...With my new piano. I went in tonight and opened up it's cranium (the lid thingy - I'm so not technical with names) and looked at the inch of dust I still need to clean off it's numerous tiny innards. Even it's insides are cool - so many pieces and parts, hoses and knobs, I'm just in awe that someone in the early 1900's had the technology to come up with this creature. As soon as I get my books on piano restoration, we'll be ready to waltz (remember - there are no rock-n-roll piano rolls).
After snooping, I sat on the bench and pretended to channel Mozart or at least Sara Bareilles. Instead, I just ended up playing the first few notes of the theme song to Beverly Hills Cop (you'd know it if you heard it), but I really rocked it. Sticky keys and all.
Here are a couple of pics I took tonight. My boys seem to also share my love of this beast and I can see many hours of music in our future.
Gunny pounding the ivories:
C-dubs grimy fingers tickling the ivories:
This is the part I hope still works. It's were the piano rolls go and it appears to be the cleanest part of the whole piano:
I had a late birthday present arrive this weekend, in the form of an old Crown Combinola player piano. My wonderful cousin had this beautiful beast sleeping in his storage unit for the past several years. Not wanting to pay the rental fees anymore, he asked me if I wanted to adopt it. I just couldn't say no to a free piano; it was a bargain music lover's dream! As you can probably guess, the little things like where I was going to keep it, how I was going to maintain it, etc., never really crossed by mind. It's amazing what a bargain high can cause you to do and say yes to.
I've always wanted a piano although I have no clue how to play one and can't carry a tune in a bucket. I seriously make small children and animals cry when I sing or attempt to play a musical instrument. I have given music the good old college try and even took a semester in college playing the viola. I was banished to the horse stall for practice sessions as my playing gave my mother migraines. I do have one musical instrument that I play very well - prodigal if you will. It's the song flute and I was the best in my third grade class. Here's a pic of my mentor:
I don't know what it is about pianos that I love. Maybe it's the shiny white keys or the sweet sound tinkling from it's belly when the right person pulls up to fondle the ivory. They're just cool. Add to the fact that this certain model has the "player" feature (no, that does not mean it picks up other "loose" pianos with ease), I can totally fake like I know what I'm doing, with just a few easy pumps of the pedals.
This old thing still plays but is in need of a lot of love and tenderness. I've ordered a few books off of Amazon that promise to show me how to become a piano refurbisher extraordinaire. Hubby isn't holding his breath that I'll actually make it work any better than it does now, but I'm going to prove him wrong. If I can't do it, I have a perfectly working phone that will allow me to call for help.
I've ordered a couple of piano rolls off of e-Bay so we're ready to rock - well, actually waltz since they really don't have any Britney Spears or Metallica piano rolls. My kids are going to be in for a pleasant shock when they hear what real music sounds like. I'm hoping to find some more rolls so if you know of anyone looking to unload some, give me a holleh.
I'll post photos as I progress or digress depending on how things go. Wish me luck.
It's my berfday, as Gunny would say. I've hit the ripe old age of 33, can someone please put me out to pasture? Seriously, stick a fork in me because I'm done. I don't wanna age anymore so I think this will be my last one. I know I should have stopped at 30, or maybe even 26 (that way I could still rent a car if I needed to), but I guess 33 will have to do since I procrastinated.
I know I shouldn't complain too much because I have had more memorable birthdays. On birthday #13, we had my Grandmother's funeral (Mrs. Grumpy). I was getting birthday wishes with my mourning tears. There was also birthday #24, where I had a week old Taterbug to contend with. Sore boobs, a screaming infant, and incredible exhaustion made that day a keeper. And who can forget the incredible birthday #30, where I was hugely pregnant with Gunny and spent my evening having a non-stress test at the hospital with contractions that eventually stopped. So yeah, I really shouldn't complain too much because today's #33 is going to be a good day, and hopefully, a good number for an age.
In case you were wondering what sort of fascinating things have happened on my birthday, here's a link. Check yours' out as well.
I took this picture today after trying to soak up the 60 degree sun Mother Nature decided to share with us. Do you know where it is? I'll give you some hints to this beautiful spot:
* For several months of the year, you really can't access it.
* You can sometimes see Union soliders hiding behind the logs.
* If you walk far enough, you might find the purrfect present.
So I probably just made this way too easy, but we'll see.
Here's a variety of different poems I found for the original, "Twas The Night Before Christmas" poem (I don't think that's actually the original title, come to think of it). I'm feeling so rundown for the holidays and these perked me up a bit. Make sure you watch the video at the end. It's just wrong but ever so right.
The original version by Clement Clarke Moore:
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
For the Mom:
It was the night before Christmas, when all thru the abode
Only one creature was stirring, and she was cleaning the commode.
The children were finally sleeping, all snug in their beds,
While visions of Nintendo 64 and Barbie, flipped through their heads.
The dad was snoring in front of the TV,
With a half-constructed bicycle on his knee.
So only the mom heard the reindeer hooves clatter,
Which made her sigh, "Now what's the matter?"
With toilet bowl brush still clutched in her hand,
She descended the stairs, and saw the old man.
He was covered with ashes and soot, which fell with a shrug.
"Oh great," muttered the mom, "Now I have to clean the rug."
"Ho-ho-ho!" cried Santa, "I'm glad you're awake."
"Your gift was especially difficult to make."
"Thanks, Santa, but all I want is some time alone."
"Exactly!" he chuckled, "I've made you a clone."
"A clone?" she asked, "What good is that?
Run along, Santa, I've no time for chit-chat."
The mother's twin. Same hair, same eyes,
Same double chin.
"She'll cook, she'll dust," She'll mop every mess.
You'll relax, take it easy, Watch The Young & the Restless." "Fantastic!" the mom cheered. "My dream come true!
"I'll shop. I'll read., I'll sleep a whole night through! "
From the room above, the youngest began to fret.
"Mommy?! I scared... and I am wet."
The clone replied, "I'm coming, sweetheart."
"Hey," the mom smiled, "She knows her part."
The clone changed the small one, and hummed a tune,
as she bundled the child, in a blanket cocoon.
"You the best mommy ever. " I really love you."
The clone smiled and sighed, "I love you, too."
The mom frowned and said, "Sorry, Santa, no deal. "
That's my child's love, she's trying to steal."
Smiling wisely Santa said, "To me it is clear, "
Only one loving mother, is needed here."
The mom kissed her child, and tucked her into bed.
"Thank you, Santa, for clearing my head.
I sometimes forget, it won't be very long,
When they'll be too old, for my cradle-song."
The clock on the mantle began to chime.
Santa whispered to the clone, "It works every time."
With the clone by his side Santa said, "Goodnight. Merry Christmas, Mom, You'll be all right."
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the trailer
Not a creature was stirrin' 'cept a redneck named Taylor.
His first name was Bubba, Joe was his middle,
And a-runnin' down his chin was a trickle of spittle.
His socks, they were hung by the chimney with care,
And therefore there was a foul stench in the air.
That Bubba got scared and rousted the boys.
There was Rufus, 12 Jim Bob was 11
Dud goin' on 10 Otis was 7.
John, George and Chucky Were 5,4, and 3:
The twins were both girls so they let them be.
They jumped in their overalls, no need for a shirt,
Threw a hat on each head, then turned with a jerk.
They ran to the gun rack that hung on the wall.
There were 17 shotguns they grabbed them all.
Bubba said to the young'uns, "now hesh up ya'll!
The last thing we wanna do is wake up yer Maw."
Maw was expecting and needed her sleep,
So out they crept out the door without making a peep.
They all looked around, and then they all spit.
The young'uns asked Bubba, "Paw, what is it?"
Bubba just stared he could not say a word.
This was just like all of The stories he'd heard.
It was Santy Claus on the roof, darn tootin'
But the boys didn't know they was about to start shootin'!
They aimed their shotguns and nearly made a mistake
That would have resulted in venison steak.
Bubba hollered out, "don't shoot, boys!"
That's Santy Claus And he's brought us some toys.
The dogs were a-barkin' and a-raisin' cain,
And Bubba whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
"Down, Spot! shut up Bullet! quiet, Roscoe and Enos!
Git, Turnip and Tater and Sam and Bosco!"
"Git down from that porch! git down off that wall!
Quit shakin the trailer, or you'll make Santy fall!"
The dogs kept a-barkin' and wouldn't shut up,
And they trampled poor Pete Who was only a pup.
Santy opened his bag, And threw out some toys.
Bubba got most, but left a few for the boys.
Since the guns had been dropped he just might not die.
He jumped in his sleigh, told his reindeer to hurry.
The trailer started to wobble santa started to worry.
Just as the reindeer got into the air,
The trailer collapsed, but Bubba didn't care.
He was busy lookin' at all his new toys.
Then a thought hit him, and he said to the boys:
"Go check on yer Maw, make sure she's all right.
That roof fallin' on her could-a hurt just a might."
But Maw was OK, and the girls were too.
They fixed up the trailer it looked good as new.
And as for Bubba, he liked Old St. Nick,
But Santa thought Bubba was a pure-in-tee hick!
Bubba had a nice Christmas, and the boys did, too.
And the Taylors wish a Yee Haw Merry Christmas to you!!!
For the Dieter:
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all round my hips
Were Fannie May candies that sneaked past my lips.
Fudge brownies were stored in the freezer with care
In hopes that my thighs would forget they were there.
While Mama in her girdle and I in chin straps
Had just settled down to sugar-borne naps.
When out in the pantry there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash,
Tore open the icebox then threw up the sash.
The marshmallow look of the new-fallen snow
Sent thoughts of a binge to my body below.
When what to my wandering eyes should appear
A marzipan Santa with eight chocolate reindeer!
That huge chunk of candy so luscious and slick
I knew in a second that I’d wind up sick.
The sweet-coated santa, those sugared reindeer
I closed my eyes tightly but still I could hear;
On Pritzker, on Stillman, on weak one, on TOPS
A Weight Watcher dropout from sugar detox.
From the top of the scales to the top of the hall
Now dash away pounds now dash away all.
Dressed up in Lane Bryant from my head to nightdress
My clothes were all bulging from too much excess.
My droll little mouth and my round little belly,
They shook when I laughed like a bowl full of jelly.
I spoke not a word but went straight to my work
Ate all of the candy then turned with a jerk.
And laying a finger beside my heartburn
Gave a quick nod toward the bedroom I turned.
I eased into bed, to the heavens I cry–
If temptation’s removed I’ll get thin by and by.
And I mumbled again as I turned for the night
In the morning I’ll starve… ’til I take that first bite!
Your daughter refers to them as your brown truck boyfriends and your two year old calls them the "present guys." Another way to tell? When your children yell to you on the front porch to say "hi" to their new Daddy whenever a different face delivers a Christmas package. Taterbug swears that it's terrible of me to cheat so much on my other boyfriends - Schwans and Fed Ex - and even my girlfriend - the mail lady. I guess I truly know the reason behind the phrase, "Ho! Ho! Ho!" at least in reference to my galvanting around.
I Channeled Martha Stewart And I Liked It. No Cherry Chapstick Involved.
Martha Freakin' Stewart entered my body today and possessed not only my heart and soul, but every stinkin' clean and freshly licked bowl in my house. Martha decided to get with the big "S" (Santa) and challenged me to a dessert feast that would make a chubby man, such as Santa Clause, blush. I'm sure the Safeway gal thought I was buying enough sugar, flour, milk, and cream to start my own bakery or at least prepare for the next nuclear war - but no, I was just stockpiling the necessary goodies to embark upon my wild trip into candy and cookie making ecstasy.
Let's just say I'm known. Yeah, that's right, I've gotta rep and I proudly live up to it every year. You heard it, I'm known as the divalicious goddess of the kitchen. People love being around me during the holidays. They have lustful, fanciful thoughts about what I can do for them with a little chocolate and caramel. Hmmm....yeah, my goodies are that tasty. Whether it be Sandi's Secret Caramel, Christmas Crack, homemade gooey Marshmallows, chewy Rice Crispie Treats or melt in your mouth World's Best Chocolate Chip Cookies - you are sure to be satisfied when we part company during the holidays.
Who knows what I was thinking today when I decided to tackle five different recipes with a helpful two year old and anxious six year old hot on my June Cleaver heels, but I didn't care. Maybe it was rum extract or perhaps it was the pure Madagascar vanilla I chugged periodically out of a silver plated pocket cask; I threw caution to the wind and flour on my face as I embarked upon a whirlwind of baking and boiling. I enlisted C-dub as my official "dumper" (he who dumps the ingredients in the bowl) and Gun-Gun was the Queen's taster (preventing the poisoning of our royal crew). When I dared to tread on C-dub's carefully manicured toes by dumping in some dry ingredients during one of his many bathroom trips, his reply to me was:
"Don't pour that stuff in without me. Cuz, I, uh, just wouldn't like you berry much if you did. 'K, Mom?" 'Nuff said. I did not even contemplate trying to sneak that one past him again. God forbid he didn't like me anymore.
When all was said and done, and the flour and butter had settled, only magnificence remained:
The happiest person of the day? The Queen's Taster, of course. And guess what? The little monster is still awake, and still rarin' to go at 11PM. No more cookies, Gunnah. Be sure to read his shirt - it's entirely fitting for today.
I've recently had the pleasure of photographing several different families. I'd like to think they allowed me to do their photos because of my awesome talent, experience and dazzling smile, but in all seriousness, I know it's because I don't charge. That's right; nada, zilch, nunca. My self-confidence, or lack thereof, has prevented me from even considering it.
I've spent the past year working hard on my photography and learning the basics by reading books and taking a photography class. I've networked with some really good photographers and I've discovered what I'm good at and not so good at. I really want to be a strong photographer not just a MWAC (Mom With A Camera), which is a term coined by professionals for people like me :-).
After much discussion and the purchase of a new editing program and new lens, I've decided that 2009 will be bringing about some changes. I'm gonna, *gulp*, start charging. No, it won't be much and I'm still taking it in the end as far as the time I'll spend shooting, editing and doing final preparations, but at least it will slowly help to pay for the initial investment I've made.
I have to remember that this is my hobby and will never be my business. I like the steady paycheck, health bennies, and retirement that a normal job provides and I know that I'll never make enough on photography to pay for my mortgage or clean diapers. As long as I can support my habit, I'll be happy.
Anyhoo, not really sure what the point of this posting is other than to solidify to myself that I'm going to do this and that I can do this *insert the Little Engine That Could* and that I need to stop being a chicken schat when it comes to constructive criticism and confidence levels. I feel so much better now - maybe that's the Immodium talking.
Here are some shots from some recent photo shoots I did...
A handsome little Christmas miracle:
A beautiful little princess to make your ovaries ache:
My fellow camera geek friends and I have an informal club where we set a theme, take photos, and then meet once a month or so over dinner. It's a fun time to be had and we normally learn a lot from each other. This month's theme was "Boudoir" and I was none to happy about it. For one thing, I didn't have a willing model. Hubby refused to do any sort of portrait involving lace, feathers, and come hither looks. And, I really don't enjoy being in front of the camera so the idea of any of my lovely lady lumps being part of a photoshoot was never going to happen.
What's a girl to do? I really wanted to give a shot that represented my style but still had some of the theme which I hated. While I stewed on the issue, I noticed Tater's Barbies lying in a heap in the playroom. Seeing how they were all nekkid, the idea of "Barbie Boudoir" practically smacked me in the head.
So I did it. I sequestered myself to the dining nook where I placed a few nekkid Barbies on some fuzzy material and then some red satin. With bright natural light shining in, I created a beautiful moment in time for Ken and Barbie. They both seemed so happy about it.
I should mention that neither Barbie nor Ken were harmed in the making of this photoshoot. Also, I was sure to keep Skipper and Kelly away from the shoot so as not to impress any suspicious nekkidness activity on their impressionable brains.
My friend, Becky, sent me this joke the other day. It brought about an instant chuckle that almost made me spit out my coffee, so I thought I'd pass it on. Please take heed of the title because the joke is about S-E-X (spelled that way in order to avoid the porn bots). If you are against sex, never had sex, are under the age of understanding what sex is, or just a prude, don't go any further so as to not offend your virgin ears.
$7 Sex
A Florida couple, both well into their 80s, go to a sex therapist's office. The doctor asks, "What can I do for you?"
The man says, "Will you watch us have sexual intercourse?"
The doctor raises both eyebrows, but he is so amazed that such an elderly couple is asking for sexual advice that he agrees.
When the couple finishes, the doctor says, "There's absolutely nothing wrong with the way you have intercourse." He thanks them for coming (!), he wishes them good luck, he charges them $50 and he says good bye.
The next week, the same couple returns and asks the sex therapist to watch again. The sex therapist is a bit puzzled, but agrees. This happens several weeks in a row. The couple makes an appointment, has intercourse with no problems, pays the doctor, then leave. Finally, after 3 months of this routine, the doctor says, "I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Just what are you trying to find out?"
The man says, "We're not trying to find out anything. She's married so we can't go to her house. I'm married and we can't go to my house. The Holiday Inn charges $98. The Hilton charges $139. We do it here for $50, and I get $43 back from Medicare."
It's official. Christmas has entered my house and vomited red tinsel all over my carpet. I barely had one sleepy eyeball open yesterday morning when three little faces (two with whiskers) were eagerly awaiting by my bedside. The one who was able to whine and verbalize his pleas to "start Christmas" spoke up first.
"Can we pweaze get da Cwistmas stuff outta da gawage today? Pwetty pwease?" C-dub then proceeded to try and use the puppy dog face which doesn't phase me a bit. I'm invincible to the quivering lip and moistened eyeballs.
I replied to him that Thanksgiving hadn't even happened yet but I'd be willing to get a few boxes down, later. Which in adult language, meant that I was going to push it off until evening and hope that either Hubby would get home first and could do it or C-dub would eventually fall asleep (waiting ever so impatiently) saving me from the whole process.
Well, Hubby ended up working late and C-dub has memory like an elephant. Every hour, on the hour, he'd remind me of my promise. When I told him to give me a little more time he'd set it an hour and promptly check back in fifty nine minutes later.
Is it time yet? Maaaaooommmm.
I thought you say only a wittle big more time, Mom.
You say you had to pee. You bettah get in der and do yer stuff before you wet yurself. And then get the Cwistmas stuff down, K?
Arghhh!!! The kid never gave up and I finally got off my arse and waddled out into the garage. I don't particularly like getting things out of our rafters for a couple of reasons that either have four legs or eight legs (mice and spidahs).
After ensuring that both C-dub and Taters knew the number to 9-1-1 and had phone in hand, should I take a tumble from the eight foot ladder, I slowly climbed up the ladder, flashlight in hand. I store most of my stuff in plastic containers but last year, I was a tad bit lazy and hit the 75% off Target sale after I had already stored my Christmas bounty. This mean that for the most part, all my sale stuff was still in the original shopping bags. Rut roh, not the best thing to do in a country garage.
As I scanned for any arachnids that could potentially eat my arm or at least bite a finger, I pulled the totes out one by one. When I got to my bags, I noticed a strange pile of shredded paper and plastic mixed with beautiful red, blue, and green fibers - hmmm....the exact colors of the new tree skirt I had bought last year.
Then I saw something I like to call evidence...turds. Tiny little mouse turds scattered the floor of the rafters where my beautiful tree skirt had slept for a year, waiting for me to break it from it's deep seasonal slumber. The little mouse biotches had other ideas and decided to raise their nasty little family in it. Thankfully, they only damaged a little of the skirt and I was able to salvage it by putting the shredded end toward the wall. Did I mention that I really like this tree skirt? And it was on sale - a total bargain - I couldn't just dump it.
After looking at all the Christmas junk and reminiscing over night, I made the executive decision that today was the perfect day to find a tree. Rather than suffering from hyperthermia and episodes of "bushing it," I like to go to Ace Hardware because they have 5-6' Noble Fir trees for $29.99, a perfect size and price for our house. We met Grandpa D (since I'm truckless) at the store and picked out the perfect tree for our family. After a quick jaunt home and some decorating, I'm now staring at a gorgeous tree....being molested by two kittehs.
The best part of a beautifully decorated fragile tree is two wild mountain lion cousins. It was pretty while it lasted.
I was tagged by Beth at C. Beth Blog, to list seven different things about me you might not know, or probably wouldn't even want to know. So here ya go. You've been warned...
1. I used to be in love with Gene Simmons of KISS. Yes, the man is old enough to be my grandfather but between the make-up, boots, and crazy tongue, I could have looked past the old man smell. My one sided love affair ended earlier this year when someone sent me a porn clip involving him and a very young nasty gal. It was gross and I think I even threw up a little bit, *gulp*. Affair over.
2. I still have a thing for guys with long hair - you know, like the 80's metal head - not mullet head. No Joe Dirt for me. I secretly look forward to the Got Milk? commercial with the geeky guy who turned into the heartthrob rocker, White Gold. Yeah, I think he's hawt in a weird sorta way and I certainly dig his sexy voice. "It's supernaturallllll!" Here's a clip in case you're a visual learner:
3. I hated being pregnant but I looked forward to being in labor. I have a pretty high pain tolerance and I always push myself to the limits during the birth process. Without going into the gory details, I was able to successfully deliver a nine and a half pound Gunny without the help of pain meds. I take great pride in knowing that this was probably one of my most successful life moments and if I could, I'd go back to school in a second and become a midwife or a doula. And if you need a doula, hire Tracey 'cuz she rocks!
4. I was a wrangler wearing, cowboy boot lovin', tom boy chillin', prom queen. And I rocked that crown much to the dismay of some of the senior populoids.
5. I am deathly afraid of snakes, heights, and small places. My hands sweat and I get really dizzy whenever I'm near any of these. I think my fear of snakes is the greatest in that I even have to lift my feet up if I have to drive over a snake in the roadway. Ewww, *shudders*, me no likey.
6. I hate going to the mall but I love Internet shopping. I get a freakish' high when I find a bargain. It's insane. Hubby is very tolerant of my bargain buying ability and I've even caught him bragging to his friends about some of my finds.
7. My kids are my life. I never even wanted to be a mom and I originally warned Hubby that he'd end die a childless man with half a dozen cats. But as soon as we bought our first house and got a puppy, my estrogen started flowing and out popped Taters. If finances and patience would allow, I'd have three more kids in a heartbeat. I'm really glad Hubby doesn't read my blog because he'd probably stop sleeping with me ;-).
Since I love to return the favor of public humiliation, I'm tagging the following seven bloggers and inviting them to complete this viscious cycle of storytelling:
Yes, the holiday season has vomited on my blog. Please bear with me while we skip directly over Turkey Day to Christmas, my second favorite holiday of the year.
When my kids got home from their first round of trick-or-treating, I think I was more excited then they were. My older two monsters had visited an old folks home and then the downtown merchants for some daytime trick-or-treating. Thankfully, the candy donations were plentiful and everyone did an excellent job of supplying the kiddos with top notch candies. There were hardly any of those nasty cheap hard Costco candies; we got the real deal. Hershey bars, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Snickers...you name it and it was in their bucket.
As I emptied their pails out, I kept out a couple of the chocolate bars and a few peanut butter cups for myself. Oh, and the Almond Joy and Mounds bars because the kids hate coconut. I think. I then snuck into my room and began eating them as I had told the kids they could eat no more candy.
As I tore into my fourth candy bar, Taterbug walked in and caught me in the act. Between the empty wrappers and chocolaty fingers, I knew I couldn't deny the obvious.
"What are you doing?! I can't believe you Muhtherrr!!" She demanded an answer as she placed her hands on her hips and shook her finger at me.
"I'm checking your candy for needles. The good news is that so far, I haven't found any." And with that, I plopped the rest of the Hershey bar into my mouth and got up and left the room with my empty wrappers.
Taterbug stood there in shock of the prospect of needles in her candy bars and Hubby entered the room just as I was leaving.
"You know you're shameless, right?" He asked me rather incredulously.
"I know. I have some left if your interested." I presented him with the same temptation I had already given into.
"Do you have any more chocolate? I guess I need to test some, too."
You Can Have Your Cake, You Just Might Not Want To Eat It
I'm an amateur cake decorator. What this means is that I have a Craftsman cart loaded with tips, bags, and other tools I have no clue how to use. And the worst part? Most of them are still in their original packaging. Several years ago I did take a class with my mom and a friend at Michael's but those lessons have long since passed and I'm back at square one, just eating cake.
If you enjoy cake decorating or even just like eating cake, check out this site. I especially loved the baby bursting prego lady cake. Quite a classic design via the movie "Alien."
After seeing this site, you will have a new appreciation of what ends up on your celebration table.
I can always count on you to leave me a comment - whether it be witty, wise, or just unnerving, you're always there like a bad cankersore. In honor of your upcoming birthday, I got you a cake, complete with a stripper. Yeah, I went all out on ya, 'cuz that's how much I care. Here's a picture to entice you since your birthday isn't technically until tomorrow. Don't worry, I told "Shim" how to find you:
Since you're such a hard guy to buy a present for, I really had to rack my brain and came up with a few ideas, well, actually images. I can't spare the change to actually buy you a present since the three dozen pair of lacy knickers for the NKOTB concert really put me in the hole. But it's the thought that counts, right?
Here's idea #1:
This print comes complete with a special saying and autograph from Homer. I thought you'd appreciate the sentiment.
And onto idea #2:
A gift card to Wal Mart for a new outfit.
Tremendous creativity was brought out on idea #3:
But, I know you're good with the 'puter, so I found this one and thought you'd might enjoy it.
And finally, my idea for your last present (and most feasible since I have the pieces and parts in my own backyard):
Just make sure to bleach the grill real good. And keep it either/or if you know what I mean. This shouldn't be used as a multi-tasking piece of equipment.
Happy Birthday Gump. You don't look a hair over 30 :-).
Garbage Pail Kids, so very gross. I remember saving my money and my mom taking Uncle R and I down to the store so we could buy a couple of packs each week. For about fifty cents, you got several cards and a stick of super hard gum - and we freakin' loved them. Uncle R decorated his whole dresser set with the stickers and it cracks me up to see that old thing (still covered with stickers) now living in my dad's shop.
When my Grandma was alive, every year Dad would take care of her fruit orchard, pruning the trees and giving her huge yard a summer makeover. In the process, he'd create a large pile of drying brush that we'd later turn into a huge bonfire on a Sunday morning. As my brother and I got older, we were allowed to be the bonfire "babysitters." This involved us getting short little willow twigs that we'd light and pretend to smoke when Mom and Dad weren't looking. Many a slug and snail were also cooked on these little twigs, much to the dismay our parents who weren't particuarly fond of crispy critters lying around the outskirts of the pile.
When the Sunday morning arrived and it was time to burn up our pile, my brother and I were ready. Unfortunately, the pile wasn't completely dry and Dad was having some trouble getting it started.
I remember Grandma mentioning that she had been cleaning out the attic and had some items we could use to get the fire going. Dad followed Grandma into the house and came back out carrying a large cardboard box. He growled at my brother and I to leave so that he could get the fire going. We protested, reminding him that we were professional fire starters and slug chefs. Our griping just bought us time in the old Chevy while he, my mom, and Grandma worked hard to get the fire lit.
We could see Dad slowly picking up what appeared to be magazines out of the cardboard box. He'd look briefly at each magazine and then toss it into the growing fire. I could have sworn that I sensed hesitation as he threw each magazine in, but I had no clue why he looked sort of sad as the flames ravaged the magazines.
A short time later, after the cardboard box was empty and the fire was raging, we were released from the captivity of the old Chevy and allowed to take our place back by the fire. My brother, who enjoyed the fire much more than I did, began poking the embers with his willow twig. As he did, large pieces of ash began to fly up exposing us to what had been printed on the magazines Dad had thrown in; vintage Playboy.
We saw boobies, butts, and various other body parts, drifting about in the air. My horndog brother would try and blow out the larger pieces of ash so that he could get a better glimpse of the forbidden fruit. Dad eventually took notice of my brother's excitement over the "fire" and had some quick words about leaving the fire alone to do its business. I think Mom just glared through the process and Grandma grinned, happy that she wasn't having to do any explaining.
On a side note, we did get the entire brushpile burned down that day. My poor Dad on the other hand, probably lost a fortune (and I'm sure several fond memories) in those vintage Playboys.
I'm so excited...only nine more days and I'll be in the glitz and quasi-glamor of Las Vegas, watching my favorite childhood band shake their moneymakers; NKOTB. For those of you out of the know, that's New Kids on the Block: Adorable Joey, sexy Donnie, suave Jordan, rugged Danny, and the romantic Jonathan. I'm about ready to swoon just thinking about the newly divorced Donnie. He's always been my favorite and I'm planning on fighting Aunt Dina for his affections. * Sigh *
While I'm super stoked (I'm practicing my late 80's early 90's jargon) about the concert, I think I'm the most excited because this is the first girlfriend weekend I've had in over eight years. Hubby and I have escaped a handful of times but for the most part, wherever we go, the kids go and wherever I go, Hubby goes. Yeah, it can be such a pain in the butt to travel with kids but it's entirely worth it when we all end up having a good time.
I do have the mommy guilt settling in knowing that I'm going to be having a lot of fun while the little heathens are stuck at the house with Hubby. I'm telling myself over and over again that I deserve a break once in a while, but I still feel a teency weency guilty. Not enough to make me even considering staying home but it's there, simmering a bit. I think once the first adult beverage settles in, this guilt will be a thing of the past or at least tolerable.
An added bonus to this trip was that I just got to go shopping for some clothes other than mom jeans and muffin tops. It was strange buying lady like clothes that I didn't anticipate would be potentially puked or pooped on. Hubby liked the clothes and Taters asked to borrow them. Great, it's starting already.
Hubby asked me if I bought some sexy lacy panties to throw at NKOTB but I quickly came to the realization that I'm getting old when I replied, "Are you kidding me? Do you know how much I pay for good panties?" Plus, I'd hate to throw something that someone might mistake for a skinned out cheetah. It sucks gettin' old and a little fatter than my fourteen year old former self.
My girlfriends and I are still looking for something to do on Friday night in Vegas. Do you know of any good shows? Recommendations for the best slots? I'm all ears if you can throw me some suggestions.
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.
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!
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!
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:
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):
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.
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!
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
