Tuesday, September 27, 2011


Tonight, on the way to pick up Hannah from soccer practice there was a bit of roadkill in the middle of the road, which is not surprising, since we drive through back roads to get to the fields. 

Upon passing this particularly gruesome spectacle, Bubba pipes up "Aww, the poor pig."

Cue the crickets.

I start laughing.  "A pig?  Uh...I think you have your species mixed up.  THAT, my friend, was a possum."

Bubba starts arguing, "That was TOO a pig!  A baby pig, lying dead in the road.  Someone's family pet, lying in the middle of the road, DEAD, and YOU have no sympathy!"

I laughed the whole way to the field.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Dear Scary Guy,

Dear Scary Guy,

Thank you for scaring the sh*t out of me each morning while I am walking my dog.  I really appreciate how the only indications I have that you are lurking, are the glowing tip of your cigarette, and the way my dog starts FREAKING out when she smells you and your dogs.

Thank you, too, for eerily stopping and waiting while I am 100 feet away, and holding that pose until I am 100 feet in the opposite direction.  The way you dress head to toe in dark colors?  Just adds to your extra special persona.  AND the fact that you have two ENORMOUS black dogs on scary choke leashes, that look like the demon dogs of hell, also does not convey "safe" person in my mind.  Keep in mind, Scary Guy, that my dog may look like a 9 pound fur ball, but she'd rip your face off if you came close to me.  I swear.

We live in a nice neighborhood Scary Guy.  I would hope that you have some sort of livelihood that did not include the words "black-market" or "organs."  I have informed key witnesses (my husband) that if I turn up dead in the creek, YOU are the first person that he should question after the appropriate time of weeping and mourning.

Air hugs and kisses,


Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Peanut Gallery

So now that the soccer games have started in our family, the name calling has commenced.  We, David and I, aren't name callers or too juvenile during Hannah's games for some reason, but last week at Bubba's first game, we started up again.

Maybe it's that we need to act like adults, or respectable parental types at high school soccer games, maybe it's because I have a cheat sheet of names/numbers for Hannah's team, but I NEVER call the girls on Hannah's team awful names like last year.

Sam's team?  We only know three of the 15 players.  It's a new team, therefore new names to learn, or make up.  You choose.  At least there wasn't alcohol involved this time.

So...there is "Gigantor," the 6' 200 pound 6th grader; "comb-over" or "hairspray", we use either, the kid with the hair that doesn't move no matter how hard he runs or if he falls; "Ginger," which is a pretty standard nickname; "other Michael," the guy who looks like Bubba's friend Michael, and my standby..."Dude" which encompasses any other child who is on the field that I don't know by name.   Yes, I am the crazy lady on the side of the field yelling, "Down the line, Dude"...."Way to take a shot, Dude"..."What in the heck was that hospital ball, Dude?"

The weather has been so nice, we aren't sitting in the car.  Yet.  So David and I are either on two fields, with two children, texting our fingers off, making snide comments, OR sitting in lawn chairs together, watching Bubba's games being a little loud and obnoxious.  

Say hello when you see us!

Friday, September 9, 2011

Dear IQ eighty employer,

Dear IQ eighty employer,

Thank you so much for showing me why jobs are so hard to come by.  In a rare (in 3 years of working in this town I have ONLY driven to pick up take out 2 times during a work day) fit of drive thru dining while running errands during my lunch break today I met your cashier.  A gen-u-ine IQ eighty, SHOULD BE working at MacDonalds, incompetent.

When I went thru your drive thru I ordered a mighty kid's meal (for the apples).  Upon proceeding to the cashier I handed her $10.56 for a $3.56 food bill.  First, the cashier took my change and asked me how much I had given her so she did not have to count it.  Second, the cashier asked me if I had handed her a ten dollar bill.  And third, she had to ASK ME how many dollar bills I needed in return.  She could NOT subtract 3 from 10.  In her head.  She said something incomprehensible about typing in the wrong amount and not being able to "do the math." I am honestly wondering if she needed optical aids, or if she was, in fact, dumber than some of my Kindergarteners.

Shame on you for placing that person at the cashier window.  And shame on you for having her work DURING LUNCH TIME.

I'm beginning to think that you, too, are IQ 80.

Hugs and meaty kisses,



Tuesday, September 6, 2011


My vacuum broke about ten days ago.  The beater bar end melted after 5 or 6 years of use, and the vacuum was kaput.  So I jumped on the Bissel web-site and ordered a new one, thinking it wouldn't take but a day or two, but I was wrong.

Why, no, what, does this have to do with a story about Pepper the wonder glider escaping?  You will see, my friend.  You will see.

Last week I got the new beater bar for my vacuum, and I was very excited.  Very excited that my daughter could resume her chore of vacuuming, and that it wouldn't seem as if I was picking up debris on my socks as I walked through my family room carpeting.  The new beater bar part fit like a dream, and the vacuum sat waiting for the weekend when Hannah was free of soccer practice and homework.  She promised to vacuum the WHOLE house.

Hannah also cleaned (took it outside and scrubbed it) the sugar glider cage and on Sunday night I went downstairs with her to check to make sure the cage and gliders were back in place.  

Hannah and I checked the cage as Chili was doing his favorite thing in the world, riding his wodent wheel.  We assumed Pepper-le-pew was napping in her shoebox, or lounging in her pouch, but I did not lay eyes on her.  The doors to the cage were closed and locked.  All was well.

On the way back up the stairs I had a Psych moment and flashed on a little black thing on the freshly vacuumed stair.  We walked up to bed, and I tossed this little black thing from the stair around in my head, thinking that I probably should have actually laid eyes on Pepper before leaving the basement.  Curiosity got the best of me and I drug Hannah back downy he stairs to lay eyes on Pepper.  

No Pepper.  But where could she be?  The cage was closed.  Upon further investigation, we noticed that the condo in the sky part of the cage (a second cage on top of their cage that has a dryer vent tunnel leading to it) was not connected correctly and one of the clasps was not hooked together.  

Long about then Chloe saunters down the stairs.  Chloe starts freaking out, chasing something...oh crap.  Pepper.  She is loose.

Grab the dog, throe her upstairs, and the squirrel hunt ensues.  A half an hour later after dancing with a large Christmas tree and almost crushing Pepper with a stack of luggage Pepper was found, and back in the tightly locked cage.

Dear Macchio Man,

Dear Macchio Man,

Thank you so much for your entertaining qualities.  As I was driving down the freeway yesterday I noticed you in your FULL Macchio regalia.  You had your seat reclined, arm hanging out the window, wearing your black and white bandana tied around your head and t-shirt with the arms cut off, driving a red mid 80's coupe.  

Granted, you are quite a bit older than Ralph when he made Karate Kid, gauging by the crazy amount of hair on your face and creeping out of the neck of your shirt, chewbacca, but I could tell you still wanted to be JUST LIKE Mr. MACCHIO.

The thing that made me laugh even harder than all your macho manhood?  The matching red Yankee Candle air freshener hanging from your rear view mirror.

Wow.  That's about all I can say.  WOW.

Hugs and hairy kisses,