Doon't worry it's not you.

Nobody ever knows what the hell she's babbling on aboot.

Priorities

"RUN LOGAN!"
"Hang on, I'm sendin' Rima a dirty text message."

I need to put a sign on my house that says "Warning: May contain nuts".

On an unrelated note, though I know your opinion may vary on that, I'm pleased that Craig Ferguson has finally solved my mystery of several "what the hell was I thinking?" clothing purchases. It's that atomic oatmeal thing. Of course, I realize that he was just writing fiction, but it does make sense to me. It's perfect Rima logic. It's exactly how I think. You have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm having a rough day.

JES!

GO JANKEES!

Why do they always wait until later in the season to not suck? You'd think they'd get it by now.

Weird Science

I've got a refrigerator experiment going. (By this I'm referring to a specific one that I'm doing on purpose, not the mysterious tupperwares in the back that I'm not going anywhere near and prefer to leave for archaeologists to deal with.)

Anyway, I bought some stew meat. I defrosted it but never got to use it. It turned brown like spoiled meat does, and I forgot about it for a couple of days and it was still all brown and nasty and ready to be tossed. When I went to toss it a couple of days later, it was red again. Not kidding. And almost two weeks later, it's still looking fresh as a daisy. So I'm leaving it there to see how long this will go on and what, if anything will happen next.

It's not supposed to do this is it? What did they do to this meat to make it do such a thing? This is scary. I'm buying organic from now on. It's like it's undead. I wonder if it's feeding upon the other stuff in the fridge to keep its youth. Maybe I should skewer each chunk with a wooden toothpick and put garlic all over it. If anything weird happens, I'll let you know.

Another Song Stuck in My Head

Sent from the future
Just to be a bastard
Mick Jagger!
Time traveling jerk!

Goddamit.

Shaking My Fist at Kristin!

I've had a song stuck in my head for days now and she knows which one. It's the one that was stuck in HER head for days and when she was in the elevator with Hugh, she sang it to his butt (and yes, I follow this logic completely) and he hummed along. Now it's stuck in my head, and very likely his too, which is probably a welcome change from his work songs, but I'm starting to be done with it now, thank you. Mommy, make it stop!

Another Good Name for a Band

Atomic Oatmeal.

Molecular Porridge sounds too fussy.

Weird Dream

I dreamed that my friend and I were at our local yarn shop and I was showing her some yummy Suri alpaca that I recently used and she decided to look around a bit. She tried to buy the shop owners' lunch until I explained that it was her lunch. Then she said "Oh we need new utensils" and tried to buy all the spoons in the cafe area. I managed to steer her back to the yarn.

Then when we were driving home, there was a story on the radio about how hard it is to get dogs to walk properly on a leash because they always insist on pulling to the left and we said yeah we always wondered about that. Later when I settling down to knit and watch TV, Craig Ferguson mentioned it in his monologue because it was the weirdest thing he had ever heard of and said that they did a secret video study and CBS had obtained footage, which he showed. And there on the hidden camera video were my dog and my friend's dog, roaming about, turning left into various places to get cheeseburgers and slurpees, and finally making a left turn right into the yarn shop to do some shopping! Craig made that "WTF?" face that he does. He's adorkable.

Strange Things Are Afoot at the Circle K...

The plumber pulled twenty bucks out of our toilet (but it still cost us 236) and my kids have been going around saying "Apply directly to your forehead!" The two are not related.

The Full Moon

Never a good day for me. It's the day I feel like strangling everyone, and unfortunately, people tend to give me reason to do so on this particular day. Oh, and the man left for LA again yesterday and took his toilet mojo with him. So now I get to plunge like the wind. I really do need to remember not to answer the phone or reply to my email on this day. (It's not that I don't enjoy ripping a deserving candidate a new asshole, but it stresses me out.) Tonight, I'm going to sit in my chair with a lot of chocolate and watch Craig. I shouldn't knit. I won't sleep either, which sucks because we have a morning appointment tomorrow that involves a bit of driving. It also requires my attention. I'm feeling rather tense.

Grow a Pair

Today I saw a guy with a sticker on his car that said "Save our children! Defend marriage today!"

Ahem. If he (or anyone else with that sticker) really gave a crap about children, he'd put his energy and money towards an actual helpful cause. What the bumper sticker should really say is this: "I hate fags but I'm too chicken shit to come right out and say so, so I made something up!" Yup, that's about right.
I wonder what Wolvie thinks of people like that.
Oh. Right. I knew that.

Yes, I DO have a tartan!

The Jacobite tartan is the tartan of Galicia, Asturias and Catalunya and is believed to have originated in Barcelona. I have much ancestry from Galicia, which is where my family name is from. They are one of the seven Celtic nations and the one believed to be where the Irish came from. Actually, one of my Galician ancestors was an Irish immigrant. I don't know why I never thought to look it up before. My dad told me we had a tartan but I thought he was making it up. It's not as loud as my husband's, but not as pretty either. Ah well. Mine's nice for autumn, his is nice for winter. I'm so superficial.

Reality

So I was listening to NPR and they were talking about a recent discovery of a book that Archimedes had written and it had been erased and written over by a monk as a book of Christian prayers. So this rich guy bought it and wanted to have the text revealed but it was too old for the usual UV method so the people he had hired to do it decided they needed a particle accelerator. This was Uwe Bergmann's lucky day.

Poor Uwe Bergmann probably spent his entire youth busting his butt to be a scientist. He probably had dreams of new discoveries that would revolutionize the world and take his mind to new levels. In his dreams of tomorrow, he never thought about who would actually pay him to do this stuff. The hard reality was that a scientist studies whatever the person who is forking out the money wants him to. So he and his incredibly advanced skills of detection and discovery, together with a particle accelerator were hired to study spinach. Yup, spinach. There are people using particle accelerators to try to achieve teleportation and they're actually getting somewhere, but his benefactors were interested in the iron content of spinach. I don't know why, maybe they wanted to know if they could make a spinach robot that would be strong like Popeye and take over the world or something, but that's not important.

So this guy is probably bored out of his skull, using his bazillion dollar equipment and skills to study spinach for some eccentric wealthy person when he read about the Archimedes discovery and they were talking about trying to pick out forgeries and that somehow iron in the ink was significant. Man, the heavens must have opened and shone down into that guy's lab that day. He called up these folks and said that he was studying iron with a particle accelerator and could he pretty please leave his crappy job for their cool one. Lucky him, he got the job.

Can you imagine? All that potential and they're bound by whatever retard has the money to fund a study of dust bunnies or whatever that particular rich wackadoo is obsessed with. Oh man, what a life. THAT'S why there are mad scientists. Aren't there?

Pork. That starts with "P" which rhymes with "T" and that stands for trouble!

Last night my husband grilled the pork loin of the gods. It was so good. When he sliced it up, I said "ooooh, is that a smoke ring?" and Bobby, who was feeling a bit territorial yelled "HEY! Is that a fuckin' smoke ring?! Who authorized this?!" and then he wanted to fight. Hugh, ever the peaceful and happy guy, tried to calm him down while the rest just kinda stood back hoping for the brawl to begin. I later explained to Bobby that as head harem boy, Brian can do whatever he likes, as long as he gets my approval for safety reasons. He was not pleased with this, although he knows the rules. I haven't really met many people who don't get along with Brian. This doesn't bode well for Mr. Flay. The other harem boys are thrilled. They are so very mercenary.

Frightening

I was in the car today, listening to the radio and they were playing some really cool stuff like Aerosmith and Credence and then I drove through one of the funky zones in my area where they apparently have underground nuclear facilities in which they hide UFO's and do brain wave experiments, and the signals started crossing with another station that had on Rush Limbaugh! So I'd be happy and then Rush Limbaugh! EEEWWW! Of course, I finally changed it, but that was just horrible and confusing. My brain cannot register Aerosmith and Rush Limbaugh together. I'm lucky it didn't shut down! That could happen you know! The shock and all!

Obsessive? Me? Nooooooo

I was brushing my teeth this morning when a tune popped into my head that I'm not sure is even real and I had no idea why. It was one of those can't get it out things. It just suddenly showed up and wouldn't stop. Then I suddenly realized I had been brushing my teeth in a jig bowing pattern. So I stopped and it went away. I do remember once doing scales in my sleep with my left hand and waking up giggling about it. I wonder if I knit in my sleep.

Rosin on My Contact Lens

Everthang looks fresh as a Carolahna pahn forst!

Welcome Back My Cheeky Wee Monkeys!

Where's the Crack?

That's the title of an Irish Fiddle book. I have no idea what it's supposed to mean, but it's a perfect example of immigrants not knowing the language. The proper way to say it is "Where da crack at?" I think dealers should follow the example of Pat's Steaks and not sell it unless they can ask for it properly. Then they can explain why it is the title of a collection of Irish fiddle tunes. I really need to know.

Die Berroco, DIE!!!!!!!!!!!

The pattern is labeled "very easy" yet it wants me to take 146 stitches, and decrease by 54, evenly spaced across the row. Hello, I'd have to decrease every two and a half stitches! You can't do that! So now I have to take the whole thing to the yarn shop and hope that some of the more knowlegable people there can figure it out for me, otherwise I'll have thirty dollars worth of purpley-blue yarn barf and a very disappointed little girl. And a conniption. I wanted to finish it this week. AAAAAGHH!!!

My Mantra for This Morning...

"Frogging builds character"

Lesson learned: Do not knit late at night while watching a man who shakes your maracas. I was so close to the last buttonhole row. Ah well. Frogging builds character. Frogging builds character. Frogging builds character...

Who da Man????

Ben and Jerry da man!

HELL'S YEAH!

Not to Be Outdone...

Men are so competitive, aren't they? Especially when it comes to entertaining me during times of crap. I don't know how my husband is going to top these attempts. I'm looking forward to finding out. In any case, Craig and Hugh are both nominated for an Emmy award in the host category. What's a harem mistress to do? I wish I could remember what Sir and M'am did when Marsha and Greg ran against each other. Didn't they both lose? Tragic. Craig has worked his way up the harem ranks very quickly. He attributes it to several days on cold medication, but I think he needs to give himself more credit. I think he's been sneaking off with some of my jokes and using them on his show, actually. Hmm. See, this is why I need a nanny. My kids would never do such a thing. Not without paying me, anyway.

Hanging in

Life sucks right now. When you go to the doc and the nurse looks alarmed and the doc keeps exclaiming and saying how bad he feels for you, you know you're miserable. My daughter isn't any better. She's dehydrated and might have to have IV fluids. The pain in her abdomen is not better. Even though that's typical of Coxsackie, they ruled out appendicitis as well. I managed to get a popsicle and a half into her so she hasn't throw up her medicine. I hope it actually gets absorbed instead of sitting there until it comes back up hours from now. I left a desperate message on my husband's voice mail, but all that will do is make him upset. It won't help anybody. I guess I shouldn't have done that. I have desperate moments.

At least I'm breathing a bit easier than I was yesterday. I have bronchitis on the verge of pneumonia. I'm taking a really good antiboitic that gets right in the first day and I'm also taking methylprednisolone, which is a steroid that you take a massive dose of and then taper it off for the rest of the week. The pills taste like death. I have to dip them in honey not to throw up. My daughter took prednisolone a couple of times when she had severe asthma attacks and pneumonia. Let's just say that when you have the sweetest little girl in the world and she suddenly turns into the Hulk, well, not a good side-effect. I already have a quick and hot temper and am under stress like you wouldn't believe, overworked, short-handed, feeling overwhelmed and not very friendly. The very last thing I need at this time is roid rage. Thank goodness for the two Ben & Jerry pints that Peapod brought yesterday. Assuming I can stomach ice cream, it could save all of us.

I wish I had a movie to watch. I have "The Big Tease" and "King Kong vs. Godzilla" next up from Netflix, but they probably will get here Saturday at the earliest. I do have some interesting Hugh stuff to watch. Maybe I'll do that. It's just I need something the kids will be interested in too, or they'll be a PITA. Ah well. It's going to be a long day. Boring, but not because I won't be busy. Just because it's no fun. If all goes well, I can be bored and overworked at home instead of in the ER. Keep your toes crossed.

Coxsackie

It's a virus. I. Feel. Like. Shit. Only one of my kids has been spared so far. The rest of us are lying around trying not to hurt or puke or whatever, and she's bouncing around "Can we go for a walk? Let's go to the firehouse! Let's get some hotdogs! Can we get our hair cut today? Can we go to the craft store? Let's bake a pie!" Etc. Ugh. I have to figure out how to feed us. Yesterday was pizza. Garbage goes out tonight. I have several phone calls to make but I can't really talk. That should be fun. So. Here I sit. Waiting to be better. Keeping close mental track of everybody's symptoms. I want the happy fairy to just show up at my door with dinner and some anti-viral fairy sparkle dust, and a nanny wouldn't be bad either. Rosie the robot housekeeper would be awesome. Meanwhile, one of my harem boys is doing his best to keep me entertained. What a darling. He cracks me the hell up. And no, I have no idea why this is underlined. It's not even an option. It just feels like it.

Mr. Mojo

That's my husband. I felt it the very moment I met him. Unfortunately, when he leaves, he takes it with him. He's been in LA for about two weeks. When he goes, things break and the kids get sick or injured. Alex had her arm splinted on Wednesday. I have just bought a new vacuum cleaner, new shower curtain rod, mop, and lawnmower. (I will not get into the whole sordid tale of the lawnmower and the Home Depot shuffle, leading me to finally just order it from Amazon and hire someone to mow this week.)

So today he calls me and tells me in a very ominous tone, "we need to talk about something". All within a split second, I think we're getting a divorce, he has cancer, we're declaring bankruptcy, the IRS is sending us to prison. No, it's just that they need him for another week in LA. Okay, so whatever. So I thought that maybe the light bulbs would go out or something. Nope. Instead, I have developed a nasty sore throat. Crap. Well, at least the car is okeedokee so far. Let's hope it stays that way. And the plumbing. And the stove. And the washer and dryer. And the rest of the kids' bodies.

Tomorrow sounds like a good day to do a full moon blessing. Assuming I'm not delieriously febrile and vomiting.

Ranting

Here is a perfect example of how backwards-ass our society is and why raising a child properly is an uphill battle. This is the first paragraph of an AP article entitled "Breast Milk May Help Smallest Preemies".

CHICAGO - The tiniest premature infants fed with breast milk in the hospital did better on tests of mental development later in life than did others fed only formula, a new study has found.

WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!

What it SHOULD say is "The tiniest premature infants fed on formula in the hospital did worse on tests of mental development later in life than did others fed normally, a new study has found."

The title should be "Formula May Harm Smallest Preemies"

Pardon me, but drinking mother's milk is the normal way for ANY baby mammal to eat. Formula is not the normal way to do it. Yes, it's a choice, but let's not let advertising dollars in the media AND in medicine fool us into not knowing that it's an inferior and unnatural choice. If someone wants to make that choice, that's fine with me. But then don't treat me like I'm a freak for doing it the way my babies and I were made to do it.

My kids are not developing beyond what they normally would have because of it. My milk doesn't raise their IQ's higher and make them healthier than formula fed babies. Formula fed babies have lower IQ's and more health problems. My kids are developing the way they normally would. I didn't give them something extra, I just didn't deprive them.

We have lost perspective. Whatever TV says, we believe. It's why our food, water, and air can be LOADED with crap and we don't do anything about it. It's why the wealthiest, most highly developed country in the world has such poorly educated children (and therefore adults) as well as the highest infant mortality rate of any developed nation. It's why two parties run the country and we are helplessly at the mercy of fossil fuels. Not enough people are willing to say "hey, this is wrong." or "Sorry, you suck, you can't have my money".

People. Are. Stupid. Because they want to be. It's easier not to think. It's easier not to do. Believe me, I know. I swim upstream with my children on my back. I hope I'm parting the waters a little for them.

It's Natural and Cool and Individual...

Soho Sodaaaaaaa! Natural sodaaaaaaa! Anyone remember that? I loved it, but then it disappeared. I wonder what happened? I'll have to google it. And on an unrelated note, I just realized that I've been with my husband for most of my life and that makes me happy.

I just unsuspectingly took a giant swig of hot cocoa made with spoiled milk. I don't think I will recover from this anytime soon. At least I'm going to the stupidmarket today. And I have to say, little kids with adult faces freak the hell out of me. Especially toddlers.

Do they make really long straws?

Monday is my father's memorial and we'll be having a party in his honor but I have no champagne flutes. Why? The same reason I have lived here for almost ten years with no curtains. Because there are none that I like. Yeah, I have a couple of cheap, ugly ones that my husband and I use for ourselves, but not enough for guests, so we needed to buy some.

Originally, I told my husband to just pick up some plain, cheap flutes. He said he didn't know when he'd get to do that so I told him not to worry, that I'd run out today and get some. I don't know why I thought I could do that. If he had just gotten some plain, cheap flutes, I would have been fine with that. However, I can't do that myself. I just can't. I have to look at every glass at every store nearby in every price range and reject it. If I actually have to look for them, take them off the shelf, pay for them, and bring them home, they must shake my maracas and that didn't happen. If I didn't have the children, who were being very patient despite being tired and hungry, I could have headed to Williams Sonoma, which had some very nice ones in their catalog. I would have had a stroke if the store didn't have them, but that's to be expected. Meanwhile, no glasses, and can I just say that taking three young kids through the breakables section of several stores in a row is enough to give me a nervous breakdown.

I hate when something turns out to be a mission for me because it's always a failure. My secondary mission was to find something nice to wear. I left the house with realistic expectations for that one. I didn't even conduct a proper search, just quick scans as I went by the racks. After a lifetime of that aggravation, it wasn't worth it. So my next mission failure will be cleaning the house. I'm going to clean the toilet and maybe the kitchen floor. I will not give myself a migraine over it. I still don't know how we'll be drinking the champagne though.

If I had a brain, I would have ordered the glasses online a long time ago. Duh.

Not Quite a Movie Review

To try reviewing "X3" would be an exercise in futility, but I'll make some comments. Beast made me happy. How could Beast not make me happy? He always makes me happy. Hearing Juggernaut utter the lines "Do you know who I am? I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!" was alone worth the $9.50. I'm glad I wasn't drinking at the time. It could have been better only if he had then threatened to pimp slap Kitty's ass. Kitty. I love Kitty. Yay Kitty. Fastball Special- 'nuff said. Mentally undoing a hot guy's belt buckle- a nice skill to have. I'm going to practice concentrating and see if it works for me.

I'm trying to refrain from anything negative because even though they fucked up the entire X-Men thing (ooh, I think that may have been negative), it still was a fun movie with a good story. My real feelings came out subconciously though. This morning when I awoke, I had been dreaming that I desperately had to pee and everytime I found a bathroom, Brett Ratner had stuffed up the toilet. I think that's as close to a review as I can get.

On a related note, Hugh Jackman was being interviewed by Matt Lauer on "Today". When the segment was over and they were going to a commercial, Matt read the upcoming stories, one of which was "Can corn really solve our gas problem?" and immediately Hugh cracked up and Matt turned and said "not THAT kind of gas problem!" I just love Hugh.

Kids' Conversation

8yo: Why do you smell like citrus?

4yo: What's citrus?

8yo: Oranges, lemons, limes, tangerines, grapefruits, and clementines.

4yo: You smell like poop.

The Math Mystery

I have mentioned that I'm completely math deficient. However, I'm coming to realize what I have long suspected- that it's only in a practical sense. When I was a kid, I couldn't get math concepts for squat. In my senior year of high school, I was still taking (and failing!) math funformentals. I remember my music teacher trying to get me to understand the circle of fifths and my eyes just kinda googling around. However, I was musically inclined. Clue. And I liked the most intricate jigsaw puzzles and needlework designs. Clue. Later, I became passionate about intricate quiltmaking. Clue. Now I feel the same about knitting. Clue.

When people criticized me (which believe me, they did) because of my decision to homeschool my kids, I figured that it didn't matter because we'd learn together. Well, I was right. I'm finding that schools just have a backwardsass way of teaching math! They show you symbols on paper and how to manipulate them and then show you how to apply them to real life. However, from a young age, I work with my kids with practical applied math, not calling it anything but cooking, or knitting, or whatever it happens to be. We explore the MEANING of each number, not the numerical value. Then I show them how to represent the numbers. With my eldest, most of it seems to be taking care of itself. She'll say "Oh, this is like when..." and she'll write it out and then use other examples and get excited that she can make her own. Then she naturally makes a connection to the next logical process or concept, without me having to introduce it and then we explore it together. I find she has absolutely no trouble doing problems on paper this way.

Like I thought it would, it's affecting me too. I'm thinking differently. I'm seeing the concepts. I'm actually starting to like it. I never thought that would happen. I'm practicing my violin again, which will stimulate that part of my brain as well. My ADHD meds are helping too. Now if I can figure this stuff out, why can't so called "professionals?" Why would educators and adolescent psychologists simply use terms like "lazy" or "stupid" instead of giving a kid what she needs? Clearly, it's not difficult.

I recently read an internet post in which a woman with red hair wanted to knit a scarf using the red hair gene as a pattern. I thought that was incredibly cool! I looked a bit further for such ideas and saw that someone made a pair of striped socks using the Fibonacci sequence. That was even cooler! Now I'm very intrigued. My project list includes a large tote bag for my knitting supplies. I think I will do it in Fibonacci stripes. Who knows where it will go from there?

I'm figuring that by the time I'm finished homeschooling my youngest, I will have gotten a far more thorough education than I could have ever gotten in school. My fantasy is to have enough money to go back to college when Angus starts, and put my new education to good use.

It's Good to Have a Harem

When one of my harem boys was behaving in a less than favorable way, the others provided backup to keep me happy. Hugh went on Leno and made me laugh, and he looked gorgeous. During that show, I also got to see Wolvie light a cigar off a burning car and then show me a fastball special. Following that, Craig was quite naughty and amusing, though he still needs a little discipline when it comes to his comments about Broadway musicals. I think he might be a little bit jealous. Anyway, the previously mentioned harem boy fell back into favor (for the most part) when I noticed that for the first time since we have lived in this house, he cared enough to NOT mow my flowers down with the first mowing of the season. A gesture that I most appreciate.

I Just Bought This Last Night on Ebay

It's 100% Merino, hand spun and hand dyed by some guy and his family in Uruguay. It means that I won't be able to buy decent pants for a week, but it's worth it. I'm so happy. I can't wait for it to get here, though it will be two or three weeks. That gives me time to finish the two guitar straps I'm working on now. Yay for me.

Things That Shouldn't Happen During PMS

The grocery delivery shouldn't bring tilapia instead of salmon. Do not get involved in a discussion in which someone needs to be set straight. Do not look at recipes for tasty baked goods. Do not read a book in which you can spend two hours of reading time reading about murder, suicude, execution, family reunion, birth, betrayal and marriage proposals. Not a good time to find out that they math in your knitting pattern was funky, just as you are starting the final step. Most of all, nobody should give even a hint of suggestion that mommy might be taking less than optimal care of the children.

Trees

If a person wanted to plant a Giant Sequoia in his or her yard, the National Arbor Day Foundation sells saplings for eight bucks. If you get in trouble with your homeowners' association, don't blame me cause I'm just sayin'. (do it do it do it do it do it )

Remember This, Grasshopper

Good: Corn muffins fresh from the oven with butter, honey, and a side of bacon. Mmm.

Bad: Getting your belly button jewelry caught on the edge of the counter in front of the sink and not knowing until you walk away. Very bad.

Chocolate Bunnies

Okay, husband, I nicked this from Stephen Redrobe (he knows) who nicked it from somewhere else, where it was nicked from somewhere else, where it was nicked from somewhere else, where it was nicked from somewhere else, where it was nicked from somewhere else...enough credit?

In Honor of National Tartan Day

Ah, nothing like a man in a kilt. There's something about caber tossing that I just can't seem to put my finger on. Hmm...I bet Bert can.

HEY YOU KIDS! GET OFF MY LAWN!

He really needs to relax.

Brain Dump

Unintended chemical experiments have kept me from dumping out my brain for a while, but it's starting to overflow. I have to get it out.

First, I'd like to know why Nelly was on a kids' show on a kids' channel. (and why he picked that stupid name) "Dat shit" isn't really appropriate language for a kids' show. What were they thinking when they booked him? If I want my kids to hear that, I'll just leave the tv off and they can hear it from me when I'm mad. I don't advertise myself as kid-friendly. They do.

The other day, my aunt gave my 4yo an accordian. I'm sure I don't need to say anything about that. The responses are obvious. It was the same day that my mother gave my 2yo a very loud, talking, toy screwgun. His name is Phil the Drill, even though he's not. I guess they couldn't find a name to rhyme with "screwgun".

George Bush is pushing ethanol. Does anyone else see something wrong there? I defintely hear alarm bells going off. He and his puppeteers only do things if there are big dollar signs attached for them. I'm sure it will be no cheaper for the rest of us than gasoline is. At least it will be cleaner. I notice he's not pushing biodiesel, because I can run my car for free after frying up some catfish. Doesn't do him any good. Well, as far as he's figured out yet. I'm sure whatever ends up being profitable will be owned by them in some way. I'm sure they will make accomodating laws tied to homeland security or something. Or more likely, ignore the law altogether. I'd better start making my own solar panels now.

I like The Wiggles. I really do. My kids love them. They're weird, but they're cool. Their music doesn't make me puke. I like it. Sample lyrics "wahoo hey! I'm combing my hair today!" Yes, that's always an event. "Watch him daaaaaance in his pirate paaaaaants." Another good one. And speaking of music, what is it about a the first summery day of April or May that makes me want to put on "Diver Down" and clean the house? Always "Diver Down". Must be memories of warm spring days at school with everyone playing frisbee on the lawn while my husband (then boyfriend) and his friends ran their speakers out the window. All they played there was frisbee. It was a performing arts school, you see. There were hackeysack players too, but they were a minority, as environmental studies was a smaller department.

Yesterday I went shopping. There's a new clothing store in the mall called "Pretty Woman". If you recall, the movie of the same title was about a hooker. Well, the name tells you all you need to know about the clothes they sell. I'm sure they'll do plenty of business.

I know the feeling...

I have days like this all the time. Eventually you go "yeah, something blew up again. Whatever."

Have Fox and Gannon Call Me

I have found the new Peter Allen. It's Anthony from the Wiggles. Seriously. He'd do a really good job. It's almost scary, actually. I'd buy a ticket.

I hate when I do that

I just wrote a JT post involving chocolate raspberry croissants. Now I can practically taste them. Crap. Will I ever learn my lesson? Probably not.

I Needs Me Some Happy

It's difficult not to smile back.

THIS BURNS MY TOAST!!!!!!!!!!

In case some of you might not have realized it, I can be moody. Today I was having a good day. One of the things I had planned was to put our Harry Potter game in debug mode, which will allow us to access hidden areas and a secret game level. My daughter and I were pretty excited about it. So I went into the program and tried to follow the instructions I was given, but the files were completely different from what this guy had listed. So I poked around and finally found what I was looking for and changed debug mode from false to true and saved the changes. Popped in the game, got ready to use debug mode, hit the key I needed to hit, and...NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DAMMIT!!!!!!!!!!!!! I went back into the files to make sure I had saved the change and I had. So this made me cranky and now I'm mad that I'm cranky! My poor kids.

This Rocks

I mentioned a while back that my dad died in November. He was not a traditonal kinda guy and I'm not very traditional either, so there was no funeral. Instead, he was cremated and is now holding up my DVD's. We are planning a memorial service in June because of his birthday and fathers' day. Thing is, being not very traditional, I'm not sure what to do, although we're probably going to plant a tree in my yard and put his ashes in the hole. He kept wanting to plant a tree here. Anyway, although I missed this episode, I was lucky enough to find the video online- Craig Furgeson's father died in January (you'd think I could keep up with all my harem boys' goings on, but there are so many of them) and he used his show to have a wake for his dad. (I bet the crew got smashed that night) The Wicked Tinkers came on. If you've never heard or seen them perform, go to www.wickedtinkers.com. They banged the drums for Craig's dad. http://www.wickedtinkers.com/Video/TLLS.set.2.mov My dad would love this. The neighbors probably would not. Still pondering...

Call me cruel if you must...

...but I can't perpetuate the myth that has polluted the minds of so many generations. I don't care if it shatters your faith to the very core, you must know the truth.

CURIOUS GEORGE IS NOT A MONKEY! HE'S A CHIMPANZEE!

There, I said it. I feel like a stain has been removed from my soul. Now what's the deal with the man with the yellow hat? Clearly, he is not the zoologist he claims to be. So what's his scam? Pervert?

Waiting for the blizzard

Don't know what I'm waiting for exactly, but I got some cash to pay the shovel guys, plenty of Pepsi and Doritos, Cranium Cadoo, the Olympics on tv, etc. I just took a hot fudge cake out of the oven and I have a really fun MST3000 episode on dvd. My shovel is on the porch, my car is at the end of the driveway and I'm pretty set. I just hope that when the spousal unit gets off the train on Sunday night, he can dig out his car and come home. It does feel nice to not have to go anywhere.

Meanwhile, at Jackman's Table, will Ridgkov- I mean Ridge really be back later? What kind of packing is he helping his old prison buddy do? What kinds of applicants will show up for the new bartender position? Is Jenda now a Russian citizen? Can Raven really have her croissants and eat them too? And what of Antonio? What indeed...

The Day My Butt Went Psycho

That's the title of the book that I just bought for my daughter. I saw it in the bookstore and I couldn't NOT get it for her. It's about butts plotting to take over the world by switching places with the heads and other various dastardly deeds. I heard her laughing until almost midnight. I think I'll have to read it when she's done. I'm also wondering why I didn't write this book.

FINALLY!

I have slain the basilisk and rescued the entire world AND gotten all my gold wizard cards! Now I hope I will stop having dreams of little sparkly gold areas full of jelly beans. I really hope so. Only problem is now I have to help my daughter through, which is how I got roped into this mess. And THEN she'll install "Prisoner of Azkaban". I'm doomed.

I Didn't Watch the Super Bowl

I don't even know who was playing. I do like the commercials and I wanted to see the Stones, but I was too busy collecting jelly beans so that I could have enough of them to buy the Nimbus 2001 from Fred Weasley so that I could fly around collecting yet more jelly beans to buy snot to make the wiggenwild potion so I don't die when those damn little imps bite me and so I can buy wizard cards to get the keys to open the quadruple locked chamber so I can get the gold ones for some reason that I don't know of. My life is complicated.

I'm Comptetely Math Deficient...

...and even I don't need one of those dumbass tip calculation cards! First, let me say that if you are a complete moron, I'm not talking to you. You need one. The rest of you, listen up. How difficult is it to figure out fifteen or twenty percent? I know, you're too busy. Two seconds in the life of the most important person in the world, on whom all other life hinges is just too much. I think that's a separate issue that you will have to address with your therapist, so for now, let's discuss the math that is supposedly so difficult that you need to carry this card in your wallet.

Let's say your bill is $84.95 before tax. How on earth will you figure it out! Oh the drama! Move the fucking decimal to the left to get $8.40! This is ten percent you dumbass! Now take a nap from the mental exhaustion. I'll wait.

Back? Rested? Great. Now that you have ten percent, can you figure out how to get twenty percent? I'm not going to tell you. I refuse. $16.80 you say? Very good! You get a cookie! But wait! You are cheap and only want to give fifteen percent! Oh no! This is a disaster! How on earth will you figure out how to get one and a half ten percents????? I'm not going to tell you. $12.60! Wow, you deserve a vacation after all that hard work. I'll leave it to you to either round down to $12 or up to $13. It's a free country.

It should be the law that anyone who uses a tip card should not be allowed to work at a job that involves percentages, statistics, money, weights and measures, or any kind of profits. It should be legal to search their wallets daily for a tip card. I don't want a pharmacist who can't use a decimal point and I sure don't want someone like that handling my money. And if you are a teacher or involved in education and you use a tip card, you need to go right to the toilet, stick your head in, and flush. Right now. Go.

The rest of you, throw out your tip cards and relish your new freedom from decimal point phobia.

Feeling Especially Irritable

Look, how about you just don't talk to me today, Okay? Thanks.

AAAAAH!!!!!!!!!! FEATHERS!!!!!!!!!

Remember last spring's dance costume from hell? Well, being that I'm an idiot, I let my daughter keep it, thinking that eventually I'd put it together for her. Today I went to clean out their closet and there were just feathers everywhere! I would put something away and feathers would fly up. I'd throw something out and feathers would fly up. I tried to get all the puzzle pieces back into their proper boxes and there were all these tiny feathers trapped among the pieces. They were flying through the air in the whole room and stuck to everything. They're in my hair, on my clothes, and I just knocked one off my nose. We have dance class today and I'm going to look like a crazy person. I'll never get them all off, especially out of my hair.

Maybe that's a good thing though. Maybe everyone will stay far away from me. Last week I was subjected to the Dr. Phil show. No, not on TV. I could ignore that. There was a family there working out their lifetime of issues. The mom brought her daughter to class and brought along the girl's teenage aunt, and the girl's grandfather, who apparently, they hadn't seen in many years and had never met his granddaughter. They hashed through A LOT of stuff at full volume as if they were at home! I was sitting there trying to will myself to go deaf. I felt like yelling "HEY! I'M HERE! HELLO!" but somehow I don't think it would have helped. What the hell is the matter with some people? I don't care who your real father was, as revealed to you on your mother's deathbed. I don't care who the favorite child was and I certainly don't want to hear about the creepy uncle who stalked your boyfriends. How nice that you forgive each other, now SHUT UP! They weren't just telling family stories, they were SHARING FEELINGS that they had never spoken about, ASKING FORGIVENESS for all kinds of major shit. I don't think that stuff is included in the tuition! There was just me and these three wackadoos. I sat knitting and trying to ignore them like they were ignoring me. It was torture. Thankfully, the girl's class ended a half hour later. I'm sure it went on all night. Couldn't they have saved this? I hope they aren't there again today. I'm not that patient. What I need is a can of Freakbegone spray. Anyone know where I can get some?

How Tired Is He?

My husband is so tired that when he called home today and I told him that I was in the middle of painting our son's toenails (Disney Princess Aqua Sparkle), he said something like "oh that's nice". Man, he needs a day off.

Been away too long...

I haven't posted here in forever. I'm certainly not lacking in things to say, I'm just thoroughly exhausted. Weeks without my husband is a lot to handle. My kids can really wear me out. I never get enough rest. I've been sleeping on my feet for a week straight. Tomorrow is my daughter's birthday party. We're paying bucks that we can't necessarily afford so that I don't have to do it myself. All we have to do is show up, although due to her allergies, we still had to make cupcakes and we'll bring her a happy meal for lunch instead of the pizza they're having. Meanwhile, I'll leave you with a final thought to tide you over. We try to set a good example for our children. When your 2yo comes over to you with a can of frosting and a spoon, gesturing with a cute little squeak for you to please open it, that can't be good. Oopsie.

Just Yummy

These have been public long enough now that I think I can put them here. If there is any doubt about my taste in harem boys, this should clear that up. And all you bachelors who want to pick up chicks, my kids are for rent if you can afford it. It's far more effective than a dog.

Friendship

What's cool is when your best friend's kid is your kid's best friend.

What sucks is when you see your friends headed for a massive train wreck and there's not a damn thing you can do about it except to brace yourself and hope you don't get splattered between them.

I Think He Uses a Remote

My husband got on a plane two days ago. You know the rest...

Solstikwanzukahmas

December is such an eventful month. All that holiday goodness crammed in. Who could think of a better way to spend winter solstice eve, than the traditional sitting up all night in the ER with the toddler who ate a glass ornament off the tree? Mmmm...now there's a tasty and very crunchy holiday treat. Isn't that why mama hangs them on the tree? So you can pick the appley looking things for a yummy snack? And the wonderfully warm feelings that are shared when it's clear that nobody at the hospital believes he really ate it because he has no cuts and it doesn't show up on the x-ray, and clearly mom must have some kind of Munchausen's deal going on. But there's always a solstice miracle. Yes, little Angus Claus delivered that little diaper full of sparkly poop to his daddy the next day. Yes sir, there it was for all to see. I should have dropped it off at the registration desk as a thank you gift. It was quite festive looking.

Then of course, there are the Christmas specials that we watch every year. You know, the ones that are so classic that we know the words. We snuggle up with the kids to share the tradition. Like this one- sing along, don't be shy. I know you know the words..."Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo, he loves me, I love you..." Makes you all warm and tingly, doesn't it? "I can't wait to jingle your bells, and falala your la..."

Making holiday treats with the kids is fun. My favorite part is trying to convince a toddler that marzipan isn't playdough and is edible, then trying to convince him that the playdough isn't marzipan and is NOT edible. Haha! Oh the larks we have!

Wrapping the presents and putting them under the tree is one of my favorite solstice/christmas activities. My mom showed up with bags of gifts from herself and my brother and my cousin, and as I placed the festively wrapped packages under the tree, one meowed at me. One had the nerve to say "this place looks like a pigsty!" That last one was Dusty the Talking Vacuum Cleaner. He's lucky my son loves him. Loud seemed to be the theme this year. My little brother, now an adult living across the country, continues his career in sibling irritation by sending my kids things like the Disney princess talking cash register and Tumble Time Tigger, who does cartwheels to MC Hammer music. It's his way. In addition, my kids got a Furby, a talking school bus, and an "interactive" US presidents thing where they press a button to learn about a president and it plays "Hail to the Chief" and ends with "Good night, and God bless America." That was from my strange cousin. She's really old. 'Nuff said. Mind you, I'm not the only one around here with a little brother. Their other uncle got them a musical instrument set. LOTS of them in there. Some that you bang on. I try not to think about it.

I know there's a denoument after the official celebration is over. It always kills me when the last cookie gets eaten. I really like cookies. But that holiday excitement returns with the roaring fire in the oven when you use the self-clean feature after spilling beef drippings. It's almost like the return of the sun after the longest night of the year. Flame on! Oooh, ahhh, pretty...cough cough. Then we open all the windows and doors so that the new year can blow out all the smoke. Yeah, that's it.

I hope your holidays are just as much fun as ours. And yes, I say "holidays" because I don't give a crap which ones you celebrate, I just hope they're happy.

X3 Teaser Screencap

"Listen Ri. Ya gotta stop breaking the danger room. Storm's getting really pissed."

Another Holiday Tradition Continues

Echoing my Thanksgiving turkey tradition, I'm only halfway through decorating the tree and it's already crispy. If only life were as consistent as holidays.

Is There No Justice??????

I finally found that stupid Netflix disk that's been lost for a week and now the red mailey thingie is missing! AAAAAAHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!

On the other hand, I finally found the picture I wanted to use for a tattoo. That's been lost for a couple of years now. I guess I can wait a week for another disk.

Astonishing

I like Emma trying to read telepathically through Wolvie's head.

When Elves Drink Too Much

Dickhead the Christmas Duck

We went to get a tree today. The guys there tied it on top of the van for me. I had to come up with a plan to get it down once I got home, as I can't reach up there without the assistance of technology, but then I realized it really doesn't matter because it's FRICKIN' COLD out there and I'm not going back out! Mr. Tannenbaum can have a nice little nitey-nite in the driveway and the much larger spousal unit will get it in the morning, when the sunlight gives the false hope that one's fingers might not turn blue and break off in the process.

Meanwhile, my littlest princess is traumatized because some dumbass six-foot duck hugged her while I was getting bagels. Yes, it's that kind of store. Oh man. Every so often she breaks into tears, followed by sobbing "Mommy I don't like the duck". I am almost of the mind to go back there and kick that duck's ass. Actually, I was of that mind at the time, which is why he left in a hurry to go harrass other customers. Of course, I feel like an ass because a duck hugged my kid while I was getting bagels. Nice work, mom. Way to look after your kid responsibly. What if he had been Duck the Ripper? Perhaps I can beat out my guilt upon Mr. Duck. Hmmm. I don't think I'm doing anything this weekend...

And now, I am going to take my frozen ass over to my rocking chair with a big steaming cup of expensive cocoa and read "historical fiction" until my husband gets home.

Set Me Up, Petey!

Thank you thank you to Joan (one of my favorite photo goddesses) for finding this fabu pic of Wolvie in the midst of a Fastball Special! (for those of you who don't know what that is, it's when he has to go really far or really high, so Colossus just picks him up and throws him.) Ah, I could gaze at it all day, but alas, I must go change a poopy diaper. No, it is not mine.

Angus: 2:10

And he held the fork aloft and said unto them "Pantate! Ummmm!" and they were amazed.

Another Brilliant Newsflash

MSNBC has posted yet another piece of urgent medical news, entitled "Longer Needles Needed for Fatter Butts." It's starting to look like The Onion.

I'm Having a "Traditional" Thanksgiving.

That's right, it's noon and my turkey is still frozen.

Cooking Shows Should Carry Warnings

"DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME"

I just made some seriously weird shit for dinner. I'm trying to rescue it by baking it in the oven. It was supposed to be fried. Rachel Ray, you are seriously messed up. I know, some of you tried to warn me about her, but it looked so easy and homey. I got sucked in. I'm a total food slut. "Look, you can make it crispy and cheesy and..." YEAH! When will I learn? Julia, why did you ever leave us?

Dubloons Accepted

My kids like to play restaurant. Today it's Cafe Aaargh!!! They serve seafood, kelp cookies, sea horse milk, and citrus fruits (because, my daughter told me, friends don't let friends get scurvy!). They said that if you arrive at the cafe and there is nobody at the hostess station and nobody comes when you ring the bell, you should run because it means they're being raided by pirates and she's off trying to save their goods. Likewise, if you are dining and an alarm goes off, it is a pirate raid and you should draw your sword. If you don't have a sword, run for it. They have a special offer right now. For two dollars you can get a coupon for two full dinners. The money goes to a charity to prevent and cure scurvy.

I don't remember being this demented when I was that young. Mine developed over time.

This Needs a Caption...

I Anticipate the Next Big Announcement

There's an article on MSN entitled, (and like Dave Barry says, I'm not making this up) "Obesity Pills Work Best With Diet, Excercise". Yes, somebody, and I pray it was not we taxpayers, funded a STUDY to find this out! Thank goodness for people with medical degrees, huh? The rest of us would never know this stuff if not for their superior intelligence and education. I mean, who could have guessed such a thing? As for it qualifying as news, well, that's another topic.

Someone Needs to Be Beaten

As is often the case, it's someone in the world of advertising. The latest thorn in my side is the phrase "artisan bread". Oooh, I hate this. I guess "gourmet", which was meaningless in the first place but served its purpose well, has lost its impact. I would think that the phrase, used simply as it is and not as an advertising catch phrase, means bread that is not only hand-made by a person, but also has an individual characteristic that has been achieved by artful development and would not be duplicated by somone else. The combination of grains and the texture of crust perhaps. It is individual, and not just a skill, a job, a production, but an art. Not for mass production. Yet, I'm hearing it a lot more. The Panera chain uses the term. Their bread is very good, but simply by being a chain, they negate that characteristic. If they were a single bakery with one or two people making bread, each in his or her own way and you couldn't get it at any other bakery, that would be one thing. This? No. Yesterday I actually saw a coupon for Pepperidge Farm frozen "artisan bread" dough! WTF? And this year, our church's harvest festival put it on the flier. It was still the same bread they sell every year, but since they're calling it "artisan", they charged like two dollars more per loaf or something, which basically is what it comes down to. "Artisan" is the new "gourmet" and the only difference between it and regular bread will be a couple of bucks.

The worst part- yuppies will fall for it and spread it around like herpes. Good bakers will have to adopt the term to keep up with the market and then the price of a decent loaf of bread will be completely absurd. I can't stand what those frickin' yuppie dorks do to food. They elevate the trendy, whether it's crap or not. In a couple of years there will be a different trendy wine, vodka, chocolate, whatever, and guess what. The former trendy one will still taste the same, but the taste was never the point in the first place. Don't tell them that of course. Does not compute. Just hope that they don't discover YOUR favorite "whatever" because soon, you won't be able to afford it anymore and the only ones who can are the ones who won't know enough to appreciate it. But fear not, eventually it will fall from grace and though you may be considered fashionably ignorant, it's better than being fashionably idiotic. Artisan bread. They're fuckin' kidding me.

The Strange Legacies We Leave

My dad died on Sunday. Today when I was doing dishes, I noticed his coffee mug on the side of the dish rack. That's where it always stayed, waiting for him. For some reason, he didn't like to put it in the cabinet with the rest of the mugs. No, HIS had a unicorn on it and could not be subjected to the cooties of the more common inhabitants of my cupboard. This mug survived The Great Mug Disaster of Nineteen Eighty-somethingorother. He had a small galley kitchen. There was a narrow "wall" that was actually more like a pillar at one end of the kitchen on which he had a rack to hang the mugs on. Well, one day when he was making dinner and doing "ballet", he decided to combine some kind of pirouette with some kind of jete and kicked the whole rack off the wall. No, dad wasn't a dancer, he was a regular guy (mostly) which is what made it all the more embarrassing and caused him to blame it on the cats when his live-in girlfriend asked him what the hell happened to the mugs. A couple survived, one of which was his unicorn mug. His very favorite. That was a close one. Needless to say, he was more careful about combining ballet and cooking. So now I have this mug and I'm wondering what to do with it. Should I put it in the cabinet to catch cooties from my other mugs? Should I use it when I already have two other mugs that are my regular ones? Should I leave it on the rack where he put it? Hmmm...

We Made These

I'll write some thoughts about our halloween later. And I do have thoughts.

CRANKY!!!!!!

I waited until the baby was asleep and I rolled out another pie crust. I started to make the filling. I followed the recipe until the end, and THAT'S when I realized that they had left out a step! I poured in the filling, thinking it was awfully runny, and after it went into the oven, I realized I hadn't done anything with the brown sugar mixture. It was supposed to go in UNDER the liquid and now it's going to be gross so why is it even in the oven? Idunno. Because I'm an idiot. I'm very, very unhappy, in a grumbly, not friendly sort of way.

A Bright Spot

What a crappy, crappy, crappy day. It was good to hear that the Cafe Du Monde reopened today. At least I know that one thing is right in the world. Now if I could just be there right now.

In Case You Are Wondering

I'm sitting here NOT making six dozen pumpin-shaped, orange frosted cookies. I'm not doing the tons of laundry that need to be done. I'm not doing any school lessons with the kids, and I'm not out shopping for stuff I need in the next few days. Well, well. I did, however, eat breakfast, get relatively dressed, and do a load of dishes. Hearing the dishwasher going is always encouraging to me.

I'm not particularly tired as I sometimes am, and I'm not feeling blue or anything. The kids aren't being evil. I just feel like sitting here. For no particular reason. Just sitting here. Well, my ritalin is kicking in, and that always brings me to my senses. I swear that damn pill practically talks to me. "Now Rima, it's not so hard. Just go over there, and do this. See? That was simple. Now do this. That's it, you're doing great! It's not complicated at all."

So in a few minutes, I will be mixing cookie dough while the kids have their elevensies. Then we'll clean up the foodage and I'll work on Alex's history project with her while guiding Stevie through whatever workbook section she feels like working on. I will, at that time, be completely ignoring the screaming and the crayon missiles being launched by my son. And then, Idunno. Piano, lunch, laundry, math, desperate need for a nap, suddenly inspired Jackman's Table entry... could be anything.

Good Dr. Doggie!

I was browsing through a women's magazine while sipping my morning coffee. There was an article in which several doctors were interviewed for medical advice that they think is important but that most people don't think of. There were expected things, of course, like how every household should have Benadryl and baby aspirin on hand, but my favorite piece of medical advice was this: To insure proper medical care in a hospital, bring individually wrapped treats like cookies and chocolate to give the staff members. I wonder if that was a full-credit course in medical school, or just one of those pass/fail, half-credit things.

Epitaph: She died of pie.

Did you know that you can hurt yourself with chocolate? I didn't know that. I do now. You know that "death by chocolate" dessert that some restaurants have? Well, that isn't it. It's here, right in my kitchen and in my stomach, and I am afraid, very afraid. There are worse ways to die, but to never want to eat chocolate again, well, that's tragic. This is assuming that I survive. Tony Bourdain would not survive this pie. (though my crust, as usual, was to be worshipped) Let this be a warning so that lives may be saved! But tell eegee to send the recipe anonymously to Sardi's. Heh heh.

Unsupervised

The girls are in bed. The baby is asleep on the couch. This means one thing. I'M GONNA MAKE ME SOME PIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What Really Goes On at Our House

You know that baby toy that is made of different sized rings that they have to stack on the post? Well, my son unscrewed the post and is using it as a microphone to sing. He's a year and a half old. And yes, I'm well aware that it's after eleven pm. That's just my life.

Those Wacky Scots

I recently went to a Scottish festival, which was a lot of fun, and many clans had tents set up where you could go and get info on them and meet fellow clansfolk. They are all listed in the program, along with their mottos. This made for good reading. Typically, they are about being brave, being strong, being steadfast, etc. Clan MacKintosh, however, seems to be a little more special. Their motto is "Touch not the cat without a glove". Hmmm.

Now I wonder, is this a safety thing or a cleanliness thing? Were they germ freaks and could have basically picked anything besides "cat"? "Milk not the cow...", "Shear not the sheep..." etc. Or is it a safety issue, where they know cats scratch so wear a glove when you touch them. OR do they mean the CAT has to wear gloves to cover the claws? Did the MacKintoshes put gloves on their cats? Can you picture how the vermin must have taunted the poor things, not to mention the dogs, though I would assume the dogs had their own similar problems imposed upon them. Probably diapers.

Now our clan motto is "Dread God". (Well, not mine really, my husband's. I'm Puerto Rican and our clan motto is "Ever on guard for falling coconuts") Supposedly, that means to have a healthy fear and respect for God, but I'm married to one and I'm pretty sure that it's because they were naughty lads. I bet there was lots of "Oh please oh please oh please God, if ye let me live, I swear I'll not touch another drap o cratur" ZZZZAP! and " I wasnae kissin' Jenny, I was savin' her from chokin', cross my heart and hope te ACK!"

He's at it again...

I am amazed, truly amazed at how deceptive the size of a toddler's stomach is. Angus had another pukefest. He's sleeping now. I was lucky that I had a clean pair of sweatpants left so I can pick up my husband at the station tonight. Our couch needs to be condemned.

And on a completely unrelated note, if you are a "lassie", and a Scotsman asks you if you have any Scottish in you, don't answer! It's a trick!

AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!! CALL 911!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was cooking dinner when Angus came to me, holding his finger out in front of himself, squeaking and looking distressed. I assumed he had boobooed it and wanted it kissed. As my lips touched the adorable, little, pink fingertip, I realized that he wasn't hurt, he was showing me a booger!!!!!!!

Remember when Snoopy kissed Lucy? Yeah, that was me!

Mmmm, Oooey Hughey Wolverchops...

Maybe His Penis Kept Getting in the Way.

I have a cheap, laminate and plastic, piece-o-crap violin that I thought would make a nice wall decoration. So after we painted the livingroom, I asked my husband to hang it up for me. For some reason he said it wasn't possible. He said he needed to do research. Whaaaa???? Ooookay. I was getting impatient about it and wondered if he had finished doing his research on whacking two nails into a wall, but no, he asked for more patience.

So months later, last night, he returned home with a rather obtrusive, padded contraption with a block of wood for a base, that attaches to the wall. (I wonder if he did research on how to attach the block of wood to the wall) It is a special hanger for a real instrument that is played every day by a musician. It's for them to store it within reach, rather than have to go in and out of the case all the time. It's not for attaching a decoration to your wall. It would be like creating a big, padded set of brackets to hang a picture on a wall. I'm not looking to store my real violin, I'm looking to decorate the living room with a fake one. Then again, I'm female so I don't constantly have visions of complicated hardware and engineering feats running through my brain. I got stuff to do.

So with his idea rejected, this morning he asked me "what my vision is" for it. I think he has been too long in the entertainment industry. I don't "have a vision". I just wanted the damn thing nailed to the wall. He said he would think about what he needed to do to make that happen. Jeez Louise.

Of course, when he left for work, I got two pieces of scotch tape, two nails, a hammer, and voila! My "vision" has appeared. Whew, that was tough!

Home Schooling Vs. Traditional Schooling

There are countless reasons why people are for or against home schooling. Some political, some social, educational, etc. and on and on, but here is the real bottom line.

In school, when you do a nice job on your multiplication tables, you get a gold star or a smiley face. At home, when you do a nice job on your multiplication tables, you get to watch "Attack of the Giant Leeches".

'nuff said

My Darling Son

Just ralphed in my hand. Don't worry, I washed them before posting. He has also removed and hidden the "childproof" safety lock we finally found to keep him out of the dishwasher. It's probably with the cable box card that we never found. We used to have a very naughty cat who would hide the waterguns while we were sleeping so that we couldn't squirt him when he was misbehaving. They would have made a dangerous team.

FEMA is no longer giving the evacuees debit cards. I can understand that, but the solution they came up with is a head slapper. Hurricane victims are required to apply for FEMA aid through their website. Yes, on the computers they don't have with the electricity they don't have. When they do this, they will get a direct deposit into their bank that doesn't exist anymore, but they can always use the atm cards that they left in their now nonexistent homes.

Now, I can see one really stupid person at FEMA suggesting this, but I can't see everyone else saying "oh yeah that's a good idea!" I mean, it's kind of obvious, isn't it????

POP QUIZ!

Okay, here's where we see if you guys have been paying attention.

This morning my husband left and won't be back until late Saturday night. Guess what Angus just started doing?

In Denial?

Then read this. http://www.lifeaftertheoilcrash.net/ And not to add to the panic or anything, but there will be a chocolate shortage, with prices climbing soon.

At Least They Haven't Started the Hazing

Poor, poor, new harem boy. Sir Paul and Wolverine were trying to explain to him that people named James who are cool don't actually use it. They go by a completely unrelated name, like Paul or Logan or Wolverine. Wolvie offered him Emilio, since he's not using it anymore, but Jamie didn't like it. Yes, he likes to be called Jamie, and you know what happened when they heard that? Tino and Craig pantsed him while Bobby hit him in the head with a rack of ribs for having a sissy-boy name. So no James or any derivative, ESPECIALLY not Jamie. For now, they're calling him New Guy, or worse. I can't repeat them here. He's taking it like a man though. He says being a harem boy of mine is worth any suffering. So true, so true. For your viewing pleasure, here's a picture of New Guy.

Devastation in the South

I just can't believe what these people are going through. I can't imagine being separated from my children, how it would feel for them, how they would survive, how we could ever possibly find each other again. I can't imagine having to hide my family in a dark corner somewhere, to keep them safe from the fighting and shooting.

My daughter had her piano lesson today. She has always shied away from jazz pieces, not really liking them and having difficulty with their rhythm. Today she decided to learn one because jazz comes from New Orleans and she wants this to be her personal tribute. Her teacher took that lightheartedly, but I had to keep from crying. I hope that someday she'll be able to play in that once beautiful city, and that it will be beautiful then too.

I'm thankful that the majority of the devastated area is NOT full of shooting and looting and fighting and killing, but of people trying to help each other as best they can. I have no words for our government. At least none that won't put me on the homeland security shit list.

Size Really Does Matter

I've been trying to understand this for a long time and it just escapes me. Why do the little pieces of Doritos taste better than a regular sized chip? Coffee tastes better in a teacup than in a mug. Muffins taste better if you eat them by breaking off little pieces instead of biting from the whole thing. But cookies- definitely bigger is better. No question. The science of this completely escapes me.