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!"

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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?

Mr. New Dad

Mr. New Dad sat next to me in church quite a few years ago. All my precious little darlings were safely tucked in their Sunday School classes. This was a time I cherished, a time I was alone, free to daydream, listen to the sermon or doodle on the church program. I can't remember what activity I chose that day but it was great because I got to sit by Mr. New Dad and his infant son. Don't know where mom was perhaps stuck teaching a Sunday School class to one of my kids.
Mr. New Dad had the baby in his arms and the diaper bag at his feet. About 10 minutes in the baby started to babble, just a little so a bottle was promptly stuck in his mouth. It was an eight ouncer, filled to the top. As Mr. New Dad continued to feed the baby, who was maybe 5 or 6 months old. I wondered to myself, "Huh. When is he going to burp that kid? Huh." As the liquid continued to be consumed I realized, never?
Now there is a lot of standing and sitting in church, each time we stood, I sat back down a little further away from the inevitable, it was just a matter of time before the kid blew. With any luck I'd be in the next pew by then. I glanced around to see if anyone else was on to impending spew. Daydreamers and doodlers, nobody paying attention to the cute baby with the expanding stomach.
I could have said something, but in 5 or 6 months you'd think Mr. New Dad knew this stuff, I just figured any minute now he'll burp the baby. But he waited until the bottle was empty. It was interesting to watch which poor sap was going to get their Sunday best barfed on, kind of like Russian Roulette. Mr. New Dad decided to go with the over the shoulder burp only it was a very juicy 8 ounce burp, right on to the shoes of the guy sitting behind us. I felt bad to because he was one of the church goers that was actually listening to the sermon.

______________________________________

I must give credit where credit is due. The inspiration for this post, Boondock Ramblings: Hmmmm..maybe we'll just find a new church. This woman actually takes her child into church, it's madness I tell you!

Did Anyone Think To Think Of The Dog?

The psychological effects of "Home Improvement Mode" have taken their toll on the household as it continued on for a second day. I couldn't get the kids out safely so they had to scurry around the house like the gophers that they are. The one most effected, the most innocent of us all, the dog.
First of all they moved her couch away from her window, which made barking at the neighbors virtually impossible. Then they used the air compressor, it makes a noise so it's her enemy along with the vacuum and the shop vac, all arch enemies. She felt compelled to stay vigilant and protect me in my office. Here she is seen trying to stay awake, her head bobbing up and down like a husband in a church pew. She'd get a few minutes of shut-eye then another noise would snap her to attention.
She let me take four close up pictures of her in a row, she never let's me do that, she hates the camera. Let's add the camera to her arch enemy list. Maybe my dog has some issues.

Planning My Escape

"So what are you doing tomorrow?" The husband asks me this during our wild Friday night ritual of sitting on the his and her recliners and seeing who can stay awake the latest.
"I'm staying home until I have to take Boy #3 to work, then I'll grocery shop. What are you doing?"
"Oh I thought I'd work on the house."

When the husband gets up in the morning and puts his painter/work pants on, the rest of the family scatters, like frightened mice. Boy #2 has already made the escape. I woke him up this morning and told him, "Dad's working on the house." He bolted out of bed, stumbled and tried to shake the deep sleep from his head.
"You don't want to be late to work, right? You better get going."
He grabbed his wallet and keys and looked back at me, "But....."
"Go without me, I have to go try to save the other one."

Mother's Day is coming up and this one has a better job than Boy #3, so I saved him first.

When the husband is in "Home Improvement mode" he can never find anything, because after the last "Home Improvement mode" he never put anything away in the same spot he found them from the last time he was in "Home Improvement mode". See the vicious cycle. He has crap everywhere and it messes with his creative Home Improvement abilities if he has to stop what he's doing and look for a screw driver. That's where his family of gophers comes in. So far this morning I've had to "go fer" a Philips head screw driver, a plastic garbage bag and I've had to turn a light switch on 5 different times. Yes, he's messing with the electricicals. Which makes my leaving all the more difficult, I'll feel bad if he electrocutes himself. The dog can perform CPR but she can't dial 911 and I plan on being gone all day if I can get out.

And Then God Said.....

I like to make my readers feel comfortable and to want to come back and read my blog, so today I'm going to post about God. I can remember several times when God sent me a message. I don't know why I thought of this one particular time but I did. I was about to marry a moron, a world class, your life will be miserable, moron. But I was young and stupid and didn't see it. Until my angel sat down and had a one on one talk with me. I don't remember her name, barely remember what she looked like except that she was pregnant. Pregnant with her second husbands baby, the first one didn't work out too well. She didn't tell me her first husband was a loser, she told me she loved him but wasn't in love with him. I think right at that moment a halo started to glow above her head. The very next day I broke up with who would have been my first husband. Over the last 20 some years our paths have crossed just a few times and I ask myself, "Holy Crap! What was I thinking?"
I think of my angel a lot and wish I could let her know how much she affected my life.
Today God spoke to me again. My gas grill would not ignite, no matter how many matches I threw in there. Plan B, my broiler in my oven wouldn't go on. A voice inside my head said, "These Hot Dogs will not cook themselves.............. order pizza."
So it is written so it shall be done.

The Damn Diabetic

"Wheat bread? Is dad a diabetic again?"
"Yeah, he's giving it another try. All the junk food is back in the usual hiding places."
The husband decided to give this living thing another shot. Since finding out a little over a year ago that he has diabetes, it's been an uphill battle trying to keep him alive. But I've persevered, because it is all about me anyway. I've always hid my chocolate, but I had to start hiding the potato's too.

Several times during this diabetic year he's told me, "I don't think I'm really a diabetic." With this look on his face like I was actually going to buy it.
"So you're more qualified than the man with a doctor's degree hanging on his wall to make this diagnosis? And the fact that all your siblings and your mother have diabetes, it just skipped you?"

I get no response to my logical questions. But I know when he's fallen off the diabetic wagon. He starts buying me huge Hersey Bars. These Hersey Bars never make it to my secret chocolate stash hiding place, he eats them. "Did you check your blood sugar today?"
"It's fine."
"Yeah? What was it?"
"It's fine."
"When was the last time you checked it?"
"Dear, it's fine."
"It's not like I like to nag you, you've brought it on yourself. I'm trying to keep you alive and this is the thanks I get, you damn diabetic."

It usually takes a "sugar spell" to snap him back into diabetic mode, which happened this week. So that's why I bought wheat bread, hid the chocolate and potato's and told him I loved him. Oh and I bought another issue of Diabetic Living.

Risk of Death by Electric Shock

I tried really hard to pay attention to the long winded electricity classes hosted by Relax Max HERE and HERE. He's taken it upon himself to teach the masses about "eee-lek-TRI-ci-tee". There was some talk of electrons and protons, atoms and stuff, but I never paid attention to that intellectual, book learnin' stuff when I was in school, why start now. Besides I have pictures.
My new hair dryer came with explicit instructions to not remove the tags dangling from it's cord that plugs into the holes. ("the holes" - a Seinfeld reference, but you should know that) My hair dryer wants me to see a constant reminder (diagram included) of the risk of death by electric shock and to warn others. Or they have plastered a warning of impending doom to cover their butts when some moron mis-uses an electrical appliance.

The Poop Yogurt

Jamie Lee Curtis told me Activia yogurt is good for my disgestive track. Well all right. I eat yogurt every day at work. I answer the phones and I get hungry. Yogurt is the perfect snack to eat when the phones are ringing. There's nothing more stressful than shoving a cookie into you mouth and then the phone rings. You have to swish the cookie over to the side of your mouth and hope when answering you don't sound like a pig. So yogurt is the way to go, if it's healthier than others all the better.
My little container of Activia sits on my desk. Two guys from the service department came by after teasing the woman in HR, they had their sites on me.
"Look! Sue has the poop yogurt!"
And a series of poop jokes followed. Unfortunately I missed this skit on Saturday Night Live:

Needless to say, I bought some Yoplait for this week.

Hangin' With The Weird

When I go days without a blogging idea I re-evaluated my life and then go to WalMart. Sometimes I clutter my mind with raising teenagers, paying bills and laundry, important stuff I suppose, but they get in the way of my humor brain cells. So I cleared my mind and took the checkbook to WalMart, we had a great time. Every single visit I'm greeted with someone walking out the entrance and walking in the exit and that always puts a smile on my face. The doors are clearly marked but WalMart shoppers have no time for readin' and stuff. There's a freakin' clearance sale going on right down the middle of the store for God's sake. I got a bath towel for $3.00.
On my way out I successfully avoided the Girl Scouts selling their cookies and navigated my way to the SUV, it was surrounded by shopping carts. I guess the few extra feet to the shopping cart holding bin was just to much for some. So I had a extra errand, round up the shopping carts. Those WalMart shopping cart rustlers make shopping cart rustling look easy. Steering three carts at once is an acquired skill, one that I'm lacking. But I managed to swing them over to the appropriate employee, feeling pretty proud of myself too. He never looked up or acknowledged my presence. Huh. Maybe I was doing a better job shopping cart rustling than I thought and he felt threatened. Or maybe he's just weird.

Trucks, Turds, Tools and Dead Things. This Post is For You Relax Max

The hell you say Relax Max, this is no girlie blog. Relax Max has failed to grasp the severity of a broken hair dryer. It was a traumatic morning for me and now, to redeem myself, I've promised to post about trucks.

The husband drives a truck, a Colorado, it has standard transmission and I can drive it too. It's red.

I've taken a long, hard look at my blog and can not believe I've fallen into the girlie blog category, I've posted about dog turds, that's not girlie. And if you go way back into my archives all I posted about were tools, that's how this blog started, trying to sell tools online.

Occasionally I drive the husbands truck when it's behind my SUV in the driveway and I haul groceries in it.

I've posted about dead bunnies, dear deer and dead chip monks. Dead things are not girlie. No this isn't a girlie blog. Relax Max, one of my frequent visitors and commenter's, is just being shallow and pedantic.

I Envy The Bald

At least this morning I did. This morning when my hair dryer was dead.
"Oh no."
It just wouldn't go on, it wouldn't even try, click, click, click, click, click. Twenty-seven time I tried to turn it on.
"Oh no."
I pushed every button it had, hit it, shook it, said very bad words to it.
"Oh no."

Now I know there is an old hair dryer in the garage, I gave it to the husband for when he does garage guy stuff. He was always "borrowing" it and leaving it in there. I guess he thought I liked searching for my hair dryer and being late for work. I couldn't find the damn thing this morning.
"Oh no."
But in the garage that holds every piece of crap that the husband has collected over our 23 years marriage I found our 23 year old fan.
"This could work."
I plugged it in and it immediately started to rattle and shake. "I really don't have time for this."
One hand tried to secure the fan from wobbling off the bathroom counter and the other tried to style and lift. I was going to be relying heavily on my curling iron today. You just don't walk out of the house as stunning as I am without the proper hair care products. I performed a miracle this morning.

Where's Her Penis?

I know, I laughed too when I first heard Boy #2 say that. Actually he demanded to know as he peered over my friends shoulder. She was changing her daughters diaper and Boy #2 was there to, I don't know, offer assitance, he being just out of diapers himself and a little brother still in them I guess he thought my friend, a new mom, could use some help from an all knowing three year old. But when he leaned in for a look see, his jaw dropped to the ground. His eyes grew wide and darted around the the immediate area, frantically searching, "Where's her penis?" My friend gave me a helpless look.
Honestly, I was surprised Boy #2 was just finding this out, I thought his older brother would have told him by now. The kid knew more about the birds and the bees by the time he was ten than I did. An older brother with neighborhood friends brings information much sooner than necessary.
I hesitated when the question was asked and my friend, a pro-active, take charge kind of person, explained the difference between boys and girls to my son. She never let's me forget this.
The next day I decided I needed to be more responsive for my boys inquisitive little minds, so I sat them down and said, "All penis questions go to dad, he has one, I don't. If it's an emergency, I'll try to answer to the best of my ability, but the questions will be run by dad at a later time and date."