i should be on my way to the airport riiiiiiight now. but i was panicking because i was ACTUALLY packing and then i couldn’t find my basil penis. and if you kept up with the comments, then you know that TWO people (yes, both women) requested that i bring it with me on this trip. this dilemma led to a frantic call to mike asking if he’d seen my penis because IT’S LOST and he suggested someone took it and then i was all, DID YOU? but no. i put it in the console of the car for safekeeping and forgot about it. it’s had some shrinkage due to washing off the purse lint, but it’s still really spectacular. i’m proud of what my mama gave me, what can i say?
i already WENT to counseling today, and i’m sure you can’t tell, but it was profound. we discussed amy grant lyrics. in case you don’t believe that was worthwhile, then you just weren’t there, take my word on this one.
MUST go. love y’all.
i’ll be checking on you while i’m gone! happy birthing! there’s something in the mail headed your way! you’ll be great!
This morning: Driving down a back road between favorite burrito breakfast place and my house.
Goal: to take my friend, a dog lover, home with me to meet the new dog. (Burritos and girl talk already completed, per Tuesday ritual.)
Conflict: pulled over by a State Trooper.
Reason: we have NO idea.
I was NOT speeding. The speed limit was 45, and my friend and I both agree there was no way at all I was going more than 50, but we both thought it was more in the 45-47 range. REALLY. YES. REALLY.
He turned on his lights and u-turned behind me and did a finger point that said, “hey, you. pull over right now.”
Like I didn’t get that from the u-turn and the red and blue flashing lights and the sudden heat in my ears?
My friend and I start immediately discussing how strange this is since OBVIOUSLY THERE WAS NO SPEEDING.
“Ohmygosh. I was weaving? Was I weaving? Sometimes I do that.”
“No, you were not weaving…?!”
What can I say? I’ve been pulled over for suspected DUI many times for my driving style that – although perfectly sober – just sorta LOOKS drunkish to law enforcement for reasons I fail to understand.
It was a safe assumption.
This State Trooper had NO intention of ticketing me. Why do they do that? He said I was going “a little” over the speed limit and he was giving me a warning. I did not argue. I did not point out how very true the words “a little” were in his sentence.
I apologized profusely and tried not to look at his dorky trooper hat and think of Melissa’s blog on how they know they’re dorky and you are NOT supposed to mention it or anything. Like, ever. And I wouldn’t have noticed it at all except that I just read that yesterday, thanks Melissa, and that was all I could think of when there it was right in my face.
But no problem.
I avoided that pitfall.
And made my own.
If you’ve been around me at any point in the last three weeks, you have heard the words, “I need to clean out my purse.” And yet I haven’t done it. And I don’t really like a messy purse.
The contents of my purse at that moment included the following items:
A basil scented penis shaped soap (of COURSE i’m packing a penis at this moment. A green herbal one. OF COURSE. i’d already whipped it out at breakfast, too.)
Feminine products of several varieties and in quantities far too great for one woman and two purses. It looked like I was REALLY well prepared.
Hot pink Victoria’s Secret gift card
A green folder with my personality test information in it.
a defective black plastic fork that i intend to give my dad because it has three tines that are the correct length and then one on the end is WAAAAAY long. It makes me laugh. Only because I didn’t try to actually use it. I got it at a burrito-with-friend breakfast a couple weeks ago.
a TON of brochures and tickets and maps from Magic Kingdom and Animal Kingdom. Some in Spanish, because I was trying to challenge Ethan-11yr because he was getting bored.
a thousand-y lip glosses and lipsticks
NONE OF WHICH I WANTED THE STATE TROOPER IN THE DORK HAT TO SEE, ESPECIALLY THE GREEN PENIS. Which was about impossible since he was standing RIGHT THERE, he was tall, and he was watching me dig through ALL of this in order to finally find a license. Actually, my friend was digging through one purse and I was digging through the bigger OUTER purse and you don’t EVEN want me to explain that nonsense to you. It all translates to: “I really need to clean out my purse(s).”
So I’m looking for a driver’s license. In all that mess. And we can’t find it. And this is because I’m trying SO HARD not to let this man see into my purse that he’s probably afraid I’m hiding a gun and not a penis. I’m actually trying harder to conceal my messy purse contents than I am trying to find the stupid license and it takes FOREVER.
I hand it over and try to hide behind my hair.
He walks back to his car. I tell my friend what I was doing and all the stuff I didn’t want him to see.
“WHAT? That’s a ridiculous thought. I would have been like, “hang on, I can’t find it in here, would you please hold my tampon, Officer?”
And NO, she wouldn’t have, but it made me snort.
The State Trooper was smiling. BIG. In his car. As evidenced easily by looking in my rearview mirror. It seemed weird. Unprofessional. Aren’t they supposed to be all scary and intimidating in order to offset the effect of the hat?
I don’t know. But he was nice and I have no idea what he actually saw that he found so amusing.
But if i had to guess, I’d say it was the green loofah soap penis that smells of basil. It always makes me laugh, too.
He came back and gave me a warning. It didn’t say how fast I was really going. I think he was too embarrassed to type in 46.2 mph in a 45 mph zone. But that’s okay.
At least he didn’t think I was drunk.
CRAZY, for sure.
But not drunk.
We need a list. A long list. So let’s just get to it.
1. my cousin came to visit! (loooooove her.)
2. we got a dog!
3. she looks like a werewolf!
4. the dog, not the cousin, who is very pretty.
5. it’s mike’s fault we have a new dog.
6. actually, it’s always mike’s fault when we get a dog. i save cats. he saves dogs.
7. but this one didn’t get claimed when he put up a poster with her picture on it.
8. and then we all fell in love with her sweet, calm personality and her werewolf-i-ness.
9. my mother pointed that out. i actually didn’t notice. i thought she was lovely and normal looking. but love is blind, because this is one funny looking dog.
10. her ears are HUGE and sticky uppy and she can’t ever, EVER grow into them. it’s impossible.
11. besides, she’s 18 months old and full grown.
12. ethan-11yr has always wanted to name something ‘callie.’
13. so we let him.
14. and now she is perfectly happy to follow me around and accept all of my kisses and declarations of happiness that she is here.
15. the cat hates her.
16. duke has a massive crush on her, but he can’t be around her for a couple more weeks.
17. i had to explain that to the boys very creatively because i didn’t want to use the word ‘sex’ or the phrase ‘in heat.’
18. mainly because my kids love learning new phrases and incorrectly overuse them while they process their true meaning.
19. and that would be like dinner coming out of the oven and one of them saying, “Look! The baked spaghetti is IN HEAT!”
20. or, “i don’t want to wear a coat today because i’ll be in heat!”
21. and if you think i’m overreacting and they wouldn’t ACTUALLY do that, then you are very sweet.
22. and VERY wrong.
23. because the baked spaghetti would SO be in heat and i just try to avoid those conversations.
24. we had callie ‘fixed.’
25. so…. yeah.
26. she’s part border collie (but waaaaay calm and zen and serene) and part other stuff.
27. she follows me around constantly. ‘herding’ me. i don’t mind.
28. duke went to stay at my mother’s house for awhile.
29. maybe it was all the sexual frustration, but he was getting behind on his sleep.
30. it happens.
31. i suppose.
32. in other news.
33. seth-5yr transformed himself into a seth-6yr.
34. without permission, i might add.
35. but with great fanfare.
36. we went to his favorite nacho restaurant and a giant dust storm hit so hard that the place lost electricity.
37. we ate nachos that tasted like dirt (in the dark) because it was coming in through the windows and vents and landing in our food.
38. and then we drove home in chaos, because the dirt storm had knocked out the traffic lights and people were driving all crazy.
39. i don’t really recommend dirt nachos. (and i LIKE dirt)
40. my stupid lawn-mowing related, totally avoidable hand injury is almost healed.
41. which is good, because it’s time to mow again.
42. i’ll be more careful.
43. less crazy.
44. more boring.
45. therapy update: so the lovely therapist type said something like, ‘your life is going to be like “A” or like “B” and either way that means your anxiety levels will spike in the next few months and you might as well address it with drugs now.’
46. and…. since there was no foreseeable “C” option and I agreed with her premise, i pharmacied up.
47. after making sure that this particular prescription would not have me so uninhibited that i’d be dancing on tables.
48. the young, sweet Indian doctor smiled at me and looked as if she couldn’t tell if I were kidding (and… i was NOT) and she assured me that it was not a ‘dancing on tables’ pill.
49. it made me wonder if she has those also, and if so, who gets them and under what circumstances? but i did not ask.
50. because that is one reason i LIKE my social anxiety. it keeps about half of my stupid questions from being asked, and that’s kinda nice.
51. i’m going to go see my dad and stepmom soon.
52. i told my dad i wanted to come ‘work.’ when i visit with all the kids and with him being the attentive grandfatherly type he is…. sometimes we don’t spend as much time together as i’d like. so i’m leaving the kids here. daddy ALWAYS has projects and jobs and work to do so i’m wanting to show up and get in the way and just be there with him.
53. when i was a kid, this is what i did. i’d hang around until he taught me to help him build a fence or whatever else he was doing. i suggested this and he laughed and said, ‘farmer’s daughter comes home to do chores?’
54. and… i think it sounds good. especially if there are large machines i can get my hands on. or small ones. or whatever. work, sweat, dirt, power tools, father/daughter bonding on the farm. i’m SO excited.
55. my dad is first an engineer, and a farmer type only in recent years and so everything is WAY precise and measured and deliberate. And i’m kinda the clumsy bull in the china closet. but he’s very patient when i screw it all up and break everything and he still uses his favorite wooden folding measuring stick thing i broke more than a little bit when i was about 7.
56. or maybe he isn’t patient and he just hides it well. but i really don’t think so.
57. i told my stepmom i was going to also schedule a hair straightening appointment for when i was there and she said, “good. because you’re going to NEED a hair appointment after this.”
58. she’s right. but i need one anyway.
59. after my hair appointment, i’ll be doing Bride Things with my mom and sister.
60. My sister. The BRIDE.
61. The bride in orange. The bride of Texas, she is. The orange bride of Texas…. (sing that last phrase to the tune of ‘the yellow rose of texas’ and you’ll understand that tangent a little better.)
62. Anyway, we’ll be looking at shoes for both of us (and… i’m thinking that’s ranking right up there with getting my hands on daddy’s power tool collection) and dresses for me.
63. i’ll try to put a picture of callie on here soon.
64. the ears have to be seen to be believed.
65. mickey mouselike in proportion and color, but pointy.
66. we needed a calm soul around here. so nice of her to show up.
67. good dog.
i was going to blog. really. but OW. and now i won’t.
[also, stacey, i won't email for the same reason as i won't blog. but i looooved your email. will write soon.]
it just had to happen. sooner rather than later.
my first john deere accident. (the john deere is fine.)
my left hand is killing me and kinda swollen in a couple places and preventing much more typing. i was SORTA going a little too fast and i hopped a metal rail thing while turning and kinda sorta smashed into the fence and my left hand did some weird bendy back thing and got stuck in the steering wheel as it was rapidly trying to straighten out and OW BUT THAT HURT.
will blog soon.
(it was soooo fun, of course it was worth it. and i got the yard mowed, too, before the cold front could get here. sweet!)
I should be mowing the lawn. But I’ve been trying to figure out how to install and activate computer security stuff instead. Normally, that would not be difficult. Those ‘wizard’ tools are wonderful and you just click agree/yes/go for it/etc until it’s done. Those were MADE for me.
Something bad happened halfway through the process and then my computer shut down and eventually came back to life but it’s kinda hard to start up that process again from the halfway mark, for reasons i will never understand.
It all started with my mother. Last night. She called and sounded a little… weird. She asked if Mike was home, because she’d been trying to reach him and then there was this odd backstory about being at a town hall meeting and realizing her computer was sending out spam emails to everyone about erectile dysfunction and then she had to leave the meeting to address that and she really, really, really wanted help fixing that as soon as possible.
I passed the phone over to Mike. And made a mental note to stop ignoring the warning on my own computer that my security stuff was out of date. Then I got my phone back and we made inappropriate jokes and unfortunate puns and laughed until one of us snorted painfully.* (Okay, that would be me.)
And that’s how my Friday morning got derailed. But I’m giving up for now and going to take on the grass instead.
*No, of course i will not repeat them. That would be ridiculously immature. Especially after I got through the entire 18 month period in which one of the kids pronounced the word ‘sock’ as ‘cock’ and I RESISTED the urge to blog about that even though it about killed me on a daily basis.
* I just wrote a long post about the mouse that is running around in the attic above my head. This mouse needs a pedicure. I can hear his nasty, mousy toenails clicking on the wooden crossbeams and it icks me out. But it was a boring post, and I deleted it. Short version: There’s a mouse. I want him dead. Because then he’ll be QUIET.
* If the mouse were in the house, the cat would kill it immediately. He’s good like that. But I hesitate to toss the cat into the attic.
* The cat can also kill houseflies. This SEEMS nice, but he catches them and then holds them in his mouth and then spits out their dead, wet, perfectly intact fly bodies around the house. And one time about a month ago, he was mad at me because I was busy writing and not getting up to feed him and he came and sat on me and tucked his head under my chin and purred and it was really so sweet and then I later realized he had spit out a dead wet fly down the front of my v-neck t shirt and there was a catspitty fly corpse in my bra for almost an hour. (Much hopping and yelling.)
* The cat has excellent communication skills, it has been said MANY times, over the years. Also, he likes good waitresses who don’t keep him waiting. Too bad we don’t have any of those here.
* We just have a mouse. In the attic. Driving me crazy.
(Jenn S, skip this one)
i’m fine. walking mostly upright, without excessive wall leaning. i won’t be running during monday night football, but eh. no biggie. i’m thinking a nap sounds better anyway.
i woke up to seth-5yr standing over me, inches from my face. it was before 6 am. and he says, “why do you look so serious?”
i don’t really talk in the morning when i first wake up. and i definitely don’t answer adorably weird questions like that. i just grab, kiss, laugh into sweet little warm necks until i’m awake and no longer serious.
this afternoon caden-7yr said, “ethan-11yr said that when he was still in your tummy before he was born, he hit his head on something.”
i told him that was ridiculous. if any of them was going to run into something and hit his head while still in the womb, it would obviously be caden-7yr.
caden-7yr currently has scratches covering most of his body from where he ran into a tree. apparently, he was running pretty fast when he hit that tree.
he didn’t tell me for a few days – having somehow forgotten about running into a tree at a high speed -and most of the scratches were covered by clothing. that’s very caden-7yr.
but maybe it’s very ethan-11yr, too, since he didn’t get around to mentioning his pre-birth injury til now. i think the statute of limitations has run out on this and i’m not going to feel bad. i provided the womb. i’m sure the accommodations were adequate. especially because he’s the one kid who had a virtuous, caffeine free pregnancy, even though it nearly killed me.
*only read if you are NOT pregnant*
neverMIND. the statute of limitations has not run out and never will and i can forever feel guilty about what happened to ethan-11yr. i asked him what he ran into before he was born and he pointed to the top of his head. where there is a LARGE scar that disrupts his hair – and always will – and makes it stick up. riiight. and that’s where the doctor broke my water. the doctor who i haaaaated and i had just argued with and he later stormed out of the room griping about me, but not before he accidentally stabbed the sweet baby in the head when he broke my water, probably partly because he was mad at me. not that i knew that then. but i hated him so much that i tried NOT to have ethan-11yr until his shift ended. like, ‘i hate you so much that i am going to STAY IN LABOR in case you somehow get paid more money if i deliver this baby on your shift. ha! take that, buddy, these contractions are NOTHING. BRING. THEM. ON.’ and i did. i withheld the sweet baby until he left the building.
okay, i can be really stubborn.
(and that’s why i look so serious right now.)
I’m never sick. EVER. If I have flu or cold like symptoms, I just ignore them and do not even consciously acknowledge them long enough to take anything, to say anything to anyone, or see a doctor. But that hardly happens anyway.
This – like, right NOW – being the exception.
I’ve been flattened by something in the Nasty Respiratory Category, and I won’t say any more because I love y’all. I mean ‘flattened’ literally. I was creeping my way down the hall last night, slowly due to the whole WHEN DID MY FEET GET SO HEAVY sensation when I got dizzy and ended up on the floor and had to admit defeat. All day I’d blown off Mike’s attention, offers of help and medication (I don’t DO that, i’d said all self righteously) and was ready to simply deny, deny, deny, because when life screws you over with snot and physical weakness that is an excellent approach that almost always works if you can just keep it up long enough and not end up flat on your back in the hall, wondering if there are any spiders in the carpet around you.
I thought of medical alert necklaces in a newly appreciative way.
OKAY. MIKE? ARE YOU THERE? FINE. I NEED HELP NOW. I NEED TO BE HELPED UP, AND I’LL TAKE WHATEVER DRUGS YOU WERE PUSHING ON ME EARLIER.
He came and picked me up, and if he was smirking, I didn’t see it. He gave me an Alka Seltzer equivalent to Nyquil. But NOT Nyquil, as Nyquil makes my arms go completely numb and it knocks me out at almost the same time and then I have to flail frantically so that I can see my arms go flying across my line of vision just so I can be assured that they are still, in fact, THERE, since I can’t feel them, but at the same time I’m panicking about the disappearance of my arms, I’m also falling asleep and that’s a REAL STRESSED OUT, PANICKY way to fall asleep. Mike witnessed this once, and had to pin my arms down long enough for me to stop thrashing and go to sleep. So he knows. No Nyquil for this one.
With Mike’s travel schedule, I have one day to get better, or else I may need a medical alert necklace. I at least need to progress past the flat on the hallway floor phase.
I can do it. I have a time frame. A goal. And I might be sliding against the hallway walls in ways they probably find distasteful and scandalous, but I haven’t fallen lately and I am SO on the mend.
My writing a post about television would be about as ridiculous as my writing a post about cooking. I have little interest or knowledge in either and spend almost no time on these endeavors.
Let’s do it, anyway, ‘kay? It’s better than another post about roaches.
Amazing Race: don’t you just LOVE Amazing Race? I’d be the contestant who always got lost, couldn’t eat the meat on the food challenges, and probably offend entire nations or continents with accidentally stupid and insensitive observations. So I’ll never BE a contestant. But if I could, I’d do all the scary challenges and love it, and my mother – who would be my teammate, no question – would navigate and talk to locals and do all the important thinking.
[Begin tangent] Okay. That sounds bad. Like I’m saying I’m dumb. And it’s not QUITE like that, but yeah kinda sorta. I just started seeing this lovely therapist type and she sent me to see someone who would do a personality test because she was the polite, reserved, professional version of “WHAT? I DO NOT GET YOUR THINKING? I NEED MORE INFORMATION. GO GET A PERSONALITY TEST IMMEDIATELY.” And so I did. And it showed I am not a thinker. I am a feeler. Like, ALL feeling. NooOOOOooo thinking. I have the thinking tendencies of your average amoeba. And the feeling tendencies of your average… i don’t know. I CANT THINK OF ANY HYPERSENSITIVE TOUCHY FEELY ANIMAL TO FINISH THAT SENTENCE WITH, AND SO I’LL JUST INSERT AN ELIPSES AND AN “I DON’T KNOW”. GAH.
I come from an extended family of STRONG thinkers.
And then they had a moody baby amoeba.
Okay. Nevermind. I was more at peace with this yesterday and now I’m not, but yeah yeah yeah, feelers are just as wonderful and have just as much to contribute and it’s not a negative thing and whatever. I’m ‘all heart’ but I’m fine.
Top Shot: I don’t know why I like this show. I don’t like guns. I don’t like pretty-boy hosts. But I LOVE this show anyway. Great camera work.
Top Chef: It’s not ALL because of Tom Colicchio. Really. It’s not. I mean. So i don’t like food so much? Whatever.
Top Chef Just Desserts: just like Top Chef, but with more chocolate and without Tom Colicchio.
Chopped: More food. I know. Weird. Mike and I watch this sometimes, and we always stop the show after the contestants’ bios and pick who we think will win. If we didn’t do that, I dont’ think I’d like this show at all.
Project Runway: It’s what i watch while I do laundry. But I haven’t really forgiven them for last season when they picked the wrong winner, so this one barely makes the list.
American Idol, SORTA: Only with a great deal of fast forwarding action, including at the point when someone starts to talk or dance or sing and I get bored. Which is a lot. It’s just way too time consuming otherwise.
I cannot watch:
anything with badly behaved children (i don’t even understand putting kids to bed and turning that on. who DOES that?!)
any reality dating show. i used to occasionally make an exception for The Bachelor or The Bachelorette, but not for the last couple of years. It just icks me out.
any series. drama, comedy, whatever. they take so much time, and I don’t have that much time to sit with other people’s fictitious characters. It makes me feel like I’m neglecting my own fictitious characters.
anything with ‘housewives’ in the title.
anything with puppets, clowns, drag queens. they all scare me, and i really don’t care if that’s not politically correct to say.
really, anything where other people’s anxiety and drama might add to my own anxiety levels. I just don’t find that to be entertaining or enjoyable.
Monday Night Football: Football is my running buddy this year. I go to a tennis gym and run on a treadmill from the time they sing the national anthem until the start of halftime. I get a sick kick out of knowing that while all those professional athletes have been sitting on the bench for 50% of the time, I’ve been running the WHOLE time. (Competitive, maybe.) Stupid treadmills at this gym kick you off after exactly 99 minutes, though. Like they’re overheated and are not sufficiently cooled by all the sweat I’ve so generously given? I don’t know.
Tell me what you watch, if you have a minute!
I SWEAR this is the last of the cockroach stories. REALLY.
It’s actually just a continuation of the last one, because i forgot to include the ending. The “what happens after that video” ends. (which works on iphones, i hear. and if not…. i couldn’t be bothered to figure out HOW to fix them because it’s a blog featuring two videos in which i sorta sleep in public and then look at a bug. BRILLIANCE. Y’all. I am truly that interesting, and now we have proof.)
AFTER I get annoyed with my mother for taping me watching a bug, it crawls off to a wall. And then a family comes and sits down. And a nice looking lady puts her foot riiiiight next to the cockroach.
I think about it. I can’t stand it. I have to tell her.
I am the type who will TELL YOU if you happen to get too close to a roach. (aren’t we all? please say yes.)
So I go tell her. And she shakes her head as if she doesn’t understand what I am saying. She points to a man she is with, so I tell him. And I point. Frantically. At the roach that is dangerously close to her foot.
And he laughs.
And turns to the lady and says, “La cucarocha!” And she hops up and says, “GRACIAS!”