his job seriously and for that I admire him but he still fits well in my neighborhood.
The pajama man gave me a hearty 'Good Morning" last week which makes me think that he probably has a few good years left in him. We haven't been able to get to his street this week because there is a new dog walker that keeps getting in my way. He started down the pajama mans street and with it being a culdesac I didn't want to get trapped with our dogs barking at each other. And I prefer my arms in their sockets.
The Russian woman has me slightly concerned. I've mentioned before that she slowly swims laps around the perimeter of the pool non-stop, but I also run into her about once a week on the morning walk. I don't know if all Russians are taught to march before they learn to walk and it's a hard habit to break once you've reached the free world but she is a marcher. And this week she caused my eyebrows to rise. Dressed in a blue dress with a magenta sweater, tennis shoes and socks, she was marching around my beloved, now closed, pools parking lot. Her arms bent at her elbows moving back and forth in unison. She had her big sunglasses on and a baseball cap slightly a skewed and resting on her shades. She said good morning in her thick Russian accent. I could barely see her face, she's up to something. I will continue to keep an eye on her and eventually work up the nerve to ask her to say, 'moose and squirrel'.
So the garbage man has a guest roll in the on going neighborhood mayhem. Welcome garbage man, you crazy bastard.

She's a smart dog

A couple weeks ago the condominium people behind my house placed two Pet Waste Stations in their little condo sanctuary. The dog and I walk back there most mornings and I took note every time we past them. I told the dog,
"You know I have to blog about these eventually, right?"
There are instructions with pictures as to how to dispose of dog poop. I've seen these Pet Waste Stations before so it isn't just the condo people that are assumed stupid, it's the whole world.
This morning we past the first one and I decided I couldn't pass by the next, I had to take a picture and it was going to be today. Taking pictures of Pet Waste Stations and all the other strange things I see in the world don't phase me anymore. If someone looks at me weird I just tell them
"I'm a blogger."
They look at me with uncertainty and then look away. So I got my phone ready, because it takes me a while to find the right buttons to take a picture, especially when I only have one hand free.

With the phone in camera mode I started to center the Pet Waste Station in the view finder when I noticed the dog. I could not believe what I was seeing and could not believe that I got a picture of it. She was taking the Pet Waste Station seriously. So the picture is a little out of focus because I was laughing, to myself I didn't let her see.
I now have first hand experience with Pet Waste Stations and I can tell you that it's great to have some where to quickly dispose of a bag of poop. I do have one complaint. The bags that are provided are similar to those in the produce section at the grocery store and we all know how hard it is to open them. I'm still going to bring my own bag on our walks.
 

How much does a taser cost?

The early morning dog walking routine isn't working the way I had envisioned. I thought it would be the bright and sunny start of my day. The dog and I would stroll through the neighborhood, I would clear my head and ponder the day ahead of me. Instead terror lurks around every corner.

There are only certain streets we can walk on, the rest have been deemed unsafe. Because those streets have loose dogs. What can get your heart racing faster than a Chinese Badminton Olympian hell bent on loosing? A loose dog running out from behind it's house and heading straight for you. I've ruled out carrying pepper spray because it might get my dog too, so now I want a taser. Do you have to go to a special school to carry a taser? Do I have to get a permit? I'll look into it before I start tasering loose dogs. But taser them I will, if permitted.

Also I have to be ever vigilant for the fear of running into a bunny or a deer. They may seem harmless to you but the deer cross the street and never look both ways. Therefore crossing our path and putting the dog into hunt and kill mode. Same with the bunnies, if the dog sees one before I do, I will be caught off guard and she will literally take off after it and if she could, take my arm with her.

Then last week there was a new development on the pajama mans street. We save that street for the end of the week because it has the most promise for mayhem. It's definitely not a street for a Monday morning when I think I'm going to think of something brilliant to write. It's more of a Friday street, when I'm thinking of my grocery list. We made it past the pajama mans house without incident. Up ahead a few houses as we were walking the dogs ears perked up, she slowed her pace to cautious steps and she looked at it, and so did I.
Unable to make out anything but a silhouette, we saw an ominous form sitting near a mailbox. I could see what had to be pointed ears, they twitched first the right then the left and they were too for away from each other to be a cat. Unless it was a cougar, but the rest of the body did not fit a cougars physique. So I came to the conclusion it was some unknown species that escaped from a secret government facility and we slowly turned around, headed home looking over my shoulder every 10 seconds as we walked. The creature made no move. 
We made it home safely that day. But I feel that I should be armed with more than my cell phone and a plastic poop bag for our walks. How much do tasers cost and can I get them on eBay?

It's time to talk about what goes on in the bathroom?

I beg to differ. I don't think there's ever going to be a time to discuss, with total strangers, what goes on in the bathroom. But apparently toilet paper commercials do think it's time. I don't need to see cartoon bears with toilet paper pieces stuck to their butts. How do we even know if they use toilet paper. I highly doubt it, especially since we are not even sure if a bear actually does $h!t in the woods.
Is the toilet paper commercial subliminally using the saying, 'Does a bear $h!t in the woods?' By using bears in the woods in their commercials? You would have to admit that is a little clever. But a momma bear holding up a pair of underoos to inspect....
STOP!
Bring back Mr. Whipple.
He brought dignity to toilet paper commercials and never actually let on what toilet paper was for because we all knew. Just tell us it's 2-ply and soft, that's all we need to know. Listen to me toilet paper companies and listen good. I will not buy your toilet paper if you refer to railroad tracks, ever.

I figured out the Olympics

I figured out their crazy commercial system they have going on. No one had to explain it to me although it's probably common knowledge. I'd sit down to watch TV and of course nothing is on except the Olympics, so I decide to watch. Switching to the Olympic channel there is a commercial on and then another. I think I sat through 27 commercials before I saw an Olympic event.
Okay, alright, here we go, I'm watching the 2012 Olympics. I took a sip of my Pepsi and reclined in my chair. We were in the track and field area and I was hoping I'd get to see some big guys throwing stuff. But no they were getting ready to show us a race, the 100 yard dash. That's what I call it because I refuse to conform to the metric system like the rest of the world and I'm rock solid on this issue because math is hard.
Obviously the object of the 100 yard dash is to win in the least amount of seconds and milli-seconds as possible. The race is really, really fast so I ask myself, 'what will they show us next?'
A commercial.
A commercial? Hey! I just watched 238 commercials, 15 seconds of the Olympics and you're going to show me more commercials? I don't think so. I debated whether I wanted to get out the LOST DVD's, all 6 seasons, I've been saving them for a rainy day. It would be fun to watch from the beginning now that I know the secrets of the smoke monster. The problem is it just won't rain. I ended up on FaceBook.
I tried watching again a few days later, Men's Volleyball, I wrote about it here. We, the husband and I tried to figure out, well I express some interest in the game, the husband had his finger on the remotes 'change the channel' button. I realized as the game progressed there were no commercials.
Doh!
The network has to get so many commercials in during the airing of the Olympics. So race, commercial, race, commercial, vault, commercial, balance beam, commercial and then an entire game of volleyball. See how that works? I guess it makes sense but I'm not going to sit through 549 commercials unless Jesus is giving a speech.

I sat on a bee

There are a few childhood trauma's I can think of that have stayed with me throughout the years. Getting lost is one because I got lost when I was a kid and the whole neighborhood was looking for me. They found me.
The dramatic incident that still freaks me out to this very day is when I stepped on a bee's nest. It is all somewhat of a blur, I just remember running in my red cowgirl boots. I had seen the cartoons, so I knew a funnel shaped cloud of angry bees was right behind me. There was a bee in my boot but I kept running towards the safety of my house. I'm sure I was screaming and I have no idea what happened to the kids I was playing with. I scared the crap out of my parents and grama as I reached the door, letting in a couple bees with me. 
Bees freak me out. Not so much seeing them, I can swish them away with my hands, that doesn't bother me. But getting stung is another story. Perhaps it's because it's such a shock that the memory comes flying back to the front of my brain. Out of no where instant pain. A violation of my space, the bastards.
Friday the husband, Boy #3 and I went to pick out flooring for the renovation of Boy #3's downstairs bedroom. He's been waiting for this room for years but had to wait for his two older brothers to move out. The joy on his face as being the last bird in the nest is bright enough to light up the deep dark depths of a coal mine. Back to me. We used two cars to load up this stuff so of course my doors were open for a while. Once loaded, I jumped in my car like I always do and I felt a pinch on my thigh, not my butt. It intensified and I freaked out as the husband and Boy #3 watched.
Their brows furrowed as I stood in the parking lot holding the back of my thigh, crying and swiping away invisible bees that I was sure were swarming around me.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
That's all I got from them until I told them I sat on a bee. The husband tried to look concerned and Boy #3 checked the inside of my car. He told me it was clear and said,
"Get home and take some Benedryl, I'll be right behind you."
One of the longest 7 mile trips I ever drove. I drive a stick so there's a lot of movement involved in driving. I could feel the bees venom seeping into my veins. I didn't even know if the stinger was out. The last time I got stung I couldn't take the stinger out, the husband had to do it. So I cried some more.
By the time I got home I was convinced I was going to loose my leg. The boy was right behind me just like he said he would be. But I had to wait for the husband, who adheres to the speed limit, to inspect what I was sure to be a gaping wound on the back of my leg.
"I don't see a stinger."
"Are you sure?"
"It's just red and swelling. Did you take Benedryl?"
"Yes."
He smiled a little, he knew I'd be whacked out on the couch soon.
"Put some baking soda on it and calm down."
He left me there and couldn't help thinking about that day my mom took my red cowgirl boot off and a bee flew out. I clinged to her as my grama chased the bee with a rolled up newspaper. She smacked the crap out of it, knowing I wouldn't relax unless I knew it was dead. And then they both, my mom and my grama fussed over me, covering me in baking soda goop. I guess part of my paranoia is knowing I have to take care of myself. I guess I miss being a little girl running around in red cowgirl boots.

A head clearing, light hearted stroll

First of all somebody tell this dog that our early morning walks are suppose to be head clearing, light hearted strolls. Yesterday she took off after another bunny, whereby yanking my arm almost out of it's socket yet again. This time I wasn't able to hold on and the dog became perplexed. Maybe it was the words coming out of my mouth so early in the morning or she really loves me and would rather stay with me then kill. It's hard to say but she didn't make me chase her through the neighborhood and for that I'm grateful. I do fear though, the next bunny we encounter may be when she finally rips off my arm.
And I thought my neighbors and I had an unspoken early morning, dog walking schedule, apparently not. The 9:30 walker was right in front of my house at my scheduled time of 7:30 and all hell broke loose. The dog has her favorites in the development, like her boyfriend next door. He escapes regularly to visit her and pee on our bushes. I think it's a sign of affection when he hikes his leg up and leaves her something to remember him by.
But he was part of the mayhem outside my door this morning. An unscheduled dog walker with one of my dogs arch rivals, in front of my house and an escapee trying to impress her by boldly jumping up the steps to wiz on my flower pots. She didn't know what to do, caught between emotions and all. On one paw she had to bark to defend her territory, she couldn't show weakness but I could tell she really wanted to take a whiff of those flower pots.
This is all happening and I'm barely awake. We waited on the steps for the unscheduled one to pass by and the barking from both sides ended. Then we herded Romeo back to his yard, secured him inside his fence and continued what we started, a head clearing, light hearted stroll.

I'm probabaly not going to let this end of the world thing go anytime soon.

I've figured out what's going on with this drought. It's all part of the events that lead up to the end of the world. If you will notice your lawn and the affect the drought has had on it, you'll smack yourself in the head and say, "Doh" too.
The lack of rain and the drying up of our lawns has made the earth start to recede from the edges of the sidewalks, driveways and streets. Some parts of earth are starting to form cracks, the jagged ones you see on TV. Obviously this is the start of the earth breaking up and swallowing mailboxes first, then cars, houses and finally large buildings. The 'step on a crack and break your mothers back' saying from when we were kids takes on a whole new scary meaning here. Stay away from the cracks!
I'm not sure where the Zombies fit into the earth swallowing everyone up, perhaps they will be roaming the earth before it is destroyed and fall in the cracks with the rest of you. And if you were wondering in case of Rapture, yes you can have my fries.

A Chapter from the Poolside Chronicles

"You should probably put on sunscreen."
And she didn't even take her nose out of her book. Get right on out of here. I heard this mom tell her kids at the pool and it warmed my heart. Those of you who read my blog regularly know I have pool/sunscreen issues. Here is a link to my rant last year about this time.
It just makes way too much sense to put the sunscreen on the children before you get to the pool especially the really young ones that can't do it themselves. But once they develop some motor skills they should be able to handle sunscreen. And this mom understands it. She told them once and if they chose to listen or not, so be it, burn kid I have to finish this chapter.
What we have here is a mom willing to let go just a little bit and let her children take on responsibility. She's not a helicopter mom, a hoverer of offspring. It's refreshing to see a mom indifferent to whether her kids gets sunburn. And I'm guessing her kids are quick learners because they took her advice and used the sunscreen. Or she rules with an iron fist and they are scared of her. Either way she totally gets my need for some peace while poolside.

Garage Sale Hell

Well now my tan is uneven. Two days of sitting in my driveway with no shade, selling my wares has ruined all my hard work at the pool. I'm not basking in the glorious sun while poolside. I'm sweltering amongst my tables of household item, tools, old fish tanks and a Sega Video Council with 6 games for one low price of ten bucks. What a hoot. Somebody pinch me I think I've died and gone to heaven. But why is it so hot here? Huh. I must be in Garage Sale hell. 
Yes, that would be the way to describe it. I guess I shouldn't complain we've made $5.50 so far today. I can buy a Venti Mocha at Starbucks with that kind of cash and leave a tip. The glass is half full.
By popping up that Garage Sale sign I've also left myself vulnerable to the kookamonga neighbors. I'm a sitting duck. We just had a lady here that instead of parking her car on the side of the road, which is Garage Sale protocol, she decided to pull into the driveway. Normally a car fits in a driveway, it's what they are for. But as I said earlier we have tables full of crap on each side. She thought, well maybe she didn't really put much thought into browsing while still in her car. She just did it. And she drove into our fish tank. Doh. This is a Garage Sale without a drive-thru. I don't know what she's use to in her own little world but I'm pretty sure my Home Owner Association forbids drive-thru windows.
Shortly after that woman a couple stopped by to shop and they spoke in another language while discussing the items on one of the tables. If you stop by my Garage Sale speak English the whole time you are here not just when you want to know if I'll take 10 cents for something that is priced 25 cents. And what do you want that pocket knife for anyway, you know they aren't going to let you on a plane with it.
Garage Sales make me cranky.

When Deer Attack

They don't do that do they? Just the other day my mom asked me if I see any deer out on mine and the dogs morning walks.
"No mom, never see any in the morning. They walk the streets at night but stay in the woods during the day."
And when I say they walk the streets at night, I mean it. If I'm out on a bike ride at dusk Deer Crossing takes on a whole new meaning. Several times I've had to slam on my brakes because deer have decided to run across the road. And they don't look both ways.
You can imagine my surprise when out on our walk this morning I saw a deer. I cursed, really bad words because I know the dog doesn't like the deer. I've been paying attention more during our walks ever since the bunny chasing incident. But I do have my daydreaming to think about, it's an important part of my morning.
Every time I've turned a corner this summer a new threat arises. The kookamonga list is growing and I'm constantly on guard. So again I'll ask, if a dog gets close to a deer and starts barking does the deer run in fear or attack? If I survive a deer attack imagine the blog post I'll get from that.

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Our website is progressing. Take a look at my ad in the left column and click on it. Let me know what you think of my creation. www.tapettreasures.com
 

The neighborhood is slowly spiraling out of control

I don't think anyone has notice the subtle yet alarming signs that the neighborhood is loosing its grip on reality. Either they do not have the astute sense of awareness that I do or I need to get out more. I've lived in this development for 19 years, have been poolside every summer and never have a couple of ducks landed in a crowded pool for a swim.

I took my face out of the book I'm reading to help make me a more better writer and saw the second one land. Since I see old men walking down the road in pajamas, people carrying canoes on the sidewalk, mailboxes being slaughtered and my neighbors partying in their boat that is still parked in the driveway, swimming with ducks shouldn't surprise me. But like a good blogger I got up and said,

"Well I better take a picture of this."

They are hard to see because I couldn't see the screen on my phone. I had to crop out my fingers and I circled them in red but for some reason the red circle is not showing up. But that's them by the second black line in the pool and yes that's a kid underwater swimming towards them but he's not in a pool of blood it's the blur of one of my fingers.

 

The dog's trying to kill me

"The dog's trying to kill me."
These are the first words the husband hears when he wakes up this morning. From me in the shower as he enters the bathroom. Because something as serious as this can be said before coffee. Not much can be said before someone rolls out of bed and hasn't even approached the coffee maker but the dog is trying to kill me. I saw no problem in breaking protocol. He responded,
"Okay."
He knows that I know that he knows I'm going to tell him what happened no matter what he said so he kept it simple. I knew the dog was outside of the bathroom door listening but didn't care. I began to tell him about my morning.
Forty-five minutes before my alarm was set to rouse me from my slumber the dog jumped up on the bed. This woke up me and my bladder. I laid there thinking that maybe I could just fall back to sleep. The dog found a comfortable spot, half of my pillow, and waited for the alarm while I drifted off. Unfortunately someone dared walk past our house, ears perked, low growl, the dog took off to the living room using my stomach as her jumping point. I've never been punched in the stomach before but I kind of have the gist of what it might feel like now. I then had to get up to pee.
I didn't fall back to sleep but I was pissed so I made the dog wait until my radio went off. This is her cue to start the "we're going on a walk" dance. Our walks are a time for me to put my day together, think out loud with the dog as my sounding board. She doesn't listen to me because she has to sniff everything. But at least it looks like I'm talking to someone, not just wandering the neighborhood talking to myself. We have a few different routes we take in the morning and this morning we went off the beaten path, because that's the way we roll, and walked around the tennis court, by the pool and the woods.
I had my walking flip flops on because its June and I won't put a sock on until sometime in September maybe. We rounded the corner and she saw it before I did. A bunny. They must be an easy prey because to really likes to chase them with vengeance. She caught one a few weeks ago and now has the taste for bunny blood coursing through her veins. I, on the other hand, have no desire to chase bunnies.
What started out as a lack of communication ended up with my arm yanked so hard from the leash that my feet flew out from under me. I landed on my left side and was dragged about a foot on the moist, from the early morning dew, grass. I don't know how I managed to keep hold of the leash as the dog continued to yank trying to get into the woods to hunt her some wabbits.
After the initial shock, I regained my senses and stood up. That was a good sign, being able to stand. I got the dog under control and away from the woods. Also a good sign, I could walk. I ruled out the emergency room on our way home. Everything on my left side hurts but I don't think I have a torn rotator cuff or will need Tommy John surgery.
At some point during the retelling of my morning the husband had snuck out of the bathroom and I was in the shower talking to myself. When I walked out he asked,
"So are you okay?"
"No. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"Sure."
"Okay, just let me go Spray and Wash the grass stains on my jeans and hoodie and I'll be right back."
As the day goes by the left side of me becomes sore and stiff. You just don't fall down like that and bounce back after a certain age. So far the dog and I have been getting along, we are just staying out of each others way. But I am avoiding going near the steps.

FaceBook, What's for dinner?

I'm cranky today.
Swear to God, hand on the bible, if one more person on FaceBook posts what they are having for dinner I'm unfriending them. Unless they are one of my CastleVille neighbors, then I have to put up with it because I need five more people to recruit for the crew in my Royal Manor. But the rest of you......
I really don't give a flying rats ass what someone is having for dinner. It's all they post, 
"Chicken and mashed potato's with a salad tonight yummy."
That is the extent of their post. Who the hell cares? Bring me a plate and then maybe I'll click the like button. But if that's all you have to write just stop yourself and go eat. And yes Mr. Spell Check I am quite aware the word unfriending perplexes you but in the FaceBook community it is an empty threat used often.
I'm really glad I got that off my chest, it's been bothering me for some time. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go amerce myself in the wonderfully aggravating world of Search Engine Optimization. Yes I am building a website and would like it to been seen not just sit in cyberspace. It isn't launched yet but I will shamelessly plug in now, www.tapettreasures.com.
And if anyone is interested as what I plan for dinner tonight, it will be Ho Ho's and Pepsi, yummy.

How about that yard work, huh.

I'm moving to a condo because yard work sucks. Boy #1 is helping me with the weeding, raking, shoveling and sweeping clean up, we're having such a great time.
At this very moment we are both hopped up on Benedryl. He started sneezing and something bit me, three times. I have three huge red welts, two on my elbow and one on my leg. I'm quite certain I'm inches from death. I don't know if the reason I can't straighten my elbow is because of the bug poison coursing through my veins or my tendinitis.
I really need to meet with writing success soon so I can hire someone to do this shhh...stuff for me. Benedryl in the middle of the day, what a dumb idea. I need a nap. Boy #1 has already succumbed to it's woozy side effects.
I'll start another paragraph but I forgot what else I was going to write, huh.

Welcome to Kookamongaville, I will be your Captain

The neighbors are practically writing this blog for me. These guys moved in during the winter or they've been here a couple years, not sure. But they bought a boat this spring. It isn't uncommon to see a boat in a neighbors driveway, it's a lake community. What is uncommon is to see the neighbors and their friends sitting in the boat drinking beer.
For the past three weekends the neighbors have had their friends come over, we know this because of the extra cars parked on the street, and party like it's 1999. In the boat while it remains in their driveway. I don't care what anybody says, that's going to draw some attention, specifically mine.
"I have to get a picture of these guys."
And then I heard a collective,
"NO!"
"But................"
"NO!"
"You don't see this sort of behavior often, it needs to be made fun of, pointed out and on my blog."
"They're drinking and they out number us, mom put the camera away." 
They had a good argument, so I took a picture of it empty on a Monday morning and decided to paint the rest of the picture myself.
That is a Pontoon boat, which is also know as a party boat. People, most people, float out to the middle lake and party. I've never seen one of them driving very fast, they usually just meander to a spot, drop anchor and pop open a few cold ones. Swim a little, eat some snacks and pop open a few cold ones. I'm pretty sure when you buy one of these Pontoons they come stocked with beer.
I'm not sure where my neighbors heads are going with this new boat/driveway concept but you can be sure I will be keeping an eye on the situation as it unfolds. I am the Captain of Kookamongaville after all.

The home of the strange and the land of the weird

There are times when I need to leave the safe confines of my neighborhood to find inspiration for a blog post. WalMart. But not in the last couple weeks. Seven kinds of crazy have been wandering around in bathrobes, mailboxes have been flying through the air and now people are walking canoes down the street. I love my neighborhood and all the kookamongas that live here.

We live in a lake community so it isn't really, really weird to see people taking a canoe for a walk it's just that they are going in the opposite direction of the shore. I'm sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this type of behavior and I've seen stranger things walk down my side of the street, but who wouldn't take a picture of this?

And then make fun of it?

So I have a new mailbox now

I believe there was a hit taken out on my mailbox. Under the shroud of darkness Saturday night the unmistakable sound of my mailbox being smacked startled me at 10:30 pm. Boy #3 and I were the only ones home. We both knew what happened as soon as we heard it and ran out the front door. Because that's the way we roll, him with his golf club and me in my slippers. We saw nothing but the remnants of our mailbox scattered on the lawn with only its post sticking out of the ground. We looked up and down the street, remained outside waiting to see if anyone would come back to confess but it was not to be. It was a vicious assault nothing more.
Because of my outspoken posts of mailbox vandalism here and here, I believe my mailbox became a target. My freedom of speech is under attack! I guess I'm reaching more readers than I thought. Which is a way to look at the whole experience in a positive way I suppose.
As you can see in the picture, having three boys is coming in handy, the husband didn't have to lift a finger during the installation of the new mailbox.
It's has been a pleasure to wake up in the morning and see that it is still standing too.

The man in the pajamas

I couldn't help myself. I see a man walking in his pajamas and it's like a huge magnet pulling me towards the unknown dangers that might be waiting on that street. And it's a culdesac I could get trapped there. But the dog and I have been back twice since we passed the man walking down the middle of the road with his bathrobe belt dragging behind him.
We saw him both times at his house. The first walk by was Friday. On our way into the foreboding culdesac he sat in a lawn chair, pajama clad, smoking a cigarette. Now that's a normal look to me, obviously he isn't allowed to smoke in the house. We all said, "Good Morning."
Really after just rolling out of bed, throwing some clothes on while the dog bounces off the walls, Good Morning is about all you're going to get out of me. Even if we're related and haven't seen each other in 25 years at old Uncle Ned's funeral, Good Morning is all I have until coffee and a shower. I won't even understand you nor remember what you said, don't even try.
Our second walk into the abyss, today, we didn't see him until our way out. He must have finished his cigarette and he was in the process of putting his American Flag in it's post. Good Mornings were exchanged. And I took note that yes, he was in his bathrobe.
I have deemed him a non-threat and reasonably sane. I think we caught him on an off day when he looked like he had just escape a nursing home walking down the road in his jammies and light jacket. He has the presence of mind to know how to take care of the American Flag. So cut him some slack people.

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Now I will attempt to post this. Blogger has decide to screw with that which isn't broken. All my buttons and whistles are cut-off so I'm just guessing at which one says save or publish.
I'm also posting from an undisclosed location. I needed to get out of my office for a few hours and I needed a mocha.

I'm treading very carefully here because I understand how Karma works

Apparently it's perfectly acceptable to take an early morning walk on Clipper Cove in your pajamas, robe and a light jacket. I might be avoiding that street on future walks. Let me tell you why.

1. The elderly man in his pajamas with his robe tie-around dragging on the ground and knit hat haphazardly a skewed on top of his head was a bit unsettling.
B. The dog looked back at me and I know she was thinking about all the time we could save in the morning if I would just stop looking for a pair of jeans and go out in my PJ's and a light jacket.

As we passed each other he said good morning and I the same. I processed the vision for about 50 feet then looked back and he was gone. I'm treading very carefully here because I understand how Karma works. So instead of being faced with the situation again I'm going to ignore and avoid. And focus my attention on the mailbox mayhem.
Two days after I found evidence of my mailbox being assaulted (see mailbox mayhem link) my neighbors was too and I have pictures. You don't take out a mailbox on my street and not get your picture taken. Especially when you give me 3 chances to get my camera. He kept driving back to the scene of the crime. Once to get his mirror and then to pick up the mail that had burst out of the mailbox, shove it back in the box and try to place the mailbox back on its perch. So that's 2 mailboxes in one week. I have things to do and can't be taken pictures of evil-doers. Keep your eyes on the road when you're in my neighborhood. We have children playing, people walking dogs and old men wandering around in their pajamas for God's sake.

Don't make me get my flying monkeys

You smack your cars driver side mirror backing out of the garage one time and you're labeled for life? A Car Drivers Side Mirror breaker? Labeled by those that you carried in your womb for nine, give or take, months?
The dog and I went out for our usual morning walk. We both took notice at the remnants of a cars side mirror. The dog sniffed the mailbox and I inspected it, we deemed it fit. Somebody had hit our mailbox with their cars side mirror. Being somewhat of an expert on the plastic pieces and parts that make up those mirrors I deduced that we had all the outside parts and there is somebody driving around the neighborhood with only the guts of their passenger side mirror and 7 years of bad luck.
With my one time incident, I only popped off the big plastic piece on the back and broke a few pieces around the mirror. The mirror remains intact and so are my next 7 years, hopefully. I gathered the fragments of the late night assault on our mailbox and left them on the grass, thinking the out of control driver might want them back. I even thought that if it was a little warmer outside I might set up a lawn-chair to see if anyone drove by looking suspicious and without a mirror on the right side of their car. I wanted to say 'hey what the hell'...... in a non-confrontational way. But like I said it was a little chilly out.
The day then carried on as usual with me striving to meet with writing success and the dog napping. I then began to prepare dinner for my beloved family. First to come home from work was Boy #3. He walked in the door with a smirk on his face and asked,
"Hey mom, what'd you do to your car?"
I looked his way as he tried to suppress a smile, I pointed my finger at him and said,
"That isn't from my car. Some moron hit our mailbox. Why would you think it was my mirror?"
"Uhh... because I'm the one that put your mirror back together the last time you crashed into the garage."
As I was explaining my almost perfect driving record while slaving over the stove Boy #2 walked in the door, grinning and asked,
"What uhh.... what'd you do to your car mom?"
"It isn't from my car! Some idiot hit our mailbox!"
They both continued to grin. This was going to go on all evening, I know my boys.
"Go back your car out of the garage so we can see for sure."
"Wait! Maybe you better let one of us do it."
I continued to cook my gourmet meal for them and shook my wooden spoon in there faces. My eyebrows came together, my eyes narrowed into two menacing slits on my face and I started to ramble while swinging the wooden spoon,
"You two are alive because of me, carried you in my body for nine months. Labor, don't get me started on labor. 12 hours for each of you and no epidural. Tell me I'm a bad driver will ya? I taught you two how to drive."
They slowly started to plan there escape, well it's the same plan they always use, they separate. Every man for himself kind of plan. But before they were out of earshot I shouted out to them,
"Don't make me get my flying monkeys!"
I retold the story to my mother about finding the broken car part by my mailbox and she said,
"Oh I thought you were going to tell me you hit it."

Don't worry, I have everything under control

My obligatory Easter post is HERE on www.skirt.com, it's called Rockin' with the Jesus Hippies. So I didn't forget Easter or Jesus, they're just on another blog because I want to post about the Russians today. Is there a Russian Easter Bunny? Let's stay on topic.
The dog and I have several routes we take in the morning for our walks. Sometimes we run into the Russian Lady from the pool, she's branched out from her swimming regimen and has taken to walking. This makes me nervous because she can be anywhere any time of the day, just walking or spying around the neighborhood. I say "Good Morning" when I see her and she replies back in a thick Russian accent. I'm thinking of making friends with her this summer at the pool just to see if I can get her to say Moose and Squirrel. And if someone double dog dares me, I'll record it.
You have to admire a woman that will swim around the perimeter of a pool for two hours, not taking a break. She doesn't move very fast but she's got a slow and steady pace that one would think would take off a few pounds. And now I've been running into her on her morning walks and she still the same size. The only logical explanation is that she's a Russian spy. So I'll keep an I eye on her and perhaps she can fill the void that The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude left.

I never thought it would end this way

Risking the chance of blowing a gasket in my brain and smoke coming out of my ears, I will write my final post from The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude files. As you know if you have been following the files, The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude and 'her' have moved back to China leaving their incompetent relatives to run/ruin their business. They lost my four shirt.
I understand mistakes can be made. But am a customer, paying for a service and expect to be treated as though I have several active brain cells working simultaneously, therefore distancing myself from idiot status. In other words I know what the husbands shirts look like and I'm positive I know what size they are.
I picked up four shirts from my new dry cleaner. She's an Indian woman and easier to understand in person than on the phone. I've had conversations with her, in fact I think I've spoken to her more in the two times I've been there than I ever did at that old place. Not counting the recent yelling. She remembered our first phone conversation and knows me by name already and I think she is trying to recruit me as a volunteer salesman in my community. She's asked me to spread the word around about her Dry Cleaning. Anyone within the sound of my voice take her some dry cleaning. I don't want to search for another dry cleaner if she goes out of business.
I waited a week for the incompetent ones to call me. No call so I put the cleaned shirts in my car, these are the ones I had on the counter ready to drop off and pick up. But if you lose my shirts, I'm not going to leave you more to lose. I walked in the old place and the moment Incompetent Girl saw me she immediately gave me the four shirt she tried to pass off as mine originally. The ones that are 2 sizes to small and brown. The husband never wears brown. So I looked at her and in a loud but calm voice said,
"How many times do I have to tell you these are not my husbands shirts before you believe me?"
She responded by talking down to me,
"These are your shirt. My brother saw the sizes on the shirt you had on the counter and they are the same size as these."
So there you have, she struck a nerve, I blew a gasket, they started talking Chinese behind the counter and pointing at me. I went to my car, showed her my freshly washed and pressed shirts from my new dry cleaner and the size on each one. I looked her in her eyes and said,
"You are going to pay me for the four shirts you lost now."
And she wrote me a check.
It was a sad way to end my relationship with The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude files. I never thought it would end this way.

They lost my four shirt!

They lost my four shirt! Damn it, they lost my four shirt! I went to the dry cleaners formally known as The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dudes and their distant relatives that took over the store lost my four shirt. I knew something like this would happen. And I knew I would be forced to find a new dry cleaner. Gah! I have things to do.
I'm in the throws of a raging sinus infection and the antibiotics aren't working. This is nothing new for me but I feel like hell. So don't give me 'four shirt' that are 2 sizes smaller than the ones I dropped off and ask me if I'm sure they are not mine. And then don't ask me that two more times, cause I'm cranky.
Now apparently these distant relatives of my beloved Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude gave my 'four shirt' to somebody else. I have to wait to see if somebody else realizes he has the wrong 'four shirt' and brings them back or decides they are nicer than the ones he dropped off and keeps them. Since I'm not scared of these new dry cleaners I told them,
"You are going to pay me for 4 new shirts if I don't get these back."
Notice there wasn't a question mark punctuating that last statement. She responded,
"Yes."
If worse comes to worse I get to go shopping. Four new shirts for the husband and I should get myself something nice too. For the trauma I've suffered and the strain on my already weakened state.
Now the good news. I got on the internets and found a new dry cleaner, not to far away. But the best part.....wait for it........the woman that answered sounded ethnic. I could barely understand her and I don't think she understood me either. I'm so stoked.

Margarita-ville

I blew out my flip-flop. Stepped on a pop-top. Cut my heel had to cruise on back home. But there's booze in the blender. And soon it will render that frozen concoction that helps me hang on.
I don't visit Margarita-ville often and I suppose there's a reason. I like them, a lot. They are de-licious. I found myself in a Mexican restaurant, seated around a table with family and friends and a glass of that wonderful liquid in front of me. They go down so easy. We arrived hungry, a margarita on an empty stomach goes to work quick. So I shoveled down chips and salsa as fast as I could. I wanted a slight buzz and to also enjoy my dinner. But you make one slip like slurring your words or grinning and not being able to stop, friends and family pounce on your inebriated state and order more drinks. Before you know it you have a new full glass of de-licious frozen margarita with the salt around the rim of the glass waiting for you to slam it down.
Two of us at the table had no problem slamming them down, it was the standing up part that proved to be a challenge. Right Diane? We don't know who the people in the picture are but they were celebrating something and some dancing was involved, it wasn't me. I took the picture but was jealous I didn't get a hat. I would have liked a hat. I remember eating a lot and have a good time. Once in a while a trip to Margarita-ville is a really good idea. Right Diane?

Snot Preparedness Process

Everyone in the house was sick, they went down one after the other, except me. I remained snot free. I thought I was in the clear until yesterday. I now have a head full of snot. Being the number one caregiver in the house because no one else will do it and because it's in my nature to tell people what to do, I must take care of myself.
I have my beloved Nyquil so I'm not worried. But to make life easier and to keep from getting out of my warm bed in the middle of the night, over the years I've perfected a snot preparedness process before going to bed.
On my windowsill I place some tissues, a small glass of water and nasal spray. So when I wake up not being able to breath through my nose my tissues are right there so I can blow. Then I have a glass of water for the dry mouth I have from breathing through my mouth. Then I can snort the nasal spray, clearing my nasal passages without getting out of bed.
I urge you to try my system as I think it's a pretty good plan unless you have to pee. One warning though, I found this out the hard way. If you are immersed in the throws of a raging cold or the flu and your thought process is affected or you are working on a good Nyquil buzz, leave the nasal spray in the bathroom. This is why:
Half asleep in the middle of the night, not able to even recall the names of my children, I grabbed the nasal spray. I broke protocol and went right to step 3. I didn't even lift my head off my pillow, shoved the upside down bottle up my nose and shot the liquid straight to my brain. It burned my sinus cavities on the way. Once in there it dislodged several brain cells, rendering me an idiot. The brain cells are still in there slamming against the inside of my skull wondering what the hell happened. My eyeballs almost popped out of their sockets and I'm quite certain smoke came out of my ears. After the initial thrust into my brain the liquid then flowed down the back of my throat, scorching my esophagus as it made it's way to my stomach where it settled only to make me nauseated. At that point I had to get out of bed to first throw up and then to make sure everything on my face was where it was suppose to be. I was happy to see my eyes still in their sockets. But I looked like hell. I made myself worse.
I hope I've helped some of you during this cold and flu season. Oh and don't tell my mom about this post, she gets mad when I say snot.

Uh, what we miss?

There are times in our lives when the stars align in such a way that circumstances beyond our control happen in perfect order, leaving us standing with our mouths hung open, speechless asking ourselves,

"Did that really just happen?"
Several years ago I asked Boy #2 what he wanted for his 12th birthday and he replied,
"I want one of those T-Shirts that says, 'can't sleep clowns will eat me' in black."
And then he rattled off a list of video games. I'm the one that showed him the T-Shirt because I thought it was pretty damn funny. I ordered it and we got it in time for his birthday. He wore it all the time and received a lot of comments and laughs.
One afternoon I had all three boys with me and we had to stop for gas. The gas station had a Subway in it and we were hungry. But Boy #1 and Boy #3 wanted Burger King which was right next door. I gave them money to buy their beloved cheeseburgers and Boy #2, with his 'can sleep clowns will east me' t-shirt on, and I went into the gas station to order some subs.
The cashier, a young kid probably 17 or 18, saw the T-Shirt,
"Oh my God, that's too funny." And he called the other employees over to see the T-Shirt. Other customers took a look see also. We all had a good laugh and returned to our designated duties, them working and us ordering subs.
Still with grins on our faces we glanced at the entrance of the store and everyone's face froze. A clown walked in, hand on the bible, honest to God, a clown walked in to use the restroom. I suppose she's used to people staring at her because it didn't phase her that the entire store of customers and employees followed her every move wide eyed and dumb struck.
Once in the bathroom with the door closed behind her we all spoke at once,
"Oh my God."
"That was a clown."
"Did you see that?"
"Are you kidding me?"
"What are the odds?"
And all eyes went to Boy#2 and somebody told him to run because the clown was going to eat him. The laughter ensued. When the clown came out of the ladies room we all whipped our heads back to what we were doing, whistling away and looking up at the ceiling as she made her exit. I stood in front of Boy #2 the whole time, hiding his shirt. No body is going to eat my kid.
That was when Boy #1 and Boy#3 walked in and saw everyone in the store laughing,
"Uh, what we miss?"

From the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude Files #OMG - WTF

And so it ends my friends, The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude and her are staying in China. I didn't even get a chance to say good-bye. This is truly a sad day for me and my blog. This will be my final Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude post, unless the new Chinese people get a personality.
How can they do this to me? Why would Chinese immigrants leave their communist homeland to live the American Dream and then go back to a one party dictatorship? How does that make sense?
I had heard rumors that they were gone from my mother, who's friend heard that they were gone for good. Refusing to believe, I PM'ed her friends daughter on FaceBook who confirmed the rumor to be true. And then I braved our current blizzard of 2012 to see and hear for myself.
The new Chinese girl and I actually carried on a conversation, she understood everything I said and pronounced my name correctly. So you can see why I'm so upset. My next stop was the liquor store to pick up a bottle of raspberry vodka. I plan to get a good buzz going and read my old From the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude Files posts tonight. I will raise my glass of raspberry vodka and orange juice, which is by far the best booze concoction that has ever past my lips, and toast two of the best characters any blogger can run across.
Farewell my Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude and her, farewell.

Planning for the End of the World

I'm not an alarmist, I'm a thinker.
I spent a week recuperating on the couch watching movies. Movies from the library and movies on TV. What happened to me during this drug induced fog, I'm not sure. But I'm quiet certain the end is near.

I watched Knowing, Armageddon, 2012, oh and Iron Man 2, Robert Downey Jr. is awesome. The three end of the world movies have me perplexed. I'm just not sure which way to go with my preparations. Will it be an asteroid? Will the sun melt us all except for the children that can hear the voices and are saved by the aliens? Or is the Earths core going to erupt and send the tectonic plates in a raging uproar?

With any scenario I'm, well let's face it, we, are pretty screwed. That's why I decided that first I need to find someone who can fly a plane, a big plane. So if you can fly a big plane 'friend me' on FaceBook. I want to be your BFF. I will also need one billion dollars. There is a button on the right column of my blog that says "Donate", click on that and be generous. You will need a PayPal account so get to it.
I'm not one to sit around waiting to kiss my ass good-bye, I'm a doer, a planner and a thinker. So I need to find where the aliens hang out and somehow convince them to beam me up, I'd be huge asset to the start up of the new world and mankind.
The asteroid thing concerns me. I don't know any oil-drillers or astronauts. And I'm not sure that building an underground bunker is going to work because according to Charlton Heston and I quote:
'This is the Earth, at a time when the dinosaurs roamed a lush and fertile planet.
A piece of rock just 6 miles wide changed all that.
It hit with the force of 10,000 nuclear weapons. A trillion tons of dirt and rock hurtled into the atmosphere, creating a suffocating blanket of dust the sun was powerless to penetrate for a thousand years. It happened before. It will happen again. It's just a question of when.'
Gah! I hope NASA and the best oil driller in the world are on top of this. We have the technology that the dinosaurs didn't.
The original Iron Man was better than Iron Man 2, which is always the case with a sequel I suppose. I'm also looking forward to seeing The Avengers, Robert Downey Jr. is in that as Iron Man. It comes out in May of this year and that being 2012. I'm sure we'll have time to see it before the mayhem starts. Pretty sure.

From the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude Files #815

I have everything figured out now. It took a while but the lights are all on and somebody's home....me. At least for this post, I'm playing with a full deck. The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude and 'her' are not back yet but I can explain why.
They are Chinese. We established this fact several posts ago. And they are in China to see their new grandchild. They have been gone for months and months, it's been worrisome for me. I depend on them for blogging material. I continue to check on them by asking the various family members when I stop in for my 4 shirt. Really there is never the same person behind that counter and language barrier is exhausting. But the last time I checked they will be back after the Chinese New Year which is at the end of January.
Back over at my other blog View of Sue information has been pouring into my brain and I didn't even know it. Being part of the Blog Chain from Absolute Write I've been reading some new blogs. Our prompt this month was Winter Nightmare. I read, I comment, I go on to the next blog and do it again.
Walking out of the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dudes yesterday I stopped in my tracks and said,
"Ohhh." And smacked myself in the head.
I remembered reading a post about having a baby in China here at a blog called Let's Get Happy. The author explains that it is Chinese custom when a baby is born one set of grandparents arrives at the new babies parents house and stay to help out. They stay for a month, maybe two and they are there 24/7. The horror!
So I put 2 and 2 together, The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude and 'her' have settled into the home of one of their children and taken over and I've estimated that they have overstayed their welcome big time.
I know I will walk in there one day and they will be back in their places with bright shining faces. I just hope I don't make a complete ass of myself and hug them and stuff. I miss them.