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Monthly Archives: February 2011

Lysol Please

Every year I take a company required trip…

To Las Vegas.

 

And every year, I am reminded that I HATE this city.

Now…

I know that the entire city is not like the “strip”

But that is all I see.

Ergo.

 

 

Departing the plane, the first thing I hear:

Ping…. Ping….. ding…. Ping….

Ding ding ding

We have a winner.

You just won 100.00

Now you are down only 300.00

 

So these people are gambling right there at the gate.

Which means…

That you either cannot make it to baggage claim without your fix…

OR

You did not get enough during you stay.

And just have to throw away a bit more money…

Before your plane takes off in 25 minutes.

 

Whatever…

Gambling is just not my “thang”…

At all.

I work too hard for my money…

And am cheap.

So if you think you are getting even 10.00 from me…

To play blackjack…

You will have to pry it out of my cold dead hand.

 

I have forgotten the buzz of Vegas.

And how much I cannot stand it.

I just need to get to the hotel.

All will be good then.

Breathe Kelly!

 

“TAXI”

I am in.

Just wondering what icky soul was here before me.

As we are pulling out…

I ask:
“Do you take American Express”

Which?

Resulted in the driver nearly standing on the brake

And propelling me in to the germ infested seat in front of me

Leaving the stained residue of my Nars Orgasm Lip Gloss

As a reminder to the next passenger

Never to repeat such a heinous question.

 

My God!  You would have thought I asked the guy to exchange internal organs or something.

“Ma’am…No! Only Cash.  I stop quick so you can get out now if you don’t have cash”

What in the hell!

 

I have arrived at the hotel…

It is a very nice one, for that I am thankful.

But even at the front desk, I am shocked and wondering…

Why does everyone here look like a hooker?

Oh yea…

They ARE hookers.

 

My colleague, whom I see upon check-in, says the term is now escort.

Escort?

For real?

I don’t know…maybe they are a bit more classy in their faux white fur and bronze sequin tube tops

But Escort?

Splitting hairs my friend.

 

Perhaps I am spoiled because I live in Denver but…

The smoke is stifling.

I mean knock you down…

I need a mask right now…

STIFLING!

My contacts are shriveling up from the smoke…

And my hair is falling.

OMG …how much further?

 

And to get to our meeting room, I have to pass through the entire casino…

A 20 minute walk.

It is 11 a.m.

All the casino girls…

Have short skirts and very high heels…

I’m pretty sure at least three of them are dating Charlie Sheen    (EWWWWWW!)

 

 

 

I pass three bachelorette parties en route.

 

Each girl toting a yard of her favorite cocktail

 

And sporting a mock bridal veil.

 

Oh… and little else.

 

 

I can tell you with certainty…

if the planets ever do all align…

and I get married.

I would rather celebrate by camping in the bitter cold…

for a month…

without my hairdryer…

or mascara…

and with Ann Coulter..

than have a bachelorette party in Vegas.

 

Just about there…

To our conference room

Wondering how many of our guys we lost in transmit.

“Kelly… I couldn’t help it….

Simone said this table was a sure thing”

 

I have found our room.

The team is here.

Clad in khakis and button downs.

Who says techies aren’t trend setters?

 

I cannot help but chuckle.

About this little pod of normal…

Amid hooker heaven just outside the door.

And I think that this is day 1 of 4.

And I want to cry…

and go to my room to “de-skank” myself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on February 28, 2011 in Travel

 

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Bobbi’s Crayon

“Mommy?”

 

“Yes Honey?”

 

“You wan a see my picture?”

 

“Oh yes!”

 

“See?  I did my letters…

my name

See dat is an L

You know like in my name”

 

APPALLED! I am surprised to see near perfect lettering…

In a raised and creamy autumnal hue.

My heart stopping for a moment.

“Yes honey…

I do see”

 

I am locked on to her masterpiece before me…

Wanting to look away…

But unable to…

Like a Vulcan trance.

 

“I see…

I see…

I do see”

“And HONEY it would appear that you have run out of crayons”

“BECAUSE YOU WROTE YOUR NAME IN MY LIPSTICK!!!!

YOU WROTE YOUR NAME IN MY BOBBI BROWN LIPSTICK

MY GO TO LIPSTICK”

 

Ladies…

you know this anger…

the betrayal…

the panic over what in God’s name will adorn your lips tomorrow.

And ladies…

you also know…

Just how long it takes to craft the perfect lipstick shape…

So that it goes on flawlessly…

EVERY TIME.

 

And you know the shape of your lipstick says a lot about you…

It does.

Like I am a flat top.

Leave it people… Way too easy!

My lipstick shape

 

And flat top lipstick girls are:

  • To the point
  • High morals
  • Very dependable
  • Quick minded
  • Love challenges
  • Careful about appearances

 

I am totally serious about this.  It is like handwriting analysis but with lipstick.

They use it all the time on CSI Little Rock or whatever city they are spinning off this week.

 

If you do not believe me…check out this scientific evidence.

http://www.martinarmand.com/Lipstick_Shapes.html

 

And now my favorite pucker polish is but a concave nub.

 

On and on I go

“…and Landon! You know this very lipstick was one of In Style magazine’s top picks…

Did you KNOW that honey?”

Blah di blah di blah

 

OMG!!!  OMG!!!   OMG!!!

I have NO time in the next 10 days to even get to Nordstrom’s to get another one.

Arms flailing…

stuttering over words…

looking for the corkscrew…

And?

she is gone.

Landon has left…

In the middle of my important monologue.

 

Pad Pad Pad…

Here she comes.

“here you go Mommy…

You can have mine”

 

It is her watermelon smoothie Hello Kitty lip gloss.

There you have it.

That girl is so smart…

She foiled my rant.

 

So we both put on a little Hello Kitty…

(the sugar and unnatural products eroding my teeth by the second I am certain)

We told each other we looked pretty.

And went about our business.

 

But I?

am still out my favorite lipstick.

WAAAAA!

 
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Posted by on February 21, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Woman Found Crying In Basement

As a single parent…

As a parent…

As a human being…

I know we all have those days…

Where our head spins and we wonder how we survived.

Just happy to be at the end of the day

Wondering where it actually went…

But oh so happy to see it expire.

 

Kids are sleeping FINALLY.

 

I am downstairs washing what appears to have been generated by the Osmond  family.

We are separated by color/fabric, pre-treated and ready to go.

I am amazed at myself.

The kitchen is clean

dishwasher ready to go

Wine at my side

and this week’s Glee DVR’d and ready for viewing.

I am on FIRE tonight.

 

Fully expect a call from Martha congratulating me on Being Mom of The Day or something.

 

I be so sexy when I do laundry.

The whites are ready.

Soap in,  then fabric softener (likes em soft I do)

And bleach… little extra for the school uniform stains.

Shut…

Press press  press the buttons and START!

Swish! Swish!

Out Out you damn dirt.

Yea me!

 

I scan the rest of the laundry on the floor… just to see what is left.

Ah… whites next.

Hang on.    I am washing whites… I just put in the bleach…

 

S   H   I   T

S   H   I   T

ACKKKKKKKKKKK      WAAAAAA!

 

I just put bleach in a load of the darkest clothes I have.

OMG    OMG     OMG

ACCCCKKKK!

 

Trying to open the door…

But the HE3 system locks the door after 8 seconds.

(why is this locking thing necessary?  It is not as if my clothes are under nuclear attack.)

 

S   H   I  T

S   H   I  T

 

Pressing all the buttons.

Finally it is open..

 

That was about 48 seconds

I am sure they are okay.

 

As I open the door, water drips  on to the floor.

 

I take out the clothes, one at a time to survey the damage.

Brand new 4T brown leggings, now looking a bit like a small Palomino

4 black socks—one white now, one grey and two now like speckled pups.

Black INC wrap top that I wear every day over my yoga top.  RUINED!

Black Nike pants… now with a white stripe down the crotch… looking like Jay Leno’s hair.

Favorite black tank…now an ashen shade on one side.

This goes on for a few minutes.  I lose a total of 9 items.  God was nice to me on the remaining 6.

 

I cannot believe my stupidity… my Mommy exhaustion and Tasmanian devil like speed have caught up to me.   I collapse to the ground to steady myself.

And now leg is wet… in my brown Nike pants…

Because…

The water that dripped out of the washer?

I am now sitting in…

And?

It was not water…

But bleach.

And my remaining pair of NIKE pants…

I have  just destroyed.

 

ACKKKKK!     MOMMY!    HELP ME!!!!!!

WAAAA!        WAAAAAA!    WAAAAA!   Click to hear me.

 
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Posted by on February 16, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Word Up To Your Mama

I fully expect…

One day when I ask my daughter if she is wearing her listening ears..

She will just say Hell No.

Because it is just such a ludicrous question.

As if there were a separate set around …

Just for listening to me.

 

And the truth is.

She is so listening.

She is just not minding.

 

So she heard me today when:

I told her to stop putting stickers on the cat…

And when I asked her to stop jumping across the couch…

In MY 2 inch chocolate boots.

 

Therefore….

when I told her to stop running down the hall as she might get hurt…

And when she fell…

head first in to the doll stroller flipping it over and ending up with her feet straight up in the air.

I laughed.

Snorted

Squeeked

Mini-convulsed

Such that I strayed my her sister’s curls…

With water once in my mouth.

 

It WAS funny!No!  It was HYSTERICAL!

To see my insubordinate prima donna inverted.

 

But then she cried and said:

“Mommy dat not nice…

It not funny”

 

The hell it isn’t.

Finishing with her masterful pivot turn …

And forceful stomping out of the room…

Reminiscent of Jack on Will and Grace.

 

I?

Am sitting in a chair during this final performance…

Just trying to compose myself…

As I am doing now as I write this.

Trying my best to contain the snort…

Which keeps escaping even louder and more frequent.

And the tears are now streaming down my face.

I fear the laughter my cut off my breathing soon.

I have to lay my head on the table for laughter support.

Now I am slapping the table.

Because it was just that funny.

And Landon hears all this

This? She hears…nothing else I have told her you see.

And screams

“Mommy you da meanest Mommy ever”

“I  I  I  I  know honey….”

hahahahaha…..

“I  I   I…. know”

hahahahahaahah

snort

hahahahah

snort

spit

whiz

hahaha

 

It was like this.

 

After all this… you would think…

She would “listen” to me at bedtime,

With the humiliation of her involuntary headstand and all.

 

So last night after about 8 rounds of fighting bedtime,

I basically hold her down…

Issue my same commands of staying in bed.

Or else you lose

Belle & The Beast

And Rapunzel’s castle
(really anything Disney)

 

I was so angry I was really spitting my words out…

Spraying my freshly bathed daughter…

Which made her request a “big towel because you so spitty.”

 

So angry for all this fuss.

And?

Knowing the tasks ahead of me…

IF…

She ever goes to bed.

 

So I finish.

And look at her…

So very sternly.

And she?

Laughs at me

Oh?

But she did.

 

I cannot believe this disobedience.

As I am leaving and explaining all of her losses,

Because she has gotten up so many times…

And laughed at my face…

She says:

“Mommy! Mommy… you need listen a me…

When the pee comes down…

I just has to get up and go”

 

Damn this toddler logic!

 
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Posted by on February 14, 2011 in Bedtime

 

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Shovel This!

When you are sick

And it snows 6 inches

Temps in single digits

Below freezing even one night

The snow becomes a thick sheet of ice

If you don’t shovel.

 

But when you are sick

And having dreams of hairy bugs

in your bed

having a picnic…

(weird I know)

You don’t care

And I didn’t

I said screw it

Everything about me hurt.

 

So today when my friend Sheila came to visit…

In her stiletto taupe above the knee boots…

She damn near killed herself trying to reach the front door.

 

Nice visit.

Hug Hug

And she has to go to the next stop.

 

She nears the front door and her pace slows…

Such that I near ’bout rear end her.

 

She says…

“Is there a way out to my car other than this….

Maybe your garage”

 

Ummmm

“well the garage is back there and …

you would have to walk in your stilettos down one of the busiest roads in Denver”

 

or…

I have been working on my nose-twitching…

Maybe I can just Bewitch you right on out to it.

 

So we compromise and she uses my snow boots to walk to her car…

Then meets me in the driveway for the switch.

 

I decide I should probably attempt some shoveling…

6 days post storm…

Before someone not so nice shows up.

 

Here we go.

Steps first…

People they are sheets of ice.

 

So trying with the show shovel.

Scoot scoot – come on buddy!   %*&$@@#

Not moving.

 

Okay well I will stand on the snow shovel

 

like you do with a regular shovel…

 

For force and depth.

 

 

 

 

 

ACCKKKK!   FALLING!

 

It’s like the pogo stick ejected me.

 

And now…

My snow shovel is a C…

Curled and useless.

 

DAMNIT

 

I figure I can break the ice with a hammer…

Yes that is it.

 

Tap Tap Tap

OMG

This is working.

 

The ice is breaking off in little pieces…

And isn’t that efficient!

But if you do get a big slab to break off…

Well good on you.

But it is heavy and you have to hurl each piece to the side.

 

Sigh!  Honest to God I tried.

 

Looking around I am reminded…

I have a corner lot.

And I am on the second step.

I?

Will be here until St.Patty’s Day.

 

Forget that #%$&*

 

 

 

Honestly?

 

 

This…

 

 

Is what it felt like.

 

 

 

 

So I take my C shovel to the trash…

Reckon that I did my best…

Make a cup of tea.

Over which I pray for sun…

And forgiving people…

With sensible footwear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on February 11, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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The Trailer

Robin Williams

whom I love

except he cheated on his wife with the babysitter

and he is a bit hairy for my taste

says:

“There’s no difference between a tornado an’ a divorce, in deh South.

Either way, someone’s losing a trailer

 

Which made me think of Mama.

Because Mama is in Alabama.

So I called her.

 

Mama has been sick…

And Mama has been home too long by herself.

 

So we compared “sick” notes.

I told her my symptoms.

 

“Kelly Lynn!

 

pause…

 

“Kelly

… that nasty mess is your head…that is ‘fection”

Okay Ms. Judy …Dr. of Mucus’ology.

 

“And that fever…that is not good.”

“Really Mom?”

 

“Did you ask your doctor?”

“I did…she said it was viral?”

 

“Viral?

what do you mean Viral?

That mean you didn’t get no med’cine?”

 

“Nope”

 

“Kelly!  You need to find yourself a doctor who will give you drugs.

Dr.Pentium gave me 3 prescriptions… WITH refills”

 

“Oh”

 

“I am serious…

this bug that is going around…

It is lethal…

They should use it over in Iraq

I swainee they should”

Okay…

I’m calling Obama…

First thing…

Tell him we have a plan to end all this.

 

Isn’t it grand to have a mother who is a drug pusher?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on February 10, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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The Foot Thingy

Can we talk about the shoe thang?

That knee high wanna be thing they give you to try on shoes

And there are like…

500 in a little tiny box.

That are likely made in China …

And cost 29 cents…

For the entire box.

 

My Nemesis

 

 

 

 

In all seriousness…

 

What the hell?

 

 

 

 

I mean you put it on.

And IF…

Your wintry dry hands don’t run it

You callused feet are sure to.

Not to mention the fact that the overall design is flawed.

It barely covers your toes.

Has a thin and unattractive seam right down the center.

And if you tug just a smidge to pull it up over the heel…

It slides off the front of your foot.

So you try again and tug it back over the front of the foot.

So it falls off the back.

And you are screwed AGAIN.

 

And have you tried on boots with them?

Brillant.

You try on the boot which goes up to your knee.

And the footie is barely on your foot…

And you are scared it may fall off…

And you will get the bubonic plague.

IN!   You are in!  Yeah!

Ummmm ummm that seam is uber comfortable.

 

So 90% of your leg is exposed to other peoples’ germs.

But that 10%, your foot is protected…

For now.

 

And as soon as you take off the boot.

Your footie comes off…

IN the boot.

And then you lose your balance

And step on the fungusy carpet.

ACCKK!

 

OMG

 

How much more would it have cost to make a foot try on thingy that?

Oh I don’t know…

Actually covered your foot?

Like maybe …

Perhaps…

Came up to?

Dare I say it…

YOUR ANKLE BONE.

Nobel Peace Prize guaranteed.

 

Honestly if I could get that shoe thingy to stay on…

I can guarantee you I would buy more shoes.

 

And oh by the way?

I AM PAYING A BABYSITTER FOR THIS EXPERIENCE!!

 

So screw you DSW

I’m sticking with my flip flops.

 

She is only happy BECAUSE she has on stockings... and does not need the footie.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on February 9, 2011 in Shopping

 

The Caregiver

AGAIN, I am sick

 

Before children I was never sick…

The picture of health.

And now I think I am just depleted of pretty much everything of any value in my body.

 

So here we go again and I have the flu.
I woke up and looked for the truck which had clearly run over me time and time again.

 

And your kids don’t get it when you are sick. They do not.

And even if they did…

they would not care.

 

So I am in bed most of the day…

And when I can focus my eyes, I walk in to the den to find…

Madness.

Couch cushions on the floor

Toys strewn about

No lid on anything

MY purse contents on the table.

 

I cannot even speak

“What?”

“What were you…”

“I am going to….”

WAAAAA    WAAAAAA      WAAAAAAAA

And I tell them “Mommy is so sick…. So sick… you have to help Mommy”

And they look at me as if I am crazy because I am crying and my hair looks like I have combed it with the blender.

 

I go back to bed, bucket beside me…

Just in case.

Landon has to come in.

She says:

“Mommy I take care of you

I kiss you on the nose

I rub your back

I bring you a fizzy drink with a straw”

 

But now she wants to talk.

I am just about hallucinating.

“Mommy do you love me?”

“I do”

“Mommy, how much?”

“A lot honey”

I am dying here.

“and Mommy…

Do you love my sister?”

“I do”

“what about when she be so screaming”

“well… I don’t love that part so much”

“Me either Mommy… I just love all her other parts”

 

And then…

 

BLAT!

 

BLAT!

 

BLAT!

 

I hurl.

 

 

 

In my bucket.

My insides are being kicked about by some alien.

And my little caregiver?

The one who promised to be so sweet and take care of me?

Do you know what she says to me?

 

“Mommy…

you be so loud…

I can’t hear my show”

 

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on February 8, 2011 in Sick

 

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Neck-ed

In case you didn’t know Neck-ed is Southern for Naked

And the reason that comes to mind is because

I like yoga

A lot

This weekend I was searching for free yoga classes online.

Because I like free things.

 

And I came across something truly frightening.

Quite by accident.

Neck-ed Yoga.

ACCCKKKK!  ACCCKKKK!

My Eyes!

There were neck-ed people on the screen doing yoga!

ON THE COMPUTER.

Looked like an orgy to me but…

 

I can honestly say…

I can think of no one I would like to see doing yoga nude…

No One.

 

There really is no way to be attractive in neck-ed yoga.

There is clearly nothing there to cover your imperfections

And Lord knows we have more of those as we age.

And isn’t the yoga pant half of the draw of the class?

 

Can you imagine?

Being in a neck-ed yoga class?

And being in the last row of neck-ed down dogs

Then what if they flip the dog.

EEEWWW!

 

And please please please whatever you do…

DON’T

do happy baby pose.

 

ACCKK!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on February 7, 2011 in Exercise

 

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Jew’ry Flanket and the Fat Boy

We have a fat cat.

Not just a little fat.

WAY fat.

Clyde…

he is about 24 pounds

And he?

Likes to eat.

Clyde

 

So this photo is Clyde with my daughter at 18 months.

He weighed more than she does.

At 5’4…

if I pick him up…

he takes up most of my torso.

 

 

 

So the boy is fat.

But, I think I know what is causing this

at least to some degree.

 

Giggle giggle giggle

That always scares me

The giggle giggle giggle…

Especially when I can’t find where they are.

 

I see that my children have poured a mound of food for the cat.

And the youngest is wearing his cat bowl…

as a crown.

And as he usually eats Fancy Feast …

I guess that is appropriate.

 

And Clyde?

Is chowing down.

And next to him.

Is Landon’s toy dog.

Whom she has named Jew’ry Flanket.

I have no idea where that came from.

The dog seems to have multiple personalities because….

Three weeks ago he was Santa Mouse

Two weeks ago he was Lamonia Tinsel

And just last week he was Esperanza Penny

(his names are getting oddly more stripper sounding I did notice)

 

“Mommy Clyde … he is so happy…

Look”

And then…

“Mommy Clyde is SOOOOO fat”

 

“Yes I know that…

And you are not supposed to feed the cat…only Mommy does that, right?”

 

Looking the other way…

Thinking I will forget.

I NEVER forget.

Pondering her retort

“Mommy… Clyde be so fat…

The doc’er

The doc’er he…

He needs go in dere and take out all of dat fat”

 

Out of the mouth of babes…

Liposuction discussions at 4…

Nice!

 
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Posted by on February 5, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Fat On a Hot Tin Roof

It has been bitter cold right?

Ridiculous!

 

Like so cold that two days ago

While driving to school

my daughter asked me for a wipe

I grabbed the bag.

Wondering who had put a white brick in my car.

Because?

The bag of wipes…

Frozen solid.

Completely.

I tried to pull one out for her and it?

Broke.

How weird is that?

 

So a toasty fire and a toddy when it is frigid…

that’s a good thing.

 

I am not the best fire builder I admit.

I think a full on Sunday paper is very good kindling…

The whole thing…

Even the shiny pages.

But I did it.  It is made and it is toasty.

 

I leave the room to grab my purse.

 

“MOOOOOMMMM!”

I counted…

11 seconds…

What could have happened?

And this was a serious scream …

Surely I will find a detached limb somewhere.

 

“MOOMMM!!!! MOOMMMMMY!”

“What?”

I see Landon looking at the fire.

OH MY GOD … what happened?  I closed the glass screen.  WHAT HAPPENED?

That... is gonna hurt.

 

“Mommy!  The chimley…

the chimley…

it be so hot…

and dere is fire”

 

“Mommy…

Santa Claus is going to get a big OUI!”

 

 

 

 

I have to look away because it is just sooo cute… and so funny.

Get it together Mommy.

“No honey –  it is February and Santa is not coming tonight”

“but Mommy he might…

Waaaa!  Waaa!

I don’t like it…

you so mean Mommy.

Why you no like Santa?”

 

What?

 

“Mommy!!!  I love Santa!”

“I love my presents”

WAAAAA   WAAAAA

 

Okay this is going on and on…

way too much.

 

I have made an executive decision as the house executive.

We just can’t have fires anymore…

until they figure out this Santa gig.

You know… that the fat man is not bringing all the toys

(that it is really me who rocks)

Because this Santa thing…

Honestly it is too good…

To give up.

And I think I have a few years right – like til 12 or so right?

 

Especially as Christmas nears, if the kids act up, I have only to say 2 words:

“Santa Claus!”

….”don’t make me…”

“Mommy… NO!! I be so nice now.”

 

It’s just too good.

So…

I am headed to Home Depot…

Just gonna get us a bigger heater.

 

 
2 Comments

Posted by on February 3, 2011 in Misbehaving, Parenting

 

Tags: , ,

Kitty Love

So I am thinking back to my little Bonnie

And she is just a cat

Or was just a cat

And she died almost two years ago.

But it was sudden

And I still miss her.

Sweet Bonnie

And when I find her collar in my drawer, it still makes me cry (as I do a little now)

 

Because she was my friend

 

And she didn’t judge

 

Or criticize

 

She just loved me.

Even when I didn’t pet her enough

Or was a little late with the fancy feast

She was just there at my feet

Or on the bed

Just wanting to be near me

Needing a periodic head nuzzle

Or scratch of the ears

Just warm and sweet

No expectations

Just my friend

With no conditions

Just loving me for me

It was pure.

 

And I am thinking that this cat taught me how to love

(she and her brother Clyde)

Like really love…

Like all the way…

big heart…

all the way open love.

Because man these pets are clever.

They can worm all the way in there.

 

I did have pets as a kid

But this one was different.

She was MY kitty…

and, honestly, this was my first time as a Mom.

We were together for 10 years

And that?

No matter how you look at it…

IS a relationship.

 

I read recently a cool article.

http://blogs.psychcentral.com/healing-together/2010/04/can-pets-improve-your-relationship/

It said that if we treated our mates with the same love and acceptance

We do our pets

Our relationships would be a lot better.

 

Like you know Bonnie was so sick before she passed

she threw up everywhere.

Trashed the carpets.

But I didn’t care.

And she scratched the hell out of my couch…

but I still loved her.

Even when she jumped on the counter…

and dragged her tail through the spaghetti…

it was funny.

 

Hmmm.

Wonder if I would have cut my guy the same slack?

(if he got his tail in spaghetti… I am sure we would have a lot of other issues to deal with but…)

 

Maybe too when I think about her…

that IS little Bonnie…

Tickling my memory.

And maybe she wants me to remember her

How I loved her.

So I will be ready when I meet my guy…

or anyone for that matter.

 

I like that.

Sneaky little Bonnie

All this time I thought I was her to take care of you.

Turns out it was the other way around.

 

If you never saw this, it is worth a watch.  Even if you did, you will thank me for the second chance.

And if you get through this without tearing up or remembering a favorite pet…

call me…

we are going to check your heart.

 
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Posted by on February 2, 2011 in Cats

 

Tags: ,

Ellie Mae

I was on a conference call recently with several of my work colleagues – they were all from Atlanta.

And even though I have been in Denver over 8 years, I went straight back…

got my twang on.

 

To the degree that…

When I hung up I got an immediate call from Lisa, my colleague, and she said:

OMG We are like twins... except for the blonde hair and I ain't got no boobies.

“what the hell was that?  You were like Ellie Mae Clampett”

 

“I was?”

 

“um yea… like how are yer’ critters down at the cement pond?”

 

Smart ass girl.

 

“What was all that? It was like… like a foreign language”

 

Smart ass city slicker girl.

 

So for her and for you I will provide a bit of translation.

 

 

“Diddy” is the man who paid for 4-6 years of drinking and well coordinated sorority wear.

that’d be your education.

And he is also your father.

Fiddy-fi – 55 or the legal speed limit on most major highways in Alabama.

And my own diddy’s signature phrase.

 

Swimming pooh – That is not a typo.

you do not need a L for your pool in the south.

It is like a pooh bear.

 

Reckon – means to cipher, to ponder, to think.

I personally don’t do a lot of reckoning; it hurts my head.

 

Fixin is kind of the same as about to.   I am about to go to the store or  I am fixin’ to go to the store.

 

Sit a spell – “a spell” has never been defined to me.  I think it is just how ever long you care to sit or until you need some more sweet tea.

 

Shooga (sugar) – this is what your mama puts 6 cups of in her ambrosia.

Ambrosia – some god awful desert you will be forced to eat at each and every major holiday.

And shooga is a kiss.

Used in a sentence.

“Come here to ye ol granddaddy and give me some shooga.”

 

Butta – is what you put on most anything and everything.

Slather that on my friend and don’t look back.

 

Yonder – There is no limit on yonder.  It may be a foot in front of you or 20 miles down the road.

 

Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit -

basically is the same as “Well I Never” or “I Swainee”  (my mom’s favorite)

you are just surprised as hell.

 

Full as a tick – your tummy is happy happy happy.

 

Beat with an ugly stick – I am sorry but…

you are just not pretty.

 

Rode hard and put up wet -

it is a sad truth but you have probably been ugly for a while now…

and could likely use a good moisturizer.

 

Ain’t got a pot to piss in – you should get a job.

 

Sittin’ round here like a bump on a log – you are lazy and you need to get a job too.

 

Well tie me to a pig and roll me in the mud – I got nothing on this one…

it just sounds like a redneck to me.

 

Plumb tuckered out – You?  Is tired.

 

Too big for your britches – you need an attitude adjustment.

 

That is a gracious plenty – damn girl, ease up on the mashed potatoes.

 

Purty— you are pleasing to the eye.

And used in a sentence: You are as purty as a speckled pup.

you are cute like a dog.

 

You can thank me later for this little education.

You will now be better equipped to work with Southern clients, in-laws, church-goers and much more.

Bye ya’ll!

 
5 Comments

Posted by on February 1, 2011 in Southern

 

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