Usually my alcohol comes in a plastic cup

Erv and I convened at his house to try and put together the pieces of LOST, for about 10 minutes, then we decided to drink and play corn-hole. I was a little disappointed he and my sister-in-law hadn't mixed up a batch of adult punch, but I guess they still remember the last time I got my hands on the punch bowl.

"Are they going to heaven by way of that church? Over half of them killed at least 1 to 3 people and Michael has to stay on the island with the whisper people?"

Instead my sister-in-law handed me a wine class. I looked at this foreign object in my hand, usually my alcohol comes in a plastic cup, I'm not a wine person. I try, but I don't like it. So when my mom and sister-in-law start talking wine I quietly sit munching on cheese-its until I can jump into the conversation again.
"I think I found a wine you'll like." She's desperately trying to include me, she's so sweet. After unscrewing the cap she filled my wine glass, I felt so classy, and then dumped in some crushed ice. She and my mom waited with anticipation as I sipped a sip. "I think I like it, but will it give me a good buzz like the adult punch?"
"Just drink it."

"If they are all moving on, all dead in LOST, why are they taking baby Aaron with them, he was already born and three years old when last we saw him?"

"Let's play corn-hole."
"I'm going to refill my wine glass first, let's be on the same team so we don't have to stand next to each other."
"Yes, we should separate."
Corn-hole has become our families obsession. Erv and I against our 74 year old father and my boy #3, the geek. We were going to try not to embarrass them.

"How did they, when did they all decide to meet in the "sideways world" once they died?" I shouted.
"Stop taking about the sideways world, you lose people when you talk about the sideways world, they look at you funny." This coming from Boy #3 who also hung on until the end of LOST and was on my side of the corn-hole game.

"Hey! Anytime you want to turn on your corn-hole mojo would be great." Erv yelled at me from the other side. We were getting our asses kicked.
"You need to get that bag on the board or we're out of this game." He yelled at me again.
It was something like 21 to 5, you need 21 to win, I had the last bag to throw to cancel out one of their bags, to stay alive. That's pressure. I had somewhat of a buzz but not an adult punch buzz, I had LOST zapping any brain cell that dared to come out of hiding and I had to get that bag on the board. I took a deep breath, got into position, brought my arm back, was ready to release the bag. And right at the point that my hand and bag were ready to separate, Boy #3 says,
"I'm gay."


Not that there's anything wrong with that. (Different show, but effectively brought me out of my LOST coma.)

I watched LOST for 6 years and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.

Son of a bitch. A month or so ago I wrote a post explaining how I would get my brain back after the epic final season of LOST was complete. Six years of mystery, intrigue, smoke monsters, polar bears, the almighty Jacob and how very special Waaaaaalt was, would all be clear as day and I could continue on with my life, growing smarter day by day because LOST wouldn't be taking up my precious brain cells any longer. Instead LOST made me retarded. No one's going to be calling me Einstein any time soon.
Expecting to be blown away with revelation after revelation, questions answered in such a way that I'm in awe of the TV show, my beloved LOST, expecting, yes, it to be better than the Newhart ending. I was that stoked.
Six years, for six years I was a faithful Lostie so was Erv, he's pissed too. We both had our families watching with us in the beginning, but one by one they dropped off, Erv and I stuck with it. I talked Boy #3 to start watching again this season, he hasn't talked to me in a week. I'm going over to Erv's for my nephews birthday today and hopefully Erv knows to have the adult punch ready. We can then console each other or never speak of it again, I'm not sure.
So I bought the T-Shirt and in 8 to 10 business days it will arrive. I'll wear it and everyone will know I'm a moron with no answers.

How could you not like oysters, really?

"Let's try raw oysters."
This sentence came out of the mouth of the husband.
At our 25th wedding anniversary dinner.
The guy who gags looking at a cooked clam.
The love of my life.
The father of my children.
Mr. Adventure.

"Seriously, you want to eat a raw oyster?"
"Yeah."
"Huh."
Our waitress stopped at our table and the husband proceeded to discuss oysters with her. "We've never had them, what do you suggest?"
I never knew the extent of the oyster world until that night. She lost me half way into her conversation, probably less than half way. I was going to eat a raw oyster, really didn't care to hear about it's family history. Besides, I was trying to figure out if the guy in the corner was wearing a toupee. The husband and our waitress decided on what was basically "beginner oysters." She left for our order of oysters and I started to regret volunteering to be the designated driver.

The plate was put down in the middle of our table and the waitress pointed out that we had horseradish sauce, cocktail sauce and some sweet and sour goo. She left, we sized up the plate before us. "Umm, how do we..... what do we?"
"I'm not sure."
"Okay," I said, "I got this. Look but don't look, there's a couple that has the same plate we have over to your left." I pointed with my eyes. "Oh there he goes, he's picking up the shell and slurping down the oyster. So they come in their own little bowls, you first."
He put all three sauces on his and slurped. "Not bad."
"Really?" I one upped him and slurped one down without any sauces.
"You have to wonder," I pondered. "Who was the first person to look at these uncooked blobs and say, Boy does that look good, I'm going to slurped that right out of it's shell."
"The same question goes for the first guy to see something coming out of a chickens butt and said, Yum, I want to fry that up."

____________________________________________

I have been honored with an award from one of my faithful blogging friends Leeuna over at My Mind Wandered. It's a Sunshine Award. I've been telling people for years that I'm a ray of sunshine, finally someone noticed. Thank you Leeuna my wonderful blogging buddy. This award originated with 00dozo at When I Reach. It comes with a list of rules which I won't follow, but sincerely appreciate the award.

Don't put Dad in a coma

The damn diabetic tried like hell to get someone to make him brownies last night.
Ummmmm.....
A. It was 9:00 ......... pm, I've never turned my oven on that late, I'm not even sure it works that late. I probably won't bake anything until Christmas anyway
and
2. No one wanted the responsibility of causing a diabetic coma. It's a little rule I have in the household, "Don't put Dad in a coma."

The husband has phases, right now he's in the "I know more than that guy that has a, I'm a doctor, I have a degree and everything, see it on the wall there?"
So Mr. I don't want all my toes anyway, made them himself. I left the room, I had people to ice in Mafia Wars. The oven works at the ungodly hour of 9:00 pm, because I heard him rattling around in there. Amazingly he found everything, huh, that is brain cell I need to activate, the husband does know where stuff is in the kitchen. He definitely slipped up there, it's in the vault now.

He used the wrong pan and blamed the the unevenness of the brownies on that pan and the fact that it is a gas oven. Gas ovens suck according to the Iron Chef.
I've been asking him for 12 years to even out the oven. Everything I bake is uneven. I take a 9 x 13 to any one's house for dinner and they know it's mine ...... because it's uneven.

At 11:00 I got ready for bed, in the kitchen I said, "Got your brownies huh?"
"Yeeees, I'm still alive and if you will notice I didn't eat them all."
"That's great babe. Would it be alright if I turned off the oven now?"

My uplifting, everything is sunshine and lollipops post

When I pulled out of my driveway this morning and saw the goose standing on my roof like he owned the place, I laughed out loud, LOL'ed for those of you that forgot how to spell. My new U2 CD was cranked up and "Stuck In A Moment You Can't Get Out Of" blasted me awake. I sat at the end of my driveway laughing at the goose and listening to the song.
A goose on your roof has to be the start of a great day, a day that when you start to think about the crap you went through the past couple of months can easily be disguarded by thinking, "Hey, there's a goose on my roof."
Last weekend when Boy #3 dragged me to the video store I perused the used CD's and grabbed "U2 18 Singles."
This is my new favorite song:

Today I dragged myself out of my pissy mood, unstuck.

Send me sedatives

I white hot hate, with the intensity of a thousand suns, teaching a teenager to drive. Boy #3, who is now 18, is just learning to drive. This is because I kept grounding him from driving to put off my 19th nervous break-down. But now we're kind of tired of driving him around. Send me sedatives, the instructions have begun. I spent the entire day having "my driver" as I started to call him, driving me from errand to errand.
We bought him pants, stopped at the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dudes, got me a mocha, headed off to the WalMarts (I go there once a week to make myself feel smart) it's easy all you have to do is walk in the entrance and walk out the exit, the rest of them can't do it. Really I should get a video of that one day, just prop up a lawn chair and watch the confusion as they try to decide which door to use.
By now I've had enough of the passing of my driving wisdom on to another teenager but he wants to go to the video store.
"The one with the weird parking lot." I ask, "I have trouble in that one and I'm an excellent driver. Police pull me over to tell me what a great job I'm doing on the road."
"I plan to pull into McDonalds next to it."
"This is the last stop. Next to the last stop we still have to get the new propane tank."
We're going on three hours of me pressing an imaginary break and a death grip on the door handle. It's time to go home or time to ground him again, I'm not sure.

A fist full of ibuprofen

Priorities, tough little decisions to make while you're obviously running late for work. At the rate I was going this morning I could make one stop. My brain cells, and you know they all don't work together up there, we've discussed this before, my brain cells mulled over whether to stop for Midol or a mocha. Tough decision like I said. I opted to wash down a fist full of ibuprofen and stop for the mocha.
This proved to be a bad decision, the mocha was good, but after my second fist full of the useless ibuprofen it was obvious I needed narcotics. And to make matters worse my brain cells completely forgot about my filter while bouncing around in there thinking of mocha and Midol. So the entire office, plus the shop guys knew I was in dire straights.

"Back away slowly and get me chocolate."
Actually it was kind of nice, no one bothered me and I got a lot of work done.

I scared the service manager and the parts guys offered me Vodka. Then we talked about ice cream, one thing led to another and we invented a PMS Blizzard, narcotics and chocolate laced with Vodka. If that doesn't get rid of cramps nothing will.

Securing my place in Hell

Sometimes you just want to eat your lunch without a deaf-mute stopping by your table grinning and shaking his head yes, trying to sell you a pen for a buck. Besides, he hit me up last week at Dairy Queen, I bought one that time. I had my lunch arranged on my table for one, and that's another post coming soon, the "everything has to be in the right spot before I can eat or I'll freak out post" and the deaf-mute appeared with his pens.
Gah! I'm having a really aggravating week, just give me 45 minutes to eat in peace. So I gave him a look and shook my head no, earning a special place in Hell for people who send deaf-mutes off penniless.
For sometime now I expected to be one of the people raptured, avoiding all the end of times Armageddon stuff. I don't have the stamina to deal with the anti-christ. I'm more of a loner and I'm pretty sure groups are going to have to be formed to deal with all the chaos that will ensue because of all the wrath a God commotion. Damn things were looking up for me until the deaf-mute starting making the rounds in the areas fast food joints. Ah jeez, he's probably been sent to weed us out. Save yourselves and buy a pen for a buck.

Muddy Paw Mania

I had to see this coming right?

New couches + gobs and gobs of melted snow = muddy paw mania

The dog has had a bath 5 days in a row and number six is about to happen as soon as she's done barking at the neighbors. The water's already filling up in the tub and Boy #3 is on stand-by. He carries her in with her muddy paws sticking straight out. Did I mention she hates water?
This a picture of her trying to look cute and innocent but we know she could stay out of the mud if she'd just focus. It's really not necessary to take off barking at every person, dog walker, skate-boarder, bike-rider, jogger and Jehovah Witness that .......... well maybe them, that walks by the house.
So Buckeye gets to stay outside longer than usual to terrorize the neighborhood but with a huge price to pay, dragged into the tub night after night. This is a dog that when she hears the tub water running, she hides. She refuses to put all four paws down in the water at the same time, one must always be out of the water.

I must break from my post to go catch the dog.

Buckeye tried to make a run for the hills, she pulled her lead out of the mushy, muddy ground.
"She's loose!"
"Huh?"
"She pulled her lead out and is headed for the street!"
"The dog?" Who else does he think we're keeping on a lead?
By this time I had my boots on the wrong feet and was out the door. I knew the easiest way to get her was to open the car door and ask her if she wanted to go on a car ride, but hmmmmm..... the mud. I opted for the step on the lead trick while the husband lured her in with biscuits, she's a biscuit whore.

All is well for now, she's in her little house pouting. She'll come out when she's hungry or dear God has to go out again.

After 8 new epic episodes, I get my brain back

But until then it will float like a screen saver ball, haphazardly banging around the inside of my skull, rendering me useless, unable to form an intelligent thought until I find out what's going on on that stupid island.
LOST has held my brain captive this season, the final season, the one we find out all the answers. It's going to be epic. We've already found out the smoke monster is "evil incarnate"..... cool. And it can take on the form of dead people, that explains a lot. Oh and Sayid is a zombie. He was dead for two hours and came back to life, you can't argue with me on this. He's already killed the cool Japanese guy and his interpreter. This zombie situation must be addressed immediately. We all know what happens when zombies are left to run amok. And it's really not the direction I'd like to see the show go in. They need to chop off Sayid's head.
As much as I have been looking forward to this final season, I'll be glad when it's over too. I want reasonable thoughts to flow through my head again instead of trying to figure out why Richard hasn't aged in like 200 years.

_____________________________________________

This is the latest excuse as to why I don't post often enough for Relax Max.

Ring-a-ding-ding-dong.

It's the best ringtone ever and I have it. The first time it actually went off on my phone I was at work with several co-workers in the immediate area. It was great, I jumped up and down, "Do you guys hear it? Isn't it awesome?" There was some eye rolling and I think someone called me a retard.

Ring-a-ding-ding-dong.

I answered it. It was my doctor. He could have told me I had three months to live and I would have been still giggling, maybe.
"I have the results of your blood tests, you're not a diabetic, your vitamin D levels are good and your cholesterol is fine."
"Wait a minute, last week you told me my blood pressure was 110 over 70 and now your telling me my cholesterol is fine? Somethings suspicious here. My parents have both been struggling with high blood pressure and high cholesterol for years and years."
"Ummm, we can do a DNA test next, find out who's you daddy."
"No, no I think it's best I confront those two, who ever they are, first."

Ring-a-ding-ding-dong.

My inability to communicate with the Asians continues

Oh, wow, sushi in a grocery store food court........huh, and with chopsticks. Someone's trying not to blend in with the rest of us lonely, grocery store lunch time losers.
I continued to eat my salad and cottage cheese while keeping an eye on the chopsticks. Yes, I was waiting for her to drop the raw fish, but she kept popping them in her mouth after dipping each of them in some kind of sauce. I have to admit, she had chopstick skills.
I was talked into trying sushi at a bridal shower a few years ago. I shoved the whole thing in my mouth, it was gross. I just can't get past the raw fish idea, I've seen raw fish before and smelled it. So I sat there chewing, wondering how to gracefully spit it out. That's when the video camera, manned by my nieces Asian friend, came by to ask me if I had anything profound to say to the future bride. She waited patiently with the camera trained on my face, as I just about swallowed the sushi whole.
"Water."
"So do you have any words of advice or encouragement for the bride?" Whoever started this tradition should be shot.
"I'm sorry, they (pointing to my in-laws) just made me eat sushi, it was awful."
Remember this is all on camera.
"Oh, I made that." The Asian friend of my niece said. "I don't think it turned out as good as it usually does, I was in a hurry, sorry."
"Water."
I think my niece got all the information she needed from me by then.

Egg McMuffins, Frankie the Fish and Impending Doom

Your day just doesn't get any better when you get out of the house at break-neck, time to stop for an Egg McMuffin, speed. You miss the school bus that has plagued your morning commute since September. The phone at work doesn't ring until you've finished the glorious McAwesomness. And then, the best part of the great day, is when the parts department decides that Frankie the Fish, from the "famous" McDonalds commercial has to be stuck on the wall for all eternity. It just doesn't get any better than that, really, a great day. Even with the latest snow storm looming in the distance, on it's way to slam Northeast Ohio.

The radio weather people explained the impending doom:
"Sounds like you're explaining nor'easter Jane."
"That's exactly what's happening here Dan."

I had my own video on my phone but I'm not technologically advance to get it on my computer.

I'm just here to observe

"Curling's on!"
Boy #3 was the first to join me, "Awesome, are we going to try to figure it out this time?"
"I don't think so. Remember how I told you I thought my brain was getting bigger?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I don't want to do anything to jeopardize that."
Boy #2 joined us, "Curling's on! Who's winning?"
"It looks like the Americans, their little flag in the upper left hand corner has 4 and the other little flag has 2."
"What inning are they in?"
"We don't know."
Girlfriend #2 sat down on the couch, "Is this the Olympics?"
"It's only Olympic Curling." We all rolled our eyes at the same time. "What's the object of this game?"
The husband got home just as we were about to try to explain rocks and sweeping.
"Curling's on!"
"Are they trying to slid that thing in the bulls-eye at the other end of the ice?"
"We think so, pretty sure."
"The sweeping...... I don't get it."
"We don't either. But look at them sweep, they're fast."
"Why are you watching this?"
"We can't not watch it, it's Olympic Curling."

For the next hour we sat mesmerized by the ice sweeping and the strategic slid of the "rock" sometimes called stones. Never knowing when the game was going to be over, never knowing who was getting a point or why - good times.

I was thinkin' Arby's

Probably I should have stayed at work Wednesday. But my car and I decided to drive sideways to Arby's for lunch. I have an emergency can of soup in my desk for such occasions, you know when it has been snowing non-stop for 24 hours and the roads are a mess and the frightened stay for lunch in the lunch room. But I wasn't in the mood for a can soup, I was thinkin' Arby's. Once that little outline of a Arby's hat pops up above your head you're screwed.
Either the snow plows were under-manned or they just gave up, decided maybe, "Oh just let them slide into a ditch, I don't care anymore." Because I slid like I haven't slid in a long time. Or maybe after years of driving my 4 wheel drive SUV and now this year have had an all-wheel drive compact car forced upon me, I'm out of whack and haven't got the feel of this thing I'm driving. I don't know how or why I ended up driving the car that was suppose to be the husbands but I am. It has a good CD player in it, so the tunes don't skip when I hit a pot-hole or, God help me, end up in a ditch on my way to Arby's.

Swearing like a drunken sailor first thing in the morning

Listen little Wendy's girl, if you're going to give me attitude when I order my lunch, you're gonna get it right back. Especially after the way my day started. Almost getting hit by a car right after I pull out of my driveway makes me cranky. I think she sped up when she saw me backing out. I think she was actually going to try to get around me. I hadn't had my mocha yet so the profanity spewed. I was even scared of me. If my mother would have heard me, she'd be calling an old priest and a young priest immediately.
So yeah, Wendy's girl, roll your eyes all you want, but you forgot the lemon wedge for the ice tea I've been thinking about all day. Stop what you are doing and hand it over.

New Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude Blog Fodder

And there you have it, stop at the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dudes to pick up the husbands shirts and a post for your blog writes itself. I should go there every day. The previous owner was in the back and and saw me, "Hey, I remember you! How are they treating you here?" With the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude lurking near the big, giant, hot shirt press I answered, "They're treating me great."
Seriously, what else was I going to say?"
Back in the day when the ownership transition was made, I could have left for a dry cleaner that understood English, I didn't have a blog then so I didn't need them like I do now. But I decided to give the guy that looks like the Vietnam prison camp guard in a Chuck Norris movie a chance. It's proven to have been a good move. He still doesn't understand me but he can almost spell my whole last name. I walk in the door and he says, with his Vietnam prison camp guard in a Chuck Norris movie grin, "S..... E..... E....." I usually have nothing to say to that so I just smile at him like it's our little joke.
Seriously, what else can I do?
The previous owner said, "It's good to see you again."
The Asian woman said, "Have nice day."
The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude said nothing.
I left hearing the words from the previous owner commenting on me being an old customer and complimenting the none English speaking couple on keeping me.
I really hoped, as I got in my car that the Asians could differentiate the fact that I was an old customer, not an old customer.

I thought my brain was getting bigger

Occasionally, maybe once a week, I will sit by myself at McDonald's for lunch. This is the time I've set aside to think up something brilliant to post. Lost in my thoughts and my fries, fruit and walnut salad, a humongous ice tea with lemon and 4 sugars. From brain to hand the ideas flow out of me with astounding fluidity. It's really quite amazing. Until the first of the new year, I really thought my brain was getting bigger. But now my mind is stuck on remembering it's 2010. You'd think by now I could remember to write, type or even say 2010. This is a huge set back on my brain growing to genius proportion. What a drag. Even now while sitting in my McDonald's booth my concentration is strained, my eyes keep straying towards the word search game on my trays place-mat.
"Apple Pie" is right there, I should circle it. No focus."
The guy in the other booth is doing his word search. I heard him say to his lunch companion, "I found everything but Apple Pie."
"Doh!" How could he not see Apple Pie.

Peeing with Santa

"We never talk anymore."
"Mom......."
"No, don't mom me."
"It was nothing, really."
"You know I'm a humor blogger, you have a conversation with Santa Claus in the mens room and neglect to tell me.? It's unforgivable."
"I'm sorry, won't happen again."
"Exactly! How many people can say they pee'ed with Santa. You're going through life with blinders on kid. What did you talk about anyway?"
"He hates the beard, it itches."

I have ten cans of soup. All is right in the world.

With one storm system under our belts, we, the mighty Northeast Ohioans, await the second one. The weather channel, talk show hosts, local news crews, the UPS deliver guy and the truck driver at work promise us at least another half foot of snow, more in the snow belt, by the time we wake up tomorrow. According to all of those experts "it's going to be a mess."

If it's going to be a mess I'll want to stay in the house, I thought to myself. And then my next though was, I better get dog food. Because Buckeye has been peeing in snow up past her twat for over a week now, the least I can do is make sure we don't run out of dog food.
I knew we needed "lake effect snow" provisions but the only item that I could grasp, hold on to, and run with was the dog food. So I went up and down every aisle.

Pickles, the last time I looked for pickles at home I couldn't find any, I bought some. Ten cans of soup for $10.00? Deal. Oh look, they have 4 bottles of Diet Sunkist, the only diet pop the diabetic will drink, threw them in the cart. Poke'Mon macaroni and cheese, the boys will think that's so funny, three boxes, because we already have 5 boxes of the Sponge Bob ones at home. Wouldn't it be funny if I forgot the dog food? I high tailed it to the pet aisle and threw a bag of lamb and barley in the cart along with some braided raw hides. On my way to the registers I grabbed a box of donuts for the diabetic.

It seems quite a few people had the same plan as me, all the registers were open. Half of them have the self scanning technology and the other half cashiers. I can't self scan, it just never works for me. So I waited longer for a cashier and ended up getting scolded by the woman. Apparently I wasn't suppose to take the coupon off the Frito Scoops, she was. What kind of sense does that make when half the registers are self scan? Hmmmm? I really, really want to point that out to her, really. But I held my tongue, I barely made it through the Alberta Clipper storm system and now facing impending doom with a Lake Effect Storm on the way, why tempt fate? The dog is now sitting in front of a roaring fire chewing on her new braided raw hide and I have ten cans of soup. All is right in the world.