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.

The Leather Ladies

"Mom?"
"Don't stare, play on the swings."

16 years ago we moved into a lake community. Our various amenities included two beaches, two pools, boating docks, a couple playground. The main beach had a pool next to it and one of the playgrounds, a favorite hangout for moms with young children. You could spend the day there and then the kids would fall asleep as soon as their precious little heads hit the pillow. We spent a lot of time there. So did three old ladies. They would sit in their beach chairs at the waters edge for hours. Spreading tanning oil on their wrinkled skin. In their flowered, skirted bathing suits, with bright pink lipstick smeared on their faces. These three had fried themselves to the point beyond return, their skin resembled leather.
I haven't seen The Leather Ladies in years, one would have to assume they succumbed to skin cancer or spontaneous combustion. Raising my boys during those summer months became just a little bit easier because the The Leather Ladies.

"Mooommmm!"
"Stand still so I can put this sun screen on you. You don't want to look like The Leather Ladies do you?"

A Concentrated Cluster of Zits

That's kinda, sorta what the dermatologist was saying to Boy #3, but dermatologists refrain from saying zit. Boy #3 sat and listened intently as this guy began to explain the treatment for his concentrated cluster of, okay acne, on the back of his neck.

"Here's what I want you to do, I'm going to prescribe two acne washes, you'll switch off everyday, use this one first and be careful is has peroxide in it, it might bleach your hair, then use this one the next day, so you're switching back and forth with these, one day this one, one day the other one. Take these anti-inflammatories twice a day, but with food, they might make you nauseous. Then this topical cream, put it on after your shower, every day after you dry off. I'm going on vacation for two weeks so if you have any questions be sure to call me by the end of the week."

All this time he's directing most of the conversation to the teenage boy. And I have to say the teenage boy put on a good show. I know he stopped listening after he heard, "Here's what I want you to do." But I raised my boys to be polite and he maintained eye contact through the whole instruction speech. He even nodded his head a few times as if to convey a sense of understanding.
When the doctor left the exam room to get the nurse to bring in our fist full of prescriptions, Boy #3's facial expression changed, "I'm not doing all that."
"All what?"
"That."
"The $60.00 "specialist doctor" co-pay says you are. You know when you were four years old and had pink eye, I could have let you go blind in that eye, but no, I sat on you twice a day, had your brothers hold your arms and squeezed those drops in your eye. Don't make me call in the troops on this."

Remember the time we got locked in the nursing home and you freaked out?

It was a few years ago but damn it was funny. Mother-in-law had hip replacement surgery and had to convalesce in a nursing home for 3 weeks. Boy #2 and I went to visit her the day she was put in. It was later in the evening because we had to go to a school thing first.
The two of us walked in, the door shut behind us and then we saw the sign informing us of the visiting hours.
"Huh, we're late. Maybe they'll let us in since it's her first day."
In the lobby we were alone in dim lighting, office doors closed, no receptionist and a hustle and bustle going on beyond the swinging hospital doors which were locked.
"Huh, there are nurses there but they don't see us, I guess we'll have to come back tomorrow."
Boy #2 went to the front door that wouldn't open. "It's locked? Mom, it's locked."
I had to try it too, yep locked. At that time the ominous hospital door handle started to jiggle, we slowly turned around like they do in a horror movie. The jiggling grew stronger and a feeble, boney hand slowly rose up to the window, it's fingers tapped, tapped, tapped. Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle, tap, tap, tap. Boy #2 tried the door again with a renewed sense of urgency.
"One of us has to go to that door and get a nurses attention. And I'm pretty sure it has to me since you watch way too much TV and you've written us off already."
He sat on the couch and put his head in his hands.
"Look, there's a video camera monitoring us, wave your hands in front of it and get someones attention, I'll deal with death on the other side of this door."
He did as he was told, jumping up and down waving at the camera, mouthing the word HELP!
I went to the hospital door and slowly peered down through the window to find a little old lady in a wheel chair mouthing the word HELP. I asked her to get a nurse but she had a different agenda - escape.
Finally a nurse spotted me, she looked annoyed. "Visiting hours are over."
"We'll leave happily if you would just open the front door, it's locked, we're locked in."
She rattled off a security code and left. Oh there's a security key pad. Boy #2 and I stood in front of it, "What was that number again?" Fear had taken a strong hold on Boy #2 and he recited the number without hesitation.
"You can remember an eight digit number but can't remember to put you socks in the hamper?"

Damn That Rock in my Purse

Apparently the junk in my purse is worth a Citronella Reed Diffuser Kit. I'll never take those silly assed games at Bridal Showers lightly again. I tied for third place in the Bridal Shower Purse Game or more commonly known as Crap You Carry Needlessly Around 24/7 in Your Purse Game. Hand Sanitizer and Band Aids are worth 7 points each. I got 10 points for a Q-tip and 12 points for my library card. Huh. Those little sewing kits that no one ever uses but can never, ever be disgarded - 15 points. I think what put me in my tie for third was the rock, it was worth 20 points. Yes, I have a rock in my purse, I need that extra weight to make me miserable or it's a good luck rock, can't remember.
Now I have a Citronella Reed Diffuser Kit to ward off mosquito's. Which is awesome except for the fact that I have no patio furniture to go with it. You know what this means don't you? We're going to have to turn into one of those families that spends time together outside instead of in front of the TV. I'll probably have to start drinking wine and entertaining the neighbors instead of drinking vodka and orange juice in front of the computer. If we're going to spend more time outside there will be more yard work, I might even have to start a garden. Damn that rock in my purse. If only I would have chosen the gift wrapped door prize that was square instead of rectangle. I'd have a beautiful Lady Bug Planter right now with no social implications.

The Conversation with my Bladder, my Brain and my Stomach

My Brain: This is the second detour we've encountered on our way home, do you really think we have time to stop at Subway? Boy #3 has to be at work in an hour.

My Stomach: All you've dropped down here today was a Big Texas Cinnamon Roll and yogurt. Stop at Subway.

My Bladder: Don't forget the 24 oz. Mocha, the bottle of water and the Pepsi. I don't know how much more I can hold, clearly I'm your biggest problem right now.

My Brain: It's a no brainer, pardon the pun, we must go straight home and directly to the bathroom. You can make a sandwich just as well, if not better, than a Subway employee.

My Stomach: I don't believe what I'm hearing, I'm so hungry I could eat the ass of a skunk. Cross your legs and feed me.

My Bladder: Wal-Mart has a Subway inside and a bathroom, THIS is a no brainer, duh.

My Brain: The boy! The boy!

Me: SHUT UP! SHUT UP! Let me think.

My Brain: Let me do that for you, you might hurt yourself. It is what I'm here for you know.

Doh! Erv is my brother!

Since the beginning of the year, when I told my brother, "I'm so blogging about this." He has been faithfully reading my blog and commenting anonymously. Here are few of his comments:

From - The Unmistakable, Over-Powering Smell of Bleach
Great Story!!!
I thought the brother was awesome!

And - It's Time To Tell The Fish Story
This sounds way to familiar, The exact same thing happened to me as a kid. Has your brother recovered yet?

When he realized his sister was slightly retarded he changed his username to erv. erv? No where close to his real name but everyone at work calls him that, he became more obvious and he left these comments:

hey sue,
Thanks for sharing my allergy story. I like to think that I looked more like Rocky when he said "cut me Mick."

I'll give a hint. You,re coming to my house on Sunday for my son,s birthday and cook out.

Ohhh! erv is my brother! The sad part of this story is that he bet his wife I wouldn't catch on, she thought I would and said she would run around the house in the snow while wearing her bathing suit and make a snow angel in the back yard if I didn't. The poor woman has to do just that next winter, it took me so long to get a clue the bet couldn't continue and is being carried over until a climate change. I feel bad she got caught up in a little sibling rivalry but honestly if I didn't go over and take pictures when she follows through on the bet what kind of blogger would I be?

Uterus For Sale

For Sale: one used uterus, has carried 3 children, 1 large, 2 medium, has been stretched beyond legal limits but rebounded nicely, comes with a free bottle of Midol.

I'm so over this uterus. The directions on the Midol bottle say not to exceed 8 caplets in a 24 hour period and I say if you're going to limit me then put some kind of narcotic in it or let me mix it with alcohol.
It's served it purpose and usefulness and I'm ready to move on, part ways. Every month or so it feels like it's going to fall out, so when it does I'm putting it on Craig's List. I'd put it on eBay but they frown upon selling body parts.

And There Will Be Free Chipolte For All

Nothing says great day at work like free Chipolte. Except maybe if they brought us Margaretta's too. God Bless the woman at work that had the sense to put her business card in the Chipolte fishbowl on the counter near the cash register while buying lunch. Who thinks of stuff like that? People that think ahead that's who and she will forever be my favorite co-worker. Chipolte drew her business card out of their "free lunch for work" fishbowl. I always thought those things were for a restaurants mailing list, didn't think they actually came through with the free lunch. My favorite co-worker picked up about 20 burritos and asked me to get on the company page to announce lunch was served.
"Attention please! Chipolte has entered the building. Please pick up your burrito in the break-room."
We all happily ate our free lunch in the conference room, when I decided we needed to go on to the next level. To blanket the immediate area with our business cards, everywhere there is a "free lunch fishbowl" someone needs to put a business card in.
"If we take this seriously enough we can be eating free once a week at least."
I think it's one of my best idea's ever or I'm still basking in the glow of my free burrito. A burrito high.

I Invented a New Diet

What you need to do is get yourself a cheese danish out of a vending machine at work first thing in the morning. Wolf it down with a mocha while sitting at your desk trying to answer the phone. See you end up hardly chewing it because of the phone, it's a Murphy's Law thing, as soon as you bite off a piece of danish and I use the word danish loosely, the phone rings forcing you to either try and moosh it to the side of your mouth or swallow before you should. All this is perfectly fine if you plan to follow my diet. If not might I suggest finding time for a proper breakfast?

Now most diets are hard to follow, not this one, you're done. That fake cheese danish will sit in your stomach undigested for the entire day. It will be like a brick sitting at the bottom of your digestive track, giving you the sense of fullness. Husband brings home Chinese for dinner, "No thanks dear, I'm full."

__________________________________________

I'm the "Jack Bauer" of the office. I'm the only one that would try one of those cheese danishes. I've left instructions to be stopped at all cost if I buy another one. The cheese danishes just have no business being in the same vending machine with the Big Texas Cinnamon Roll - The Pastry of the Year! I'm not sure which year or if they keep winning it year after year, but they're in a league of their own those Big Texas Cinnamon Rolls are.

You have no idea the week I've had with this hair.

"Are my contacts in by any chance?" I asked the contact lady and gave her my name.
"Why yes! I just called your house and left a message on your machine telling you they're ready."
"Isn't that funny? I'm on my way here to see if they're ready and your calling me to tell me they are, I was told a week but it's only been 6 days, I thought I'd check anyway, this is great."
"I'll go get them." The contact lady said and also, "Cute hair cut by the way." And she went to the back room.
I looked behind me to see who she was talking to and there wasn't anyone back there. To the left and right of me, no one. I went to the mirror and checked, 'Yep that's the same hair that's given me nothing but trouble all week.' I struggled with it every morning barely making it to work on time. Huh.
"Here are your contacts."
"Thank you and you have no idea the week I've had with this hair, thanks."
She smiled at me and I was on my way with a new attitude towards life. It's amazing how great you feel when you realize you don't have to shave your head.

The Fish Heads in my Freezer

And let me explain the logic behind that title. The husband is a fisherman, so are the boys, after coming home from a long day of fishing the fish must be cleaned. You have to chop their heads off and then there's guts too. The brilliant plan, and it's a good one when properly followed through, is to put the fish heads and guts in zip lock bags.
But wait there's more!
If you put the zip lock bags in the freezer and then dispose of them on garbage day, you've locked in and frozen fish gut smell on those hot summer days. It's genius. Have you ever smelled fish guts that have been in the garbage for 3 days?
But remember to follow through with the plan, for about the last two years, I've had two zip lock bags of fish heads that stare at me every time I open my freezer. The last year or so I've tried not to make eye contact with them especially when I take out a bag of fish fillets for dinner, it's kind of awkward. The husband and I haven't taken the garbage since the boys learned to walk and we have remembering issues. But it is all his fault.

The Difference Between Boy #2 and Boy #3

Last night:
Boy #3 says to me, "Mom, the milk is low, how much do you need in the morning?"
"You're so nice to think of me precious baby boy, I just need a little splash for my coffee in the morning. We did something right with that one, he's the most considerate of all of them, isn't he, he's so cute."
"Yes dear."
"You fill that glass with milk honey, you're a growing boy. Do you need any money?"
Boy #3 left me with a warm fuzzy feeling.

This morning:
I shuffled out of bed towards the smell of coffee. "Where's the.... is that a empty milk jug?"
Boy #2 was getting ready for work. "I made a protein shake. Have you seen my wallet? Wait a minute, I think it's in my car. Bye mom."
Boy #2 left me with black coffee.

A Girl Hammer, One Cute Kid and One Creepy Kid

My mom sent me on a wild goose chase for her Mother's Day present, actually she told me exactly where to find it but I thought I'd be able to find the "girl hammer" at one of all the other places I had to go to today - no.
A girl hammer is a hammer with flowers on it, apparently my 72 year old mother needs a hammer all to herself, for what, I have no idea. But she keeps one handy and my father finds it, uses it and never puts it back in its rightful place. Now her hammer with flowers on it will stay put because no self respecting handyman will use a hammer with flowers on it. We'll fix him good. I really, really tried to post a photo but my aging camera wouldn't cooperate, sorry. They have them at eBay if you search "For Ladies Only" hammer. I searched that on google images and got some unrelated things not suitable for my blog.

During my shopping spree today at a local department store, not WalMart for a change Relax Max, (and the snow is all melted in the parking lot, thank you for asking in your 1,000 word comment) I ran into one cute kid and one creepy kid.
Cute kid: "Daddy can't we just buy mommy a golden necklace with diamonds on it?"
The cute kid knew mom a lot better than dad did. Dad was actually attempting to pick out an outfit in the clothing section.

Creepy kid: Well, he was hugging a mannequin with no head.

In The Back Row

The funeral we went to made us think of Lamaze class because we sat in the back row. Not to be disrespectful, it's just that all the seats got taken up and we found ourselves, the husband and me, in the back row. Which, again, not to be disrespectful, made us laugh.
Back when I was pregnant with Boy #1, I fell for the load of crap that is Lamaze class. And dragged the husband along kicking and screaming. What was I thinking? Natural childbirth when drugs were available? I was so young and stupid. They taught me how to breath in such a way that the pain would ease. A deep cleansing breath and then short "he he he he" breaths. Around class number 5 or 6 was the movie class. We were going to see a baby born on full screen in full color. That's when the husband spoke up and insisted on sitting in the back row, I was pretty sure he was planning on taking a nap. But that plan was brought to a screeching halt when the instructor came in and said, "They always set this room up wrong, would you help me move this projector to the other side of the room?" All of a sudden we had front row seats. The husband saw more than enough, he never made it to the delivery room with me.
After "he he he he'ing" for hours I asked the nurse, "I can't feel my fingers, is that normal?"
"Your hyperventilating, stop breathing like that. Let's get you some oxygen."
"Oxygen and bring me some drugs, I'm so over natural childbirth."

If Whore Was The Look You Were Going For...Congratulations

Every day in the summer I thank the Lord above for giving me boys that like to wear baggy clothes, every day. Our weekend consisted of temperatures in the 60's, which meant to me, a light jacket, jeans and flip-flops, if I felt daring. Out making my weekend observations, I get at least 10 to 17 ideas I plan to blog about and the majority of them get lost in my head before I can write them down, but one managed to stick with me.
Sixty degree weather brought out the hussy in all the little teenage girls. Tight spaghetti strap tops and tight little skirts up to their twats. Girls, if whore was the look you were going for, congratulations, your goal was accomplished. You've also sent you fathers off to obtain firearms permits and they will be regular customers of the nearest liquor store. Mom's across America are filling prescriptions for Prozac. "Doctor my teenage daughter dresses like a whore."
"Fill this prescription and take it with alcohol, preferably."