I got my laptop FIXED!!  Booyah!  Well, let me put a qualifier on that.  My AC jack is now fixed.  The laptop itself is still slower than the second coming due to the extraneous crap that is bogging it down  like so much sludge in the bottom of the septic tank that is my processor.  And no, it's not porn.  Just in case you were wondering.  The Dell tech came to my house to fix it, which is always a little strange for me, despite knowing they are bonded.  This doesn't mean they can't snap does it?  Almost made me want to carry my industrial strength pepper spray in my back pocket when he showed up.  He called and asked if it were okay if he were here between 10 and 11 am.  I said it would be, but that I had a dental appointment at noon.  At 11:30 he shows up, because he had been "stuck in traffic."  Yeah, like I've never used that excuse before.  I figured it shouldn't be a problem, because, hey!  How long can it take to replace a motherboard?  Apparently, longer than the 20 minutes he had before I had to leave.  As he sat puttering around with his anti-static bracelet at my kitchen table, I was suffering paroxysms of anxiety to the point I had to run to the bathroom six times due to nervous pee.  At noon (you know, the time I was supposed to be checking in) I checked to see where he was.  As he was putting the keyboard back on, I called the dentist's office and told them I would be 5-10 minutes late.  No prob.  Except, when I hung up, I remembered I lived 10 minutes away.  Crap.  So I said to the Dell man, "I'm actually late for an appointment; would it be okay for me to leave you here and you just leave when you're ready?"  He looked at little taken aback and said, "Well, yes, if you're comfortable with that."  I thought to myself, "the kids are in daycare, the dogs are outside, if you find anything you want to steal, I'm sure my homeowners (and DELL) will be willing to cover it."  So I buzzed my ass right on out of there.  It wasn't until I was breaking the sound barrier on the highway that I realized he could very well be trying on my panties.  Or, barring that since he was a big, fat man, sniffing them.  ACK!  What the hell, I'll just do a shit ton of laundry when I get home.

I have been slightly remiss in my bi-yearly dental appointments.  I was sure it had been at least a year since I had last darkened the door of TM, DDS.  And then, my little white-girl-with-dreadlocks-tooth-fairy-helper informed me that we hadn't done xrays since 2005.  Erm...then when was the last time I was in here?  2006???!!!????  Holy crap!  It's not like my dentist is this guy:


I had to endure much chastising from the Hygienist of Guilt, about how it would probably take more than one appointment to clear the gunk off my teeth, and I shouldn't be surprised if my mouth was completely fucked up, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.  Ha!  Little did she know, I am blessed with the ability to bullshit my way through a concept paper 15 minutes before it's due, and the teeth of a goddess; no matter how much I ignore the "floss twice daily" command.  She was praising my dental hygiene so much, I thought there should have been a choir of angels behind her.

I've been on vacation the last week..not that we went anywhere.  Originally, I had taken the time to go to my father's family reunion.  Which they have every FREAKING year.  Really?  A year isn't enough time for me to miss them that much.  And before someone comes down on my ass about being a cold hearted bitch, not that I'm denying it AT ALL, you have to understand my dad's family reunions.  He, his remaining brother, and his sisters (who can't spend  three days together without getting a tad..um..cranky with each other) sit around and tell the same stories.  At one time, like 30 years ago, my cousin and I decided that we should assign each story a number and then they could just call out the assigned number and we could get the reunion over in half the time.  Good, yes?  The last three years the reunion has taken place in a YMCA camp a few hours away from Denver.  The family got a deal if we committed to three years.  Unfortunately, Colorado suffered from an infestation of the Pine Boring Beetle, or some other damn boring insect, that killed all the trees at this camp.  Beautiful vista?  Not so much.  50 acres of kindling, that's what we have here.  Not to mention, we sea level dwellers find it difficult to perfuse anything at that altitude. Lungs, brain tissue, heart, it's all cyanotic.  So I spent my time forcing my offspring to help me get below the first level of grime/detritus in the house.  Yay!  Who needs Disneyland?  We have Baseboardland!  And Swiffer-up-the-animal-hair-ville. Whee!

Today, to celebrate my last day on vacation, I mowed the lawn and then decided to clean my couches.  I have leather couches, just like I have leather interior in the Planet Killer, because I have children and dogs.  And children.  Easy clean up and usually no staining, even when it's black Sharpie marker.  And yes, I know that from experience.  I usually have a pretty practical eye when it comes to furniture and furnishings.  I knew, for example, when I married the hubster one of the first things that had to go was the pedestal kitchen table with the 800 pound glass table top that was secured with 4 little suction cups.  I knew this because I got pregnant about 14 seconds after we got married.  All it would take is the curtain climber crawling up on that thing and presto!  Flounder baby!  Unfortunately, I have periods, as we all know, where I am freaking RETARDED!  What kind of carpet do you want in your new house?  How about oatmeal colored Berber?  Yeah!  That will be great, especially when I add two kids, two dogs, a cat, and everything that comes with them.  Same with the couches.  Did I get brown?  Did I get black?  You know those colors that would hide crayon, Sharpie, DIRT?  No, I got Oyster Shell.  Oyster Shell is a cream color with a hint of a pinkish tinge.  Just the thing for a family.  And it's not like these are couches that are in the rarely used living room that one might sit on twice a year.  No, these are the couches that have been lived on, slept on, eaten on, you name it.  You wouldn't think it would be hard to pick the right kind of couch for the right kind of situation.  You know what I'm saying:  don't buy a microfiber couch if you plan to have sex on it; don't buy an Oyster Shell colored couch if you plan to take it off the showroom floor.  Anyway, I'd been thinking that I should clean these suckers for some time, but I was stopped by, well, sheer laziness, really.  It's a pain in the ass to clean these sonsabitches.  One is 8 feet long with recliners on both ends, the love seat is regular size with recliners as well, and they are kind of poofy with the cushions.  Makes them comfy to sit/sleep on, but, seriously, pain in the ass to clean.  To make this easier, I decide to use the Kirby vacuum.  It is an extravaganza of attachments.  I'm almost sure it could launch the space shuttle if I hooked up the right tube/handle/head. I slathered the couch with leather cleaner, started up the upholstery cleaner head and Great Hera's Ghost!  The filth!  I'm almost inclined to let friends and relatives know they should get swabbed for MRSA!  How the hell did these things get so disgusting.  Apparently, I have macular degeneration. 

Michael-The-Extremely-Gay-Hairdresser decided that he liked the blond highlights in my hair, and so he decided to make me ALL blond.  Wowzers.  I feel downright Barbie-ish.  Good thing I'm so down to earth, otherwise it might go to my head.  I'd buy a condo, a corvette, and start having an unfulfilled relationship with a sexually ambiguous metrosexual.

Michael has quite the menagerie in his backyard.  I noticed a Stellar Jay and the following conversation ensued:
Me:  "That's a huge Jay!"
MTEGH"  "Yeah, I call him BJ.  BJ bobs up and down.  And he comes when I call him.  He can swallow one nut while holding another in his mouth."
Me:  *snicker* *snort* *choke* *snerk*

Didn't Know Longboarding Was A Bloodsport Didja?

And this is just the tip of the iceberg.  This is without the road rash on his side, forearm, elbow, hand, knee and shin.  Go big or go home as I always say.

What Did We Do? Is Our Town Bad? What Have We Done?

Yes! Two, count 'em, TWO days of sun and above 60 degrees! w00t!

Light Posting Haiku

Broken Laptop waits quietly
Useless with no way to charge
I sulk

Out of warranty
Expensive daycare
Damn frugality

Dell IT help
Indian accent
pushing upgrades

Extended warranty
On credit account
Need new motherboard crap


Horrible flop sweat
Waiting for tech to come
I hate desktop

Want my wireless life back
Missing my laptop motherfucker
I sulk

Dear OB triage patients: If you have sex in the morning, at some point the after effects will leave your body. This is normal. One would have thought this is something that would have occurred to you, at least after the very first time you had sex, if not before 24 weeks in your gestation. Please do not be surprised when we tell you it isn't amniotic fluid; but fluid filled with flagellates. And please stop bringing your flagellates to my attention because I just see that as bragging that you're getting some and it makes me jealous. Which will cause me to say snarky things at the nurses station. I'm just sayin'.

If Blogger decides that it actually is going to work tonight, this is a video of FB's belt test in Tae Kwon Do. He had to break board with three different kicks; so of course the only video I get of him is on the board he needed two tries to break. He usually breaks on the first kick in class, so naturally he requires two kicks in front of a Grand Master judge. (And no, it wasn't Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five. Although, how cool would that be?)

Speaking of FB: Every year his school has a science fair. All students are encouraged to participate, but 5th graders are required. They know from the beginning of the year that this is something they must do. FB, being his father's son, decided on a project about a month before it was due. He decided to throw paper airplanes through a fire and see how long it would take for them to catch fire. Was this an approved topic? He assured me it was. Is your teacher nearing retirement? He didn't understand the question. I bought the requisite tri-fold presentation board for him to begin preparing. A week later I found it behind his door, bent with holes from the door stop. He started his presentation on Word like so: "Question: I wonder what would happen if I threw a paper airplane through a fire? Hypothesis: I believe it would catch fire and burn down to ashes. Because paper catches fire easily." Oh, so this is the "No Shit, Sherlock" science fair. I harangued him in my maternal manner, "What kind of paper are you going to use? What style of airplane? What are the variables going to be?" His answer to everthing: "I know. I will. I am." etc., etc., ad infinitum. Two days (yes, I said TWO DAYS) before his project is due, he and his friends are outside with a pie plate full of debris, lighting it on fire, and throwing paper airplanes through it. Acrid smoke is billowing through the neighborhood because they have picked fresh cedar boughs to try to alight. After many failed attempts to get these planes to light, I asked him if he knew what his problem was. He decided that maybe he needed a bigger fire (oh, yeah, I'm sure the neighbors are on board with that). The hemming and hawing went on for several minutes before I pointed out that his hypothesis was wrong because the planes had too much velocity to ignite just flying through the flames. He concurred and the night before the science project was due he used black duct tape to patch his presentation board, cut out the sentences from what he printed from Word, and .....that was pretty much it. I figured, live and learn, he'll see what his effort bring him. What I forgot is the whole "don't crush their little spirits" attitude of this school, because they gave him a "B". A freakin' "B"!! Although he only got half credit on presentation, organization and some other "tion" that escapes me right now. I asked if he were okay with his presentation. He said yes. I pointed out the 50% scores. He said, "But I got a good grade." I then waxed poetic, and apoplectic truth be told, on effort, work ethic and values of grades. The words "half assed" may or may not have been bandied about; I can neither confirm or deny. The end result is, he now knows that a hard earned, worked your ass off "C" will triumph over a half assed "B" any day in this house. Hard as it is to be the daughter of a nurse, being the son of a woman raised by an engineer is probably much worse.


SoS had a book report that required him to build a "riddle vest." What the hell? Does no one do normal things anymore? Then again, how much did I enjoy handwritten, stand in front of the class book reports when I was in first grade? Or, you know, ever? So, he did his book report on anteaters. He was very cautious about his clues because he didn't want to give it away on the first one

  Yes, he chose "It eats termites" because "It eats ants" would have been such a gimme.  After the class guesses what it might be, he gets to turn around and show the answer

And that there, as I'm sure you will agree, is an accurate depiction of a giant anteater.  The hearts connotate his love of the aforementioned termites.


We were in the car this afternoon when a song by The Police came on. FB, being my son, was immediately reminded of a quote from a cartoon.
FB "Cheese it, it's the FUR."
Me: "I think you mean the FUZZ."
FB: "Oh, yeah. Cheese it, it's the Fuzz."


Speaking of this afternoon, I had to rush out from work to get my mammy's grammed. This place makes me a little nervous as they are the biggest bunch of Boob Nazis I've ever met. The first time the gave me shit about how they recommend that a baseline be done at 35 and not 40, despite no literature to support that recommendation and my lack of access to a time machine to transport me back to my 35th year. Yeah, well, I'm not 35, so I hope you can adjust and move on. Then they hassled me about skipping a year. I argued with them for a little while that I was 40 at my baseline and now (at the time) I was 41 which is NOT skipping a year. Until I realized that since I was only 2 weeks away from turning 42 that I technically had skipped a year. I was due in February, so I was wondering what kind of mayhem was going to ensue from that. What with them getting all up in my business about my menstrual cycle, birth control preferences and family history, they were too busy to notice that I was a little late. Then she asked how often I did self exams. And, just like when the dentist asks how often I floss, I laughed at her. Why do you force me to lie to you? We both know that even if I say "every few months" it's a giant falsehood. I check my scrub pockets for pens every day I work, isn't that enough? It's pretty vigorous. C'mon. And can I just say, what the hell? It's the 21st century. We should have flying cars, fetal monitors that actually work, and a better way to do this test. And one that doesn't require jewelry removal, because that shit itches.

I got a phone call from my neighbor inuring as to whether I had gotten a new dog, or if everything was all right at my house, becuase there was a lot of continuous barking. It seems dear Dude, likes to while away the hours while I'm at work, by giving voice to whatever thought enters his head. Uh oh. I went to my neighbor across the street, he of the long time dog ownership, to see what he thought of bark collars. When I mentioned that Dude was apparently, a little loud, he nodded and said, "Yeah, we were wondering if we should talk to you about it." Oh great! I'm THAT neighbor! The one with the dog you just wish would shut the FUCK UP! Like the dog that used to bark at my dad when he pulled into the driveway, of OUR house after a long day of work. Stand in front of his dog house and bay at my father in his own driveway. My father enjoyed this so much he started carrying one of the BB guns in the car and peppering the ground around it until it went into it's doghouse. Got to where Puppy (that was the name of this full grown dog, Puppy) would hear the ol' VW sqaureback pullin' in and would go into his house until my dad was in ours. I don't want to be that neighbor. So, I hope the collar is working, but no one has been around when I am to ask. But, no phone calls, or "courtesy" visits from the county sheriff, so I guess no news is no jail time.

Cartman Cracks Me Up

Argh!

I just found out Godsmack and Shinedown are going to be at Pain in the Grass this year! And Iron Maiden and Alice in Chains are coming this summer!11!11!!1!Eleventy! And there is no way I have the time/money/babysitter to see all, or any, of these. Argh!

I was talking to Bad Daddy at work today about when to buy my ticket for my grand Middle Eastern extravaganza. Being of Middle Eastern descent and traveling to and fro as he does, he should know, yes? I explained that if I buy now and the prices go down, I'll be pissed. If I wait and the prices go up, I'll be pissed. Basically, I'll be pissed. When he found out how much the ticket is his advice was to buy it as I wouldn't find a better price. So, I guess I'm buying a ticket. Now I just have to figure out if I want to be extremely cranky at the beginning of my flight (very, very AM departure)or at the end (very, very, PM arrival the next day). What the hell, I'll be in the air and on the ground for layovers for 22 hours; I don't think cranky is avoidable. Firetruckin' be-yotch, anyone?

It's been hard for we poor PacNWsters since someone seems to have forgotten to dial the thermostat back from winter. Sitting at a nice 56 degrees for a June 10 kind of puts our knickers in a twist. Some adventurous soul decided he was going to glean whatever UV rays might be fighting through the overcast skies and rain showers today on our scoot-ward home from the daily grind. I saw him in my rear view mirror in his bright red convertible with the top down. (Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, dude; have you seen the weather?) Hey, more power to you. He then pulled alongside me at the stop light and, from my vantage point high upon the Planet Killer, I glanced over. As I am sure we are all wont to do. AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH! He had his shirt off! And he had moobs! Big, giant, MOOBS!! With nippies the size of manhole covers! Resting on his hairy beer gut! ARGH!

I was in Al's picking up a little of the moo juice (de-fatted and organic of course; there are more than enough hormones and cases of precocious puberty running amok in this house, thankyouverymuch!) and I noticed the turtledove cooings of a couple following me around the dairy case. Hey, young love. They can't help it if that kind of stuff makes me want to regurgitate a dinner from last year; I'm just not squishy like that. I grab the chalk water (so called by my father, the son of a dairy farmer, who still speaks fondly of ladling the cream off the top of the raw milk on the farm and eating it on his cereal) and come face to face with a, surprisingly, older woman and, what can only be described as Sasquatch's little brother. ARGH! Muscle shirt with an insulating layer of back/arm hair to keep him comfy in this inclement weather! ARGH! Get that guy some wax! A laser! Some Nad's!
Speaking of Nad's; Is it me, or is that the worst product name ever? Reminds me of the boys' inter-mural football team of our brother dorm my frosh year of college. Called themselves "The Nads" and gave some bullshit explanation of the name to circumvent the morality police (private religious university, remember} and then we all stood on the sidelines cheering, "Go Nads! Go Nads!" We were sooooo street!

Posting may be light until I get the laptop back from the emergency room. The AC jack problem ceased to be a problem. In fact, it ceased all together. I may need sedation until I get it back. It was and adventure trying to keep FB from turning reading my one of my least appropriate stickers on the way to the fix-it store. Namely, the hand in a peace sign with "Fuck Off And Die" written on the fingers. I'm such a good mom.

A Chicks Moment

I gave my kids Fig Newtons (all right they were Fig NEWMANS, but whatever)for dessert and they just did this whole bit...practically verbatim.

Jokes.com
Brian Regan - Serving Size
comedians.comedycentral.com
Futurama New Episodes Ugly Americans Funny TV Comedy Blog

I Love Rodney Carrington.

My Ass Is Hot!

I wish that meant that I had a bum countries would go to war for (damn you, Helen of Troy!  Okay, I know that it was allegedly over her "beauty, " but I guarantee it had something to do with her ass).  Unfortunately, I'm sure it's because I fried my tuckus in the tanning bed. 

Well, That Sucks.

My house feels like a deleted scene from A Christmas Story, featuring the Bumpus hounds. 

Sonsabitches!  Bumpuses!

In related news; have you seen Ralphie lately?

 Ow!  And not because I shot my eye out!  Go Red Ryder!