Get a Life --->

  I swear I live in a city where people learn how to drive in arcades with pockets full of tokens.  I find myself wondering if they believe that simply cutting in front of a car will really make it disappear.  So, of course, I am bamboozled every day when I come to an intersection that has arrows painted on the pavement giving every lane their own turning options.  Miraculously, no one ever breaks the arrow rules!! The lane that continues on through the light but has ONLY a left turn arrow painted on it, never sees a car simply plunge forward to the continued lane on the other side.  I've never even seen a car mistakenly go straight in that lane.  They all turn left!!  Really people?  Arrows???  Is it that simple? I wonder what else could be accomplished if only we painted some arrows to get the job done.  Life for instance.

  Why, in this world, are we so obsessed with age?  People are living longer and longer every year and yet so many people won't divulge their age when asked.  I am 32.  I don't feel a day over 21 except that I am much more experienced and knowledgable about things.  And every now and then when I run for ten minutes straight, I wonder if I should take a nap in my front seat before attempting to drive home... for the safety of everyone involved.  But, I don't lie to myself and pretend that having perky boobs or fewer memories is going to make me more likable.  People who think that, are already so lonely that they'll do anything to make friends and it's easier to get an operation than grow a personality.  So, why does this number thing matter?  Why are people so afraid of slowing down?  Getting droopy?  I never thought this would be the topic for my journal entry, but SHIT MAN, every time I talk to someone my age they discuss childhood like it's an ancient memory.  They refer to themselves as "old" and how freakin' SAD is that?  The only time I refer to myself as old is when I'm explaining to my children why I get to cuss, drink coffee, have a beer or eat a whole piece of pie.  It's a good thing you see. That's why we call it GROWING old. And yet all I see are people fighting it.  It is as inevitable as death and yet we are running scared.  Maybe we just need some arrows.

---> Personality this way.  ---> Don't fight it. ---> Have fun.  ----> Grow old.  --->Buy ointment!
 GO!

F#^*ing D!ck

Dear Friends,

  While you were gone, your cats behaved extremely well... the first day.  On day two, however, they protested their undying devotion to us by, in true cat manner, sticking their butts in our faces, incanting evil spells at us with their eyes and completely ignoring our desires to pet them.  The conversation below was recorded right in your very living room.

Tabby: Hey!  Watch me make this sweet jump from the window to the mantle!

I: No!  Tabby?!  Don't do it!

Tabby:  Huh?  What?  Were you talking?  Well, anyway watch this jump.  I'm so awesome.

I: Tabby!!  GET DOWN!

Tabby:  (jumping, irritatedly to the floor)  Fucking Dick.

As you can see, your felines obviously hold us in their highest regard and for this we apologize.  It was not our intention to become their favorites.  We tried to be as annoying as possible to them, but they saw through it all and now, it seems, we are quite fond of each other.

Your Friends (but mostly theirs),
The F#^*ing D!cks

Nut Juice Update: Works Well With Grandma's BALLS!

Today I am exhausted.  If I were in the back of a dump truck full of gravel going 80 down the highway MAYBE then, and only then, would I have trouble dozing off... maybe.  If I weren't learning so much about writing by doing this silly thing, it would be the first to go from my daily routine.  But alas, I'm enjoying the crap out of it and, despite my fatigue, I have more information concerning soap nuts.

 So my grandmother, when she was alive, made these amazing little balls out of nylon netting and called them scrubballs.  Oh Grandma, if only you knew how well you fuel my fire. These Scrubballs are used for washing dishes primarily but there is a laundry list of wonderful things you can do with these gems before pitching them into the trash. I wear them down unrelentingly at the kitchen sink, then scrub the bathroom or some other filth before I toss them.  Before she passed away, long before, not on her death bed, she passed the skill onto me.  That's right! I am the proud maker of balls!!

 Now, my kids have these fun little markers that write on windows.  They write on anything glass I would imagine, but the kids' favorite spot is our huge picture window in the front room.  Our house, being built in the fifties, actually has many big windows that the children have blessed with their artwork.  The marks are easy enough to get off with some sort of spray and a rag but when those little monsters and their friend decided to decorate the front window for Easter a MONTH EARLY, how could I possible clean it off until after the holiday?  The result was a window in need of some major scrubbing.  It's a good thing that I am always in possession of a great set of balls.  I grabbed my nut juice and an old edition scrubball and it actually sudsed up my window!  I was wiping off a lot of red marker so before I new it there were pink suds all over the window and dripping onto the floor.  No biggy, everything it touches is better for it. My window is immaculate once again.  I find it's best to use a rag to spread the spray around, then a paper towel to go the the streak free shine... but that's only in highly soiled areas, of course.

 <AND> Add this to your list of jee-whizzes.  I mopped all my floors, added some vinegar and cleaned my windows and I even cleaned a paint brush with it!!!  Look, I'm not saying Soap nuts work on everything... I'm just saying that everything I've tried has worked!  So, if any of you greener-beings out there have given Soap Nuts a whirl and you know of anything that hasn't work or you want to add to my list of things that have.... SHARE DAMN IT!

Pressure to Perform

 For a while, I've been trying to become a jogger.  I say "for a while" but really it's only been about two months. I jogged a little right after high school and then the military ruined it by making us run appalling amounts with little training.... and I'm lazy.  So, I'm trying again.  I do what I call a wogging program.  Any woggers in the house?!  Say "HELL YEAH!" Wogging is pretty fantastic because you jog a little, walk a little, jog a little, walk... you get the picture.  The idea is to slowly bridge the gap between the jogs and cut out walking all together.  Today, for the first time, I bridged a major gap and jogged for 10 minutes straight!!  I actually kept looking at the clock because I couldn't believe the time that was on it.  It was like a practical joke.  Now, despite my fear of tomorrow and the pressure to perform again, I'm on cloud NINE!  You would think I'd be puttin' on those rose colored glasses.  But no.  I feel amazing while everyone else pretty much registers as complete morons!  My family excluded. Well, most of them. The news of the day is that Bin Laden has been killed. (Actually it was the "breaking news" a few days ago.  I write my blogs ahead of time.  I'm a FREAK! OK? Moving on.)  As much as I despise joining the rest of the mindless and making a comment about it, I want to say just ONE thing.  This is something that I don't think is going to be said enough and I want to put my portion of it out into the abyss.  Nobody reads this damn thing anyway.  No matter how the Republicans spin it or what toddler retort the Democrats give, the bottom line is that Obama was the one who gave the order to kill.  He was president and he made the presidential decision. Obama did it, Obama did it, Obama did it!  Not you, not Palin and not Joe the Plumber and Republicans are just going to have to pour that into a glass with ice.  But hey! Don't forget the straw because your gonna have to SUCK IT!

Leprechaun on LSD

When I go just two days with out working out, I get pissed at the world (low on endorphins).  But once I put in a little gym time, I can feel my antagonistic self melt away.  Something however that did not leave with the other garbage today was an article I saw on The Huffington Post.  The title of the article talked about Michelle Obama "switching it up" (or something to that effect) at the White House Correspondence Dinner. When I clicked on the article I was extremely disappointed to find a slide show of the First Lady's outfit for the evening.  Silly me.  I thought, just maybe, the press would be all over something she SAID.  The dress was pretty.  They all are.  It would take a socially retarded person to hold that type of position, knowing damn well that cameras will be involved and NOT wear something nice.  Do we really need to keep our standards this low for women?? My four year old dresses like a leprechaun on LSD sometimes, but she says some pretty damn profound things.  The other night we were all four playing Parcheesi when it became evident that the youngest, Juliet, was sending everyone back to the beginning.  She was vicious and we pointed it out with light hearted jabs.  At one point my husband said, "Man!  Juliet is out to win it!" to which my darling girl responded by pointing to each person in turn and saying, "Oh yeah? Well, you are trying to win, you are trying to win and you are trying to win.  And I'm trying to REALLY WIN!" at which point she placed her little angelic hand on my arm and gave me a rather jarring Elaine-esque shove!  I'm not making this up.  I realized how silly we were all being pretending that we weren't trying to win.  Why roll the dice at all, if you don't care about moving forward??  Juliet was perhaps the only one playing by the rules and I have no idea what she was wearing.  REPORT THAT HUFF!  Let me give you a title, "FOUR-YEAR-OLD GIRLS HAVE BRAINS.  DO YOU?"  Perhaps after her insightful little proclamation I could have said, "Juliet you are so amazingly astute.  May we ask?  Who are you wearing?!"  And she would no doubt respond, "Mo-om, we can't wear people!"  And, once again, she would be absolutely correct.

She's wearing a pink shirt and
can count to 100 upon request.

I was tired of being on my knees.

We planted flowers in the front of our house.  I mean, we seriously filled our retaining walls with flowers which probably marks this year as the first time that our house has not looked like a condemned drug house in the ghetto.  Half way through planting I was getting tired and couldn't help noticing that there was a constant presence near me.  He is 6 and has amazing, blonde, curly hair.  I asked him, if he would like to try planting some flowers and he was absolutely up for the challenge... or lack there of.  I couldn't believe how like a pro he wielded that tiny shovel and scooped fresh topsoil around the flowers just as I had done. Ben has always been an amazing little worker, but that doesn't keep me from being impressed regularly.  Needless to say, he finished up and even made sure we had flowers around our lamp post and tree. It was so refreshing to have the job of gopher for a change.  Maybe he'll let me take orders from him more often.

today, i was flipped off by a cyclist.

Twice a day I have to exit from the right lane of an interstate highway to the left lane of a state highway.  The speed limit goes from 60 to 50 and after a tight turn you go under the interstate highway and get about 100 feet to merge before you WILL SMACK INTO A CONCRETE WALL!  I witness people having tremendous trouble with this everyday.  Some people risk their rear-end by stopping all together until traffic is clear on the state hwy.  The people doing 60 do not appreciate this.  I don't like having to make the decision between getting rear-ended, merging blindly into 50mph traffic and a CONCRETE WALL!  I assume that in these situations it's every woman for themselves.  So, if I see an opening I take it!  There is no law saying that you have to merge slowly (the opposite advice was given in Drivers Ed. in fact).  Today, in this treacherous traffic situation, I was behind a van going 40 and in front of a line of cars that wanted to merge too.  Seeing that there was a sizable break in the 50mph traffic, I whipped around the van, to the right lane and accelerated to 50 so as not to impede traffic for the mergers behind me.  Apparently, however, when I flew like a bat out of hell from behind a van I scared the bejeezles out of a cyclist on the right shoulder.  I have a feeling he didn't see me (nor did I him) before I came around the van.  He admittedly scared me too, but I immediately saw that he was well into the shoulder and well, I'm sure I felt a touch less vulnerable inside my metal machine.  Sorry dude, but a girl's gotta merge.  So, he flipped me off.  And it was me and only me.   I know because he stood the hell up on his bicycle and leaned forward to do it.  I don't think he simply wanted to show everyone his boo boo.  And you know what?  I felt really bad for about a half an hour until I realized that he's wasn't flipping me off.  He was flipping the city off (I just happened to be their representative today) for not giving him a safe and accessible lane to get him where he needs to go.  And you know what bicycle dude?  I flip the city off for that too!  In fact, I'm flipping the city and myself off right now, on your behalf.  You're welcome.