Grad School?

Wow, I'm pricing Grad schools and all I have to say is, "Shazam!" Geeze, it looks like Grad school will cost me my left arm AND my right leg. Who needs them anyway...

Escape from Jury Duty

So I had jury duty this week and found a great way to be “excused” from duty. After I was chosen by the clerk and walked up and into the jury box I started thinking, “Do I really want to spend the next 2 weeks here when I could be at home making finger puppets of all my friends and family and acting out my life’s dramas?”
My inner voice screamed “No, no, no, no I must escape!” I had to think fast. I quickly came up with a plan, a clever master plan if you will.
Before the judge or attorneys could say anything, I jumped up pointed an accusing finger at the defense attorney and screamed, “You sir are a fool and a liar!”
I was then “excused” from duty. Easy breeze lemon squeezy. They even were nice enough to walk me to my car. I guess they were worried about my safety; such nice people.
So if you too are called to serve, just remember my little story and how I escaped from Jury duty.

what's going on with my toes?

I’m not sure when this happened or how it happened, but my toes are no longer round and toe shaped but are now little geometrical shapes. The sides are flat and slope at weird angles—kinda like perfect little geometric parallelogram's. I have to know, what in the hell happened? Was it my shoes, were my little piggy’s smushed and deformed by my attractive footwear? I curse my cute shoes if they are to blame… Maybe I should invest in some yoga toes (you must have seen the ads too in the back of Cosmo and Modern American Woman) or maybe I’ll just walk and run around bare foot. I know I need shoes to get into stores, so maybe I could paint shoes on my feet, maybe give myself a nice pair of black high tops (with the Chuck Taylor logo on my ankle) or paint on orange flip flops. Now if I can just make the flip flop smacking sound, it’d be sooo believable, I think I could pull it off...

Becoming a High Maintenance Woman

I had my first facial on Tuesday. Let me just say, “Ahhh…” Wow, two hours of fragrant lotions and creams massaged into my face, scalp, neck, shoulders, arms and hands. It was Heaven. I was so relaxed I floated out of the salon a frightening ugly mess.
During most of the facial they had warm steam aimed directly at my head. I have curly hair, so steam is not my friend. It frizzed my hair. I mean really frizzed my hair. Remember Rosanna Rosanna Danna? Now you got the image, only blond. In addition to the frizz my scalp was messaged with peppermint oil. Felt wonderful, but didn’t help the frizz situation any. I got a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror and almost screamed.
Picture this, big stupid grin on my shinny pink face, my scalp and the first 3 inches of my blond hair was black and wet with oil, the other 5 inches of blond hair was pure tangled frizz which was standing straight out. Kind of a cross between Bride of Frankenstein and a slicked back geek. I had a very interesting look going.
Am I going to get another facial? You bet I am, got one scheduled for June. I could so easily become a high maintenance woman. I think I need a massage…

The Mystery of Elusive Recycler is Solved!!

The mystery of the elusive is recycler solved. Two weeks ago I noticed someone was pulling cardboard out of the garbage can and had started a bag for recycling. “OK, who’s the recycler?” I demanded. As usual, my family gave me “The innocent look” which I’ve come to recognize. It’s the same look I got when I asked them, “Ok, who cut off the cats whiskers?” and my favorite, “Who painted the bathroom walls in toothpaste?”
I was on the case, the case of the mystery recycler. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as green as the next person, but…ok you got me. I only recycle pop cans, and that’s because I get money out of the deal. We live in the country and have to drive our recycling into town and drop them off ourselves. Bags of cardboard, cans, plastic bottles, glass bottles and newspaper pile up. I live in a small house—with 5 other people, and the bags take up so much space. I know I’m whining and sounding defensive, so I’ll go on with my story.
Two weeks ago, someone started recycling. Who could be so responsible? The mystery grows because no one will claim responsibility.
I caught the person yesterday…in the act no less!
Drum roll please…it’s my seven year old son, Tom. The mystery is solved, and now I'll have to shut my mouth and just take the damn bags of recycling into town.

Pedicure Etiquette

I had my first pedicure yesterday. How I could have made it 40 years without experiencing the beautiful joy of a pedicure is a mystery. Never having had one before, I wasn’t aware that there are rules, procedures and etiquette for having a pedicure. I’ll now share a list of newly learned tips:
-Shave your legs before you get a pedicure—it’s just not polite (and kinda icky) to give someone rug burns off your leg hair stubble
-Don’t wave your foot around in the air to get a better look at the toe nail polish—nobody likes getting kicked in the face
-Don’t get paranoid when the employees are talking to each other in Vietnamese, they probably aren’t talking about you, unless you just kicked one in the face
-Don’t skate around the salon in the paper flip-flops shoes going, “woo woo, chugga chugga coo coo”
-Skinny jeans are a bad choice to wear when you are getting a pedicure—your pants will only roll up so far
-Be prepared to bite your lip when your feet are exfoliated—it will tickle something fierce and giggling, “teehee” will just make you sound like a lunatic
-You seem cheap if you don’t tip the manicurist, and fuzzy candy from the bottom of your purse doesn’t count
-When the manicurist grabs your shoes and purse they are just moving them for you, so yelling, and “Stop thief!” is very bad, don’t ask me how I know
-Yelling “Ouch!” every time the manicurist touches a toe nail is only funny for the first 4 or 5 times
-It’s probably not a good idea to bring a rubber ducky or toy boat for the foot soak tub, toys are frowned on in nail salons
-Don’t wait until your toe nails are 4 inches long, just to give them something to work with
-Don’t ask the manicurist, “So I hear people who work with feet have a thing for feet, you don’t want to suck on my toes or anything do ya?"
Next week I’m going for my first facial, I’ll let you know how it goes.

More Drama of the Boy Who Farted on Tess...

There is more drama with the boy who farted on Tess in class. A bit of history about the story. Tess is five years old and in Kindergarten and one day in class a boy picked up his butt, put it on my daughter's leg and farted on her. She wasn’t especially offended by this; after all she has 3 older brothers. The teacher was horrified, Max and I laughed a bit over it and I though the story was over. Well, the story gets better. The next day after Tess told us Markus farted on her in class, her older brother Tom, who is seven, went and talked to Tess’ teacher. He said, “Ms. S., we need to talk about a boy in your class…” He stated that he was worried about this boy and wanted to make sure she was aware of what was going on. The farting boy has since left Tess alone, but I’ll keep you informed if there are any new details breaking…

Happy Valentine's Day From Me To You!

Happy Valentines's Day from me to you. Some families make heart shaped meatloaf, or give candy for Valentine's day, my family took pictures of ourselves and turned the pictures into zombies pictures. All to celebrate the beauty of that special day. I now know what I would look like as a zombie, and I have the proof that my family is just a little off...

The Escaping Swim Trunks

Last week my family did a weekend at a water park. February is a good month to visit a water park, it’s dreary out and everyone has cabin fever. The whole family went, Max, my hubby, who has a rule not to go swimming unless he’s on fire—was seen in swim trucks and having fun in the pool with Leif, my fourteen year old video game junky. Oscar, my as thin as a rail ten year old, Tom, the mischief maker, is six and sweet Tess is four. A good time was had by all, even though Oscar’s swim trunks almost got away.
I was floating on the “lazy river” on an inner tube with Oscar and he decided to slide off and float behind the inner tube. Just as he slipped off the raft, he looked up at me, his eyes got huge and he squeaked, “Mom…my swim trunks! Help, they’re being pulled off!” I looked over the side of the inner tube to check and sure enough, the strong current had pulled off his trunks and they were around his ankles and threatening to escape completely. I reached into the lazy river (which isn’t as lazy as the name suggests) grabbed him by the armpit and tried to pull him back up onto the inner tube while using my other arm to reach down and grab the escaping trunks and pull both boy and shorts back up and onto the inner tube. I had a difficult time helping him because both Oscar and I were laughing too hard. The struggle caused us to flip the inner tube over and we were dumped unceremoniously into the lazy river. We stood up (the water wasn’t very deep) fixed the situation with Oscars’s trunks and tied them tighter around his thin waist. Over all the mini vacation was fun, and defiantly a memorable trip.

Tube Snake Boogie

My van’s radio has a display that tells me the name of the song playing and who wrote it and I’ve just started to pay attention to the names of the songs and I’ve found something interesting. I’ve been singing songs wrong for years, especially ZZ Top. “Push”, is actually “Tush”, and “Two-Three Boogie” is actually “Tube Snake Boogie”. Well…that’s a totally different cogitation to the songs—much dirtier than my innocent and incorrect versions. I’ve come to the conclusion that ZZ Top are dirty old men, plain and simple. I’ve also started wondering what other songs am I singing wrong? Could “Excuse me while I kiss this guy” really be “Excuse me while I kiss the sky”? I must investigate this some more.

"He Farted On You? That Just Means He Likes You"

Last week Tess came home from school and complained about a boy in her kindergarten class farting on her. Yes, I said he farted on her. When Tess told us my hubby (God love him) commented to Tess, “That means he likes you Sweetie.” That was what I was thinking too, or that maybe she started it.
The story is cute so far but far from over. A couple of days later, a friend of mine who works in the school told me she overheard some kindergarten teachers talking about Tess and so she got in on the conversation to find out what they were saying. Tess’ teacher was horrified that a little boy in class backed up to Tess, parked his butt on her leg and farted on her in class. My friend’s reaction was beautiful. Laughing, she told the teachers, “Tess has three big brothers; she probably started it by farting on him first.”
Just another example of the joys of kids—they can keep you laughing.