Nom. And more Nom.

I can tell you without a doubt that I will need to take cooking classes before I walk down that aisle again.

In the last 11 years, the percentage of meals prepared by me for me and my little tribe is maybe an optimistic 45%. The percentage of meals prepared by me for me and my sweetheart is around 9%.The rest of our eats have been prepared by fantastic restaurateurs.

While I really enjoy those percentages, I am pretty sure that cooking meals for my man will increase my chances of staying married in the future. I want to have at least a 50% success rate of marriage when it's all told. So far my percentage rate is 0.

How many nights in a row can you serve grilled cheese and tomato soup before it starts getting redundant? Asking for a friend.

Leftovers

I joined a gym this year. It was supposed to be a body-altering decision, but apparently you actually have to go more than once a week. More than once a month, even!

I love regaling my friends with my gym anecdotes because it usually involves me dropping something while on the treadmill and the absurd chaos that follows whilst I try to do retrievals with grace. (Grace and I are not friends, btdubs. Smooth, Grace and Style have evaded me for years.)

The last time I went to the gym was a little scarring, however. Ever try really hard to engage someone in conversation that doesn't really want you to talk to them anymore?

It's probably because you have eggs and spinach left over from dinner in your teeth. Check yourself before you wreck yourself.  Word to the wise, friends.

Rage on Down the Road

Home Slice, a photo by Gypsy Scribe on Flickr.

I have been trying to deal with this road rage issue once and for all. Every time I think I have it licked, I am sent a test from above. And I fail. 

A couple of months ago my test was sent in the form of a driver whose car apparently wasn't equipped with accessible mirrors or blinkers. Or the driver just didn't feel like using them that day. In rush hour traffic. So, of course the car slid right over in front of me where there was no room for another car - without signaling. I know, I know. I should have just let her in, slowed down to adjust for her presence and then focused on happier things. Things like this happen all of the time, right?

But no. I didn't. She not only cut me off, she was also going to go a full 5 miles lower than the speed limit IN the passing lane. (I do hear me sounding like a spoiled brat, believe me.) So...I honked at her. It didn't phase her. I honked again. Nothing. Flashed my lights. She slowed down. Tried to pass her. She sped up. Ugh.

After about 15 miles of this nonsense we finally came to town, and of course I was in the turning lane right behind her. So I decided to follow her. Where to? I dunno. I wasn't going to follow her home. But SHE didn't know that. She started to take turns, and so did I - nothing too alarming, but I was doing some fancy mommy talking to myself ("What are you trying to accomplish? How is this going to end well? Stop this right now!") and finally, FINALLY, I decided to let this slight go. There was no way to win. So, I conceded and drove past her when she made one more left turn. 

And wouldn't you know? She swerved back in to my lane behind me and then was following ME! HA! That was some scary stuff right there. I honestly didn't know what to do. 

I stopped in a gas station parking lot, yanked my car keys, jumped out of the car, and met her face-forward as she came in to the parking lot. I am so glad she didn't have a gun - and whatever look on my face or crazy tough girl posturing I was putting out must have worked. I motioned for her to stop and talk to me (whatever motion that is, I guess) but she just kept on going. Right back out of the parking lot.  Phew.

I was worried, SO worried, that she had called the police or had her family coming after me for backup. But then I realized: She really didn't have a leg to stand on in the end. In the end, she was the hunter and I was the prey. She was following me. I was the pursued, not the pursuer. Right?!

Ugh.

I need a chauffeur. 

Hainke Painke

I have started dating again. 

It is strange to date when you still love another. It, in fact, feels like you are cheating. 

It is even stranger to have to tell the one you love that you are going out with another man. 

To his credit, he said he was jealous - which was very confusing to me! I never considered that to be a possibility! Reeling, I made the mistake of responding that I wished it was him and I going instead. It took me a few minutes to realize that I didn't really mean that...

I really have to stop saying those kinds of things.

My first date (Sunday Man) pulled up in an old beat up jalopy ... with a door that had to be opened from the inside only. He was fun, but not enough for me to overlook his 39 years of backwards upbringing. I requested a return trip home due to an early morning at work. 

My second date (Thursday Man) turned out to be a little easier to manage as I had become smarter over the previous three days and learned to arrange a meeting place. He was a full decade older than me, very nice, handsome for an older man - and totally uninteresting to me. I felt very mean as he hugged me goodbye and asked for a second date. I knew there would not be another. And I did not say so. 

My third date (Friday Man) I also met on location - although on the way there, I was followed by a car that housed a man that vaguely fit my date's description. But not in a good way. I prayed so hard that it was NOT my date - and breathed a sigh of relief when he turned left and I turned right. My date turned out to be pleasant, handsome, well educated, well traveled, interesting - and a long-winded braggart. I truly did not get to say four words in about 3 hours while I listened to scores of anecdotes relating to his travel, his riches, his possessions...and then to top it all off, he took me up on my offer to pay half for our meal! Ha! When he hugged me goodbye, he assured me that he would be in touch. I am not sure I will be reachable...we will see.

My fourth date (Saturday Man) was the one I was really looking forward to. A manicure and pedicure, a new pair of shoes, and a new flush in my cheeks meant that we were to have a great evening! I had talked to him a few times on the phone, and enjoyed his repartee tremendously. The only red flag that I could see was his sudden and deep penetration into my social media life...he knew my personal email addresses, found my facebook page, my blog - it just felt a bit strange. As the time approached for me to leave to meet him in Denver, I received an odd text: " Looking forward to seeing you - don't come too late." To which I queried playfully what exactly too late would be. As texts went back and forth a few more times it became clear that he and I had different ideas of what our date was going to look like, and he was frustrated. And then - he stopped responding all together when I asked if maybe we shouldn't call the whole thing off! Twice I texted, twice I called, and then, remembering what D used to say about giving the non-responding party the benefit of the doubt (noone can be on their phones as much as I need them to be!), I kept our arrangement plans and assured myself that there would be a good explanation.

There wasn't. 

There was, however, an email that arrived on my phone an hour later. The part that stands out the most to me: "I am sorry that you came to Denver - you shouldn't have. If I had wanted you to, I would have called you back."

I am so very blessed that my God looks out for me. I am so grateful that this guy showed his character so early. I had no idea that I was dealing with that kind of personality. 


I did respond, though...just a short note, letting him know that I was glad that it wasn't because something horrible happened and that had kept him from answering his phone. (I honestly thought maybe his ailing dog had suffered an episode, as that is what he had been dealing with all week.)


His response? "Are you being sarcastic? I didn't know that Christian Republicans were smart enough for that?"


After my friends and I laughed at his ridiculousness, I privately took great pleasure in the fact that I held myself back from retorting that maybe we weren't smart enough for sarcasm, but we sure as HELL know that you don't end a statement with a question mark.

D never told me that dating was this...this...weird. I hope it gets better.

Hey! It's me! ME! You remember -that ONE girl! (OR - A Bap Story)

*sigh*

Honestly, I don't know why I let things go so far. I mean, this is my BLOG, FGS! Everyone else that I know that has a blog uses it regularly. And to the betterment of mankind. And to make Earth a more better place to live.

Not me. I just use mine to make sure that I can post cheesy comments on all of those humanitarian blog sites. It's like having a homebase - one that I don't live at.

(Huh. That is a great description of my house! I use it as homebase, but I don't live here. And I digress. Just like ole times, ah? :))

I have so many things to tell you about, but first things first. And one thing at a time. That is my game plan, anyway.

Guess what??! (No...I didn't get a speeding ticket. Not in this story. Stay tuned if you want to hear a funny story on THAT particular subject.)

I got into a real life accident in Littleton! Yep. All by myself. I was looking down at my phone in my lap contemplating what smartmouth thing I was going to text my boyfriend about how ridiculous it was that I was having to go pick up his son from football practice AND then go pick up son's best friend for a sleepover AND then try to figure out how to keep them all entertained while boyfriend continued working and making me waste MY day off and how I was going to put all of that in one little sentence without using shorthand because you know how I hate text shorthand and think that it is lowbrow and kind of creepy because that is what all the creepos use when they are trying to hit on you and get you to send topless pictures of yourself on Yahoo...when WHAM! I let my foot off of the brake to follow the car in front of me through the green light (which I saw out of the corner of my eye, by the way) and then. She. Stopped. And I hit her. Not very hard, mind you...more like a tap. (Not a soft tap, maybe more like a rap. Between a rap and a bam. A bap. I BAPPED her.)

I put my car in park, grabbed up my phone that I suddenly didn't feel like texting on anymore, and walked like a man going to his hanging in the direction of the car I had violated. (Bapped.)

"Are you okay???", I asked the lady inside. "I have the paramedics coming", she moaned, "I had a stroke last year and I will need to be checked out".

Oh. A stroke. Well, THAT sucks. What can you say past news like that? Bring on the ambulance!

And bring on they did. Two ambulances. Two firetrucks. Two state troopers. One Arapahoe Sheriff. A whole lane full of red and blue and orange lights to alert everyone else in the state of CO that I had rearended this lady in the merge-on-to-c470-lane. Oh. My. Heavens.

The EMT's hauled the lady off on a stretcher while the troopers and sheriff inspected my insurance paperwork and eyeballed for damage on our vehicles. Which there was none of. None. There was NO damage from our little Bap.

The EMT's came back to my car to let me know that everything was just fiiiiine with the lady, and not to worry one little bit. The CO State Trooper teased me about my bald tires (bald from racing back and forth to see boyfriend!) and the Arapahoe Sheriff regaled me with stories of accidents he had seen in just this same area - some of them horrific! The Firemen just winked as they walked by...no, they didn't. But they did wave and smile. I was the one doing the winking. No - I didn't either.

Everything was right as rain until it came time for the final paperwork. (DumdumDUMMMMM!) Because there was an ambulance involved and I had rearended the poor lady, I got a ticket for Careless Driving Resulting in Bodily Injury. And because I am a poverty-stricken-single-mother-of-three, I didn't have proper tags on my car. Ugh.

Those combined charges: A court appearance.

The poor lady's charge to the respective insurance companies: Extensive head and neck injuries and a totaled car due to a massive collision from behind.

FML.

(to be continued)

The Holy Six-Pack

I am not a blasphemous person.

I am a preacher's daughter. My mother, although well versed in how to destroy a haughty, holier-than-thou evangelist using the Holy Bible as a Two-Edged Sword, taught me to to have reverence and respect for my God.

I was raised nondenominational charismatic (which has since become a denomination. Crazy huh?). D is Catholic. His ex, the Beauty Queen converted to Catholicism, his mom and dad and brother are Catholic - hell, his whole childhood town in Kansas is Catholic. I defer out of sheer outnumberedness. And also because I don't really care what denomination a congregation is. My God is still there.

We usually go to Mass with his children on the Sundays that I have to take my children to their father's house. I drive like a bat out of hell to make it on time, fully dressed and ready to attend Mass.

Well, at least my outer clothes are appropriate for Mass...my underclothes are anticipating a whole different scenario. But I digress.

Invariably, it has been a whole week to ten days since I have last had any physical contact by the time I get there, so I am a bit starved. Okay - a lot starved! Sometimes I am afraid people can hear my body beg them to touch me. And at Mass, this is inappropriate behavior. Also, it is inappropriate thinking. Not that it is appropriate behavior or thinking at the supermarket, either, but you know what I mean.

During the communion that I am not allowed to partake in (because I am not Catholic), I found my mind wandering and my eyes roving through the congregation. What a wonderful cross-section of humanity a church is!
Trying to keep my thoughts pure and my body from shouting, I focused on family structures and the recognizable dynamics of proper two parent/wonderful children units.

I swear I wasn't looking at the Tall Smoldering Dark and Handsome with the bicep tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. I promise that I wasn't gazing back into BlueEyed, CleanCut, All American's steady gaze. I was at Mass with my boyfriend and his children for gawds sake! LITERALLY!

Directing my point of view back to the pulpit and pageantry was a difficult and necessary task - and also where I decided that I could never, ever enter a confession booth, because the penalty for my next thought would surely be too high.

As I glanced up at the Statue of Christ on His Cross, I heard myself muse,"Huh. Wow. Those are some great abs. I didn't even know He worked out..."

Please don't be angry with me, friends - blasphemy and disrespect was not my intent.

As punishment, God did not allow me to have any alone time with D whatsoever for the entire night, and here I am on Monday. Alone. Skin starving. Body shouting. And doing penance as dutifully as I can.

C is for Control. Issues.

It was never a serious contemplation on my part, just a family joke. Mom has control issues, hahaha...humor her and she will be fine! Yeah- well I guess the joke is on me - and really not all that funny.

It all started becoming glaringly apparent last night at my daughter's award ceremony. A fantastic accomplishment on her part for sure, but for some reason I could not get into the happy, proud mommy mood. The child's phone was blinging with text messages even after I told her to turn it off, and when she was speaking to her friends and their parents her voice was two pitches higher than normal and two levels louder, and her diction sounded something very akin to baby talk - something that occurs when she spends too much time with other giggly teenage girls. Not only that, but she had settled the top half of her torso back so that it looked like she was leading her whole body with her pelvis - I know it is because she is a foot taller than her friends, but it drives me nuts, and normally she is proud to be as tall as she is. Needless to say, I came off mean, frumpy and grumpy as I tried to modify all of these things at once. Mean mommy.

Then there was my husband who was driving me NUTS! As we stood in line for afterprogramcookies he lost his mind and said to me,"If you love me you will just grab me one." WHAT?! If I love you? For some reason that really struck me as odd and manipulative. And then he did this move that raises my blood pressure - this move consists of him turning his head to the side and winking at me while baring his teeth in what is supposed to be a coercive smile while he gives me a sarcastic thumbs up. When he does that I want to smack him. Hard. Right in the head. And then rip that thumb off.

It ruined my whole night. I could not enjoy either one of them because their actions were so irritating and I couldn't make them STOP! I did, however, enjoy my boys - I can still control them it seems.

I am off to find out what psychological indicators belong to the mean, controlling mommy. When I look at this logically I understand that I will be perfectly happy when my happiness is not affected by other people's actions.

Or hand motions.

Small Child Chattering

Concert season is winding up again...not that there weren't any great ones this winter. One really fun one was Agent Sparks/Halifax/Hoobastank. (the pic is Halifax - I love that picture!) Nights like that - the friendship, the atmosphere, the ambiance and crazy circumstances - are difficult to top or even come close to recreating. But I am going to give it my very best shot in the next couple of months! HA!

As I was going through my email this morning, I was listening to my children interact with each other. "I love my teacher," the middlest son tells the youngest. "Your teacher is a camel," the youngest tells the middlest. Which makes the middlest cry. And then come running to me. "IS your teacher a camel?" I ask the child. "No...." he sobs. "Then don't WORRY about what your brother says!" I wisely intone. And then shoot the youngest a dirty look while adding, "Don't call your brother's teacher a camel."

Nobody told me I would be saying things like this when I was 37. I think I should have had some sort of warning. Or training. Or pharmaceuticals.

Have a great day all!
;)t

POTUS is IN the House - (no pictures please)

You are NOT going to believe what I got to do today. I got to see the President of the United States of America.

That's right - I was rubbing elbows with Secret Service. I was selling hot coffee and bottled water and fruit to Members of Congress. I was fetching Mountain Dew for PAC members, and popping popcorn for Pollsters and National News Crews.

I enjoyed watching all of our local Police Force and Fire Fighters and Paramedics act like they were somehow granted Secret Service Status because they were in charge of herding the locals around. I wanted to remind them that after the President left they would have to deal with all of the locals they had ticked off while they played bigshots for a few hours.

I loved watching CBS setting up their site to broadcast from, the newscasters looking around in amazement at the primitiveness of their current location. Okay. I didn't love that. I was embarrased.

Although I am not proud of Dubya - in fact, I am rather ashamed that I ever trusted him with my vote, it was amazing to see the sociological experiment of a political rally. I had goosebumps and a lump in my throat when his helicopter landed...and the hair on my arms stood on end when he walked into the arena. The whole event of his arrival was so well timed and choreographed...very moving. I wonder how I would have felt if he was someone I still respected?

Did I get pictures, you ask? Well. Funny story. I HAD the camera...got it through security just fine, didn't drop it even once, and located a secure and lockable cabinet to keep it in while we worked. When the time came to take pictures of the crowd gathering and the local politicians doing their stumping, I was able to find the very best spot in the facility. Cool, huh?

Yeah. If I had remembered to get the battery off the charger and place it in the camera before I left the house, THAT would have been very cool.

Oh well. Next time.
;)

Tricksy Treats, Eggings, Leggings, and Musicians

...So this is what it looks like to go Trick or Treating with the big kids. HA!


Had so much fun that night. I took the boys around the neighborhood and let them revel in our fellow blockster's attention, and grab at all that candy that I hide every year as SOON as we walk back in the door.

But I am not gonna lie - I was secretly glad that it was below freezing that night, because I desperately wanted to get on the road to Fort Collins, and "real cold" meant the boys would want to go home sooner. Neil and I had tix to see Motorhome, Shanti Groove and White Water Ramble PLUS, we had the naughtiest costumes I have ever dared to try on much less wear in public AND the show started at 8:00.

I got dressed, did my makeup, had Jer check me out for good measure, called Niel to let her know I was on my way - and made sure I had plenty of gas for the occasion. The camera plus tripod was tucked in the back for safe keeping.

What I didn't have was a charged up cell phone, so I decided to charge it in the car. One hard braking at a changing light and my phone went shooting off the seat onto the floorboard. Being resourceful, I hauled it back up by the cord, slid it into my lap, and prepared to call home to report my excellent travel skills as I was several minutes ahead of expected arrival.

Only - the antenna of the phone had somehow speared through a few of the holes in my fishnet stockings. I couldn't get the phone off of my lap. Finding myself unable to drive while I unsuccesfully tried to free my phone, I pulled into a parking lot of a large electronics facility. I unscrewed the antenna, twirled it around to loosen it up (that tightened the knots, by the way),tried to slide the knots OVER the antenna,
and fussed and fidgeted my way into a general hissy fit.

That is when security pulled in behind me. No - he didn't help me. No - he didn't laugh at me. Just before he got out of his car I PULLED the antenna THROUGH my stockings, ripping the threads and leaving a nice hole right on the front of my leg.
Crying a little and trying to smile, I waved at him and drove on my way.

Try telling your friends you are late for a party because you got your phone stuck in your fishnet stockings. There is something unbelievable about that. Oh well.

Downtown Fort Collins is a hoot - hippies, college students, yuppies, guppies and bums all in one little microcosm of the universe. Strangely, hoodlums are also attracted to downtown...and one egged me as his car sped by. I know he was aiming for my car, but I walked right into it. Fortunately for me, it bounced off my biker jacket and splatted on the street. That was pretty cool. Cool and random. Whatever.

The concert was GREAT! Motorhome was a pretty crazy, yet enjoyable jam band. Shanti Groove was exceptionally entertaining that night - and of course WhiteWater Ramble made every single soul in the place dance like idiots. Yes. Even me.

The only uncool part? Waiting in line for 20 minutes a pop just to get a drink. I drank beer so that I could stay relatively sober and not blow my quit (which I haven't yet - going on 13 days), but those silly bartenders would serve every guy around me and ignore Niel and I just because we were girls and potentially lower tippers than the men. (OBviously, they didn't know how very well we tip. And yet that night, I became a very low tipper.) Some slimeball snaked his way in beside me JUST as one of the wenches was coming to get my drink order - and so I started making a scene about how "HEY! This guy is CUTTING! CUTTTTTING!!!" I sounded like I was two years old.

I am ashamed of that moment. And noone really cared about that guy cutting except for me. Ugh.

But - I did not try to fight him OR knock him down. I am making progress.



(that is my friend and Niel's Man Howie standing on his bass while playing - he amazes me...)

Bullets for Pondering

I am going to bulletize this because I am in the middle of scrubbing toilets, cleaning up messes from my 7 year old who ate too much candy at the neighbor's house, and putting away laundry.

Here are some things I want you to write on your heart:

• When going to a different city to meet up with a group of people you only know a couple of, you should know the address of where you are going. And google a map of it, too.
• When going to a different city to meet up with a group of people - no matter how many you know already, you should make sure to have plenty of gas in your tank.
• When you are only seven days into quitting smoking, you should not fight with your spouse about going to a different city to meet up with a group of people you only know a couple of.
• When going to the bathroom, don't hang your camera on the hook of the bathroom stall. It will fall. And break.
• When going out, don't leave your children with the responsible people across the street. They will take your sweet, unsugared babies to Halloween Parties and screw them all up on candy.
  
• Don't make funny sounds while cleaning up after your sugarcracked out babies - it only makes them make more messes.
• And above all, don't get angry and say things to your spouse and co-parent that you can never take back.
  

This concludes my bulletizing. I hope you will be able to apply at least one thing to your own life, or my whole experience has been a waste...;)

Oh, the Great Pumpkin is Coming!

The Pumpkin Patch - SO much fun. Beautiful sunny day, crisp Autumn air, frolicking children and great friends. And no. There was not ONE pub even remotely close to me - so you know it was just that great all by itself!

Last year I realized that I am somewhat of a closet redneck (as much as that makes me want to vomit) because the one thing that draws my attention and keeps it for long periods of time is the Punkin'Chunker.

I LOVE the PunkinChunker! Guess what it do? It chunks punkin's cleeeeeaaaar across the countryside.

Yeah. See? Told you I had a closet redneck in me.





But seriously - check that out! It sounds like a cannon, and then it feels like nailing the greatest drive ever down the green...'cause noone sees the object land. Until you finally give up looking for it and then - wham! It hits the ground and smashes all over the place.

I want one. And I am ashamed of myself.

In other news: Because I am a mommy/wife, I do not get to take an uninterrupted shower. I have seen other women blog about this, and heard many a woman whine about it - so I have just accepted it as part of the deal.

Yesterday during my shower (right at the lather/rinse part) my middle child started banging on the door, hollering at the top of his lungs about how my youngest was using the "f" word.

Me: *Sigh* What are you yelling about?!
Jeremy: Jory is saying the "F" word!
Me: What? I don't understand you. Send your brother here.
Jory: What, mom?
Me: Are you saying the "F" word? Do you need me to wash your mouth out with soap?
Jory: No, Ma'am. I am only saying "F*cking"... not the really bad "Freakin''' word!

Me: Oh...oh. Well. Hmmm. Don't say that either, okay? But go tell your dad about this first before you stop saying it forever.



Here he is picking up a pumpkin that weighs 4/5 as much as he does. I know. He LOOKS innocent anyway.

And don't forget this: I got my bracelet today for three days of no smoking. What do you think I should get for 3 WEEKS of no smoking? Yeah, I thought I should get a trip to Greece, too. Glad we think alike.
;)t

Mercy Fall...

Oh, man.

I mean - Oh, MY man.

'Twas the strangest thing...MyGuy has been bugging me for the past 18 months to go see my doctor and tell him about all of the changes I have made in my life, and to maybe find out why I have been so erratic and (yes) a little out of control. Obviously, I took that very personally - and not very graciously, either. He went as far as to tape a questionnaire he found in the newspaper on my computer monitor. The large print promised it would help a person know if there was a possibility that they needed to be treated for bipolarism.

Now, everyone I know that has taken the little quiz has scored in the affirmative to requiring the medication being peddled. Needless to say, I was not only mad - I was hurt. I told him it was him making me crazy by drowning me in a life of monotony. I told him he was dying a slow death and killing me with him!

MyGuy apparently took the quiz as well and did not score well on the mental health side.

I just found out a couple of weeks ago that he went to his doctor soon after that - and came home with some medication.

Today he is a changed man - and I mean that in every sense of the word. Was he depressed? Unbelievably so. Did I make that easier with my vagrant lifestyle? No. I am sorry, MyGuy...

Although he will not be a longtermpillpopper, I am so happy that he is taking care of himself. I know that this treatment is just to give him a leg up and I am grateful that he will have that chance. He is happy, attentive, hopeful, balanced, and aware. He is even making future plans again - plans for fun and not failure. The way he is interacting with our children is magical and everything I wanted in a co-parent. The way he is treating me is...amazing. And wonderful. And healing, even.

And oh! The TV? Yeah...it is off. For hours at a time. Public Service will be very confused when they review our account.

A Bit Myopic...

The Banner Bistro Staff

I can't see without my glasses or my contacts. Oh, I am not blind...I just see fuzz around all objects and I definitely can't read anything, including the clock on my husband's side of the bed. (I am not allowed to have a clock on my side of the bed because I hit snooze before I actually wake up. Makes for bad, late days, that habit.)

Yesterday I practiced my normal routine of showering, lotioning and then preparing to put in my contacts. Only - I couldn't find the lens-holding case ANYwhere. I looked on the floor. Behind the toilet. In the bathroom trash. In all the drawers. Under the sink. Branching out into the living room, I looked under the buffet. The china cabinet. The entertainment armoir. The couch and chair. I begged the children to PLEASE tell mommy if they were just playing a joke and they had my contacts secreted away some place. I tried to bribe the cat ( she likes to steal objects and bat them around into irretrievable places, like under the oven...or J's shoes...ewww) to show me where she put them. I searched the kitchen, my bedroom, I even questioned my sanity (Do I now walk in my sleep and steal my own contacts?), I called my husband at work...they were just nowhere. NOwhere! Which meant I had to wear my glasses to work.

My staff is well aware that when I wear my glasses to work it usually means that I have been out all night, and cannot get my eyeball to accept any foreign objects. They also know that their day will be tense as my grouchiness tends to be all-enveloping. I had a difficult time convincing them that my glasses were not an indication of a stressfull day ahead. Especially because I felt very stressed! WHERE were my contacts?!

Drew suggested I had a poltergiest. I decided that if that were indeed the case, after a call to my eye doctor I would also call a realtor. I don't need a playful ghost stealing my sh*t!

Jerry suggested that the cat knocked them into the toilet, and one of the kids flushed them down. I thought that was quite a long shot. Flushing toilets is not one of the kids' strong points.

Anne just nodded and smiled knowingly and said, "By this time tomorrow, you will have found them and all will be well." That gave me the shivers...she seemed so confident. And spooky.

I resumed the hunt when I got home from work, loudly complaining about my family's obvious lack of concern that I COULD NOT FIND MY CONTACTS! Sighing condescendingly, Jerry told me to recount word for word what I had done the night before. (Regarding my lenses, of course...the children were listening...)

• I finished off my glass of wine.
• poured a little more wine.
• Washed my hands.
• Took out my lenses.
• Put them in their holding case.
• Got out my glasses case - removed my glasses.
• Sipped my wine.
  
• Placed glasses on my face, and put contacts...in...my...glasses....case....ohmygawd.

Yep. Since I had never had a reason to put my spectacles away for the day, I never even opened up the case, and of course, when I ran into the bathroom to check, there were my contacts nestled ohsolovingly in the silk lining where my glasses usually rest.

Anne was right, btw... and that is still spooky.

I am having more wine right now - I might have another funny story to tell you tomorrow if all goes according to preset trending.

Honey, I'm Home...

Wow...what a vacation!

I wanted to start off telling you about Airports and Airplanes. Mostly because I am so fascinated with how people miss their flights and what that must do to your nervous system. Not to mention your wallet.

This is what the sky looked like on the way TO the Airport last week, by the way. (If you are wondering why I am capitalizing the two words starting with Air, it is simply because I have learned that Airports and Airplanes must be shown huuuge respect in order for everything to go smoothly. Don't p*ss off the Air-words.)

Because we fly jetBlue, our flights back East are always very late at night. Because my husband usually drops us off at the Airport, we have to go very early so he can get home and get to bed at a decent hour. Which leaves us in the wind for a few enjoyable hours - hours spent shopping, eating, reading, and people watching. Oh. And getting through Security. (Another word to capitalize...)

Now remember, I have three children to entertain: this means going up and down the escalator one million times, TCBY at an ungodly hour, pleas for Gatorade and many trips to the potty. Although we got through security just fine and got to our concourse just fine and checked in our luggage just fine - I was completely frazzled when we learned that our flight was an hour behind schedule. Soooo...I decided that I would do a very logical thing: I would go have a smoke. I would simply go back out the way I came and it would kill a few minutes and save the children from certain death-by-strangulation. Besides, it would be several hours before I could afford myself that luxury again.

My time outside was wonderful. And then I got a txt from my daughter: The plane had arrived after all, and they would be boarding in 20 minutes. (Here is where I learn how stressful it is to be late for a flight.) The mad dash back inside must have been comical, because I got pulled out of line in security and shown to my own private screener...ohmygawd.

First thing she asks me is, "Have you been here before?".

I replied that I had, but had foolishly stepped outside for a smoke and needed to pass through quickly if possible. Smiling, (evil-like, now that I look back on it) she told me to enter this small plexi-glass booth and stand very still. Which I did. And then she SHOT me with SEVERAL puffs of rapid fire air...I swear I thought I had been killed. I screamed of course, and hit the ground which is exactly what you are supposed to do when being shot.

Laughingly, (smirking, really) the Security Demon told me to come on out...to which I shrieked something like,"You really should tell a body before you do something like that!".

"Dear, you told me you had been here before!" she giggled.

I tried hard not to mumble and pee my pants simultaneously while explaining that I had been through the NICE Security Line - the only crime I had committed to deserve this was going out for a smoke! To which she replied, "Guess you won't do THAT again, huh?". Ugh.

Needless to say, it was some shaky legs that carried me back to the terminal where I had just enough time to take the kids potty once more, and then collapse on our seats in the Airplane. Which was pretty close to departing on time...Until the steward noticed that the two guys DIRECTLY behind me were almost unconscious. (Apparently, they went to the bar instead of going out for a smoke.)

Deciding that it was too dangerous to leave the drunkards in the aisle reserved for quick escape in case of Aircraft Malfunction, they asked them to switch seats with two lovely ladies up front. And switch they did. Which should have fixed everything. Except for the ladies popped right back up again, demanding their original seats back. Unbeknownst to all, the gentlemen had vomited on the floor...and the seats...and on the Airsick Bag. So of course, the Airline Staff asked them to exit the Airplane and take a later flight when they were sure to feel much better. So, leave they did...but not before assaulting the First Officer on their way off the plane! Whaaa?!

It seems that assault on an Airplane is a Federal Offense - requiring a visit from the FBI or the CIA or whoever it is that takes 1 1/2 hours to arrive in their unmarked cars to haul drunk b*stards to the pokey.

Our Airplane left the tarmac three hours later than planned. I could have smoked a whole damn pack by then.

Oh, by the way... I tried the whole leave-the-terminal-and-brave-Security-again-to-have-a-smoke in New York on the way home, too. With much calmer results. Our plane was 15 minutes early arriving home.

God Bless Airplanes and Airports and Security. And also the FBI/CIA/IRS/whoever it is...

We're Not In Kansas Anymore...

At my little Bistro, alot of money changes hands everyday and I am always on the lookout for counterfeit bills. I find myself a little suspicious of the family that comes in two or three times in one day with a fresh $100.00 bill every time they pay a $13.00 (or so) ticket...claiming that to be the smallest denomination they have, although I know I have given them at least 6 $20's in the previous hours. 'Tis not my place to search the wallets and purses, but I just think that scenario is a little unlikely! I have been known to miss, however, a Canadian penny or some other coin from a random country.

Today I pulled a complete bonehead.

While counting the quarters and fussing to myself about having no $1's and $5's thanks to TheOneHundredDollarBill Family, I came across an odd and unfamiliar coin. Pulling at my hair a little and gesturing wildly with my other hand, I moaned,"Now, WHO took the coin from Kansas?!!!"

Oh, trust me. There are many, many more terrimoments. Just. Like. That.

Aaargh! It finally happened...I cleaned house on Friday Night. OMG. Friday Night. I cleaned...I feel sick to my stomach saying that. Friday Night is sacred, isn't it? 'Tis the night you get together with your friends after work for a couple 'o cold ones, then get dropped off at home to change your clothes to meet up with that special someone for a nice dinner, go back home, change your clothes again to go dancing, then cap it off with a nice breakfast at Perkins if the mood does not strike to have breakfast in bed! Isn't that how it goes?

I cleaned house. Ugh.

On a high note, I got to spend some time with some new music. I want to yell to everyone at the top of my lungs: you must go buy you some GhostMachine! (More about that in a minute.) I also listened to Wolfmother which I think is gonna be a constant in my life, and my new Dropping Daylight CD which my middle son now knows every lyric to. And alternately plays the guitar or drums, depending on the availability of a flat surface. He has talent, I am sure of it! *I say as his mother...*

I got myself in alot of hot water this week at work. I know nothing of institutional workings or corporate trappings...I have been employed by locally owned restaurants or businesses for my whole adult life. This being said, I am learning slowly what kind of grease makes the wheels turn in order to get things done the way you want. Connections, baby! Of which I made a wrong one.
All I wanted was a flat screen for my 'puter, and the guy who was installing them in priority order promised that he could get me one ASAP. He made some calls, some lady comes to my desk, deems it incredibly debilitating and ergonomically incorrect, and writes a report stating I need a flatscreen immediately. Cool. Except then the report goes to occupational health - they in turn fire off a letter to my department leader demanding a complete new workstation. At my departments expense. My boss was LIVID! That afternoon was quite rough in my little world, but I accepted responsibility like a champ. Apparently, my capitulation to his workover made him feel bad 'cause when I arrived at work the next morning, on my desk were two new CD's...and a newly installed keyboard tray. No, no flat screen, but the aforementioned GhostMachine is awesome. By the way, the guy that promised me the goods "has been removed from his position" for over three weeks now. He must have made LOTS of vows that he could not keep...and I have in the meantime formed some connections that will not be so detrimental.

Aaaack! One of the referring pages of a visitor of mine came to my blog by googling "pregnant fetish"!

What the h*ll do I do with THAT?!