Just a quickie to wish The Man, Happy Birthday. He is 45 today and still in good working order! He prides himself on his strength and agility and has a body that proves his pride! Hell I'm proud of him. He is a great guy even if he IS older than me!
So Happy Birthday Babe! I look forward to many more of them with you!
Friday, June 29, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Flashback
I'm at a loss as to what to write here today, so since I will be going on vacation soon, and since I'm not quite in the same murderous state I WAS in a few months ago, I can now post the Easter story. Just so you know... this is a topic that STILL comes up during our conversations. He has learned from the incident and he will live... for now...
EASTER 2007
Violence may well erupt in our peaceful household.
Most people know that taking food from the Fat Girl is completely suicidal. You might just as well find a bat and hit yourself with it if you are even THINKING about taking, no wait, STEALING the Fat Girl's food. Most especially her EASTER CANDY!!!!!
So here is the motive just in case he does it again and I kill him.
My daughter and I bought Easter candy for everyone. We mixed and matched so that the boys and us girls could have their OWN Easter Basket. We know from experience in this family that sharing of Easter, Halloween, Christmas, Birthday or Flag Day candy is NOT a nicety we have like other families. We must have our OWN, and by that, I mean, no one else is ALLOWED to touch, grim, drool, or envy when they've engaged in pigery and gobbled theirs down in the first day. The Man, 'Da Baby Daddy, The Punk and I, and even The Baby had our OWN Easter Baskets, and yes, The Punk and I gave more of the candy to the boys since it's only right that they gain more weight than us during this time of engorgement.
I like to savor my candy. Sometimes there is candy left in my basket from the previous year, in my stocking, in my Halloween bag, and of course in my Flag Day bag. I count on this candy to be there. I like to treat a good day with a couple of "Fun Sized" candy bars (Not that they are all that fun, fun would be bigger than my head, but that's another story). So imagine my HORROR when I pulled my basket down from the top shelf and see all the pink, shiney Easter grass laying on the top. I dig and feel my heart drop into my stomach when all I see are 5 grape jelly beans and the nastiest sugar candy eggs.
OMG!!!! We were robbed... that's all there is to it. Someone broke into the house and stole all my candy. I walk down the hall crying to find The Man quickly grabbing me, pressing my arms to my sides.
"Did you eat all my Easter Candy?" I ask still stricken
"Honey, I was SAVING you from having to eat it all" he replies, backing up into the bathroom still holding my arms down.
"So you ate ALL my Easter candy? You didn't just HIDE it on me as a joke? You know what I said about taking the Fat Girls candy, so did you hide it?" I asked, hopefully.
"No honey, I ate it." Still slowly backing up.
"ALLL?????" Hysterical now.
"Yea, I'm sorry, you want me to buy you some new candy? I thought you didn't want to eat all that, you were just saying the other day...... " Still holding my arms down and in the bathroom now.
"YOU ATE ALL MY EASTER CANDY? There was like 18 "fun sized" candy bars in there, 2 Cadbery eggs, and other stuff, you ATE IT all?!" I feel the violence from the pit of my stomach, not even The Punk has been so brazen, ever.
He releases my arms, I give him a good kidney punch and he quickly shuts the bathroom door while I have my hissy fit.
I storm down the hall and purposefully leave my EMPTY basket out.
"Did you think the dark jelly beans were black jelly beans? They're GRAPE... ha!"
I didn't hear him come out of the bathroom, but as I'm standing in the kitchen, he walks in, "Oh, I didn't know that" EATING them!!!
Then, to add insult to injury, I hear him jiggle what's LEFT in my Easter Basket and look to see that he put RADISHES in it...
So your honor, that's why I had to kill him!
EASTER 2007
Violence may well erupt in our peaceful household.
Most people know that taking food from the Fat Girl is completely suicidal. You might just as well find a bat and hit yourself with it if you are even THINKING about taking, no wait, STEALING the Fat Girl's food. Most especially her EASTER CANDY!!!!!
So here is the motive just in case he does it again and I kill him.
My daughter and I bought Easter candy for everyone. We mixed and matched so that the boys and us girls could have their OWN Easter Basket. We know from experience in this family that sharing of Easter, Halloween, Christmas, Birthday or Flag Day candy is NOT a nicety we have like other families. We must have our OWN, and by that, I mean, no one else is ALLOWED to touch, grim, drool, or envy when they've engaged in pigery and gobbled theirs down in the first day. The Man, 'Da Baby Daddy, The Punk and I, and even The Baby had our OWN Easter Baskets, and yes, The Punk and I gave more of the candy to the boys since it's only right that they gain more weight than us during this time of engorgement.
I like to savor my candy. Sometimes there is candy left in my basket from the previous year, in my stocking, in my Halloween bag, and of course in my Flag Day bag. I count on this candy to be there. I like to treat a good day with a couple of "Fun Sized" candy bars (Not that they are all that fun, fun would be bigger than my head, but that's another story). So imagine my HORROR when I pulled my basket down from the top shelf and see all the pink, shiney Easter grass laying on the top. I dig and feel my heart drop into my stomach when all I see are 5 grape jelly beans and the nastiest sugar candy eggs.
OMG!!!! We were robbed... that's all there is to it. Someone broke into the house and stole all my candy. I walk down the hall crying to find The Man quickly grabbing me, pressing my arms to my sides.
"Did you eat all my Easter Candy?" I ask still stricken
"Honey, I was SAVING you from having to eat it all" he replies, backing up into the bathroom still holding my arms down.
"So you ate ALL my Easter candy? You didn't just HIDE it on me as a joke? You know what I said about taking the Fat Girls candy, so did you hide it?" I asked, hopefully.
"No honey, I ate it." Still slowly backing up.
"ALLL?????" Hysterical now.
"Yea, I'm sorry, you want me to buy you some new candy? I thought you didn't want to eat all that, you were just saying the other day...... " Still holding my arms down and in the bathroom now.
"YOU ATE ALL MY EASTER CANDY? There was like 18 "fun sized" candy bars in there, 2 Cadbery eggs, and other stuff, you ATE IT all?!" I feel the violence from the pit of my stomach, not even The Punk has been so brazen, ever.
He releases my arms, I give him a good kidney punch and he quickly shuts the bathroom door while I have my hissy fit.
I storm down the hall and purposefully leave my EMPTY basket out.
"Did you think the dark jelly beans were black jelly beans? They're GRAPE... ha!"
I didn't hear him come out of the bathroom, but as I'm standing in the kitchen, he walks in, "Oh, I didn't know that" EATING them!!!
Then, to add insult to injury, I hear him jiggle what's LEFT in my Easter Basket and look to see that he put RADISHES in it...
So your honor, that's why I had to kill him!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Overheard At Work...
Co-worker: "Can we wear MAN Capri's?"
Boss: "Sure, the list of yes and no clothing is posted on the door"
Boss: "Sure, the list of yes and no clothing is posted on the door"
Calling Dr. House!
The Baby has been running a fairly high temp for the past 3 days. The Punk called the doctor and they couldn’t get her in until Thursday, so they said to take The Baby to Urgent Care in the hospital.
Typical answer.
We get to Urgent Care within a ½ hour of their opening at 2:00pm and began our wait. About 3:45pm they called us into the room. The nurse was really great and The Punk appreciated her help in trying to get The Baby to stop crying and whining. Her temp is 103.5 and she’s NOT her usual happy self.
The doctor gets in there and I swear to GAWD I have NEVER met a doctor like him. He walked in all slow and his posture reminded me of a cartoon character. You know the Turkey Buzzard that is embarrassed all the time… “Dum, de dum” THAT cartoon character.
He touches The Baby’s toe and she cries, so he touches my hand and her foot and my hand. The Baby can’t figure him out and quits crying for a minute. Hell, I can’t figure him out. Are they serious? This guy is REALLY the doctor and not some guy that is PRETENDING to be a doctor and really should be working in one of the rooms where I work?
So he checks her ears, then her throat and declares that there isn’t anything wrong with her. An alarm starts somewhere in the building and he tells us to hang on, he doesn’t think the patients have to do anything yet. He walks out in the hall.
Doctor: “What should we do with the patients? Should I be doing anything?”
Nurse: “Yes, go into your room and close the door”
Now while I’m thinking that Doctor Stupido just got slammed and it was funny, he DOESN’T come back into the room and shut the door.
The nurse comes in with some Tylenol, and gives it to The Punk to give to The Baby. The Punk and I then start talking about this doctor and I CALLED him Dr. Stupido out loud. Both The Punk and The Baby started to laugh which made ME laugh.
So when Dr. Stupido DOES come back in, we were tickled and couldn’t stop grinning.
Diagnosis?
Doctor: “I can’t find anything wrong with her, so I want you to go to the ER, they may have tests that they can do to see what’s going on with her”
*sigh* FINE then.
So off to the ER we go. Mind you, it’s hotter than hell itself out, so we are sucking down the AC in the car which I just HATE to do. But gotta keep The Baby comfortable.
At the ER, the Sherriff brought in some woman in handcuffs chained around her waist. For ½ hour we listened to her bitch and piss and moan about the cuffs being too tight, flirting outrageously with the Sherriff, and just be someone that should be seen by a shrink, not the ER. After enough bitching the Sherriff took the chain off her waist and cuffed her behind her back. We listened as she complained that they were too tight but he wasn’t listening. She actually pulled her hand out of the cuffs at one point to scratch her nose, and then continued asking about the Sherriff’s wife, telling him her measurements.
The Punk and I were struggling not to laugh at this poor guy’s predicament, but damn! The woman next to us wanted to know if he had something for her mouth. I was just worried that if she were mentally ill and unstable, she might go for the cops gun!
Finally got into a cubicle and we got to listen to the woman across the curtain yell for help, they were hurting her… this went on for a good hour or more, I can’t tell. The Baby cried on and off.
The Punk and I were tired, thirsty, and hungry by the time this NEXT doctor came in. He checked her ears and said that one of them was just starting to get a little pink and declared in no uncertain terms that she had an ear infection and needed antibiotics.
Fat Girl: “She would get a fever of 103.5, stop drinking, stop urinating, wake up in pain every 15-20 minutes, and be listless from a slight ear infection?”
Doctor: *pause* “Yes”
The Punk: “Even though she gets ear infections much worse than this and has NEVER ran a fever this high?”
Doctor: *pause, looks at me, looks at The Punk* “Yes, so have her take the antibiotics and follow up with her regular doctor, alternate the Tylenol and Motrin every 3 hours”
After he leaves I can tell that The Punk is ready to start breaking stuff. HOURS of waiting, trying to keep The Baby from crying and busy, and this is it?
Fat Girl: “Honey, it’s ok, even if it IS something worse, the antibiotics will take care of it, just watch her fever”
So needless to say, the poor baby is in the backseat again, sweating, but sleeping, there are antibiotics and Tylenol for the night and a couple of doctors that could use a foot up their butts.
I’m calling Dr. House!
Typical answer.
We get to Urgent Care within a ½ hour of their opening at 2:00pm and began our wait. About 3:45pm they called us into the room. The nurse was really great and The Punk appreciated her help in trying to get The Baby to stop crying and whining. Her temp is 103.5 and she’s NOT her usual happy self.
The doctor gets in there and I swear to GAWD I have NEVER met a doctor like him. He walked in all slow and his posture reminded me of a cartoon character. You know the Turkey Buzzard that is embarrassed all the time… “Dum, de dum” THAT cartoon character.
He touches The Baby’s toe and she cries, so he touches my hand and her foot and my hand. The Baby can’t figure him out and quits crying for a minute. Hell, I can’t figure him out. Are they serious? This guy is REALLY the doctor and not some guy that is PRETENDING to be a doctor and really should be working in one of the rooms where I work?
So he checks her ears, then her throat and declares that there isn’t anything wrong with her. An alarm starts somewhere in the building and he tells us to hang on, he doesn’t think the patients have to do anything yet. He walks out in the hall.
Doctor: “What should we do with the patients? Should I be doing anything?”
Nurse: “Yes, go into your room and close the door”
Now while I’m thinking that Doctor Stupido just got slammed and it was funny, he DOESN’T come back into the room and shut the door.
The nurse comes in with some Tylenol, and gives it to The Punk to give to The Baby. The Punk and I then start talking about this doctor and I CALLED him Dr. Stupido out loud. Both The Punk and The Baby started to laugh which made ME laugh.
So when Dr. Stupido DOES come back in, we were tickled and couldn’t stop grinning.
Diagnosis?
Doctor: “I can’t find anything wrong with her, so I want you to go to the ER, they may have tests that they can do to see what’s going on with her”
*sigh* FINE then.
So off to the ER we go. Mind you, it’s hotter than hell itself out, so we are sucking down the AC in the car which I just HATE to do. But gotta keep The Baby comfortable.
At the ER, the Sherriff brought in some woman in handcuffs chained around her waist. For ½ hour we listened to her bitch and piss and moan about the cuffs being too tight, flirting outrageously with the Sherriff, and just be someone that should be seen by a shrink, not the ER. After enough bitching the Sherriff took the chain off her waist and cuffed her behind her back. We listened as she complained that they were too tight but he wasn’t listening. She actually pulled her hand out of the cuffs at one point to scratch her nose, and then continued asking about the Sherriff’s wife, telling him her measurements.
The Punk and I were struggling not to laugh at this poor guy’s predicament, but damn! The woman next to us wanted to know if he had something for her mouth. I was just worried that if she were mentally ill and unstable, she might go for the cops gun!
Finally got into a cubicle and we got to listen to the woman across the curtain yell for help, they were hurting her… this went on for a good hour or more, I can’t tell. The Baby cried on and off.
The Punk and I were tired, thirsty, and hungry by the time this NEXT doctor came in. He checked her ears and said that one of them was just starting to get a little pink and declared in no uncertain terms that she had an ear infection and needed antibiotics.
Fat Girl: “She would get a fever of 103.5, stop drinking, stop urinating, wake up in pain every 15-20 minutes, and be listless from a slight ear infection?”
Doctor: *pause* “Yes”
The Punk: “Even though she gets ear infections much worse than this and has NEVER ran a fever this high?”
Doctor: *pause, looks at me, looks at The Punk* “Yes, so have her take the antibiotics and follow up with her regular doctor, alternate the Tylenol and Motrin every 3 hours”
After he leaves I can tell that The Punk is ready to start breaking stuff. HOURS of waiting, trying to keep The Baby from crying and busy, and this is it?
Fat Girl: “Honey, it’s ok, even if it IS something worse, the antibiotics will take care of it, just watch her fever”
So needless to say, the poor baby is in the backseat again, sweating, but sleeping, there are antibiotics and Tylenol for the night and a couple of doctors that could use a foot up their butts.
I’m calling Dr. House!
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Overheard at work...
"This is a verbal warning, do not wear shorts again, it is against our policy" Out of the mouth of our boss...
"But what about all the others, they are wearing shorts too" Out of the mouth of one of my lovely, mature co-workers.
I need a Snickers.
"But what about all the others, they are wearing shorts too" Out of the mouth of one of my lovely, mature co-workers.
I need a Snickers.
Weekend from... Part 2
Having The Man’s teenaged daughter over this past weekend, I had fully expected a sullen, depressed, suicidal, attitude ridden typical teen.
Not what we got.
Instead we got a wonderfully happy, always in a good mood, hyper, FEMALE version of The Man.
She is a smart ass like her father and loved being able to tease me mercilessly about the shave job I did on my dog, among other things…
“What setting did you use to shave him with…. Oh wait, what 4 settings did you use to shave him with?”
OMG, it only looks bad for a month or so, but HE feels better than having all that long, heavy fur, smart mouth!
Not what we got.
Instead we got a wonderfully happy, always in a good mood, hyper, FEMALE version of The Man.
She is a smart ass like her father and loved being able to tease me mercilessly about the shave job I did on my dog, among other things…
“What setting did you use to shave him with…. Oh wait, what 4 settings did you use to shave him with?”
OMG, it only looks bad for a month or so, but HE feels better than having all that long, heavy fur, smart mouth!
We (The Man and I) believe her mom sent her over to us as a punishment. She wasn’t allowed to go anywhere except with us. But even with that kind of punishment she was STILL delightful. We did make her weed the garden and there wasn’t any of the mouth clacking noise that I have so often heard when I made The Punk do stuff she didn’t want to do! She even posed for photo’s with her father after she was done weeding.
Sunday during the day we went out to move firewood to the area we will be camping at this coming week and there was no complaining then either.As it goes for teen girls, she hasn’t seen her father in months, and now she has decided that she wants to see him more. We will have to buy twice as many groceries since she EATS like her father too!
Our grass must be greener!
I think it’s a great idea and have no problem with it. I know that The Man was overwhelmed with feeling but buried those feelings ‘cuz he’s a Big Strong Man you know. *rolling my eyes*
I think she liked it over our house ‘cuz The Punk was over so much with The Baby and they hit it off really well.
Either that or it was my sparkly, charming personality and wit!
Monday, June 25, 2007
Weekend from...
HELL?? Well mostly not, unless you count the dogs that got confused. Thinking that INSIDE was OUTSIDE, and now I have to mop my floors yet again today! *sigh*
My mother was 5 minutes out the door before ONE of her damned dogs decided that “Oh, this big rug that Ms. P doesn’t mind dragging outside onto the deck and hosing off and scrubbing with a scrub brush, think I’ll take a nice big poo here! Oh, and throw in a piss just for her mopping under the rug, pleasure!”
GREAT!
So that’s all fine and well… we’ll just take the baby outside or keep her off the carpet until I can move everything and get the rug outside AGAIN!
That ONE dog kept growling and snapping at the baby, crabby assed thing. I thought it was funny when The Punk kept saying she better NOT bite the baby, while giving the dog the "fist" sign. The Man said if she did, then my mother could come visit her in the backyard ANY time! Wow, some violence at my house already and the weekend only just started!
So the dogs fought and barked and carried on until we got the pecking order down. As long as MY damned dog leaves everyone alone, they will get on just fine. But no, my damned dog is like the youngest brother in the family, gotta pick, and poke, and sniff until everyone is good and crabby and snappy… then he runs like the devil is on his tail! Well…. Close!
Let’s not talk about the fiasco that ensues when it’s time to go outside. It takes two of us to rustle up the pack. One of us has to open the baby gates and yell, and pat their leg, “Come on, that’s it, over here, come on, let’s go OUTSIDE”, while the other one walks behind with a portable baby gate, herding them in the correct direction. The damned cat gets out before the dogs get near the door. *sigh*
So 5 seconds after they are let out, one of them stands at the door and barks. And barks, barks, barks, and then the other joins in, and bark, bark, bark. My dog is in the back part of the yard looking at them knowing how long he’s going to be out at any given time. I have to hurry to let them in so my crabby NEIGHBORS don’t complain about the barking again. Good grief.
They are herded back into the house, MY damned dog jumping over the one that bites and she snaps at him and once again they are snapping, growling, and barking at one another while the other dog is trying to climb up my pant leg.
Someone just shoot me and get it over.
The water dish has been knocked over, twice
The cat is lying in the doggie bed and it just happens to be the snippy ones’
The old cat is hiding out on the back of the couch where she’s barked at
One starts to bark, all three bark
More yelling on my part
More herding
More paper towels to sop up the piss in the hallway that either was done before or after the last outing.
It’s only 9pm. I’m already crabby.
My mother was 5 minutes out the door before ONE of her damned dogs decided that “Oh, this big rug that Ms. P doesn’t mind dragging outside onto the deck and hosing off and scrubbing with a scrub brush, think I’ll take a nice big poo here! Oh, and throw in a piss just for her mopping under the rug, pleasure!”
GREAT!
So that’s all fine and well… we’ll just take the baby outside or keep her off the carpet until I can move everything and get the rug outside AGAIN!
That ONE dog kept growling and snapping at the baby, crabby assed thing. I thought it was funny when The Punk kept saying she better NOT bite the baby, while giving the dog the "fist" sign. The Man said if she did, then my mother could come visit her in the backyard ANY time! Wow, some violence at my house already and the weekend only just started!
So the dogs fought and barked and carried on until we got the pecking order down. As long as MY damned dog leaves everyone alone, they will get on just fine. But no, my damned dog is like the youngest brother in the family, gotta pick, and poke, and sniff until everyone is good and crabby and snappy… then he runs like the devil is on his tail! Well…. Close!
Let’s not talk about the fiasco that ensues when it’s time to go outside. It takes two of us to rustle up the pack. One of us has to open the baby gates and yell, and pat their leg, “Come on, that’s it, over here, come on, let’s go OUTSIDE”, while the other one walks behind with a portable baby gate, herding them in the correct direction. The damned cat gets out before the dogs get near the door. *sigh*
So 5 seconds after they are let out, one of them stands at the door and barks. And barks, barks, barks, and then the other joins in, and bark, bark, bark. My dog is in the back part of the yard looking at them knowing how long he’s going to be out at any given time. I have to hurry to let them in so my crabby NEIGHBORS don’t complain about the barking again. Good grief.
They are herded back into the house, MY damned dog jumping over the one that bites and she snaps at him and once again they are snapping, growling, and barking at one another while the other dog is trying to climb up my pant leg.
Someone just shoot me and get it over.
The water dish has been knocked over, twice
The cat is lying in the doggie bed and it just happens to be the snippy ones’
The old cat is hiding out on the back of the couch where she’s barked at
One starts to bark, all three bark
More yelling on my part
More herding
More paper towels to sop up the piss in the hallway that either was done before or after the last outing.
It’s only 9pm. I’m already crabby.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Friday Fracas? and other nonsense...
A few things up for discussion today, so I was being thoughtful and thought I would share with all of you.
Costello is feeling better today since one of the main characters of all the bickering, is out today. Wonder if it’s ‘cuz I’ve been sending people down to HER bathroom to poop. Hmm… Also, the table fight? One of the gals just waited until the other left for the day and then made the switch… sneaky! So work will be a nice peaceful day as long as no one ELSE gets pissed and decides to start another fight that we can all think about over the weekend.
Am doesn’t understand how grown people can act like this. We are union. Does that explain it? The Man doesn’t know why my Boss allows us to put up signs. Hello? We are union! LOL
The Baby was cute as hell again last night, playing in a bucket of cold assed water and making a weird noise when it would splash up on her. She has also started a biting, smacking game with us that are lucky enough to be on the receiving end. I know that she’s too young to know that it’s wrong, but damn, after a well landed smack in the mouth or having your glasses knocked off your face, the first thing you think of is either whacking her back, or yelling. Ok, so that’s probably just me.
The biting? I don’t know WHAT to make of that. When The Punk did that, I bit her back and that was the end of the biting, but not sure The Baby is old enough to know why. So I look like Dracula came to visit me last night.
I won’t go into detail about the Freddy Kruger nails the child has. Just suffice it to say that I have the weekend to scab over.
I’m looking forward to having The Man’s punk here this weekend. I’m better with kids, old and new, in MY old age, so it should be just fine. I have lots of walls and floors needing to be scrubbed, might just as well put her to use! Ha!
My sister Am, and I were discussing my going out to the property that we are going to spend time on next week, thinking that I should take the bad dogs out there.
FG: “I would worry that they would meet up with Coyotes”
Am: “Should take Rip, might do her good to run into a dog that has bigger balls than her”
I’m pretty sure that I wouldn’t want that for Rip or the bad dogs I will be watching this weekend, so they can stay home and poop and pee on the kitchen floor. (Mom, are you bringing a roll of paper towel with you?)
I was going over all the crap paperwork that I have for my appointment with the headache clinic. Like 12 pages of stuff I have to fill out. FINALLY a doctor that thinks it’s a concern or at least of interest if your headache is triggered or gets worse with physical activity INCLUDING sex. You tell the doctor something like that and they give you a blank stare that tells you one of two things, they don’t believe you, or you really have a bigger problem than THEY want to help with!
The questionnaire goes on to ask if I’ve ever done illegal (street) or prescription drugs recreationally. How far back do I go? Last week, last year, or is this an EVER thing? Cripe. We don’t wanna go there, my mother is a Substance Abuse Counselor. Maybe I’m the reason WHY she is…. Hmmm… I need to think about that.
Also, why do they need to know if I’m right or left handed? So I’m hoping to be able to be headache free here soon! If not, I’m thinking that the old “blood-letting” or “blood-suckers” to the temple may be in order.
I’m gearing up for the quitting smoking thing. I’ve got the book, the CD, the computer sites and of course EVERYONE at work handing me cards for websites and support 800 numbers. I’m grateful for all the support, but GET OFF MY BACK for now. Sheesh, one more week and then I’m done…
In closing, I was just thinking how incredibly lucky I am that I found The Man when I did. Finally after all these years and like Am and I were talking about this morning, all those REALLY bad kissers, I found one that is a great kisser as well as my very best friend, ever. I am sitting here remembering some of the smart ass things he says and my mom will remember the day we went out to eat at the Mexican Restaurant.
*Some Spanish rapper on the overhead*
CrabbyMomma: “Who is THAT rapper?”
The Man: “Dos Pac”
Have a fabulous weekend!
Costello is feeling better today since one of the main characters of all the bickering, is out today. Wonder if it’s ‘cuz I’ve been sending people down to HER bathroom to poop. Hmm… Also, the table fight? One of the gals just waited until the other left for the day and then made the switch… sneaky! So work will be a nice peaceful day as long as no one ELSE gets pissed and decides to start another fight that we can all think about over the weekend.
Am doesn’t understand how grown people can act like this. We are union. Does that explain it? The Man doesn’t know why my Boss allows us to put up signs. Hello? We are union! LOL
The Baby was cute as hell again last night, playing in a bucket of cold assed water and making a weird noise when it would splash up on her. She has also started a biting, smacking game with us that are lucky enough to be on the receiving end. I know that she’s too young to know that it’s wrong, but damn, after a well landed smack in the mouth or having your glasses knocked off your face, the first thing you think of is either whacking her back, or yelling. Ok, so that’s probably just me.
The biting? I don’t know WHAT to make of that. When The Punk did that, I bit her back and that was the end of the biting, but not sure The Baby is old enough to know why. So I look like Dracula came to visit me last night.
I won’t go into detail about the Freddy Kruger nails the child has. Just suffice it to say that I have the weekend to scab over.
I’m looking forward to having The Man’s punk here this weekend. I’m better with kids, old and new, in MY old age, so it should be just fine. I have lots of walls and floors needing to be scrubbed, might just as well put her to use! Ha!
My sister Am, and I were discussing my going out to the property that we are going to spend time on next week, thinking that I should take the bad dogs out there.
FG: “I would worry that they would meet up with Coyotes”
Am: “Should take Rip, might do her good to run into a dog that has bigger balls than her”
I’m pretty sure that I wouldn’t want that for Rip or the bad dogs I will be watching this weekend, so they can stay home and poop and pee on the kitchen floor. (Mom, are you bringing a roll of paper towel with you?)
I was going over all the crap paperwork that I have for my appointment with the headache clinic. Like 12 pages of stuff I have to fill out. FINALLY a doctor that thinks it’s a concern or at least of interest if your headache is triggered or gets worse with physical activity INCLUDING sex. You tell the doctor something like that and they give you a blank stare that tells you one of two things, they don’t believe you, or you really have a bigger problem than THEY want to help with!
The questionnaire goes on to ask if I’ve ever done illegal (street) or prescription drugs recreationally. How far back do I go? Last week, last year, or is this an EVER thing? Cripe. We don’t wanna go there, my mother is a Substance Abuse Counselor. Maybe I’m the reason WHY she is…. Hmmm… I need to think about that.
Also, why do they need to know if I’m right or left handed? So I’m hoping to be able to be headache free here soon! If not, I’m thinking that the old “blood-letting” or “blood-suckers” to the temple may be in order.
I’m gearing up for the quitting smoking thing. I’ve got the book, the CD, the computer sites and of course EVERYONE at work handing me cards for websites and support 800 numbers. I’m grateful for all the support, but GET OFF MY BACK for now. Sheesh, one more week and then I’m done…
In closing, I was just thinking how incredibly lucky I am that I found The Man when I did. Finally after all these years and like Am and I were talking about this morning, all those REALLY bad kissers, I found one that is a great kisser as well as my very best friend, ever. I am sitting here remembering some of the smart ass things he says and my mom will remember the day we went out to eat at the Mexican Restaurant.
*Some Spanish rapper on the overhead*
CrabbyMomma: “Who is THAT rapper?”
The Man: “Dos Pac”
Have a fabulous weekend!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Who let the bitch out?
In the years that I have worked here, I have tried to teach Costello, the other secretary to be bitchier. She’s so nice to everyone that they tend to take advantage of her sweet nature, and walk all over her. I feel bad because I USED to be just like that.
A few times we’ve talked about evasive body language, short answers, and as a last resort, to put up signs. Immature? Maybe, but oh so effective at keeping unwanted staff at bay. And with the recent playground fights and name calling in the hallways here, it is needed now more than ever.
So for your viewing pleasure, you are now able to see where Costello is at in her training!
She's pulling out all the stops. Cudo's Costello, bravo to you!!
A few times we’ve talked about evasive body language, short answers, and as a last resort, to put up signs. Immature? Maybe, but oh so effective at keeping unwanted staff at bay. And with the recent playground fights and name calling in the hallways here, it is needed now more than ever.
So for your viewing pleasure, you are now able to see where Costello is at in her training!
The sign under her name says:
Just to remind you...
The P's DO NOT know everything!!!
The P's DO NOT WANT to know everything!!!
The Workforce Director resides down this hall.
Her number is 234, call her, she cares.
She's pulling out all the stops. Cudo's Costello, bravo to you!! Going To The Zoo
In addition to the daycare that I must have started working at recently, we will be living in a bigger zoo than usual this weekend!
I say I’ve started working in a daycare because the staff are fighting over toys and bathrooms.
You heard right, bathrooms.
One gal wants a table that another gal has in HER room, and neither want to give up anything that MAY be more valuable to the other.
Another gal doesn’t want ANYONE to use HER bathroom.
WHAT? You’ve got to be kidding.
I didn’t know we had assigned bathrooms here, but ok.
Add to that the other various squabbles and bitching, and you have the makings of a really bad mood, and a boss that isn’t in the best of moods as it is.
I’m sad. I prefer my boss in a good mood, but even my high-jinks here can’t get a smile out of her today.
I lost my mind when I said I would take care of my poor mother’s dogs, Ricky Retardo, and Lucille Biter. Put them with my damned dog and cats and there will be a lot of noise, barking, pooping, peeing, and headaches to be sure. (While I’m thinking of it mom, bring a roll of paper towel, we are out!)
Then The Man corners me in the kitchen last night. It wouldn’t have been ALL bad but he’s making me eat stuff like salad and stick bread, so there wasn’t anything to snack on except veggies, and THAT wasn’t going to work.
“How would you feel if we got my daughter for the weekend?”
After my eye stopped twitching I thought: Ok, so no matter what I say here, unless it’s something totally positive, I’m a poophead.
“I think that would be just fine, we have my daughter and the baby here all the time, it’s only fair to have your daughter come over!”
Mind you I’ve never been CLOSE to being a step mommy to anyone, let alone what I’m expecting to be a sulky, pouty 16 year old with an attitude toward me ‘cuz I’m NOT the Mommy!
I’m nervous as hell to say the LEAST! Trying to run thru in my head what we could POSSIBLY do to entertain her for the weekend. How to keep the animals off her and how many sets of ear plugs we should buy for her so she can sleep thru all the barking and fighting that will be going on with all the animals in the middle of the night.
I remember what I did as a 16 year old, but how do you prevent that from happening with any OTHER 16 year old… Sorry mom!
I’m thinking that I will charge $5 for those that would like to come over and see all the exhibits. We will be open from 11am until 8pm.
I say I’ve started working in a daycare because the staff are fighting over toys and bathrooms.
You heard right, bathrooms.
One gal wants a table that another gal has in HER room, and neither want to give up anything that MAY be more valuable to the other.
Another gal doesn’t want ANYONE to use HER bathroom.
WHAT? You’ve got to be kidding.
I didn’t know we had assigned bathrooms here, but ok.
Add to that the other various squabbles and bitching, and you have the makings of a really bad mood, and a boss that isn’t in the best of moods as it is.
I’m sad. I prefer my boss in a good mood, but even my high-jinks here can’t get a smile out of her today.
I lost my mind when I said I would take care of my poor mother’s dogs, Ricky Retardo, and Lucille Biter. Put them with my damned dog and cats and there will be a lot of noise, barking, pooping, peeing, and headaches to be sure. (While I’m thinking of it mom, bring a roll of paper towel, we are out!)
Then The Man corners me in the kitchen last night. It wouldn’t have been ALL bad but he’s making me eat stuff like salad and stick bread, so there wasn’t anything to snack on except veggies, and THAT wasn’t going to work.
“How would you feel if we got my daughter for the weekend?”
After my eye stopped twitching I thought: Ok, so no matter what I say here, unless it’s something totally positive, I’m a poophead.
“I think that would be just fine, we have my daughter and the baby here all the time, it’s only fair to have your daughter come over!”
Mind you I’ve never been CLOSE to being a step mommy to anyone, let alone what I’m expecting to be a sulky, pouty 16 year old with an attitude toward me ‘cuz I’m NOT the Mommy!
I’m nervous as hell to say the LEAST! Trying to run thru in my head what we could POSSIBLY do to entertain her for the weekend. How to keep the animals off her and how many sets of ear plugs we should buy for her so she can sleep thru all the barking and fighting that will be going on with all the animals in the middle of the night.
I remember what I did as a 16 year old, but how do you prevent that from happening with any OTHER 16 year old… Sorry mom!
I’m thinking that I will charge $5 for those that would like to come over and see all the exhibits. We will be open from 11am until 8pm.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
You Want It WHEN?
My boss is bossing me around this week. All my co-workers are being bitchy, and the clients are being loud and obnoxious this week. Even The Baby, The Punk, and The Man are acting unusual so I had to check to make sure we weren't coming up on a full moon. *sigh* Not even close... so it must be something in the water!
Moon Phase
I'll keep checking back so that I know when I can eat that bag of chips and blame it on the full moon making me crazy!!
Moon Phase
I'll keep checking back so that I know when I can eat that bag of chips and blame it on the full moon making me crazy!!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Working for the paycheck....
With my boss making me work today, I thought it would be in my best interest to share the following article with those of us that have idiots for co-workers. I do not follow these tips as much as I should... I'm more of the straight on bitch to your face type of person. Probably why my reputation here at work is Ms. Bitch.
Well... the job gets done with little to no hassle.
Handling the Irritating Co-Worker
Four Easy Tips
Rachel Zupek, CareerBuilder.com
Work can't get much worse than when it stinks -- literally. For Stephen Viscusi, work stinks every day.
"I work near an executive (woman) that does work out at lunchtime," Viscusi says. "She returns smelling like body odor and Chanel No.5. It doesn't cut it."
Rather than let his co-worker continue smelling up the office, Viscusi, author of 'On the Job: How to Make It in the Real World of Work,' took the high road and told his colleague she had a small problem. He says the sheer embarrassment motivated her to not only shower, but not to take it personally or hold a grudge.
"Never be afraid to confront annoying co-workers head on," Viscusi says. "Remember they are peers, not the boss."
There's (at least) one annoying co-worker in every office. Whether it's the chatty-Cathy, smelly-Steven, tag-along-Tammy or just "that guy," difficult co-workers (unfortunately) are the standard in the workplace -- not the exception.
Most difficult co-workers are oblivious to their nightmare behavior. Avoiding them is out of the question. If you do make a comment, they stare at you like you're from the moon. Your feelings have been building up for months -- maybe even years -- and it's time to do something about it. You can either pull your hair out over their obnoxious behaviors -- or, you can deal with them accordingly.
Define the Problem (aka "Co-worker")In 'The Worst Case Scenario Survival Handbook: Work' (Chronicle Books), Joshua Piven and David Borgenicht describe four possible types of co-workers.
The Talker ... just won't shut up; engages in long-winded, one-sided conversations on relatively trivial subjects; and always has something to say about something (or someone).
The Kiss-Up ... craves approval mostly from the boss, but will also seek approval from you.
The TMI (Too Much Information) ... has no boundaries and no shame. He/she will share every piece of unpleasant and personal information with you, without sparing a detail. *They are talking about ME here!*
The Gossip ... much like the TMI, will share any and every story -- as long as it's not theirs.
Deal With ItCarly Drum, a workplace etiquette expert with New York-based executive search firm Drum Associates, offers these tips if a co-worker is annoying you:
Tip No. 1: Take a break. When you are spending more than 40 hours per week indoors with the same people, something is bound to bother you, Drum says.
"Everyone is going to have some sort of mannerism that bothers you, whether they crack their gum too loud or just hold their pen wrong." Drum says. Step outside for a breath of fresh air or run out to get a cup of coffee, she suggests. "It's human nature to get bothered by the little things, so just accept it and take a break!"
Tip No. 2: Be mentally tough. Don't let another colleague's bad habits hurt your concentration and productivity at work. Drum suggests ignoring him or her as best you can and limiting your daily interactions with them. *Or put a sign on your door: "I took a pain pill, why are you still here?"*
"If career advancement is important to you, then always try to act professionally in the workplace regardless of what an annoying co-worker might do," Drum offers.
Tip No. 3: Discuss the problem with your co-worker. (In a non-judgmental, non-confrontational way of course ...)Drum agrees with Viscusi that you shouldn't be afraid to say something to your co-worker. Depending on what the behavior is that's bothering you, it never hurts to approach your co-worker for a friendly little chat, Drum says.
"Co-workers sometimes don't notice they are doing something really annoying because it's just by habit," Drum contends. "By saying, 'I don't know if you noticed but ... (insert issue here)' -- a reasonable co-worker will usually be receptive to your feelings."
Tip No. 4: Talk with your supervisor. If the friendly and polite one-on-one doesn't work (or turn out to be so friendly), another option is to bring up the issue with your supervisor.
"From a managerial perspective, a difficult employee who is insensitive to other co-workers can poison a workplace environment and severely impact inner-office morale," Drum says. "Effective supervisors know how imperative it is to nip problems like this in the bud as soon as they arise."
Rachel Zupek is a writer and blogger for CareerBuilder.com. She researches and writes about job search strategy, career management, hiring trends and workplace issues.
Copyright 2007 CareerBuilder.com.
Pretty sure we don't know how to talk to the woman that picks her nose, looks at it and YES, puts it in her mouth. I am disgusted when I see kids do it... to see a grown assed woman do it? I want to vomit!
Well... the job gets done with little to no hassle.
Handling the Irritating Co-Worker
Four Easy Tips
Rachel Zupek, CareerBuilder.com
Work can't get much worse than when it stinks -- literally. For Stephen Viscusi, work stinks every day.
"I work near an executive (woman) that does work out at lunchtime," Viscusi says. "She returns smelling like body odor and Chanel No.5. It doesn't cut it."
Rather than let his co-worker continue smelling up the office, Viscusi, author of 'On the Job: How to Make It in the Real World of Work,' took the high road and told his colleague she had a small problem. He says the sheer embarrassment motivated her to not only shower, but not to take it personally or hold a grudge.
"Never be afraid to confront annoying co-workers head on," Viscusi says. "Remember they are peers, not the boss."
There's (at least) one annoying co-worker in every office. Whether it's the chatty-Cathy, smelly-Steven, tag-along-Tammy or just "that guy," difficult co-workers (unfortunately) are the standard in the workplace -- not the exception.
Most difficult co-workers are oblivious to their nightmare behavior. Avoiding them is out of the question. If you do make a comment, they stare at you like you're from the moon. Your feelings have been building up for months -- maybe even years -- and it's time to do something about it. You can either pull your hair out over their obnoxious behaviors -- or, you can deal with them accordingly.
Define the Problem (aka "Co-worker")In 'The Worst Case Scenario Survival Handbook: Work' (Chronicle Books), Joshua Piven and David Borgenicht describe four possible types of co-workers.
The Talker ... just won't shut up; engages in long-winded, one-sided conversations on relatively trivial subjects; and always has something to say about something (or someone).
The Kiss-Up ... craves approval mostly from the boss, but will also seek approval from you.
The TMI (Too Much Information) ... has no boundaries and no shame. He/she will share every piece of unpleasant and personal information with you, without sparing a detail. *They are talking about ME here!*
The Gossip ... much like the TMI, will share any and every story -- as long as it's not theirs.
Deal With ItCarly Drum, a workplace etiquette expert with New York-based executive search firm Drum Associates, offers these tips if a co-worker is annoying you:
Tip No. 1: Take a break. When you are spending more than 40 hours per week indoors with the same people, something is bound to bother you, Drum says.
"Everyone is going to have some sort of mannerism that bothers you, whether they crack their gum too loud or just hold their pen wrong." Drum says. Step outside for a breath of fresh air or run out to get a cup of coffee, she suggests. "It's human nature to get bothered by the little things, so just accept it and take a break!"
Tip No. 2: Be mentally tough. Don't let another colleague's bad habits hurt your concentration and productivity at work. Drum suggests ignoring him or her as best you can and limiting your daily interactions with them. *Or put a sign on your door: "I took a pain pill, why are you still here?"*
"If career advancement is important to you, then always try to act professionally in the workplace regardless of what an annoying co-worker might do," Drum offers.
Tip No. 3: Discuss the problem with your co-worker. (In a non-judgmental, non-confrontational way of course ...)Drum agrees with Viscusi that you shouldn't be afraid to say something to your co-worker. Depending on what the behavior is that's bothering you, it never hurts to approach your co-worker for a friendly little chat, Drum says.
"Co-workers sometimes don't notice they are doing something really annoying because it's just by habit," Drum contends. "By saying, 'I don't know if you noticed but ... (insert issue here)' -- a reasonable co-worker will usually be receptive to your feelings."
Tip No. 4: Talk with your supervisor. If the friendly and polite one-on-one doesn't work (or turn out to be so friendly), another option is to bring up the issue with your supervisor.
"From a managerial perspective, a difficult employee who is insensitive to other co-workers can poison a workplace environment and severely impact inner-office morale," Drum says. "Effective supervisors know how imperative it is to nip problems like this in the bud as soon as they arise."
Rachel Zupek is a writer and blogger for CareerBuilder.com. She researches and writes about job search strategy, career management, hiring trends and workplace issues.
Copyright 2007 CareerBuilder.com.
Pretty sure we don't know how to talk to the woman that picks her nose, looks at it and YES, puts it in her mouth. I am disgusted when I see kids do it... to see a grown assed woman do it? I want to vomit!
Monday, June 18, 2007
Bra, Bra, Go Away.
I've only ever bought bras on hangers, but any woman who is "bigger" knows how to buy a "BOX" bra. Except me.
My girlfriend at work said to me last week...
"Go to Victoria Secret, they have "bigger" bras now!"
"Are they on hangers?"
"HUH?"
"Never mind."
Ok, so I look online since if I were to EVER buy one of their bras it would be online at E-Bay or something. I'm excited thinking that I'm going to get a cute bra and not one of those torture devices that pinch and shove wires where they shouldn't be shoved.
So at the site, it says, measure UNDER my breasts around the ribcage. Ok... done. I'm thinking, wow, not too bad, 40 1/2, so I can size up to a 41 and it's fine. Then it says to ADD 5.
WHAT? WHY?? *whining*
If it's an ODD number to round up one. *sigh* ok fine then. 46 it is.
Then you are to meaure around the largest part of your breasts for your cup size. (I'm pretty sure you are suppose to wear a bra, since without one, I would have been MUCH smaller.)
Done, 48 and a little.
I continue reading and it says to subtract THAT number from the BAND number and that's your bra size. Ummmmmm...
So I'm a 46B. ?????
Let me see. The tag on my GOOD bra says 42D and that's with very little room for overflow. Do Victoria Secret bras come LARGE or something? Not to mention that trying to FIND a 46B on their site is impossible, since their BIGGEST BAND size is a 40. I'm pretty sure they don't consider the fat UNDER the arms part of the breast. (don't look at me that way, I may be big, but I have no cleavage.)
Great.
So since I was depressed anyway, and The Man was all excited thinking I had incredibly LARGE breasts, I finished measuring. I'm pretty sure that the clothing manufacturing companies would have a hell of a time with my body.
So for all those punks out there that ask: A/S/L/M, here it is in black and pink: Old, yes, work, and 46, 51, 44. Woo hoo... sexy!
I'm going to WalMart to buy a 42D BOX bra. Maybe the lady in that department will throw in the little hanger so I feel better.
My girlfriend at work said to me last week...
"Go to Victoria Secret, they have "bigger" bras now!"
"Are they on hangers?"
"HUH?"
"Never mind."
Ok, so I look online since if I were to EVER buy one of their bras it would be online at E-Bay or something. I'm excited thinking that I'm going to get a cute bra and not one of those torture devices that pinch and shove wires where they shouldn't be shoved.
So at the site, it says, measure UNDER my breasts around the ribcage. Ok... done. I'm thinking, wow, not too bad, 40 1/2, so I can size up to a 41 and it's fine. Then it says to ADD 5.
WHAT? WHY?? *whining*
If it's an ODD number to round up one. *sigh* ok fine then. 46 it is.
Then you are to meaure around the largest part of your breasts for your cup size. (I'm pretty sure you are suppose to wear a bra, since without one, I would have been MUCH smaller.)
Done, 48 and a little.
I continue reading and it says to subtract THAT number from the BAND number and that's your bra size. Ummmmmm...
So I'm a 46B. ?????
Let me see. The tag on my GOOD bra says 42D and that's with very little room for overflow. Do Victoria Secret bras come LARGE or something? Not to mention that trying to FIND a 46B on their site is impossible, since their BIGGEST BAND size is a 40. I'm pretty sure they don't consider the fat UNDER the arms part of the breast. (don't look at me that way, I may be big, but I have no cleavage.)
Great.
So since I was depressed anyway, and The Man was all excited thinking I had incredibly LARGE breasts, I finished measuring. I'm pretty sure that the clothing manufacturing companies would have a hell of a time with my body.
So for all those punks out there that ask: A/S/L/M, here it is in black and pink: Old, yes, work, and 46, 51, 44. Woo hoo... sexy!
I'm going to WalMart to buy a 42D BOX bra. Maybe the lady in that department will throw in the little hanger so I feel better.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Why Is Your Floor Sticky?
I ask myself daily how the floor ends up so dirty and sticky. I know I have a baby in the house, but come on... how can one little baby cause the kitchen floor to be sooooo icky?
I have the answer on film.
I have the answer on film.
Baby throws food on floor. Dog licks it up. = Sticky, dirty floors.
The Punk is here too, taking The Baby home so I can mop my damned floors AGAIN!
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Why P, Why?
My poor mother wonders on this blog why I only talk about disgusting things like poop and other bodily functions, as well as sex. Why would I embarrass her like that. Hmm… lemme think about that a minute.
Hello? Have you met me? My entire life is surrounded by poop and other bodily functions, as well as sex.
Here’s a little insight into my life for those of you that have no clue.
I work with developmentally disabled adults. For those of you that STILL have no clue… they are retarded and most are physically disabled. On a daily basis one or more of them come in with…
Poopy/pee pee pants and/or loaded diapers
Boogers and snot the size of golf balls
An erection that we all try to ignore before sending them to the bathroom
Body odor soooo strong that it makes a skunk smell good
Wearing the same clothes they have worn for 4 days in a row
Horrible bad breath
Poop on their hands and attempting to smear it on YOU.
So… these are just a few of the things that even I, as the secretary see and have to deal with on a daily basis. AT WORK.
At home, four nights per week and sometimes on the weekend I have a baby, that with the exception of the erection, ends up the same as above only on a smaller scale.
So mother, this is why I feel the need to ALWAYS talk about these disgusting things. They ARE my life. I don’t have the luxury of a clean, well dressed office where no one comes up to you to announce that they need a long stick to “chop up” a BM that won’t flush.
Hello? Have you met me? My entire life is surrounded by poop and other bodily functions, as well as sex.
Here’s a little insight into my life for those of you that have no clue.
I work with developmentally disabled adults. For those of you that STILL have no clue… they are retarded and most are physically disabled. On a daily basis one or more of them come in with…
Poopy/pee pee pants and/or loaded diapers
Boogers and snot the size of golf balls
An erection that we all try to ignore before sending them to the bathroom
Body odor soooo strong that it makes a skunk smell good
Wearing the same clothes they have worn for 4 days in a row
Horrible bad breath
Poop on their hands and attempting to smear it on YOU.
So… these are just a few of the things that even I, as the secretary see and have to deal with on a daily basis. AT WORK.
At home, four nights per week and sometimes on the weekend I have a baby, that with the exception of the erection, ends up the same as above only on a smaller scale.
So mother, this is why I feel the need to ALWAYS talk about these disgusting things. They ARE my life. I don’t have the luxury of a clean, well dressed office where no one comes up to you to announce that they need a long stick to “chop up” a BM that won’t flush.
Star Wars in my bedroom... NOT kinky!
In my eternal quest for thicker hair in my old age, without having to perm it, I have started using rollers. Nothing fancy, just some of those huge ones that use the same idea as Velcro. They just “stick” in your hair!
I usually put 3 of them in my hair right after the shower and go directly into the bedroom since I DO know how ridiculous I look in them and I try to avoid the laughter of The Man that early in the morning.
Not so lucky this morning.
The Man walks into the bedroom where I am dressing to say goodbye. He’s leaving for work.
“OK, I gotta…. (he has noticed my hair)… ummm… (he starts to grin, and quickly walks over to me, holding my arms down)… May the force be with you Princess Leia” He starts laughing his head off.
I tried to punch him, but he won’t let go of my arms. He struggles to get it together and stop laughing.
“Seriously honey, I’ve just never seen your hair in curlers” All serious now.
It’s still there in his eyes.
“Go ahead, I know you want to laugh, so just get it over with for crying out loud”
So as he snorts and carries on, I sit on the bed and give him “that look”, waiting.
He finally stops and gives me his serious, non-laughing face again.
“Ok, I really have to get going to work” He leans over and smooches me goodbye and backs away.
“Again Princess Leia, may the force be with you.”
I can hear him laughing all the way out the door.
So much for getting more volume without him seeing me.
I usually put 3 of them in my hair right after the shower and go directly into the bedroom since I DO know how ridiculous I look in them and I try to avoid the laughter of The Man that early in the morning.
Not so lucky this morning.
The Man walks into the bedroom where I am dressing to say goodbye. He’s leaving for work.
“OK, I gotta…. (he has noticed my hair)… ummm… (he starts to grin, and quickly walks over to me, holding my arms down)… May the force be with you Princess Leia” He starts laughing his head off.
I tried to punch him, but he won’t let go of my arms. He struggles to get it together and stop laughing.
“Seriously honey, I’ve just never seen your hair in curlers” All serious now.
It’s still there in his eyes.
“Go ahead, I know you want to laugh, so just get it over with for crying out loud”
So as he snorts and carries on, I sit on the bed and give him “that look”, waiting.
He finally stops and gives me his serious, non-laughing face again.
“Ok, I really have to get going to work” He leans over and smooches me goodbye and backs away.
“Again Princess Leia, may the force be with you.”
I can hear him laughing all the way out the door.
So much for getting more volume without him seeing me.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Sex or Food.... hmmm, lemme think....
When we listen to how others talk about men, we think, "All men think about is sex".
True enough.
I'm not sure what the statistics are, but it's like men think about sex a total of 8 hours a day or something equally as incredible.
Being a woman in MY family, I have to say that the majority of us can be clumped in with the typical man. We only think about sex.... all day long we think about sex... we wonder when the next time we will be getting sex...
Weird I know. I'm sure that all the men or women in our lives were a-ok with that. "Yippee, a woman who likes sex as much as me... "
Ok, that's fine.
10:45pm Tuesday night, the lights are out, The Man is getting frisky.
OMG, I forgot to eat those coconut covered marshmallows!!! Now I have to wait!
What the hell happened there???
True enough.
I'm not sure what the statistics are, but it's like men think about sex a total of 8 hours a day or something equally as incredible.
Being a woman in MY family, I have to say that the majority of us can be clumped in with the typical man. We only think about sex.... all day long we think about sex... we wonder when the next time we will be getting sex...
Weird I know. I'm sure that all the men or women in our lives were a-ok with that. "Yippee, a woman who likes sex as much as me... "
Ok, that's fine.
10:45pm Tuesday night, the lights are out, The Man is getting frisky.
OMG, I forgot to eat those coconut covered marshmallows!!! Now I have to wait!
What the hell happened there???
*Cough, cough*
I was contemplating the other day. When I was in my 20’s life didn’t move fast enough. Now that I’m in my 40’s it feels as though life has flown by and left me choking in the dust.
I was thinking about all this as I was looking at my sleeping grandbaby. She’s so smart, like her mom. She’s so beautiful, like her mom. Even if she weren’t smart and beautiful, the way and the amount of smiles and laughs make her cuter than normal babies her age.
I can still remember the day The Punk told me she was pregnant. I was ABSOLUTELY, without question, horrified. The only thing worse would have been her death. I remember all those woman whose children got pregnant young. I tsk, tsked them. I thought they did a shitty job as a parent. Can’t keep your kid from getting pregnant? Oh you are a bad parent!
I heard THAT line enough, and was better than that!
Sure.
It took awhile for me to accept it. It took a lot of tears and talks with The Punk about how hard her future would be. I decided that I was going to do what I could to help, if for no other reason than to be a better parent than that.
So last night when The Punk came to pick up The Baby we talked a little.
Fat Girl: How was school? Are you learning a lot? Or is it still just book work?
The Punk: I am proficient in 3 channel EKG’s now.
FG: Wow, can you do blood pressures yet?
TP: No, but in the next week or so we are going to start injections.
FG: Wow, I’m impressed. I’m so proud of you.
TP: *Mumble, mumble*
So I’m sitting here thinking that I did do ok as a parent. I didn’t make sure she didn’t get pregnant, and maybe she DID turn out ok “in spite” of my parenting. But I did something right for her to be doing all the right things regardless if she’s doing them the hard way.
The Man: Let me know when you graduate to 5 channel EKG’s
FG & TP: *rolling our eyes*
It continues to fly by.
I was thinking about all this as I was looking at my sleeping grandbaby. She’s so smart, like her mom. She’s so beautiful, like her mom. Even if she weren’t smart and beautiful, the way and the amount of smiles and laughs make her cuter than normal babies her age.
I can still remember the day The Punk told me she was pregnant. I was ABSOLUTELY, without question, horrified. The only thing worse would have been her death. I remember all those woman whose children got pregnant young. I tsk, tsked them. I thought they did a shitty job as a parent. Can’t keep your kid from getting pregnant? Oh you are a bad parent!I heard THAT line enough, and was better than that!
Sure.
It took awhile for me to accept it. It took a lot of tears and talks with The Punk about how hard her future would be. I decided that I was going to do what I could to help, if for no other reason than to be a better parent than that.
So last night when The Punk came to pick up The Baby we talked a little.
Fat Girl: How was school? Are you learning a lot? Or is it still just book work?
The Punk: I am proficient in 3 channel EKG’s now.
FG: Wow, can you do blood pressures yet?
TP: No, but in the next week or so we are going to start injections.
FG: Wow, I’m impressed. I’m so proud of you.
TP: *Mumble, mumble*
So I’m sitting here thinking that I did do ok as a parent. I didn’t make sure she didn’t get pregnant, and maybe she DID turn out ok “in spite” of my parenting. But I did something right for her to be doing all the right things regardless if she’s doing them the hard way.
The Man: Let me know when you graduate to 5 channel EKG’s
FG & TP: *rolling our eyes*
It continues to fly by.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Happy Birthday Am!
Today is my sister Am's Birthday. Mind you, she ISN'T older than me, she just acts like it. She's only 36. Wow... 37, 38, 39, 40!!
So Am... Happy Birthday Hooker! Hope you get LOTS of birthday sex! Oh, and a cake to go with it!
Monday, June 11, 2007
Trying not to cuss...
Instead of writing some bummed out version of a woman with weight issues AND a freakin' headache from HELL... I'm going to give you a joke.
I did call the doc and requested those stupid tests, I'm done living in the fog that has become my headache medication life. If one more person tells me where to pinch my hand, what herbal to take, how much coffee to drink, and how maybe a walk will help (I will be killing HIM later when I feel more myself)... I will scream! Think 3 months is long enough to have a migraine, don't you think? Me too!
So on with the joke already! Sheesh! I'm sure my sister Am will appreciate it since she believes we spend so much of our time barking as it is!!!
On the first day, God created the dog and said:
"Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in or walks past. For this, I will give you a life Span of twenty years."
The dog said: "That's a long time to be barking. How about only ten years and I'll give you back the other ten?"
So God agreed.
On the second day, God created the monkey and said:
"Entertain people, do tricks, and make them laugh. For this, I'll give you a twenty-year life span."
The monkey said: "Monkey tricks for twenty years? That's a pretty long time to perform. How about I give you back ten like the Dog did?"
And God agreed.
On the third day, God created the cow and said:
"You must go into the field with the farmer all day long and suffer under the sun, have calves and give milk to support the farmer's family. For this, I will give you a life span of sixty years."
The cow said: "That's kind of a tough life you want me to live for sixty years. How about twenty and I'll give back the other forty?"
And God agreed again.
On the fourth day, God created man and said:
"Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your life. For this, I'll give you twenty years."
But man said: "Only twenty years? Could you possibly give me my twenty, the forty the cow gave back, the ten the monkey gave back, and the ten the dog gave back; that makes eighty, okay?"
"Okay," said God, "You asked for it."
So that is why for our first twenty years we eat, sleep, play and enjoy ourselves. For the next forty years we slave in the sun to support our family. For the next ten years we do monkey tricks to entertain the grandchildren. And for the last ten years we sit on the front porch and bark at everyone.
Life has now been explained to you.
I did call the doc and requested those stupid tests, I'm done living in the fog that has become my headache medication life. If one more person tells me where to pinch my hand, what herbal to take, how much coffee to drink, and how maybe a walk will help (I will be killing HIM later when I feel more myself)... I will scream! Think 3 months is long enough to have a migraine, don't you think? Me too!
So on with the joke already! Sheesh! I'm sure my sister Am will appreciate it since she believes we spend so much of our time barking as it is!!!
*****
On the first day, God created the dog and said:
"Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in or walks past. For this, I will give you a life Span of twenty years."
The dog said: "That's a long time to be barking. How about only ten years and I'll give you back the other ten?"
So God agreed.
On the second day, God created the monkey and said:
"Entertain people, do tricks, and make them laugh. For this, I'll give you a twenty-year life span."
The monkey said: "Monkey tricks for twenty years? That's a pretty long time to perform. How about I give you back ten like the Dog did?"
And God agreed.
On the third day, God created the cow and said:
"You must go into the field with the farmer all day long and suffer under the sun, have calves and give milk to support the farmer's family. For this, I will give you a life span of sixty years."
The cow said: "That's kind of a tough life you want me to live for sixty years. How about twenty and I'll give back the other forty?"
And God agreed again.
On the fourth day, God created man and said:
"Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your life. For this, I'll give you twenty years."
But man said: "Only twenty years? Could you possibly give me my twenty, the forty the cow gave back, the ten the monkey gave back, and the ten the dog gave back; that makes eighty, okay?"
"Okay," said God, "You asked for it."
So that is why for our first twenty years we eat, sleep, play and enjoy ourselves. For the next forty years we slave in the sun to support our family. For the next ten years we do monkey tricks to entertain the grandchildren. And for the last ten years we sit on the front porch and bark at everyone.
Life has now been explained to you.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Paris who?
To avoid spewing my venom again today on the subject of her heinous (yes, I see the typo) Paris Hilton, I've decided to move onto something that's interesting to me and Costello at work and wash my hands, and probably my mouth if one more person tells me that Paris is out of jail!
Washington Discharged From 'Anatomy'
By NELLIE ANDREEVA, Reuters
LOS ANGELES (June 8) - Dr. Preston Burke packed his bags on the season finale of ABC's "Grey's Anatomy" last month. Now Isaiah Washingon, the actor who has played him for the past three seasons, is doing the same. On Thursday, ABC Studios, which produces "Grey's," decided not to pick up Washington's option for next season.
Ok, that's fine. I was worried when the finale showed George packing his locker and leaving. WHAT THE?? And why is Torres the Head Resident? I love Callie, don’t get me wrong, but what’s in store for Dr. Bailey? OMG, I’m pissing my pants in anticipation of next season!
Here’s my prediction: Callie won’t get pregnant, but Izzie will be! The doctor that annoys Christine will be back in Burke’s place. I don’t know what will happen with the NEW Grey on the scene, but will be fun to watch.
Onto other TV stuff!
I’m glad to see Hell’s Kitchen is back. Wonder why we enjoy these mean men? What kind of sickness does this reveal in ourselves? I dunno, don’t care.
I’m also anticipating the new Nip/Tuck. I love that show but really get pissed that it’s soooooo short of a season. How do they get away with that?
I will have to fight with The Man for the remote since his shows are Man vs. Wild, Survivorman, and Dog the Bounty Hunter or something like that.
Wow, we are old!
I’m still pissed about Paris!
Washington Discharged From 'Anatomy'
By NELLIE ANDREEVA, Reuters
LOS ANGELES (June 8) - Dr. Preston Burke packed his bags on the season finale of ABC's "Grey's Anatomy" last month. Now Isaiah Washingon, the actor who has played him for the past three seasons, is doing the same. On Thursday, ABC Studios, which produces "Grey's," decided not to pick up Washington's option for next season.
Ok, that's fine. I was worried when the finale showed George packing his locker and leaving. WHAT THE?? And why is Torres the Head Resident? I love Callie, don’t get me wrong, but what’s in store for Dr. Bailey? OMG, I’m pissing my pants in anticipation of next season!
Here’s my prediction: Callie won’t get pregnant, but Izzie will be! The doctor that annoys Christine will be back in Burke’s place. I don’t know what will happen with the NEW Grey on the scene, but will be fun to watch.
Onto other TV stuff!
I’m glad to see Hell’s Kitchen is back. Wonder why we enjoy these mean men? What kind of sickness does this reveal in ourselves? I dunno, don’t care.
I’m also anticipating the new Nip/Tuck. I love that show but really get pissed that it’s soooooo short of a season. How do they get away with that?
I will have to fight with The Man for the remote since his shows are Man vs. Wild, Survivorman, and Dog the Bounty Hunter or something like that.
Wow, we are old!
I’m still pissed about Paris!
Thursday, June 7, 2007
I didn't hear that right...
Paris Hilton is out of jail. Wow. Three whole days and it was a struggle for her I’m sure. She was cold, hungry and lonely.
Whatever!
Let’s think about this for a minute. We drink and drive. We get pulled over. We get arrested, arms behind our backs, watch our heads, and put in a cement cell with several other drunk folks.
Probation? Please. It’s jail time then and there, there’s no probation!
So let’s see, Paris violates probation and is required to do jail time.
Again, US? We would be back in jail, sitting there with our backs against the wall in our bunks and our wool blanket pulled over us. Eating PB&J for lunch, no chips I’m sure, and if we were lucky enough to get something to drink, it would be in a cup with a tinfoil lid to be sure.
Paris was losing weight. How could they tell in those 3 days? She wasn’t eating? Surprise, does she and the rest of her friends EVER eat? I think they are on that liquid diet… alcohol right?
She was cold. Yea, no body fat, no heat. She probably got the standard wool blanket, but damn, no silk and feathers, no wonder she was cold.
She didn’t like the isolation, so she cried a lot. Ummm… I’m pretty sure that it takes being in the main group of jail folks to make friends. There were probably plenty of women there that would brush her hair and do her toenails.
As for being under house arrest. WHATEVER.
Here’s my idea of house arrest.
*Four kids under 8, she is responsible for cooking, cleaning, bathing, and keeping them from crying every 10 seconds.
*She has to find transportation for all of them to go to various activities, all different, all at the same time.
*She has to ensure they all have clothes on, shoes on, and their hair brushed, at least a little BEFORE they leave.
*She has to make 16 phone calls to various parents, coaches, teachers, and a man that she knows lives there, but isn’t sure why, and she has to do it all on a land line phone, because the youngest spilt apple juice into her cell phone.
*She has to shop every day for food since each kid hates whatever she cooks and will ONLY eat one kind of veggie, and each one requires a different one.
*THEN, she has to figure out how to get dinner on the table, everyone fed, bathed, and in bed BEFORE 9pm.
*After everyone is in bed she must finish a 6,000 page essay on the importance of a balanced checkbook on State Assistance.
*Then SHE can eat, but only what’s left on the kids’ plates, do a load of laundry, wash the dishes, clean the toys, hair, and toilet brush out of the tub so she can shower.
*If she has silk sheets, she will find a very muddy dog lying on HER pillow, and the cat puked UNDER the covers, when she finally can fall asleep.
*Oh yea, and then get up at 6am to start all over again. That’s MY idea of house arrest.
Or she can go to THIS jail, I love this man’s idea! Think they all should be like this!
http://www.cnn.com/US/9907/27/tough.sheriff/
So… Paris is out of jail. What a role model for all our children. Why not bring Michael Jackson to the US and have him be in charge of daycares and schools. What a shame that our country does give the privileged more privileges than they deserve.
My rant is over now. I need a Snickers.
Whatever!
Let’s think about this for a minute. We drink and drive. We get pulled over. We get arrested, arms behind our backs, watch our heads, and put in a cement cell with several other drunk folks.
Probation? Please. It’s jail time then and there, there’s no probation!
So let’s see, Paris violates probation and is required to do jail time.
Again, US? We would be back in jail, sitting there with our backs against the wall in our bunks and our wool blanket pulled over us. Eating PB&J for lunch, no chips I’m sure, and if we were lucky enough to get something to drink, it would be in a cup with a tinfoil lid to be sure.
Paris was losing weight. How could they tell in those 3 days? She wasn’t eating? Surprise, does she and the rest of her friends EVER eat? I think they are on that liquid diet… alcohol right?
She was cold. Yea, no body fat, no heat. She probably got the standard wool blanket, but damn, no silk and feathers, no wonder she was cold.
She didn’t like the isolation, so she cried a lot. Ummm… I’m pretty sure that it takes being in the main group of jail folks to make friends. There were probably plenty of women there that would brush her hair and do her toenails.
As for being under house arrest. WHATEVER.
Here’s my idea of house arrest.
*Four kids under 8, she is responsible for cooking, cleaning, bathing, and keeping them from crying every 10 seconds.
*She has to find transportation for all of them to go to various activities, all different, all at the same time.
*She has to ensure they all have clothes on, shoes on, and their hair brushed, at least a little BEFORE they leave.
*She has to make 16 phone calls to various parents, coaches, teachers, and a man that she knows lives there, but isn’t sure why, and she has to do it all on a land line phone, because the youngest spilt apple juice into her cell phone.
*She has to shop every day for food since each kid hates whatever she cooks and will ONLY eat one kind of veggie, and each one requires a different one.
*THEN, she has to figure out how to get dinner on the table, everyone fed, bathed, and in bed BEFORE 9pm.
*After everyone is in bed she must finish a 6,000 page essay on the importance of a balanced checkbook on State Assistance.
*Then SHE can eat, but only what’s left on the kids’ plates, do a load of laundry, wash the dishes, clean the toys, hair, and toilet brush out of the tub so she can shower.
*If she has silk sheets, she will find a very muddy dog lying on HER pillow, and the cat puked UNDER the covers, when she finally can fall asleep.
*Oh yea, and then get up at 6am to start all over again. That’s MY idea of house arrest.
Or she can go to THIS jail, I love this man’s idea! Think they all should be like this!
http://www.cnn.com/US/9907/27/tough.sheriff/
So… Paris is out of jail. What a role model for all our children. Why not bring Michael Jackson to the US and have him be in charge of daycares and schools. What a shame that our country does give the privileged more privileges than they deserve.
My rant is over now. I need a Snickers.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Ahhhhh!
Evening life is starting to settle into a routine that I can finally handle without sweating and without holding The Baby the whole time.
We use baby gates. Here we used them to keep the cats and/or the damned dog out of the bedroom, laundry room, or kitchen. Now we are using them to keep The Baby from going OUT of the kitchen, living room, going down the hairy hallway, etc….
We have a high chair now, so we can feed The Baby without too much of a mess on OUR clothes, our floor, the cats, the rugs, and the front of the cupboards.
We HAVE found a problem with her using the high chair.
Her mother, The Punk told us that she doesn’t eat baby food. She doesn’t eat much. So this is a challenge I felt I was up to.
I’m stupid.
We have been cooking chicken with very little spices, veggies so soft you have to use a spoon, and something starchy. The Baby likes her carrots cut just right, she enjoyed the mac and cheese, and even ate a few bites of the chicken.
The damned dog isn’t allowed in the kitchen while we are eating. So as soon as The Man stands up, the damned dog runs in to do clean up crew. Good, that’s great.
Until I look over and see The Baby hanging over the side of the high chair feeding the damned dog. And LAUGHING. How can I be mad. I tell her no, it’s baby’s food, not the doggie’s. So she shoves another carrot into her mouth… ACCCKKKK, after the DAMNED DOG licked her hand. I’m starting to sweat AGAIN. I hurry to the sink to get something to wash her hands with, and turn around to see her feeding the damned dog again.
Didn’t I just yell at him to get out? *sigh* He’s not stupid, he runs in as soon as he sees that little arm with a fistful of food hanging down.
So I try to wash her hands off since they’ve been dog licked twice now and she throws herself back in the highchair. WHAT THE…….
I sit down again and am keeping an eye on her, watching her eat. And wouldn’t you know it. The Man and I both see it in her eyes, that look of mischief in a 10 month old? I’m amazed, I’m in awe, and I watch as she looks back at me and leans over the side of the highchair and in runs the dog to lick the handful of food out of The Baby’s hand!
She knows she isn’t suppose to do that, yet she’s daring me??? Daring US??? To say no? OMG… so dinner time is over for this little girl who is becoming the carbon copy of her mother, The Punk.
I’m tired and it’s only 6pm.
Two more days, two more days, two more days……
We use baby gates. Here we used them to keep the cats and/or the damned dog out of the bedroom, laundry room, or kitchen. Now we are using them to keep The Baby from going OUT of the kitchen, living room, going down the hairy hallway, etc….
We have a high chair now, so we can feed The Baby without too much of a mess on OUR clothes, our floor, the cats, the rugs, and the front of the cupboards.We HAVE found a problem with her using the high chair.
Her mother, The Punk told us that she doesn’t eat baby food. She doesn’t eat much. So this is a challenge I felt I was up to.
I’m stupid.
We have been cooking chicken with very little spices, veggies so soft you have to use a spoon, and something starchy. The Baby likes her carrots cut just right, she enjoyed the mac and cheese, and even ate a few bites of the chicken.
The damned dog isn’t allowed in the kitchen while we are eating. So as soon as The Man stands up, the damned dog runs in to do clean up crew. Good, that’s great.
Until I look over and see The Baby hanging over the side of the high chair feeding the damned dog. And LAUGHING. How can I be mad. I tell her no, it’s baby’s food, not the doggie’s. So she shoves another carrot into her mouth… ACCCKKKK, after the DAMNED DOG licked her hand. I’m starting to sweat AGAIN. I hurry to the sink to get something to wash her hands with, and turn around to see her feeding the damned dog again.
Didn’t I just yell at him to get out? *sigh* He’s not stupid, he runs in as soon as he sees that little arm with a fistful of food hanging down.
So I try to wash her hands off since they’ve been dog licked twice now and she throws herself back in the highchair. WHAT THE…….
I sit down again and am keeping an eye on her, watching her eat. And wouldn’t you know it. The Man and I both see it in her eyes, that look of mischief in a 10 month old? I’m amazed, I’m in awe, and I watch as she looks back at me and leans over the side of the highchair and in runs the dog to lick the handful of food out of The Baby’s hand!
She knows she isn’t suppose to do that, yet she’s daring me??? Daring US??? To say no? OMG… so dinner time is over for this little girl who is becoming the carbon copy of her mother, The Punk.
I’m tired and it’s only 6pm.
Two more days, two more days, two more days……
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Phone Company
Since I have nothing good to share today, thought I would just leave you with a joke that will have my mother rolling her eyes with disapproval. I thought it was appropriate!
A distraught wife called the Embarque phone company to report her telephone failed to ring when her friends called and that on the few occasions, when it did ring, her dog always moaned right before the phone rang.
The telephone repairman proceeded to the scene, curious to see this psychic dog or senile lady. He climbed a telephone pole, hooked in his test set, and dialed the subscriber's house. The phone didn't ring right away, but then the dog moaned and the telephone began to ring.
Climbing down from the pole, the telephone repairman found:
1. The dog was tied to the telephone system's ground wire with a steel chain and collar.
2. The wire connection to the ground rod was loose
3. The dog was receiving 90 volts of signaling current when the number was called.
4. After a couple of jolts, the dog would start moaning and then urinate.
5. The wet ground would complete the circuit, thus causing the phone to ring, which demonstrates that some problems CAN be fixed by pissing and moaning ! Thought you'd like to know.
A distraught wife called the Embarque phone company to report her telephone failed to ring when her friends called and that on the few occasions, when it did ring, her dog always moaned right before the phone rang.
The telephone repairman proceeded to the scene, curious to see this psychic dog or senile lady. He climbed a telephone pole, hooked in his test set, and dialed the subscriber's house. The phone didn't ring right away, but then the dog moaned and the telephone began to ring.
Climbing down from the pole, the telephone repairman found:
1. The dog was tied to the telephone system's ground wire with a steel chain and collar.
2. The wire connection to the ground rod was loose
3. The dog was receiving 90 volts of signaling current when the number was called.
4. After a couple of jolts, the dog would start moaning and then urinate.
5. The wet ground would complete the circuit, thus causing the phone to ring, which demonstrates that some problems CAN be fixed by pissing and moaning ! Thought you'd like to know.
Monday, June 4, 2007
Big Baby
I have a baby at home today. Not The Baby, but A baby. A BIG baby.
The Man has come down with a cold and is A BIG BABY!
I don’t understand how men, can get the same cold as a woman, or a REAL baby for that matter and still ACT like such a baby!
I know, I’m going to be killed for talking about it, but wow, it’s one of those things that’s always bugged and amazed me at the same time.
My ex used to sniffle and carry on, saying that he just got SICKER than I did. Hmmm… pretty sure that’s not the case, but if he wanted to think so… more power to him.
“Can you get be sub juice or tea, I’b too weak?” (Insert nasally accent here)
*sigh*
My other thoughts about men being sick are these…
* They need to just take some cold medicine and shut it.
* They need to go lay down somewhere so we don’t have to hear the sniffling.
* They want you to bring them something to drink, and then they don’t like it.
* They won’t take NyQuil during the day.
* They want you to know just how much sicker they are than you are/were.
* They don’t want to take the day off, but then talk about how they should.
* They call you a half dozen times at work to remind you to bring home “sub juice”.
* They want you to cook homemade chicken soup even if YOU are sick too.
* They can’t just stop fighting it and be sick.
* They can’t stop telling us their symptoms, for the 8th time in an hour.
* They can’t blow their noses in anything BUT tissues, toilet paper is too rough.
* They keep you awake all night listening to them moan, groan, toss, turn, and cough.
Who mothered all these men? I realize that it wasn’t MY mother who would make them drink Slippery Elm Bark tea. If they did, they would be like my siblings and I, going to school just to avoid having to drink the stuff that woman used to make us drink when we were sick.
Of course, this is the same woman whose standing rule was: “If you aren’t bleeding, vomiting more than once, or there isn’t a bone protruding from your skin, you’d best get to school”.
So, later today, I will have two babies at my house.
*sigh*
Friday, June 1, 2007
January or bust...
The Punk started college 2 weeks ago.
FLASHBACK!
While we were enrolling her, the woman said that if we started her in May, instead of in July, we could avoid the hike in tuition. So I was all over that like a cheap suit, as The Man would say. In my haste to avoid having to pay more money, it didn’t dawn on me that I would become the permanent evening babysitter.
Those of you that know me, know that I like a nice quiet, if not SLEEPING, evening. So what the hell was I thinking when I told her that I would baby sit at night? I dunno. Maybe my mother was right when she said that I thrive on chaos. Hmmm. The Punk and I pull up after registering her, and she just BLURTS out to The Man, “You guys are going to be The Baby’s babysitters while I go to school until January”.
I’m sure you are thinking exactly what I was thinking when that fell out of her mouth. CRAP, I’m a dead woman. He’s going to work overtime, get a second job, anything!
“Oh, until January? Small sacrifice when there’s such a big reward. We’ll need her stroller so we can incorporate her into our walks and activities. This will be fun.”
I don’t have to tell you. You are doing the same thing… WHAT??????? He’s high, drunk, gotten into some poisonous berries, or perhaps he has Alzheimer’s. After I closed my mouth I smile sheepishly at him…
“Are you mad? I know I should have asked before I volunteered”. He just smiles at me.
“No, not at all, this will be great, we can take her to the park, the zoo, the trails, I don’t have a problem with that at all, anything to help.”
I’m not used to this. I thought I would have to convince him, that I would ultimately be the responsible one. But no, he acts like this is no big deal. Wow. I’m still stunned and it’s been weeks now.
So when you call me now, I will be awake, but maybe not home ‘cuz The Man will have The Baby and I out doing something!
Not to mention that I may not be all that coherent when you DO call since I’m thriving on chaos and won’t have energy or thought left after a week of nightly babysitting!
Someone available for the week of July 4th? You too, can have a week of nightly babysitting that cute baby!
FLASHBACK!
While we were enrolling her, the woman said that if we started her in May, instead of in July, we could avoid the hike in tuition. So I was all over that like a cheap suit, as The Man would say. In my haste to avoid having to pay more money, it didn’t dawn on me that I would become the permanent evening babysitter.
Those of you that know me, know that I like a nice quiet, if not SLEEPING, evening. So what the hell was I thinking when I told her that I would baby sit at night? I dunno. Maybe my mother was right when she said that I thrive on chaos. Hmmm. The Punk and I pull up after registering her, and she just BLURTS out to The Man, “You guys are going to be The Baby’s babysitters while I go to school until January”.
I’m sure you are thinking exactly what I was thinking when that fell out of her mouth. CRAP, I’m a dead woman. He’s going to work overtime, get a second job, anything!
“Oh, until January? Small sacrifice when there’s such a big reward. We’ll need her stroller so we can incorporate her into our walks and activities. This will be fun.”
I don’t have to tell you. You are doing the same thing… WHAT??????? He’s high, drunk, gotten into some poisonous berries, or perhaps he has Alzheimer’s. After I closed my mouth I smile sheepishly at him…
“Are you mad? I know I should have asked before I volunteered”. He just smiles at me.
“No, not at all, this will be great, we can take her to the park, the zoo, the trails, I don’t have a problem with that at all, anything to help.”
I’m not used to this. I thought I would have to convince him, that I would ultimately be the responsible one. But no, he acts like this is no big deal. Wow. I’m still stunned and it’s been weeks now.
So when you call me now, I will be awake, but maybe not home ‘cuz The Man will have The Baby and I out doing something!
Not to mention that I may not be all that coherent when you DO call since I’m thriving on chaos and won’t have energy or thought left after a week of nightly babysitting!
Someone available for the week of July 4th? You too, can have a week of nightly babysitting that cute baby!
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