Gotta Love Her........Attitude

Bug is back and she is getting SO big. She is going through a growth spurt and getting too big for her britches………in more ways than one.

Let me start by saying that Bug has always been the sweetest little girl. She loves to give hugs and kisses and she’s quick to say “Lub you” to her family and is a dream to put to sleep at night. As she gets bigger her vocabulary gets bigger. As she gets bigger her personality develops…..as does her attitude. Yesterday morning I had my first experience with the new Bug……..and I think I like her a lot!

Ok – so I’m going through my morning ritual of trying to get Baby Girl out of bed, fed, dressed (including shoes) and to the bus stop with clean teeth and combed hair………it’s tough! Anyway, we were to the part of our morning where I remind her to brush her teeth and hair and she was telling me that she’d “fixin to” for the 10th time. She finally found her way to the bathroom and I was folding clothes in the laundry “closet”. Bug was in her room playing in her toy box after having already been up for an hour, had breakfast and brushed her teeth (I’m determined to train her better than I did Baby Girl). From Baby Girl’s bathroom I hear, “MAMA! COME GET HER!” I can also hear Bug saying, “I brush teeth, I brush teeth, I BRUSH TEETH”. I can envision the scene, Bug is standing on the toilet leaning over into the sink trying to grab the toothbrush and toothpaste from Baby Girl and Baby Girl is trying to keep them away from her all the while smearing toothpaste all over my counter. I call out, “Bug, leave sister alone she is trying to get ready for the school bus”. Baby Girl got quiet so I assumed Bug went back to her room so I went back to folding clothes.

About 30 seconds later I look down to see Bug standing at the doorway with her hand held up as if she were stopping traffic with a very serious look on her face. I start to say, “Hi Bug” as that is our normal greeting but am cut short with a, “Hush Up!” I was shocked. #1 because she obviously had come all the way to where I was to express her displeasure in my having told her to get out of the bathroom and #2 because I felt I had just been Prissed by a two year old. I put on my best Mama face and said, “Excuse me? What did you just say?”

Now, this next part is what makes me know that I am going to LOVE this new Bug. She paused and studied my face for a few seconds and then said, “I go to Nana’s house”. That’s right folks – she is already smart enough to know that my reaction to her first attempt at Prissin was not one of joy and decided it better to LIE to my face than possibly suffer the consequences.

About that time Baby Girl came into the den and I relayed the story to her. She informed me that Bug had been trying to Priss her all day and she TOLD her that she isn’t allowed to Priss and older person. I guess Bug just had to test that theory but judging by her complete 360 when questioned I am assuming she was able to grasp the concept.

Yep – I think she is going to grow up to be a fine CH #3.

Don't Be Prissin Me

Ok – I don’t know if I’ve explained about Prissin’ yet and I don’t care to follow my own instructions and read through the archives. So, I am going to explain it now and if I’m repeating myself fell free to skip down the page a little.

About a month or so ago Baby Girl came in from playing with Prissy, slammed the door, grabbed the remote and plopped down in the chair. This is very odd for a weekend day because usually she and Prissy have to be tracked down when it gets dark. I asked her why she wasn’t outside with Prissy to which she informed me, “I am taking a break from her for a while”. Ok – that should’ve been enough for me as I am always telling her how when they start getting on each others nerves they should just take a break and separate for a while……..but noooooo – I had to push it. I asked, “What happened?” because I hadn’t gotten my daily dose of drama that I have become dependent on to live. She found her spot on the ceiling behind me to stare at, put the remote down and her hands on her hips and said, “Because she was Prissin’ me and I don’t have to take it.” All of a sudden I realized that I have lost touch with this new generation as I had no idea what “Prissin’” was. So, because I want to be “in touch” with my child I asked, “What does that mean?”

At this point, she takes a deep breath, rolls her eyes and tells me, “I told her that she has been Prissin’ me all day and that I am 8 and she is 6 and that a younger person can’t Priss and older person but she kept on doing it so I told her that if she didn’t stop it I was going to Priss her back and she wasn’t going to like it AT ALL but she kept on doing it so I just told her that I needed a break because I didn’t have to take her Prissin me and I was going home for a while until she could learn the rules of stuff”.

You notice that last EXTREMELY long sentence with NO punctuation? Yeah, she didn’t take a breath during that entire rant. Sad thing is, I’ve now lost 15 minutes of my life that I will never get back and I STILL don’t know what Prissin is. So, I called Nana to see if she has heard of this odd ritual. Nana says that she has no clue what Prissin is but being that she is older than me, she better not catch me Prissin her. I asked Honey, since he’s younger than me, and he said that he’d never heard of it but he’d better not catch me Prissin him just because I’m allowed to. So, there I was, I didn’t know what Prissin was but I had this feeling that I really wanted to try it on someone.

About that time, Prissy rang the doorbell and Baby Girl answered it. I couldn’t hear what they were saying so I walked to the door, opened it wider and asked Prissy if she was finished Prissin Baby Girl. Prissy informed me that she “didn’t even Priss her at all” in kind of a snotty little voice and Baby Girl almost comes unglued. She yelled, “YES YOU DID! You were standing on the driveway and I asked you if you wanted to play school and you said no. I asked you if you wanted to play with our dolls and you said no. I asked you if you wanted to draw on the sidewalk and you said no and then you just turned around and walked into the garage! QUIT LYING Prissy!” Prissy then turned and walked away.

I am now standing there trying to compute all of this because what I have gathered from this exchange is that Prissin is turning around and walking away. I might go as far as to say it is disagreeing with someone and THEN turning and walking away but I really think it’s just the walking away part. Oh my, this is very disturbing. I mean, my 8 year old has informed me of the rules that a younger person is not allowed to Priss an older person so I can no longer plead ignorant. I don’t know if I am going to be able to function under these new guidelines? I mean, I would always have to be the last one to leave a room or I would have to always walk backwards. Which brings up another issue, what if I am walking backwards away from the group I am talking to but in the process accidentally walk away from an elderly person – have I Prissed them unknowingly? Oh no – I don’t think I’m going to be able to do this. Will I have to start carding people before I can proceed through a crowd……..oh, no, oh, no………I was beginning to panic. I grabbed Baby Girl by the shoulders and said, “What EXACTLY is Prissin?” Baby Girl rolled her eyes and says, “I don’t know, it’s just something we say when we don’t like what the other one is doing”. Oh thank God!!!

We have now adopted this word into our daily lives. For example – if Honey comes in the room and says, “Where are my glasses” and I say, “I don’t know I don’t wear them” he would be well within his rights to assume he has been Prissed. So, the next time that you are in a situation where a younger person is giving you grief about something just put on your best serious face and say, “Looky here – you’d best not be Prissin me” and turn and walk away. By the time they figure out what the heck you are talking about, they will have forgotten what they were griping about and leave you alone. Trust me, it works. I’ve tried it on several occasions and have YET to be asked what I meant. Good luck and Happy Prissin.

Oh, What Goes On In Their Little Crack Heads?

Let’s see……..it’s been a minute since I rambled about the Crack heads. Where, oh where should I begin?

A few weeks ago Nana walked into her kitchen and found a bowl of melting ice on her counter. When she entered her living room she discovered another bowl of melting ice turned UPSIDE DOWN on her carpet. As she pondered what they could possibly be doing with bowls of ice she noticed her couch. All of the throw pillows were wearing jackets and coats. The girls were nowhere to be found. When she told me about it I asked what they said when she questioned them. “I didn’t” she said, “I really don’t think I want to know.”

A few days after that, Honey calls me outside to, “just come look”. I walk out on the front porch and see that the girls have been playing in the “dirt” that accumulates at the end of our street when it rains. They have stolen two of Nana’s big plastic bowls and have cups and silverware strewn all over the neighbors yard (the little section by the mailbox). Just as I am about to ask what they are doing I notice something white laying in the middle of the dirt/mud and Baby Girl is sitting on it. I asked Honey, “what is she sitting on?” and he says, “That’s why I called you out here. Ask her.” At that precise moment, Prissy scoots by us carrying a huge bowl of mud with a few pieces of Styrofoam sticking out the top. She never looked up and never spoke, just scooted past us to her house. I call out to Baby Girl, “WHAT are you doing?” “Playing in the dirt”, she says in her most innocent voice. I ask, “WHAT are you sitting on?” After a brief pause she replies, “My coat”. HUH???? “Would that be your BRAND NEW, SOLID WHITE coat that you have NEVER EVEN WORN???” I ask. “Um, yes ma’am” she replies softly. By now she has gathered up her stuff, including her coat and made her way back to our yard, all the while desperately looking for Prissy to back her up to no avail. I try to stay calm and ask, “WHY would you take your coat out there and put it in the mud to sit on? She got this “I know you’re mad but I have a legitimate reason” look on her face and said, “Because we didn’t want to get our butts dirty”. OH! Now I get it, it makes perfect sense……..to a CRACKHEAD!

Last Friday afternoon my neighbor from across the street (the same one that lives in front of the dirt) knocks on my door and informs me that “the little girls that play here” had filled her mailbox with dirt………..ON TOP OF HER MAIL!! I was speechless. I apologized to her and told her that her mailbox would be clean momentarily. I sent Honey around the corner to fetch the girls from Spike’s house. I’m fairly certain that their rear ends were “warmed up” on the way home as they were both sniffing and walking kind of funny. I handed them wet and dry paper towels and told them to get busy cleaning up the mess. The whole time I’m standing over them telling them how messing with someone’s mailbox (and mail) is a crime and they are lucky the lady didn’t call the cops and have them arrested. I told them that we were not raising children that would destroy other people’s property and that they were both grounded for a week. I went on to tell them that they were NEVER to play in the neighbor’s yard again and if I caught either of them playing in that dirt again they were going to regret it. I was just ranting and raving about how I couldn’t believe that they would do something like that to someone else’s stuff. I mean it’s one thing for them to do crazy stuff to our houses (ice in the floor, dirt on Daddy’s truck, hand prints on the ceiling, etc) but for them to pull a stunt like this was just not going to be tolerated, blah, blah, on and on. Neither of them ever took their eyes off the inside of that mailbox so I’m pretty sure they were just tuning me out. I also made them march their little tails up to the door and apologize to our neighbor. Once it was all over, I sent #2 home (Nana was standing on her porch backing me up the whole time) and #1 on the house. I fixed Baby Girl some dinner and told her to get ready for bed (it was about 6pm). As I put her to bed I told her, “Baby Girl, I love you with all my heart and I don’t like fussing at you and having to punish you but I just can’t let you think it’s ok to do things like that”. She started to cry and told me, “Mama, I don’t know why I did it. Prissy said we should and I told her no but then I just got caught up in the moment and the next thing I knew, Daddy was coming to get us.” Caught up in the moment?? What eight year old says “caught up in the moment”? Anyway, I gave her a kiss and put her to bed and went to call Nana. I asked her how the mood was in her house and she told me that Prissy had decided to pack a bag and run away because “Syd and Mr. Honey are mean”. Not because we made them clean up the dirt, not because Honey spanked them, not even because we yelled at them. No, we are mean because it was embarrassing to have to apologize to the neighbor. Whatever! I hope they were embarrassed. Maybe they will think twice before committing their next felony.

Free To A Good Home!!!

I know there are some dog lovers out there that would LOVE to have a Snugget!! That’s right, Snow (the big white fluffy dog) managed to knock up Nugget (the medium black short-haired dog) and now we have NINE puppies. They are 4 ½ weeks old and are VERY cute but 9 of them whining at 3am, because Nugget no longer finds letting them chew on her ta-tas quite so comfortable, is really starting to work my nerves. I’ve explained on several occasions that my house is rather small – well my back yard is even smaller. We already have Snow, Salty and Nugget – and Honey actually hinted to keeping TWO of the snuggets – AIN”T GONNA HAPPEN!!!

So, if any of you are looking for a really cute puppy – shoot me an email or post a comment. They will be ready to go on 11/18 and I will gladly deliver. I will take pictures and post them tomorrow.

Tech Support - Would You Like Fries With That?

Ok – I haven’t ranted about work in a while but today I am feeling the need. I will go ahead and extend my apologies to any individual that might have been on the call I am about to reference and is offended by this post. However, chances are if you were on that call – you are too stupid to read so I probably don’t have anything to worry about.

So, my company was bought a while back by a much larger company and since that time they have been “absorbing” us into their world. We are supposed to follow their processes and procedures (most of which are so screwed up even they don’t know how they work). Anyway – a while back we moved a lot of our systems to their locations (because we are hicks and couldn’t possibly know how to work stuff) however, these systems are all still supported by our location (because they don’t want hicks teaching them squat). A while back “they” gave us the directive that all of our helpdesks would go to “one number”, meaning that all of our former company users would call one phone number (in a whole other state than any of our locations) to open a trouble ticket that we would then work. In other words – if you sit outside my office – you have to call California and open a ticket so that I can walk out my door and hand you a new mouse. Not to mention the fact that they NEVER give us good or enough information to enable us to solve the problem without contacting the user directly. Frankly – they make my job harder and more time consuming but hey – I’m a hick – what do I know.

Now, the group that now takes our calls is not the ONLY helpdesk within this new large corporation that I joyfully work for. No – I know of 4 different “one number to dial” helpdesks within this organization and none of them have a clue that the others exist – yet my group has to deal with all of them because we support applications enterprise wide. All of these different helpdesks have “critical reporting” that has to be done anytime there is an issue. For example – if I have a server go down in Memphis and it impacts 2 people in Maine – I have to explain why to 14 different people from 5 different states. If I have 3 people in Oregon who can’t login because they don’t know their password – I have to fill out a “root cause” report and submit it to 9 people in 3 different states. If a bird flies into my window and I spill coffee on my keyboard which keeps me from working for the 32 seconds it takes to swap it out thus causing 1 telemarketer to not be able to bore me to death with a sales call – I have to report the outage to 36 people on 2 different planets. So, as you can see – dealing with all of these separate helpdesks has not decreased my workload at all and I am not thrilled about it.

Yesterday I received the following call and I swear to you that I almost “snapped and went off”……….

Me – “This is Syd”

HD – “Hi, Syd, This is Dilbert with the Retards Answering Phones center. I have Larry, Moe, Curly from Georgia and Lucy, Ethel, Ricky and Fred from Boston and Lenny and Squiggy from Detroit on the phone with me and we are trying to resolve an issue with AIR”

Me – “Ok – what seems to be the issue?”

Dilbert – “Well, it seems that when users in London aren’t able to access AIR on the Terminal Server”

Me – “What error are they receiving?”

Larry – “I’m not sure of the error. Can you check the server?”

Me – “I’m logged into it now and AIR launches just fine. What server are they pointing to?”

Squiggy – “I’m not sure. Probably the same one they’ve always used”

Me – “Well these users used to access AIR from a Memphis Terminal Server but that server was decommissioned last Friday. Users should now be getting AIR from the Ohio Terminal Server. Can we find out what server they are pointing to?”

Moe – “Why weren’t we notified of the change?”

Me – “Betty Boop was the project manager on that and she sent out communication to all departments each week for over a month asking for users to test and informing them of when they cutover was going to occur.”

Lucy – “So let me understand this. The problem is the users aren’t pointing to the correct server to get AIR?”

Me – “I don’t know. I need someone to verify which server they are pointing to and what error they are receiving. Who is on with us from London?”

Dilbert – “Umm, I don’t think anyone. Do you need someone from London?”

Me – “Well, it would be helpful if I had a user that was actually experiencing the issue that I could talk to”

Ricky – “Hey Lucy, can you see if you can get either Hughey, Dewey or Louie on the phone from London?”

Dilbert – “I’ll go ahead and call Bert and Ernie from LAN so they can start a sniffer.”

Me – “Let’s find out what the actual issue IS before we drag anyone else on this call”

Dilbert – “Oh, I agree. Curly – can you please page Bert for me while I try to get Ernie on IM.”

Curly – “Dialing now.”

Me – “Um, ok then. Has Lucy come back with a London user yet?”

**silence**

Me – “Hello? Lucy, are you there?”

Lucy – “I’m here. I’m sorry, what was the question?”

Dilbert – “Did you get in touch of Hughey, Dewey or Louie?”

Lucy – “Umm – no. I’ll see if I can track down Donald – he’s their Manager”

Me – “I really need to speak with someone that is actually at a computer that can tell me what is happening on the screen”

Bert – “Hi – this is Bert from LAN. What do you need me to do?”

Dilbert - “Hey Bert, this is Dilbert. I wanted to see if you could put a sniffer on the network to see if we are having any problems getting to AIR from London”

Bert – “Sure, what is the IP of the user in London and what is the IP of the server in Ohio?”

Me – “We don’t seem to be able to find a user that is having this issue. As a matter of fact, at this moment the issue is merely a rumor. I believe the problem is that the users aren’t pointing to the correct server but we are waiting for someone to verify that”

Bert – “I see. Well what is the IP of the server?”

Me – “123.456.7.89”

Lucy – “I’ve got Donald coming on with us now”

Donald – “Hi, this is Donald”

Me – “Hi Donald. We’ve got about 20 people on the phone trying to figure out what is going on with your group”

Donald – “Well, the users are reporting that they can’t get into WATER”

Me – “I’m sorry – did you say WATER because we were told that they couldn’t get AIR”

Donald – “Umm – I thought they said WATER. Hang on; I’ll see if I can find Hughey, Dewey or Louie. Maybe they will know”

Me – “That would be great (sarcasm)”

Lucy – “Let me understand, we have two applications, AIR and WATER, which are down because we didn’t communicate the move of the Terminal Server?”

Me – “No – that is not at all the case. At this point, it seems that only Hughey, Dewey and Louie know what the actual problem is and it would seem they have flown the coop.”

Donald – “Hey – I’ve got Daisy here and she is in front of her computer.”

Bert – “What is your IP address?”

Me – “Hang on; let’s find out what the actual problem is BEFORE we start bombarding her with questions. Daisy, what seems to be the problem?”

Daisy – “Well, when I try to get on, it takes a long time for the login screen to come up”

Me – “When you try to login to AIR?”

Daisy – “I’m not logging into AIR”

Me – “Are you able to login to the Terminal Server?”

Daisy – “Yes”

Bert – “What is the server’s IP?”

Me – “Hang on Bert. Daisy, once you login to the server, what icon are you clicking on?”

Daisy – “AIR”

Me – “Ok? So it’s AIR’s login screen that is taking a long time. How long?”

Daisy – “It’s been taking almost one minute all day”

Bert – “What is the IP for AIR?”

Me – “Daisy – can you try it for me now and count how long it takes. When I access it from here it takes 6 seconds to bring up the login screen”

Daisy – “Ok”

**silence**

Me – “So, how long did it take?”

**silence**

Me – “Daisy?”

Daisy – “Oh, did you want me to try it now?”

Me – “Yes, please”

Daisy – “Ok, that time it took 7 seconds”

Me – “When was the last time that it took almost a minute?”

Daisy – “I’m not sure. I never saw it. Hughey is the one that reported that but he’s gone for the day.”

Me – “Dilbert, I am going to consider this a non-issue”

Lucy – “So who will be sending out the communication in regards to this outage?”

Me – “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t consider this an outage.”

Ricky – “I’m going to document the outage as being caused by the server move not being communicated”

Me – “That’s not what was wrong here and the server move WAS communicated to the users over a week ago”

Bert – “I’m not able to run a trace on this IP”

Ethel – “Hey guys – why don’t we see if we can get some other users to test this from another location”

Me – “There is no issue – if there was my phone would be ringing off the wall and I haven’t gotten one call about this. There was no outage and it doesn’t even seem that there was and issue. I vote this call is over.”

Dilbert – “Ok, I’m going to assign this ticket to Desktop Services Memphis with the notes from this call. Syd, when can we expect resolution to this outage?”

Me – “By 3pm CST tomorrow.” CLICK!!!

This call lasted for 45 minutes. That is 45 minutes that I will NEVER get back. 45 minutes I could’ve spent closing 5 other tickets for people that had REAL issues. 45 minutes of mind numbing back and forth between too many people that don’t have a clue what they are doing. 45 minutes of me contemplating breaking the candle holder on my desk and eating the broken glass in order to ease the pain of the stupidity I’d been exposed to. 45 minutes of…………..gotta go, I’m getting a call from RAP………where is that candle holder?

A Place For MY Stuff

Well – it’s official – I finally FEEL married. You know how when you’re dating someone and all of their little “quirks” are cute and you laugh about them then suddenly when you get married they aren’t cute anymore? Yeah – I’m there.

Now, as always, I need to provide background information. Honey loses his keys, wallet and/or cell phone at LEAST 3 times a week. This normally occurs when we are trying to get somewhere at a specific time and are, of course, running late. When he can’t find whatever item he’s lost he gets mad. My usual response to this is to calmly walk to wherever I’d seen him go the day before (or hour before) and retrieve the item in question. I would then return it to him, smile and kiss him and he would say, “What would I do without you”. That was BEFORE we got married.

Now, please note – I ADORE my husband. For the most part we never fight. We have people constantly telling us that we make them sick because we are “too lovey dovey” (jealous much?). Anyway – the following is just a demonstration of how after you are married some of the cute stuff isn’t all that cute anymore.

Yesterday Honey went to the store to get my Diet Cokes (because I am spoiled). I am assuming that he could not locate his keys because he just took mine. He returned with 3 12 packs of my drug of choice and began to cook dinner (because I am spoiled rotten). The neighbors came down, Honey grilled burgers, hot dogs, baked beans, fries and I made potato salad (see, I contribute). Anyway, we sat out on the patio enjoying what might be our last pretty weekend before it turns cold listening to the radio and cutting up. Honey built a fire with the sun went down and the party went on until about 8p when it was time to start getting kids in the bed.

This morning, Honey got up and made coffee, got the girls up and fed while I took a shower (I know, I know – I’m keeping him). He left for work around 7:30a. I got the girls dressed and ready. Sent Baby Girl to the bus stop and took Bug down to Nana’s house. I came back, got my laptop, my Diet Coke and my purse. I went to retrieve my keys from my purse and they weren’t there………….HMMMMM? I NEVER lose my keys because if they aren’t in my ignition they are in my PURSE. It then dawns on me that Honey had been the last person to drive yesterday and that I’d seen HIS keys laying on top of the dryer (not sure why) while he was gone to get my cokes. I’d moved HIS keys to the top of HIS dresser (so HE could find them in the morning). I start looking – kitchen table, bar, dryer, bedroom, bathroom, patio, garage, Bug’s room, den – you name it, I looked there.

After 20 minutes of looking I finally had to call Honey. When he answered I asked, “Where are my keys?”. “Uhhhh – I don’t have them. I found mine this morning, they were on the dresser” (I’m sorry, who “found” them?) I said, “That’s good, now where are MY keys? You used them last” “Uhhhh – did you look on the table?” “YES! Unlike someone else I know, I actually LOOK for MY stuff before I call on others to be responsible for finding MY stuff”. “Uhhhh – did I not put them in your purse?” I almost dropped the phone, “Yes honey, you put them in my purse. I just called to test you and see if you could remember. NO they aren’t IN MY PURSE!!!! That’s the problem!” “Uhhhh – I’m sorry but I don’t have a clue what I did with them”. I asked, “What did you have on yesterday?” He proceeds to ramble off 3 different outfits (which explains why my laundry is out of control all the time) the last one being a pair of denim shorts. I start digging in the hamper and locate the shorts and low and behold – MY keys are in the pocket.

Now, at this point I am more than a little irritated. It’s one thing when he looses HIS stuff but when he starts losing MY stuff……….well, that just is not something I am going to be able to deal with (I know me). I explain to Honey that from now on there is a new rule – he is never allowed to use my keys for any reason – period. I rambled on and on about how I keep up with MY stuff. I always know where MY keys are because I put them in my purse. I don’t expect him to keep track of all of MY stuff and I shouldn’t have to keep track of HIS stuff. Blah, Blah, Blah, nag, nag, nag. He again apologized, I accepted, told him I loved him and hung up. Ugh!!!

I stomp back to the kitchen with my keys. I hang up the phone, grab my Diet Coke from the fridge, and go to stick it in my purse………..that isn’t on the table. CRAP!! At some point during my treasure hunt for my keys – I’d laid my purse down somewhere and I have no clue where!! I go BACK to the bedroom, garage, patio, Bug’s room and den – nothing. Just as I start to think I am losing my mind I remember the one other place I’d looked for the keys……..the dryer. There it was, sitting on the dryer with a Diet Coke already sitting in it. I grabbed my purse, put my keys in it, returned one of the beverages to the fridge and out the door I went. Then back in the door I came to get my laptop THEN out the door I went for work.

Now, Honey knows nothing of my misplacing my purse and I plan to NEVER tell him so I’d appreciate it if you would all keep it to yourselves. If you blab on me – I will send him to YOUR house and let him move YOUR stuff around for a while.

Sorry - Spammers Spoil Everything

You will notice that now when you submit comments you will have to use word verification prior to posting. I'm sorry - I hate having to type those stupid word jumbles but I've got spammers hitting my blog now and I could care less about reading a bunch of ads telling me "nice blog - you should check out this new home business - click here for more details". So, in order to keep the riff raff out.....you will have to contend with obscure jumbled words if you want to comment on this site - sorry.

Baby Girl, Bug and Prissy at Halloween.  

Oh, To Be Eight Years Old And In Love

I’ve always wondered if Baby Girl inherited more of my traits than those of her father. Yesterday she came home with a story that proves she really is more like me.

I must first let you know that Baby Girl is just starting to come out of her shell. I attribute this to having Honey in her life and to Cheerleading. She has always been a little on the weepy side and would start to cry if you looked at her wrong. She is very big on protecting her “private life” which includes everything from who her “boyfriend” is to her zipper being down in public. EVERYTHING pertaining to her is her “private life” and should NEVER be spoken about aloud. (Thank Heaven she can’t get online alone!)

Our neighbor to the back has a son (we’ll call him Spike). Spike is really cute and in Baby Girl’s class. For months we’ve been hearing from Prissy and Diva that Baby Girl “likes” Spike. Every time one of them would bring up Spike – Baby Girl would yell “You’re lying”, go to her room and slam the door. If I dared ask what was wrong – the tears would begin and she would tell me it was her “private life and they’re lying”. Ok – I know I’m old but I know that is code for “I wish they wouldn’t tell you that I like this boy”. I explained to Baby Girl that they were just teasing her and it didn’t matter if it were true or not. If she wanted to like Spike then just like him and tell Prissy and Diva to jump off a cliff.

When I got home from work on Halloween, Baby Girl pulled me in the bathroom to tell me something. She sat me down on the side of the tub, crossed her hands across her chest and proceeds to tell me, “I told Spike yesterday that I liked him and today at school, he told me he likes me back. So, he is my boyfriend and I don’t want you and Daddy to make jokes about it – OK”. I didn’t know if I should just go to my room or what. I was felling very much that the roles had been reversed and I was being corrected by my 8 year old. I did what any self respecting mother in this situation would do – I said, “Yes ma’am”, got up and left the room so I could laugh.

On Tuesday, Baby Girl came home with a new piece of jewelry. It would seem that Spike had presented his new Love with a pretty, pink, beaded necklace. Now, where Spike acquired these precious gems, I haven’t a clue but if his sister winds up knocking on my door I won’t be surprised. Anyway – she is now sporting a necklace that Spike gave her and will NOT take it off and all seems to be wonderful in her new world.

Thursday, I arrive home and am informed by Honey that I NEED to ask Baby Girl about her day. I call out to Baby Girl and tell her that I am going to the potty but want to hear about her day when I get finished. Of course – she follows me into the bathroom because as a 33 year old woman, I am incapable of peeing by myself. She proceeds to tell me about her day. It begins with a deep sigh and hands on her hips. She also has this way of not actually looking at you when she talks – she kind of talks to whatever is on the ceiling behind you. So there she was – really giving the ceiling a very serious look, hands on her hips. She took a really deep breath and said, “Mamma – some of the kids at school today were teasing me at lunch and they were getting on my last nerve. They finally ran right over it and I SNAPPED and went off!” Being that I am old, my first question was, “ran over what”. “MY NERVE”, she said. “Oh”. I said. “What were they saying?” (At this point I am trying hard to keep a straight face). “They were saying, “Spike and Baby Girl were supposed to get married yesterday” and I just WENT OFF”. Through a clenched jaw I asked, “What did you say to them?” “I yelled at them and told them to ZIP IT! (Finger pointed) I told them that I didn’t want to here it anymore and that they needed to LEAVE ME ALONE!”. “Then I started to cry and I had to go sit at the back table because I was yelling in the lunch room”. At this point I couldn’t even look at her – thank God there was no toilet paper and I had to send her to the other bathroom to get some. Before she returned I managed to compose myself. She came back and continued to tell me that she explained what happened to her teacher and “she made all those kids come to the front of the class and apologize – I bet that teaches them”. I told her that I agreed and to go outside and play. She left and I almost fell on the floor laughing. The DRAMA that an 8 year old has to deal with is just unbelievable!

While I was thinking about how silly all of this was my alter ego began to remember my own childhood and a similar situation where I didn’t talk to my very best friend for 3 days because she had cut the very tip of the corner of a piece of paper I was coloring on – I mean the nerve of that girl!

It made me realize how we (as girls) are genetically predispositioned to completely blow things out of proportion. I mean, at 8 it’s someone cutting your paper or saying you like some boy (that you actually do like). At 15, our mothers are stupid and could NEVER possibly understand what we are going through. At 25, men are stupid and would never make it out the door with their heads and keys if it weren’t for us. At 33, the stupid heifer in front of us in the 20 item or less line with her 22 items is the whole reason that the world is at war in Iraq. I just can’t wait until I’m 50 – I bet I find out that child proof caps cause global warming!!

Well, I’ve got to get – I’m anxious to find out what kind of horrors my child had to endure today in the treacherous 3rd grade today. Hopefully she didn’t punch someone for saying she had brown hair!

I Is Married Now!!!

I know I've been gone for a while but as it turns out - getting married is a TON of work!!!!

I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of the people that worked so hard to help me make our wedding wonderful. Nana worked her butt off everyday just to come home and help me (actually MAKE me) get everything checked off of my list of things to do. My bridesmaids were wonderful and went out of their way to make sure I wasn't stressed out. My parents (all of them) worked SO hard to make sure that everything looked beautiful. Papa and BB did an awesome job with the rehearsal dinner and everyone had a good time. Mom made a beautiful satin football for Sparky to throw to Honey (although Sparky didn't want to carry it because "it not fooball"). Our siblings went above and beyond the call of duty by showing up early to decorate and making last minute keg pick-ups. All of my aunts (and uncle) set up tables and helped decorate. Everyone contributed to all of the food and beverages and from what I hear (I didn't get a bite of anything but cake) it was all fabulous! GiGi bossed everyone and made sure that everyone was doing EXACTLY what they were supposed to do. Prissy was the "book bosser" and did a wonderful job. Baby Girl was absolutely beautiful and did a great job as my Jr. Bridesmaid. Even Honey's guys were awesome - he made it on time and with no VISIBLE signs of his bachelor party – I was very pleased. So – I want to say thank you and I love you to all of those that where there, busting their butts to make sure that our wedding was wonderful.

Here we go! 

Got our makeup "did". Lord have mercy - I look like I'm 60 years old!! 

Getting our hair "did" - Baby Girl said she didn't like it like this :) 

Bug LOVED her "pretty dress" 

My girls - Cheese and Frayser 

Dancing with my Daddy. 

Dancing with my brother (That's Z - ain't he cute!) 

Our first dance turned into a family affair. 

Listening to the toasts. Everyone made us cry. 

Mimi, Daddy, Me, Mother and NOAH 

Baby Girl caught the bouquet - I don't know if Nana is happy or about to beat her up for it (She's a single girl too ya know). 

Digging for the garter (hey, hey) 

My dance with Papa - he's such a sweetie 

This is one of my oldest friends - we'll call her Cheese and that guy she's dancing with is her husband - we'll call him Dallas 

Honey and Z about to whip some tail in a dance off. 

Tiger and Dirty Dan ATTEMPTING to win a dance off against Honey and Z. 

Some people didn't understand that they were supposed to UNTIE the birdseed bags BEFORE they threw them!  

Me and Baby Girl in the limo 

Baby Girl thought she could go with us if she sat in the back. 

Bug wanted to ride in the "BIG car" 

The Limo (click here)

This is the "hooptie" that the boys HAD to contend with for their "night on the town" 

Honey and Tiger were LOVING the sweet ride! 

The boys leaving for the "BIG PARTY". I am assured by all there that Honey will not go to jail (or at least I wouldn't KNOW he went to jail) 

Cold Wax......Originally Used in Torture Camps

OK - for the record - this is NOT me. I have no clue who this poor soul is but I almost wet my pants reading about her ordeal.


One Woman's Tale of Woe

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax. My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!)

So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.

With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the was strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!!

I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.

I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX??? Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair.

Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down.
CRAP!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. Vagina? Sealed shut! Butt??
Sealed shut!

I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!"
What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right??? WRONG!!!!!!!

I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax. So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!


I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter... "So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!" There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or hole or who-ha?" She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night.

I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!! By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.

My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!! It works!!" I get a hearty congratulations from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE...ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point and wouldn't have known it until the following morning!!

After you dry your eyes (and your pants) ask yourslef this....WHY do we (women) do this kind of thing? We know that it's stupid. Hell, half of us can't stand to pull a bandaid off fast so why would we dare smear any type of adhesive on our nether regions and yank?!?! I'll tell you why - MEN. We pluck, shave, bleach, rip and electorcute any stray hair we find so that men will find us attractive. Meanwhile, most men have hair growing out of every oraface and we are supposed to find it "manly". Whatever! Girls, next time your boyfriend or husband rubs your legs and says "bout time to wax don't cha think" just reach over and yank out a hand full of chest hair. I bet it will be the last time he mentions your hair removal procedures.

A Moment of Silence Please

May we please have a moment of silence for those recently done passed…

Punkin, Fuzzy and Superchicken

I swear! They were in today's CA.

PMS

Q: How many women with PMS does it take to change a light bulb?

A: One!!! ONLY ONE!!!! And do you know WHY? Because no one else in this house knows HOW to change a light bulb! They don't even know that the bulb is BURNED OUT!! They'd sit there in the dark for THREE DAYS before they figured it out!! And, once they figured it out, they wouldn't be able to find the light bulbs despite the fact they've been in the SAME CUPBOARD for the past 13 YEARS! But if they did, by some miracle of God, actually find the bulbs 2 DAYS LATER, the chair they dragged to stand on to change the STUPID light bulb would STILL BE IN THE SAME SPOT!!!!! AND UNDERNEATH IT WOULD BE THE WRAPPER THE STUPID LIGHT BULBS CAME IN!!! BECAUSE NO ONE EVER CARRIES OUT THE GARBAGE!!!! IT'S A WONDER WE HAVEN'T ALL SUFFOCATED FROM THE PILES OF GARBAGE THAT ARE A FOOT DEEP THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE HOUSE!! IT WOULD TAKE AN ARMY TO CLEAN THIS DAMNED HOUSE!


I'm sorry. What was your question?

This Is a Funny Site

OK - this site is too funny and too true. Click on the title above to get there. There is quite a bit of foul language so if that offends you, don't click the link.

My New Jeep Makes Me Sick

I will be danged if riding around in a vehicle with COLD air hasn't given me a sore throat. I told Honey that the car he bought makes me sick...........he was offended. The way my luck goes, just about the time that my body gets used to having air conditioning the compressor will go out and I will catch Pneumonia.

Cheerleading is Dangerous

Baby Girl sustained her first sports related injury last night. I’ve mentioned that she is cheering for the first time this year and loving it. Well, she has practice on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s from 6 – 7:45p. They are getting ready for football season and all of the girls are working really hard. Baby Girl is the “top” for all stunts because she is the smallest on the squad. Last night, she was formally introduced to the pain of a sports related injury. She didn’t fall off the pyramid or twist and ankle doing jumps. No, my Baby Girl got her hand slammed in a car door after practice.

I arrived to pick her up from practice at 7:45p. I had to talk to the sponsor and get her shoes, socks, mid-drift (huh – she’s 8), drop off $25 for “cheer mom” shirts, $25 for “cheer dad” shirts, $10 for “spirit shirt”, $17 for a decal to stick on my car to let everyone know that I am stupid enough to invest butt loads of money for an 8 year old to cheer and $12 for building rental so that the girls don’t die of heat stroke practicing outside. So, there I was doling out cash and getting the rundown on when she is supposed to wear her cheer shoes when I heard the most blood curdling scream.

I turned around in time to see my daughter clutching her hand and screaming while one of the dads tried to comfort her. I ran (yes, I can run) across the parking lot to find that her hand had been accidentally slammed in the door by one of her teammates. Baby Girl was hysterical! I finally got her to let me look at it and there was a long, deep indention across the top of her right hand that matched the door latch. One of the other moms had the ice from her coke left so I dumped it out and held it on Baby Girl’s hand and started talking to her to calm her down.

Meanwhile – the dad is about to have a breakdown. It was his car door in which her hand got slammed and it was his child that did the slamming. I really thought he was going to cry – he was so concerned and stood there wringing his hands saying, “I am so sorry, I am so sorry”. He had already run and gotten her a bag of ice for her hand and then he carried her to the car. I assured him she would be fine but the poor guy was just so upset.

On the way home she was complaining that she couldn’t move her fingers. Now, the first question I asked her when this happened was if she felt like she was going to throw up – the first sign of a broken bone. She said no. So, the logical side of me that has had more than my share of injuries, knew it wasn’t broken but the mother side of me would rather be safe than sorry. Not to mention that she is a drama queen and I knew that she wasn’t going to believe it wasn’t broken until someone in a white coat told her so. So, I headed to the hospital.

We arrived at the hospital with our dripping bag of ice water and checked in at the desk. Baby Girl informed the intake nurse that her hand was broken. We filled out paperwork and had a seat in the waiting room. Baby Girl informed me that she wanted a pink cast – or maybe green to match her uniform. I told her we needed to wait for the doctor to decide. She then informed me that she had gotten the hand brace (stole it from Nana’s yard sale stuff a few weeks ago) because she “saw this coming”. Oh the drama! Anyway, we went to triage and they took her blood pressure with the automatic cuff which she said was cutting her arm off. Good thing we were in a hospital. They gave her a Loratab (sp?) for the “severe pain” and we waited some more and some more and some more. We finally got back to the “room” which was the hallway in the Peds ER and waited some more. While we were there we saw a child with a gash in his head about 5 inches long, another child with a crushed toe getting a cast, a teen come in on a stretcher with a huge wrapping on his leg and blood everywhere, a child getting stitches to a gash on his chest and we listened to another child vomit for 4 hours. The there was us with basically a busted blood vessel and an overactive sense of the dramatic. I really felt kind of stupid sitting there but again – better safe than sorry.

We finally got to go back for x-rays where Baby Girl informed the nurse that her hand was broken and she wanted a pink cast. The nurse told her we would have to wait and see what the doctor said to which she replied, “that’s what my mamma said”. Like, Dang! I guess she got to you too. We finished the x-rays and went back to our hall and waited. FINALLY the doctor came over and told us that her hand wasn’t broken (duh) but that she was going to put her in a sling for a few days and she was on “restrictive duty” until she was pain free. Ummmm – am I the only person that has been watching her use her hand to fluff her pillow, readjust herself on the bench and move it in every direction to get x-rays? I would say she is pain free now but I’m only a mother and I didn’t go to medical school so I’m sure I’m an idiot.

We left the hospital with our sling and our prescription for Loratab. We hadn’t eaten dinner yet so we pulled through McDonald’s to get some food. She said she needed “something easy to eat with my left hand” so instead of her normal Big Mac, she got two hamburgers and an order of fries (which she ate with her right hand). We got home extremely late and she was exhausted. She got in bed and was out in 2 minutes.

This morning, I kept her home from school. Not because of her arm but because she’d only had like 5 hours sleep and she requires at least 10 hours to even function. When she finally emerged from her room, with her sling and her hospital bracelets still on her arm she requested ice cream for breakfast. I explained that she is not sick and her arm isn’t broken so she is NOT having ice cream for breakfast. “Fine – I guess I’ll just have a bagel then” is her response.

I got a call from the mother of the “slammer” to check on Baby Girl. I assured her that everything was fine. She was almost as upset as the dad. She wanted to help pay the bills or something and I told her no that it was an accident and that I have good insurance. So, she got my address so that she can “send her something”. Oh Lord – the child is going to start slamming body parts in doors to get balloons now.

I’m very glad that Baby Girl didn’t sustain a serious injury but I think I would be way more compassionate if she had. I mean I have a really hard time sympathizing with someone who wears a sling for a busted blood vessel. Don’t get me wrong, I know it hurt and I know it scared her and in the moment, I was extremely compassionate and loving. But today…………yeah, the going from romping in the floor and wrestling with the dog to sitting on the couch in a sling propped up on 3 pillows is really starting to get old. When she tells me how much her hand hurts I want so badly to say, “oh yeah, well if you think a smashed hand hurts just wait until you get an episiotomy!” If I make it to her 14th birthday it will be a miracle!

Ding Dong the Jeep is Dead

I am sad to inform you that the POS Jeep is dead. She developed a bad cough over the weekend and succumbed to her disease around 7:20am yesterday. I know she will be missed as she was the source of countless days of amusement for all who knew her. I don’t know if she was in pain but she did go quickly. She will be laid to rest this evening. The family requests that all gifts be sent to the Jeep Electrical Research Foundation.

PARENTAL ADVISORY:
The following is a graphic account of her death. If there are minors in the room, this would be a good time to cover their ears so they don’t think you’ve gone crazy when you start laughing.

As everyone knows the POS Jeep was called that for a reason. It had no air, the side mirror was busted, there was a crack in the windshield, the power windows only worked if you held the wires together with pliers, the tires were bald, the headliner drooped, there was a power steering leak, an oil leak and the tags were expired. A few months ago I replaced the distributor wires and the fuel pump to the tune of $1000. The vehicle was only worth about $37 so you can see why I decided that I wasn’t going to spend another dime on it. Two months ago, I paid it off and was LOVING not having a car note. You know what that means…..

Everyone also knows that I procrastinate like no other human on the planet. Baby Girl started school yesterday morning but I hadn’t gotten her registered. Not due to procrastination as I went on the designated registration date but I failed to bring the pint of blood and satellite photo of my home required to get her registered in a Shelby County School. So, at 7am I drove to my office to get the required paperwork so that my child could attend the 3rd grade.

Now, let me preface this with some background from the weekend. Honey and I went loaded up Bug and Baby Girl Sunday morning and went to Church. We took separate vehicles because he had to leave straight from Church and drive to Missouri to take the Bug back to her mother. On the way to Church, the POS started acting up a bit. It would rev to 5000rpms while losing power and dropping my speed to 40mph. After Church, I drove home without incident and chocked it up to the fact that my car is evil and it didn’t want to go to Church. Later on that day I had some errands to run and it did it again (it obviously doesn’t like errand running either). I checked the transmission fluid and it was low so I added some. I checked the oil –it was fine. I checked every fluid I know to check and they were all fine. Baby girl and I continued to run our errands without any more problems so I figured the transmission fluid has worked. WRONG!

I left my house on Monday at 7am so that I could get back before Honey had to leave for work and I could have Baby Girl at the school by 8am (school starts at 9a). I drove to my office with no problems. I ran in and collected the 426 documents required to prove that I still live in the same house I did last year. The same documentation that they copied last year and put in her file. (I guess this means that all that “permanent record following you for life” really is a load of crap) I get back in my car –its 7:10 – I’m doing good. I leave my office and pull onto G’Town Parkway to get on the Interstate. I pulled up to the red light and stopped………..and so did my POS. I tried to crank it but it wouldn’t stay cranked. I started praying, “Please God, it is Monday and about to be rush hour – PLEASE don’t make me be stranded in the middle of G’Town Parkway.” I picked up the phone to call Honey and realized that I’d failed to charge the battery so it was dead. I was now praying harder and repeatedly trying to start my car. I FINALLY got it cranked just as traffic broke and I gunned it. The Jeep lurched forward and I was on the Interstate! Now, this car is bucking me like an unbroken bronco and my max speed is about 50mph. I kept the peddle to the floor the entire ¼ mile to my exit. As I got off the Interstate, it died again but I managed to coast into the BP and park. I get 35 cents out of my purse and walk over to the payphone to call Honey. I put my money in……nothing. I hit the coin return, reinsert my money and still….nothing. I start to have vending machine flashbacks and start to wonder what the penalty is for kicking the crap out of a pay phone. I know you’re not supposed to mess with mailboxes but I’m fairly certain pay phones don’t fall into the same category. Just as I am about to rip the handset out of this stupid box I notice the sticker……….”Local calls 50 cents – no change provided”.

OK – two things puzzled me here. First of all – when did pay phones start costing 50 cents? I was shocked. But what puzzled me the most was “no change provided”. Exactly what kind of coins would you put in a pay phone that costs 50 cents that would require change? I mean, I guess if you had a quarter and 3 dimes you would require change, but how many people don’t have two quarters or a combination of coins that add up to exactly 50 cents? And truthfully, are there really enough people on the planet that have complained about not receiving a nickel’s worth of change to require a disclaimer sticker? To me, if in this day and age, if you are desperate enough to have to use a PUBLIC phone – a nickel really isn’t going to be at the top of your list of concerns.

Back to my story. Honey takes me home but he has to get to work by 8a. I call Nana and ask if I can borrow TJ’s car to take Baby Girl to school. TJ has a Miata that hasn’t been driven in a while because she doesn’t currently have a license. Therefore, the tags on the Miata expired in June. I told Nana that I didn’t care, I would risk a ticket. Now, the Miata doesn’t have air or a radio BUT is has a drop top so we were good to go. Baby Girl was thrilled to be going to school in a convertible. I got her ready, gathered my stuff and out we went to go to school.

I am 5’4” and the Miata is about 2’8”. I opened the door to get in and about broke my neck trying to “break my fall”. I didn’t think my butt was ever going to hit that seat! We cruised to school unencumbered by police and got Baby Girl registered for the 3rd grade. I then went on to my office, praying all the way that no cops pulled up behind me. I mean, what cop is going to buy, “well officer, my POS blew up this morning and even though I’d known for a month when I was supposed to register my child for school, I hadn’t done it so I had to drive an illegal car in order to keep her from missing out on her education. I was trying to protect the tax payers from having to support her when she winds up being an illiterate. Oh, why am I now at work? Well, I have to go to work in order to pay the taxes that support other illiterates whose parents failed to register them for school. Yes sir, I am single handedly trying to break the cycle and stamp out illiteracy.” See what I’m saying……..not a good argument,

30 minutes after I arrive at my office the phone rings and its Honey. He’s bought me a new vehicle and I need to come with him to sign some paperwork. He will be at my office in 10 minutes. I wait and answer some emails, take a few phone calls and wait some more. I finally get the call that he is outside. I walk outside to see my Honey sitting in the passenger seat of a beautiful, white…………JEEP!!!! I almost fell over. He has hated my Jeep since day one and has said 1000 times that I would never own another one but there she sat – pretty as a picture. I drove it back to the lot with him, signed some paperwork and drove back to the office in my new Jeep…….with AIR, working windows, no visor banging me in the head, no headliner drooping and it even has a CD player!!! I drove all the way back to my office with the air on full blast while I repeatedly rolled my windows up and down like some kind of cave person that had never seen such advanced technology.

So, while we are saddened to see the POS go (yeah, right), we are rejoicing in the fact that I now have a REAL vehicle that is safe, clean and cool. We are also grateful to God for allowing me to make it to the BP and not leaving me to die in the middle of G’Town Parkway during rush hour traffic. I’ve learned to make sure my cell phone is ALWAYS charged and to carry exact change for a pay phone “just in case”. But mostly, I am so glad that Baby Girl is now officially a 3rd grader and not roaming the streets, begging for money so that she can get “hooked on phonics”.

Planning My Wedding

Call off the dogs! I'm not dead just trying to plan my wedding and move 300 people to a new building. I PROMISE I will have a new post this week. Lots has been happening. Bug has been here for 2 weeks and has a new interesting habit. Honey and I had our 1st Anniversary, Baby Girl is getting ready to go back to school and Nugget is in heat AGAIN. Anyway - I swear I will have at least one new post before Friday so quit sending the police to my house.

Directions to the Archives.......

Someone asked "where are the archives". If you are having trouble finding them.........look on the sidebar to the right of the screen.............now scroll down. Do you see the word Archives? That's them! They are filed by week - start with the earliest date and work your way towards the present.

Don't Forget to Read the Archives

There are alot of folks checking out this blog now and I wanted to remind everyone to READ THE ARCHIVES! If you like the stories I tell you really need to look at some of the first. The very first post is titled Child Support. Since this is an ongoing saga of my life with my family and neighbors, you have to read the first posts to understand who all of these people are. If you don't check them out you are really missing out on a LOT of funny stuff.

My Honey, Cruise Control & Fried Desserts

I love My Honey more that words can express but last night……..if I’d been in the same room with him I probably would’ve caught an assault charge.

I’ve told you that Honey drives a beautiful Dodge Ram 1500. I’ve also mentioned that I drive a POS Jeep Grand Cherokee. Now – in case it’s not obvious – Honey is a M-A-N. That means that he feels that certain things are a necessity in a vehicle…..like T.V., satellite radio, a radar detector, room service…….you name it, it’s a necessity. Anyway, last night he was on his way to a job in Arkansas and he called me to let me know that he “was going to have to get a new truck”. I am immediately concerned as I take this to mean that the truck he currently owns has either been stolen or is totaled. I ask if he is ok. “Yes, I’m fine but my cruise control isn’t working”. WHAT!?!?! I listened to him complain about his non-working cruise control for about two minutes without saying a word. He finally said, “Are you there?” Oh yeah – I was there.

I said, “Do you realize that you are talking to a person that drives a 1994 Jeep with bald tires, no air and windows that have to be hot-wired in order to roll them up or down? Not to mention the fact that the clip on my driver’s side visor is broken so every time I turn it smacks me in the head and the shocks on my back hatch don’t work half the time so the door tries to decapitate me every time I open it?!?! And you have the nerve to call me and tell me that YOU need a new vehicle because your CRUISE CONTROL DOESN’T WORK!?!?!? PUSH THE FRUGGIN PEDAL AND QUIT YOUR WHINING!”

For a moment the phone was silent then I heard, “Uhhh, I guess my cruise control isn’t really a big deal in comparison. Besides, I think it’s still under warranty.” OMG – the dang thing is under warranty and he is talking about a new truck……….I said, “You are so pretty and I love you so much” (code for – you are really on my nerves) and hung up the phone.

I called Erin (his sister – the lawyer) to find out what the max sentence for assault was. She said that it would be better if I only batter him because then I would win my torte. Huh? I think Erin was drunk. Here I was talking about physically abusing her brother and all she could think about was some kind of deep fried dessert? I think all of those law classes have finally melted her brain.

This is Baby Girl's room. I built her a loft so she would have more floor space. I worked for almost a week painting and building it all by myself in colors specified by her. Pretty cool huh?