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."

The Inter-Dimensional Rift Opening

It all started at the grocery store as far as I can tell. Every time I touched the shopping cart handle I received a small electric jolt, not unlike the kind of jolt you get when you scuffle along the carpet in your socks then touch your teenagers ear to get them to listen to you. But there was no carpet and I had shoes on, I kept getting shocked, so immediately I thought of The Mist, who wouldn't. I looked outside and there was only sunshine, I couldn't see any things out there....things. I haven't seen The Mist yet, it's sitting on my DVD player, but the boys said the ending is terrible and they were mad enough to throw the DVD after they watched it. I read the book so I can reference The Mist to my hearts content.

The next obvious thing to do was take a survey of the people in the grocery store, you know the ones I'll be trapped in there with, I decided to take my chances with the things. I filled my electrically charged shopping cart with some extra snacks in case I would have to wait out the inter-dimensional rift opening in my SUV. Thankfully I made it home without incident.

Now here's the thing, all week either I've been driving to and from work too fast or everyone on the road is driving to slow. It isn't like me to drive too fast and the odds of everyone on the road driving too slow are slim. The only logical explanation has to be that I was part of some secret government experiment or cover up. Or I watch too much TV.
I'm alright with the government experiment/cover up thing as long as I can eventually develop my powers for good and be able to shoot fire balls out of my hands........ oh and fly.

Wait. Wait One Minute. Wait a Minute.

Back in the day when the boys were young, I juggled Little League Baseball schedules while the husband worked nights. Practices had just started, Boy #1 and Boy #2 were involved and I dragged Boy #3 along, he was still too young to play. I thought I was handling thing pretty well until Boy #1 threw a wrench into the works.

I'm in the kitchen making dinner, "Mom? I need a cup."
"A cup of what? Dinner's almost ready you know."
Then there was a silence, we made eye contact. Words were chosen carefully.
"I need a cup for baseball."
He was 12 years old at the time, he was my sensitive one.
"Wait, a baseball cup for......... protecting stuff?"
"Yes, for practice tomorrow."
"Wait a minute, tomorrow? Dad's at work. We have to go tonight? I have to go tonight?"
The sensitive one looked worried.
"No problem, we'll eat, do homework and go. Where do we go?"
"You don't know?"
"I... just.... go get your brothers, tell them to wash their hands for dinner."

I was on the phone like white on rice to the husband.
"The hell? I have to buy a baseball cup for Boy #1, tonight for practice tomorrow. What store do they sell them at? What do they look like?"
"Just go to WalMart."
"Seriously, WalMart has them? I don't have to go to a special cup store?"
"Listen, go to the sporting goods section, you have to get an athletic supporter, "
"Huh?"
"It holds the cup in place, the cup and get both in probably size youth large."
"Wait one minute. They come in sizes?"

At the dinner table I informed Boy #2 and Boy #3 we were going to WalMart and Boy #1 told them why.
"Oh," says Boy #2, "I need a cup too, if I want to be a catcher or I can just keep borrowing Alex's."
"Wait, you borrow someone's cup?" I was horrified.
"It stays in place when you squat."
"We're getting you one too, no more borrowing, please."
"Can I have a cup too." Boy #3, who was like 5 and had no idea what we were talking about but didn't want to be left out.
I looked at that face, "You aren't going to need one of those yet but we'll get you a Match Box car." His smile always lit up a room.
"Awwww.... wait a minute, I want a Match Box car too."

Sue and Bill's Wild Weekend Part 3: And This Will Be It Then

The uneventful vacations, the fun-filled, stress free vacations, are the ones the husband and I take alone. When we returned from our wild weekend, no-one had broken anyone else's arm, there was no throw-up in the back seat and the car didn't lose a door. We just came home and unpacked, with a lot less money, but we would have ended up spending it on the catastrophies that are our children anyway. I can't think of one vacation we've taken throughout the years that they didn't screw up in some way, we've been going about this vacation thing all wrong. We will be leaving them behind from now on.
Just in case my boys read this, "Mommy loves you!"

___________________________

I have been roasted over at Confessions of a Reforming Geek or the husband has been, I think both of us. But Reforming Geek lumped me in with a couple of really good bloggers, Bee of Bee's Musings and Kirsten of The Soccer Mom Files, so I'm feeling pretty cool right now.
Thank you Reforming Geek!

Sue and Bill's Wild Weekend Part 2: Breakfast Is A Big Deal For Us

At 4:30 in the afternoon Friday, we stopped for breakfast. Because going out to breakfast is huge for us. Probably because we never eat it, ever, except for cereal. And then Saturday, we emerged from our hotel room at 1:00pm in search of a good breakfast again. Mingling with the locals and tourist, we arrived at the "we're having breakfast again" restaurant and past by a woman just outside the door licking something out of a little plastic cup. Both of us noticed and said nothing, but our eyes met and twinkled with anticipation. We love restaurants full of weird people.
I don't know if I had "Humor Blogger" written all over my face or they saw the white bungee cord sticking out of my purse and immediately labeled us "tourist", but the hostess stuck us in the back room by ourselves. I don't know how they expect us to learn their culture if they stick us in a back room. But then our waiter Johnny arrived. Huh. Imagine if you will a man say, 30 something, with a Moe from the Three Stooges hair cut, jet black hair, but cut uneven, an earring in each ear, very pale and too thin. He looked at us with pad and pen in hand like he was accustomed to getting the once over and was just waiting for us to get it out of our system so he could serve us breakfast. We said nothing.
We never did learn what we were suppose to lick out of the little plastic cups, but Johnny served up a good breakfast.

Sue and Bill's Wild Weekend Part 1: Gambling Away Our Kids Inheritance

The husband and I packed a suitcase and left for Wheeling, West Virginia Friday afternoon. WooHoo. I bought the kids a gallon of milk and said, "See ya Sunday and keep my dog alive."
We arrived at the casino Friday evening and were welcomed by that wonderful clanging, slot machine noise, I love that sound. Immediately I started to scope out the positioning of the bar to the nickle slots.
"Where are you going?"
"To find the vodka."
"Let's get our cards first dear."
A casino will issue you a Players Club Card that keeps track of your gambling, awards you points and sends you junk mail. We got in line.
"Ma am, would you like a bungee cord to clip to your card?"
"I can not begin to tell you how much I would like a bungee cord clipped to my card. Do I have a choice of colors?"
Now when I place my card in special "slot" in the slot machine, I will remain tethered to it. It will taunt me into sticking another $20 in it instead of leaving. I can also wander around the casino with a white bungee cord clipped to my shirt advertising the fact that I'm too retarded to remember my card in the slot machine.

Did They Just Have Sex?

Since the husband is the one with the big brain that willingly accepts the concept of Math, you know, he can figure out how much to tip a waitress without a tip calculator, well he got to see to it that we met the tax deadline last night and I watched Dancing With The Stars. Somebody had to do it and I love Dancing With The Stars, it's a star-studded extravaganza, so I watched and he calculated. Every once in awhile he would come out of the office, sit in his recliner, realize what was on TV and leave, muttering something about wanting to check a score. The Cleveland Cavs and the Cleveland Indians were both playing last night, but the husband was afraid to be seen watching girl TV. He has a reputation to uphold being the dad of three boys and, they would never let him hear the end of it.
He again returned to his recliner just when the last dance started, Julianne Hough and Chuck Wicks danced the Rumba. He sat quietly watching, I didn't even realize he was there because I was transfixed by the Rumba unfolding before my eyes. A full 5 seconds went by after the dance and then he turned to me and said, "Did they just have sex?"
"A little bit maybe. Do you want to watch it again? I can rewind."
"No. Get me a score."


I posted a video of the Julianne Hough and Chuck Wicks Rumba on my other blog, View of Sue, if you want to see them make out.

In Honor of the Jesus Hippies

With Jesus Christ Super Star's "What's the Buzz" firmly stuck in my head for about a week now, I decided to broaden my horizons and see if I could get the rest of the sound track in there as well. Scouring YouTube and watching short video's all week made me come to the realization that I needed to watch the whole movie, again. Yesterday on Hulu.com I did just that. With the entire sound track buzzing through my head I went to WalMart for my Easter shopping.

Yes, I felt compelled to buy the Tie Dye Easter Egg Coloring Kit in honor of the Jesus Hippies. Below I give you my before and after shots:

They all ended up purple and green, but I think the hippies would think they're far out. My fingers are also purple and green, that's not all coming of anytime soon. Look at them, I look like I just voted in Afghanistan.

Happy Easter Everyone!

You're Making My Head Hurt

"I don't see why I need to learn algebra, it's not like I'm planning on being a algebratition or anything, it's retarded."
"You listen to me Boy #3, you jump through the public school systems hoops and get your diploma, you can only get so far in life fixing my computer, one of these days I might figure out all these thingamabobs, then where will you be?"

It's true the boy is invaluable when it comes to my computer. Last week I lost the sound on it, of course I realized the loss when I stopped in on Unfinished Rambler's blog. Lord knows you have to have sound when you stop there. So I clicked on his Jesus Christ Super Star, "What's the Buzz", YouTube video - no sound. Immediately I thought, "Huh, what's wrong with UR's blog?"
I had the option to totally ignore the video or go to YouTube to see if I had a problem. The option you see, to go through the weekend in ignorant bliss or find that song and firmly place it in my head, to randomly pop into my brain at any given moment.

"There's no sound on my computer, would you fix it?"
"Well did you .....different language, different language, different language, different language."
"No, how to I do that?"
"Just go to ......different language, different language, different language, different language."
"Can't you just do that, you're making my head hurt. And I see that look, don't think I don't see that look. This is a totally different situation, I already have my high school diploma. You need to know algebra for when you have kids of your own and they need help with algebra homework. See. I didn't pay attention and it cost me tutors for you. There's no way you can turn this around on me. Now fix mommy's computer so I can get a song stuck in my head."

Sinus Pressure, A Mocha and What Kind of Math is That?

Leaving the house with a killer sinus headache is never a good idea, especially when there's math involved. Apparently, I managed to secure a place in the Special Olympics this afternoon according to the cashier at the gas station. I don't know what kind of math she was using, but I think her drawer is going to be a dollar short and it isn't my fault. I gave her every opportunity to see the error of her ways. Maybe just several opportunities, because she was making my brain hurt.

I have a 1 dollar winning lottery ticket in one hand (on my way to independent wealth) and a $1.29 mocha in the other. I cashed in my lottery ticket for another one, which cost a dollar. That would make me even with the lottery commission, wouldn't it? Win a dollar, use that dollar to purchase another one dollar ticket. This is where the communication broke down. Then there's my other hand holding the blessed liquid, my beloved mocha cappuccino. I already have my $1.29 out, but she told me I only owed her .29 cents. So I got that confused "I was never good in math" look. She explained again slowly, that I owed her .29 cents (I don't know the key strokes for the cents sign). My eyebrows crunched together, which really hurt. She gave me a look that conveyed the message, 'You're never going to get this, take your mocha and go, try not to hurt yourself on your way out.'

I decided right there that a mocha for .29 cent is going to taste good, my aching head told me to get out before the lottery police got there. Let the cashier deal with them. This post has taken a lot out of me, with all the rehashing, but did I get this wrong? Am I missing something because of the sinus pressure?