Mad Cow Disease?
It clearly claimed this woman.
Even caused her to chase her neighborhood kids around and pee on her neighbor's front porch. And yes, she was wearing the costume the entire time. Udderly classic.
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September 30, 2008
September 29, 2008
Sorry 'Bout That Guys!
"Sorry 'bout that guys," was all I heard coming from Gunny as I cleaned up the kitchen after making C-dub's birthday cake. Evidently, Gunny thought he'd try C-dub's birthday cake rather than waiting until after dinner with the rest of us. C-dub was pretty torked but Gunny assured me that I had done a "gweat job" on the cake. He was also very apologetic to C-dub and it was funny watching him try to give his brother "loves" all the while having the offending frosting smeared across his face.
Thanks Gunny, now stay out of it!
And The Award For America's Best Parent Goes To...
Not me. I feel like a jackass. With the excitement of last weekend combined with a hectic work schedule, the fact that C-dub made "Student of the Month" completely passed by our family. I found his little stickered up award in his backpack and I was immediately flooded with guilt. He'd gone through an awards assembly last Friday, in front of the entire school, and I completely missed it.
In my own defense, parents are not notified regarding this and the little ones are supposed to pass it on to mom and dad. Well guess what? C-dub could care less and probably had no clue other than that it was just an additional paper to take home to mom and dad.
I went down and bought a special raspberry danish for us to celebrate his award tomorrow morning. I figured it was better late than never - plus, any reason to eat danish is a good reason to me. I just hope he doesn't give up on his 'ol mom and dad because I promise we'll do better in the future.
Congrats C-dub. Your flaky mommy and daddy are extremely proud of you.
Good Riddance
This story restores my faith in Karma.
September 28, 2008
Daddy's Bringing Home The Backstrap!
Over the weekend, Hubby took the boys and Grandpa D out to our hunting property. It's closing weekend for rifle season and our last opportunity to cut a load of wood before the chill of winter sets in. It's also the last weekend that my boys will get a chance to hunt alligator lizards and roll around in the dirt for three days without the required daily shower.
While our property is plentiful of downed trees and firewood, it's not so giving with the deer population. Sure, we have a lot of deer roaming around, but unfortunately, the ones that like to be seen are of the feminine nature. It's not uncommon for our family to go years without shooting a nice buck or even seeing prospects for future hunting seasons. But like I've said before, hunting trips aren't just about the hunting.
However, Hubby broke the cycle this weekend by bagging this big boy:
Did you count those points? Yep, it's a four by four.
I'm not a venison eater but my family is. They all enjoy a good barbecued piece of backstrap and a well seasoned batch of jerky. This big guy will be feeding at least three families and I thank him for it. I also thank him for the ego boost and testosterone injection he gave to my Hubby who hasn't bagged a buck in several years.
In Case You Missed It...
Saturday Night Live did another Sarah Palin spoof starring Tina Fey. It's just under seven minutes but it's well worth the time spent if you want a few chuckles.
September 27, 2008
Pancakes In A Can?
I had never heard of such a thing until my dad showed me that yes, you can buy pancakes in a can. And guess what? They actually taste really good. I was pleasantly surprised the first time I made them because the pancakes were quite fluffy and most importantly, passed the kid's taste test.
It advertises that you get about 2 1/2 cups of batter in each can and I was able to get quite a few silver dollar sized pancakes before my can went empty. Costco is currently selling a three pack of these for just under $10. No, not the cheapest (at about $3.50 a can) but the neat packaging and ease of use make up for the cost. Enjoy!
Ninja Kitteh's Cousin
September 25, 2008
Necessary Censorship?
On a much lighter note...This is wrong. So very wrong. But gosh darn funny. It's certainly not kid safe, and depending on where you work, you might want to wait and watch this little gem at home. You've been warned!
We Bond In Dirt
I recently received a rather unintelligible comment that "critisized" (her word - not mine) this posting. The author of the comment was concerned that I mentioned my children being around beer cans at hunting camp and that we allowed our children to hear the word "ice hole." She also mentioned that our family was dysfunctional and how we shouldn't expose such rotten family life to the world. Oh, I forgot to add that she didn't think our children were safe with us. She did follow-up her comments with a smiley face and did precede her comments with, "I don't mean to - insert misspelled criticize here -" so I guess she thought that made her point(s) acceptable and heart warming.
Not wanting to loose a valuable reader, I e-mailed her a brief reply, encouraging her to keep reading and to thank her so much for the Dr. Phil approach to my family. I really know that I'm a better person now because of her and I just wish that we could meet in person so I could thank her for the truly heartfelt, life changing comment. My children will be so much safer now that she's brought the situation to my attention. Gosh, thanks. So much.
Yeah right.
This poster obviously has not read the other 300 or so postings that mentioned our daily public displays of nudity, Gunny's love of the words, "God Damwitt," and my inability to keep an incontinent black bear out of my orchard. Those stories are much more "dysfunctional" than this little story and have a far greater TMI factor. Rather, she chooses to ignorantly pick apart one posting meant to show the bonding that occurs within my family on our weekend hunting trips. Yes, after two days with no showers and lots of dirt pile playing, we are a family bonded in dirt.
Lizard hunting, wood cutting, deer killing (well - this is the rare one), target practicing and wood floor cabin camping is how my family bonds - how the stories from one generation are passed to another. My kids learn more about life, our family, and the way nature works on these trips, than they do in any classroom. The beer drinking (only committed by one adult on this trip, who shall remain nameless) and somewhat naughty joke telling are only part of a bigger picture, one that this commenter failed to see.
In all seriousness, Hubby and I do not profess to be the Cleaver family nor are we raising Wally or Beaver (maybe a little Eddie Haskell in the form of Gunny). But, I can argue that we have some of the greatest kids you'll ever meet. We raise them with traditional values but submit to the fact that they will be exposed to things in life we can't always control. We're not perfect parents nor do we profess to be and we do our best to turn parenting mistakes into life lessons. Sometimes we achieve this and other times we fail. Life happens, crap happens. What I do know is that I'm participating in raising three little well-adjusted children and I'm loving every minute of it.
I don't like to leave rambling rants on my blog. I want this to be a happy place - a site where you can go and get lost for five minutes or so in a funny story or goofy picture, so this is all I will say on the matter. And no, you will not be seeing the original comment that set me off onto this rant because I've deleted it. The troll did her duty in pissing me off but now it's over. Just like this rant :-).
September 24, 2008
Add One More Notch To The Mommy Belt
My little man-child, bestest monster truck driver, ax-man, and all around little love bug, turns six tomorrow. I was looking back over his baby pictures - which I still need to scan in since they're on old fashioned film negatives - and it made me wonder where the time went. I remember being pregnant with him, puking my guts out for the first four months, and then feeling like I was carsick for the remainder. When I finally had him, at the petite size of 8 lb. 8 oz., I had no clue what to do with a baby boy with a fireman's hose. That kid shot me numerous times until I figured out how to cover pieces and parts with a diaper. And now, he's a big six year old. I just can't believe how the time has flown. He's reading and writing and I'm so proud. I guess you can't tell :-).
No matter how old he gets, some things will never change:
He still sucks the same fingers:
He still enjoys "getting into" his food:
He still loves gettin' dirty:
He still loves wrastlin' and to make his mommy scared:
He still loves the snow - only five minutes at a time:
And he's still Hubby's bestfriend and hunting buddy:
I love ya, C-dub. Have a wonderful 6th birthday little man.
September 22, 2008
It's A Spidah!
September 21, 2008
Are Your Knees Hungry?
As I was doing the fifty millioneth load of laundry from this weekend's hunting trip, I came across these:
Look closer. Do you see the knees?
Evidently Papa Tom noticed that C-dub's knees had some major blowouts over the weekend. When he asked C-dub, "Are your knees hungry? You've got some holes there, buddy." C-dub didn't really know what to say other than to give him his goofy, googley eyed face and say, "Nooo, Papa Tom."
When C-dub was getting dressed, Papa Tom carefully cut off all the excess strands and smoothed the knees out, placing duct tape across the knees to keep them in one piece. Papa Tom didn't want his oldest grandson to be in religious jeans all weekend.
The jeans turned out near perfect and C-dub didn't know what to think about his "fixed" pants. I think they look kinda cool. We'll see how many washings they live through.
How Do You Catch A Polar Bear?
Over the weekend, Hubby took both grandpas and the chitlins' out to our hunting cabin in the Mattole Valley. They claim it's a "hunting" trip but in all reality, the only thing they bring back is a load of firewood and a lot of crushed beer cans. I don't mind because it's all about the family time and I truly appreciate the fact that my kids get to enjoy such a great bonding experience with both their grandpas and dad.
Hubby shared with me a story that happened over dinnertime. The family had settled into a nice dinner which included a disgusting can of peas that Grandpa Dale tried to convince the kids to eat. Even Hubby agreed that the peas resembled baby food more than something delicious and edible. While the kids whined their way through dinner, Papa Tom thought he'd lighten the mood with a little joke.
Papa Tom: Hey kids, do you know how to catch a polar bear?
Kids: Intrigued. No, how?
Papa Tom: You cut a hole in the ice.
Kids: Yeah.
Papa Tom: Then you take these here green peas and sprinkle them around the hole.
Kids: Huh? Clearly confused, they keep listening.
Papa Tom: When the polar bear comes in to take a peak, you kick him in the ice hole.
The kids erupted into tremendous laughter and there wasn't a dry eye in the house. C-dub seemed to enjoy the joke the most as he had big, fat tears rolling down his chubby little cheeks. I don't know that he necessarily understood it, but the whole idea that it sounded like a naughty word and you got to kick a bear in the big 'ole butt was enough to do him in.
Cute joke. I just hope C-dub doesn't repeat it on Friday Share Day.
September 20, 2008
#300 Brings New Beginnings And Endings...
Wow, I can't believe I've actually hit 300 postings and people are still reading this stuff. At least I hope people are still reading. Well, I know my aunt and mom are, so that's at least two. Three, if you count Gump and four, if you add in my BFF. I'm ok with four. Really. It's fine.
Not only is today the momentous occasion of my 300th post, but it's also the official last day of summer. This makes me kind of sad but at the same time very happy because I love me some holidays. I think I get more excited than my kiddos during this time of year.
I love Thanksgiving and Christmas but I'd have to say that Halloween time is what really floats my boat. I get a kick out of creepy decorations and I especially enjoy pimping out my children to my great neighbors who give out full size candy bars. God bless those people. And now that my kids are older, I may subject them to theme or even better yet, matching costumes. I just haven't decided and I know they'll be squawking in complaints if I dress them like nerds. I've casually suggested they dress as members of KISS or even the Elvis Presley family, but all I've gotten are complaints in return. So much for creativity.
While I hate to see you go summer, here's your sign:
And a special welcome to the fall:
September 19, 2008
Curse Of The Black Ninja Kittehs
I'm done. Between the bratty boys and the bear, I've had it up to HERE defending my orchard. Desperate times call for desperate measures, so I've resorted to hiring two uber secretive ninja type warriors, to defend my property. They allowed me one hour to take a few photos of them at work, as they are currently really busy preparing to shoot their first movie, "Curse of the Black Ninja Kittehs." Any sort of distraction from their deadly art of war could prove to be fatal.
Stealth Kitteh:
Quiet reflection before the destruction begins:
Sharpening the paw knives:
Leisurely stroll or walk of impending destruction?
A rare close-up of the handsome Ninja Kitteh Nico:
Another rare close-up of the beautiful Ninja Kitteh Eva:
Investigating the next target of her fury:
Establishing an orchard command post:
Protecting one of their charges:
Did I just hear an enemy?
Putting up with a heavy petting - it's all part of the job:
Gunny wuvs his "borrowed" ninja kittehs:
Dear Yogi,
It has come to my attention that you are thoroughly enjoying the french prunes in my orchard. Yes, those little purple gems are delicious and sweet as candy. My little ones enjoy them as well. Just ask Gunny. He ate so many last week that he got the runs.
Anyhoo, dearest Yogi, I would respectfully ask you to abide by the signs I have lawfully placed around my property. They are posted for your protection and mine.
No, they were not originally met for you but for the little heathens who were stealing my fruit. However, I have found that you are way worse than those little schats. You're teeth are much bigger, you're claws are much sharper, and by far the worse part, you're incontinent.
Do you really have to steal from me and then rub in the fact that you did so by leaving me landmines in the orchard? Didn't Boo Boo or Ranger Smith teach you anything? Or did you leave landmines all over Jellystone Park? Good grief, Yogi, wear a diaper for crap's sake. Gunny about sank to his knees when he accidentally stepped on one of your "accidents."
And Yogi, don't think for a second that I didn't notice the treat you left us on the road. That was stinkin' rude and I think I may have popped a car tire when I hit it thinking it was an innocent, dry meadow muffin.
In summary, Yogi, I really like you and wish only the best for you. I just would like you to live your peaceful way of life outside the boundries of my orchard. Please don't eat my fruit and leave me gifts in return; it's just not proper. I would never do that in your forest haven - primarily because I like running water and have the luxury of opposable thumb usage. I would love to have a pleasant relationship with you as a neighbor but you have to remember to do your part.
Kthxbai?
Mommazilla
September 18, 2008
Film Class Update
When I signed up to take a film class at CR, I wasn't quite sure was to expect. I knew I'd learn new things and that my love of photography would more than likely push me to try different techniques. I understood that I would not be using Photoshop - at all - and this stressed me just a tad bit...well, it actually freaked me out and I was jonesing for a fix after the first class. The biggest thing that suprised me was how much I enjoy shooting with an actual "old fashioned" film camera.
I love it.
The art of taking the picture, developing your negatives and then printing off 8X10 prints is addicting. I'm like a crack addict in the darkroom...Just one more print and I'll be done. Promise. Ok, maybe just one more because I really like that one. But that one's really nice too. Oh jeez...
The teacher practically has to kick the Dynamic Dendus and myself out of the darkroom at the end of class. We're always the last ones in there (albeit probably because we still aren't the best students) but we're the most excited students in the class with our finished products. I can't explain it other than to say it's just really rewarding to go through the entire process and then to see a successful print that inspires you to do more.
I highly, highly, highly recommend this class. You will enjoy it and have Christmas presents for many years to come.
Here's some of my latest (the pic's are actually scans of my prints):
September 17, 2008
Bow Chicka Wow Wow - Nope! It's Just Physical Therapy!
For the past couple of weeks I've been submitting myself to early morning torture sessions via Physical Therapy, due to a "frozen" shoulder. According to Hubby, my frigid heart has chilled my arm and if I would have just given him a little more lovin', it would have never happened. I think he's full of it because I really don't know how in the heck I originally hurt myself. I suspect it was some sort of random child chasin', chicken herdin' ordeal, but that's mystery I'll never solve. Needless to say, I'm in pain and it really hurts whenever I try to reach behind me or raise my arm past a certain point. Just the kind of thing you want to have happen when you have an out of control two year old.
My injury has been very entertaining for Hubby. He thinks it's hilarious because I have the worst time unhooking my bra at bedtime. I know, TMI. He sits there watching me, waiving his hand franticly in the air, trying to get my attention. I grimace in pain, struggling with the four pronged Cross Your Heart torture test all the while he’s yelling, "Pick me! Pick me! I'll unleash the beasts!" He begs and pleads as though he's a kindergartner asking to help the teacher pick up crayons. Each night he's shut down; either with "the look" or a couple of words of profanity. Poor guy.
Alright, back to the story…Because of my work schedule, I've had to choose early morning sessions with the Mistress of Muscle Pain (MUMP), a.k.a. Physical Therapist. She's actually a very nice gal and she's super gentle on my poor old body during our sessions. The sessions, while painful at times, have also enlightened me to new things. Something I've noticed over the past few visits is that I tend to be the youngest patient at these early morning times. Most of the patients or clients appear to be well into their 50's, 60's, 70's and by the looks of it, even 80's. Some are there for post-operative treatment while others are there to utilize the equipment and perhaps even take a dip in the love grotto (I’ll explain this in just a moment).
And this is where my story begins... People my age go may go to the bar, casino, or even the health club to meet new people and find relationships. Booty calls may happen, some dating occurs, and perhaps even the occasional marriage can develop from such happenings. However, I have learned the true place where the magic happens for the older folks; it's the physical therapy pool. Better yet, it's Fortuna's version of the Playboy Grotto.
During each visit, in between heavy blinks of pain and waves of nausea, I've witnessed numerous older folks giggling, smiling, and otherwise looking all too giddy for that time of morning. They shuffle one by one, into the warm and inviting, heavily chlorinated pool. From the torture chamber (exercise room) I can hear playful splashes, the occasional, "Oh Harold! You're so funny! Can you pretty please (I imagine there is some batting of the eyelashes) hand me that kickboard?" and a few, "You have great moves, Lucille (wink, wink).”
The flirty splashes, winks, eye batting, and lustful thoughts permeate from the love grotto like a scene from the movie, Cocoon. I smile to myself and then swallow down the vomit that has accumulated in the back of my throat. I’m just glad that swimming isn’t part of my treatment plan.
As I finish my session, some of the old ladies are wandering back out in their floral one piece sexy suits while the old men are sporting handsome swim trunks. They casually waive at one another, knowing that they’ll soon meet again for another sinful swimming session. It's actually kinda cute even though I do find it a little disturbing because grandparents are not meant to be romantic creatures. In fact, I know my grandparents only did the deed a few times - just count their children and you'll know exactly how many times that is.
Ok, ok, I 'm not a total prude and I do realize that Grannies and Grandpas should get their occasional groove on. That is, as long as it's done in a safe, non-hip or joint breaking manner. But maybe, just maybe, keep the naughty activity out of the place where my kids might take swim lessons. Eww. Yuck. Gross.
I'm going to keep this tidbit of information in the back of my mind - especially for when I begin wandering into my golden years and find myself looking for a senior citzen booty call. I'll be grabbin' my towel and flip flops, and headin' for the pool. I'll be on the lookout for my own merman.
September 15, 2008
Hey, Hey He's A Monkee!!
I love me some Davy Jones, but this version scares me.
Where Did The Summer Go?
Did we even have one? I don't remember there being enough sunny warm days but maybe I just missed it. What do you think? How was your summer? Did you get enough or are you wanting a do-over, like me?
A Texas Wedgie
My children are far more worldly than I thought and they proved this fact the other day. C-dub had ran into my bedroom, shrieking and pulling at the back of his jeans. Taters was in hot pursuit, belly laughing and pointing at C-dub's obvious discomfort. Gunny, not knowing what the heck was going on, followed the two into the bedroom and proceeded to scream his enjoyment of the raucous event. I sat on the bed and tried to smother myself with a pillow. Just kidding.
Once I got the screaming/shrieking/insane laughter stopped, I asked C-dub what was the matter and I put my hands on his shoulders in order to turn him around and look at what he had been pulling at behind his back. As I moved him I quickly saw the problem: approximately eight inches of Spongebob undies were pulled up his poor little butt crack and he was having trouble removing this cotton torture. As I helped free him from the hellacious wedgie inflicted upon him by his evil sister, Taters informed me that C-dub had received a "Texas wedgie" from her willing and capable hands.
Taters: How'd you like that Texas wedgie C-dub? She's snorting and grinning, obviously content with the big sister torture she had provided.
C-dub: That's not funny, Sissy! It hurted my butt!
Taters: You know C-dub, you're gonna need surgery to get that thing out. She's still grinning like the Chesire cat.
C-dub: What's sergawee, Momma? In typical C-dub fashion, he's beginning to panic at the unknown.
Mommazilla: C-dub, I almost have it out so no surgery for you. You just need to stay away from Taters and her Texas wedgies. Maybe next time she'll go easy and stick to a small state wedgie. Like Rhode Island or something.
C-dub: Ok Momma, thanks. See Sissy? No sergawee for me. You were wonggg!!
Free from his torture and with a pair of undies stretched at least two sizes to big, C-dub ran off to play with his little brother, staying away from the faux Texan with killer wedgie skills.
Sarah and Hillary
Ok, now this is funny. If you missed it, take a look now because it's well worth your time. Gotta love a boner shrinker.
September 13, 2008
Political Science for Dummies
An a"moo"sing explanation of politics. This has been floating around the Internet for awhile so I'm not sure who originally created it.
DEMOCRATIC
You have two cows.
Your neighbor has none.
You feel guilty for being successful.
Barbara Streisand sings for you.
REPUBLICAN
You have two cows.
Your neighbor has none.
So?
SOCIALIST
You have two cows.
The government takes one and gives it to your neighbor.
You form a cooperative to tell him how to manage his cow.
COMMUNIST
You have two cows.
The government seizes both and provides you with milk.
You wait in line for hours to get it.
It is expensive and sour.
CAPITALISM, AMERICAN STYLE
You have two cows.
You sell one, buy a bull, and build a herd of cows.
BUREAUCRACY, AMERICAN STYLE
You have two cows.
Under the new farm program the government pays you to shoot one, milk the other, and then pours the milk down the drain.
AMERICAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You sell one, lease it back to yourself and do an IPO on the 2nd one.
You force the two cows to produce the milk of four cows. You are surprised when one cow drops dead. You spin an announcement to the analysts stating you have downsized and are reducing expenses.
Your stock goes up.
FRENCH CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You go on strike because you want three cows.
You go to lunch and drink wine.
Life is good.
JAPANESE CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk.
They learn to travel on unbelievably crowded trains.
Most are at the top of their class at cow school.
GERMAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You engineer them so they are all blond, drink lots of beer, give excellent quality milk, and run a hundred miles an hour.
Unfortunately they also demand 13 weeks of vacation per year.
ITALIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows but you don't know where they are.
While ambling around, you see a beautiful woman.
You break for lunch.
Life is good.
RUSSIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You have some vodka.
You count them and learn you have five cows.
You have some more vodka.
You count them again and learn you have 42 cows.
The Mafia shows up and takes over however many cows you really have.
TALIBAN CORPORATION
You have all the cows in Afghanistan, which are two.
You don't milk them because you cannot touch any creature' s private parts.
You get a $40 million grant from the US government to find alternatives to milk production but use the money to buy weapons.
IRAQI CORPORATION
You have two cows.
They go into hiding.
They send radio tapes of their mooing.
POLISH CORPORATION
You have two bulls.
Employees are regularly maimed and killed attempting to milk them.
BELGIAN CORPORATION
You have one cow.
The cow is schizophrenic.
Sometimes the cow thinks he's French, other times he's Flemish.
The Flemish cow won't share with the French cow.
The French cow wants control of the Flemish cow's milk.
The cow asks permission to be cut in half.
The cow dies happy.
FLORIDA CORPORATION
You have a black cow and a brown cow.
Everyone votes for the best looking one.
Some of the people who actually like the brown one best accidentally vote for the black one.
Some people vote for both.
Some people vote for neither.
Some people can't figure out how to vote at all.
Finally, a bunch of guys from out-of-state tell you which one you think is the best-looking cow.
CALIFORNIA CORPORATION
You have millions of cows.
They make real California cheese.
Only five speak English.
Most are illegals.
Arnold likes the ones with the big udders.
September 11, 2008
Fortuna Remembers
Fortuna held a small, quiet parade today in honor of those lives lost on September 11th. I've never been to a parade where it wasn't noisy and boisterous with candy being strewn about. It was eerily quiet with just the hums of the large truck engines and the footsteps of the participants. For almost 10 minutes, Gunny and I sat in silence watching the procession. Thank you for remembering, Fortuna.
September 10, 2008
Never Forget...
It's amazing that I can remember exactly what I was doing seven years ago, September 11th, 2001. I was away from home at training, sitting on my hotel bed, watching the planes fly into the World Trade Center. I then began to cry as the Twin Towers collapsed and I felt absolutely hopeless not knowing what was going to happen next. When I tried to explain what had happened to others who had not been watching the news, my tears and sobs portrayed the devastation and sheer sadness I had witnessed. It was a terrible day for America and I felt it to my core.
Please remember the 2,976 people who died this day; I know I will.
Dr. Seuss For The Soul
"The Binch" By Rob Suggs
Every U down in Uville liked U.S. a lot,
But the Binch, who lived Far East of Uville, did not.
The Binch hated U.S! the whole U.S. way!
Now don't ask me why, for nobody can say,
It could be his turban was screwed on too tight.
Or the sun from the desert had beaten too bright
But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.
But, Whatever the reason, his heart or his turban,
He stood facing Uville, the part that was urban.
"They're doing their business," he snarled from his perch.
"They're raising their families! They're going to church!
They're leading the world, and their empire is thriving,
I MUST keep the S's and U's from surviving!"
Tomorrow, he knew, all the U's and the S's,
Would put on their pants and their shirts and their dresses,
They'd go to their offices, playgrounds and schools,
And abide by their U and S values and rules,
And then they'd do something he liked least of all,
Every U down in U-ville, the tall and the small,
Would stand all united, each U and each S,
And they'd sing Uville's anthem, "God bless us! God bless!"
All around their Twin Towers of Uville, they'd stand,
and their voices would drown every sound in the land.
"I must stop that singing," Binch said with a smirk,
And he had an idea--an idea that might work!
The Binch stole some U airplanes in U morning hours,
And crashed them right into the Uville Twin Towers.
"They'll wake to disaster!" he snickered, so sour,
"And how can they sing when they can't find a tower?"
The Binch cocked his ear as they woke from their sleeping,
All set to enjoy their U-wailing and weeping,
Instead he heard something that started quite low,
And it built up quite slow, but it started to grow--
And the Binch heard the most unpredictable thing...
And he couldn't believe it--they started to sing!
He stared down at U-ville, not trusting his eyes,
What he saw was a shocking, disgusting surprise!
Every U down in U-ville, the tall and the small,
Was singing! Without any towers at all!
He HADN'T stopped U-Ville from singing! It sung!
For down deep in the hearts of the old and the young,
Those Twin Towers were standing, called Hope and called Pride,
And you can't smash the towers we hold deep inside.
So we circle the sites where our heroes did fall,
With a hand in each hand of the tall and the small,
And we mourn for our losses while knowing we'll cope,
For we still have inside that U-Pride and U-Hope.
For America means a bit more than tall towers,
It means more than wealth or political powers,
It's more than our enemies ever could guess,
So may God bless America! Bless us! God bless!
Rob Suggs is an author, illustrator and humorist living in Atlanta, Georgia.
September 09, 2008
The Perfect Way to Waste An Hour
Ouch! That's all I have to say after watching this show. Good Lord people, is it really worth it? And for only $50,000? No way, but a big thanks to those who play because it's friggin' hilarious for the rest of us.
September 08, 2008
Oh Deer...
The deer are back and enjoying the bounty of my apple trees. They've also discovered the joy of a good butt and body rub on my kids' swingset.
My Sunday Date
I had a date yesterday with two young men. They even brought along another gal that joined in. Hubby wanted to watch so I went ahead and let him. There was all sorts of positioning involved and even the occasional crying session. I know I'm shameless, but damn, those pictures turned out good.
Now that I have your attention, I'd like to introduce you to my little cousins, Trevin and Tyce, and their lovely mother, Shannon. They are seriously two of the cutest little boys I've ever met and their momma is a hottie in her own right. After a good bribing of barbequed hamburgers and all you can eat ice cream, we got some great shots. But with a gorgeous family like this, how could you not?
Thanks again to Shannon and sons for allowing me to play!
Digital Scrapping Freebie
I'm not into scrapbooking (I'm not creative and really don't have the patience) but I know many people are. My sister-in-law even travelled to Provo, Utah for a scrapbooking mecca. She seriously works magic with her scrapping stuff and her end product looks absolutely incredible. I sadly know that even if I tried, my scrapping would never look as good as hers'.
Since I'm far too scared of the commitment of a Kaboodle full of expensive scrapping supplies, I've briefly dabbled in digital scrapping. I have discovered a site where you can digitally scrap even if you have the creative abilities of a skunk - just like me. It's called Scrap Blog and I used it to create my blog headers.
There are tons of different themes or you can start from scratch. When you're done, you can publish it to their site or download a jpeg file so you can later print it out. It's super easy and actually pretty addicting once you get going. The best part about the whole thing is that it's free - no glue needed, no cutesy scissors or stamps - my kind of scrapping.
Got Blogged?
Here's a neat site to discover new blogs and have yours reviewed:
September 07, 2008
I Know It's A Little Early...
but we're coming up on my favorite time of year. I hope you like the new blog header and I plan on changing it for each upcoming holiday.
September 06, 2008
The Legend Of Booby Ruby
When I was a little girl, there was an elderly woman that lived across the street from one of my friends. She was a heavyset chronic smoker who always wore big, flowery mumus that tightly covered her voluptuous (albeit rather saggy) free flowing breasts. She loved to sit on her front porch smoking and people watching; but not in the friendly sort of grandmotherly way you'd expect from a woman her age.
She delighted in terrorizing the neighborhood children, especially those who dared to walk on her side of the street. She'd yell lung rattling threats at those who dared to touch her unkempt lawn. The kids who even looked like they were going to pick one of her roses thought twice, as they knew she'd be on them like stink on a pile of you know what. It was an ugly scene represented by an equally lovely woman.
Her name was Booby Ruby.
Ok, that wasn't her real name but that's what we called her. The unofficial sheriff of my friend's block. She was the captain of her Neighborhood watch and probably the solo member but nothing got past good 'ol Booby Ruby. I had a feeling her freezer was full of tiny bodies who dared to pick her flowers. My friends and I even thought that she probably ate a couple of kids here and there, due to her voluminous size. I was terrified of her but learned a valuable lesson of respecting people's property rights.
So why am I telling you about Booby Ruby? Doesn't everyone have one in their neighborhood? Well, I'm becoming Booby Ruby. Booby Sandi, if you will - minus some of the weight, lack of floral mumu, I don't smoke, and do appreciate the support of a good bra .
I'm becoming the protector of my neighborhood, more specifically, my orchard. There is a group of middle school boys who have decided to make a habit out of using my orchard as a pit stop in their daily bicycle ride. They ride their bikes deep into the orchard and then grab fruit and branches. Once their bellies are full, they use the items they have stolen to throw at one another or onto the street. They are damaging my trees and ruining potential future harvests.
I have caught them trespassing three times just this week and Grandpa D caught them once. Each time I have yelled and even cursed, although that part was kind of a red blur. My kids are on high alert to let me know when they see the little thieves trooping into the orchard. Taters has even threatened to open up a can of whoop-ass (whoop-butt - in her words) but I've held her back each time. She gets as fired up as I do.
I've decided that these kids are idiots. Wikipedia defines an idiot as a, "person so mentally deficient as to be incapable of ordinary reasoning." Isn't it reasonable to think that maybe you shouldn't trespass because you've been told not to on at least four different occasions? What's not clicking here? Is the reasoning ability of these boys somehow broken or just not there?
Gunny and I went to Ace Hardware and bought four "No Trespassing" and "Private Property - Do Not Enter" signs. I really don't want to have to ugly up my orchard with such caustic words but these little turds are leaving me no choice. And the sad part? After further damaging my fruit trees they'll probably tear down my signs just for added retribution. Ugh. They've turned me into Booby Sandi and I just might end up smoking to combat the stress of the daily verbal attacks. I guess I could call the po-po, but they have better things to do than chase around 10-12 year old boys who have no common sense. And I don't think I'm ready to go entirely public with the idea that I've become a new version of Booby Ruby.
September 05, 2008
I Wuv You Kittehs
I woke up today to the sound of something scampering up the trees in my front yard. I squinted and tried looking through the mass of alders thinking that the sound came from the little squirrels who live in my orchard and dry creek bed. I then saw them - attacking each other and the trees like little mountain lions; two adorable little black kitties and they meant business.
Gunny saw them too and he let out a shriek, "Kittehs! I wuv kittehs Momma! Hold'em, hold'em, wight now!" I had to call him back as he ran as fast as his chubby little legs would take him. He was on a mission and I didn't want it to end in scratches or tears. Besides, I didn't know if they were feral cats dumped on our property by some lazy loser jerk.
As we got closer, I softy called to them, trying to get their attention. They both eyeballed me but didn't run- good sign. They slowly started walking towards Gunny and I and as my foot kicked a small branch, the little one with a white speck on her chest quickly jumped for the offending stick. She tackled it with great fierceness and then proceeded to kick the crap out of the "perp" she had "collared." It was hilarious. Her ferocious kicking and biting caught the attention of the other little kitty and her partner in crime quickly ran over to also tackle the vicious branch.
Once they were done, the kitties sat on a downed log and stared at Gunny and I. When they were sufficiently satisfied that we were not going to attack them like the stick, they carefully walked up to me and allowed me to give them a few gentle rubs and scratches behind the ears. The pure black one allowed me to scoop her up for a quick moment and I noticed that she was in great shape with a sweet little round face and equally round belly. Their coats were sleek and shiny and their green eyes were bright and clear. They had been obviously cared for by someone and were possibly just making their rounds in the neighborhood.
Gunny was ecstatic about the "kittehs." He professed his "wuv" for them as he gently patted them on the head. I asked Gunny if he wanted to give the "kittehs" a treat and after he screamed, "Yes!" we crept inside the house to abscond with a can of white albacore. Hubby was not happy about this as he is no lover of the feline generation. However, the huge smile on Gunny's face eventually shut him up.
We gave the loaner "kittehs" a can of albacore and gave them a few more heavy petting sessions until I decided it was time to wash our hands. I have no idea if they're going to stay or if they belong to a neighbor, but I'm secretly hoping they'll find our house to be a great place to live. I'm not sure how the chickens will like that but until the feathery buggers start laying eggs where I can find them, their opinion doesn't count.
Wife Swap
Have you seen the show "Wife Swap"? I'd love to do it but with a different spin...I'd like to swap Hubby for a wife. I need someone else that knows how to do laundry, load the dishwasher, pick up after herself, and cook for three little heathens all the while smiling and keeping the family budget in tow. I think a month would suit me just fine. What do you think? Would the producers go for it?
September 04, 2008
Vacancy - No Cancer Cells Need Apply
I've been meaning to write this post for the past week. You'd think that I'd be in a hurry to create a post containing awesome news but in all seriousness, I think I'm still in shock and that's given me a mental block on how to word things.
For those of you who have been reading this blog for awhile, you know that my dad was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer in late May. Several lung biopsies later, the doctors were not able to find cancer cells in the large tumors that were growing in his lungs. Some of the doctors said that he was cancer-free and others said that the sample just didn't get to the heart of the tumor(s) and therefore the doctor wasn't able to pull out any cancer cells. The doctors couldn't even agree on whether or not the growths were tumors or necrotic tissue. It was a confusing heap of goo.
Throughout all of this, my dad slowly started to gain weight and stamina. His coloring returned back to a rosy shade of pink and that familiar Buddha belly returned (much to his dismay!). His doctor even remarked he looked far too healthy to be as sick as they thought he was.
I know this sounds terrible, but Uncle R, Hubby and I subconsciously created our own "bucket list" for Dad and started making sure he was living life up the right way. It was fun but always had an underlying tone of sadness because every fun event was a reminder of our family's potential future.
About a month ago, Dad's doctor referred him to a surgeon in order to have one last lung biopsy done. In this procedure, Dad would have to be put completely out and the surgeon would go in under his sternum, then into his lung, in order to take larger segments of the tumors. The procedure would come with some great risks including the risk of possibly deflating the lung. The most scary part was he would have to stay in ICU while he was in the hospital. I couldn't wrap my mind around the idea of such a potentially deadly test.
I've never been one to keep my mouth shut and I told my dad I didn't like the idea. He was already told they couldn't find cancer in the other samples so why should he risk his health just to be told again he was cancer free and make his own doctor feel satisfied with the results? Dad agreed and explained his fears to the surgeon. They decided to have Dad undergo a final CT scan. If the scan showed tumor growth or abnormalities, then he'd continue on with the more invasive test. It would be worth the risk.
Two weeks ago, Dad underwent the CT. A week ago, we learned the tumors were gone. His lungs were refreshingly vacant of any growths or strange cellular activity. What was once there, threatening to take Grandpa D from the three loves of his life, was now in oblivion and just a past horrific memory.
The surgeon didn't know what to say to my dad. He's never seen anything like it and the surprised look on his face told my dad enough. We still aren't sure what he had - maybe pneumonia or just some random infection that mimicked the activity of an aggressive cancer. Whatever the case, I have my dad back and he's doing great. His bucket list has been trashed and we're looking forward to many more years of fun memories and good times.
As a final lesson learned, you must be your own advocate in the healthcare system. No matter where you're located, you'll just be a patient number in the sea of medical care. Know your rights and most importantly, understand your illness and the tests associated. It's your body and your choice. Don't give that power away.
September 02, 2008
Jerry Reed - Heaven Got the Goldmine, He Got The Shaft
Jerry Reed died yesterday. For those of you not familiar with him, he was in the "Smokey and the Bandit" movies as well as "Waterboy" - two movies I could watch over and over again. He was also a country singer, giving us such great songs as:
Amos Moses
And:
Eastbound And Down
And you can't forget:
She Got The Goldmine (I Got The Shaft)
RIP Jerry. Thanks for making Burt's movies that much better.
September 01, 2008
Operation Black Friday - Let's Get Ready To Rumble!
Check here for the latest ads.
Regis and Kelly
I admit it. I'm politically ignorant. I haven't read up nor paid any attention to the current presidential contenders. My usual voting scheme consists of reading the voter's manual and then quickly surfing the 'net for a set of political "Cliff's Notes" the night before major elections. I vote every time it's required but I never take a really strong interest into the candidates or topics unless it's something directly affecting me. Sad, I know.
You know what? I really doubt I'm in the minority on this. I think a majority of us have gotten to the point where we just don't care because it feels like there's never a candidate representing everything we'd want in a leader or ruler of our country. You take the good with the bad and for me, it's a frustration to see candidates that I like only about 1/3 of what they represent or believe.
I admit that I did stand up and take notice when McCain announced that his running mate would be the beautiful Sarah Palin. A wife, mother of five including one who was special needs and still breastfeeding, former beauty queen, and governor of one of the most goregous states, I was immediately intrigued. It was reminiscent of when Regis and Kelly united. I was enthralled.
I immediately felt a strong affection, "girl crush," if you will to Palin, but after researching her stance on major topics I found myself falling into my 1/3 rule. The only real part of her I liked was that she was a lot like me but other than that, we differed on almost every major topic.
So I'm back at square one. I know what I'm registered as but my views are starting to fall in between parties and into political abyss. I'm seriously thinking I need to start my own political party - "The Cliff's Notes-tarians- abbreviated politics for the rushed and confused." Do I have any takers? I still have many party positions open and available (!).