Weekend Update

What a joyously full weekend! And glad is the heart that got to enjoy it in such typical, lovely Northwest weather. Our Saturday started as it usually does in full Tae Kwon Do regalia. We showed up to SoS's class 20 minutes late, which was distressing only to us. Master L. I'm sure was nearly comatose with joy not having a force of nature in class for once. During the class Master had SoS firmly by both shoulders after making him do push-ups and queried "Are we having fun yet?" To which SoS roundly responded "NO!" Honest to a fault. All the adults then chorused "No, SIR." After sparring we went home and met up with the Super Hot Slice O' Cuteness. We all trekked out to the fairgrounds to enjoy Oktoberfest. Being of extremely watered down, semi-Germanic, mixed with mutt heritage and the boys being only 3rd generation Bavarian/German Americans on their father's side, we were happy to enjoy some Oktoberfestivities. We enjoyed some brats and 'kraut, fondue, root beer and SHSO'C got to have some fabulous German beer. We also enjoyed polka music including "The Beer Barrel Polka" and the "Too Fat Polka" made infamous in my family by my great grandfather singing it to my mother every time he saw her. (Body image disturbance? I don't know where she would have gotten that from.) There were also some interesting drinking games involving nails, quarter rounds, and the backside of a hammer. As an extra bonus the Scandinavian Days was going on at the same time AT THE SAME PLACE! I nearly wet myself with excitement in anticipation of Finnish delights. I ran through the hall, dragging the boys, sounding like some NYC derelict muttering, "Swedish, Danish, Norwegian, Norwegian, Swedish, what is this the everything but Finland festival?" Finally, nirvana is reached! I picked up some of my favorite chocolates and my most adored candy from hell.

Ah, Turkish Peppers... glad is my heart. These little gems taste like salty black licorice with a dash of battery acid. They are filled with a powdered form of the salty black licorice/battery acid concoction. Definitely an acquired taste. The graphic in the bottom corner accurately represents my reaction to my first Turkinpippuri. My dear friends who introduced me to these wonders encouraged me to chew them. That is akin attaching jumper cables to your tongue and turning the key while someone pours a conducting agent into your mouth. Invigorating. I told the boys they were not allowed to have these candies as they would not enjoy them. I cautioned SHSO'C against trying them, even going to far as to state "they are the absolute worst thing you will ever try." Being the brave man he is, he popped one in his mouth. His stoic reaction was to tell SoS and FB "Yeah, you guys wouldn't like these." We then went back to Oktoberfest and SHSO'C went in search of more beer. I'm sure it was to wash away the nightmare after effects. (SHSO'C is quite the fingerful to type. Perhaps I should shorten his alias. To say, Cougar Bait....)

SHSO'C and I then went to see Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, which was a cute little flick that reminded me of some of my drunkard babysitting days. I love movies with smart asses. Which is why I'm looking forward to seeing Sexdrive. Not only does it have James Mardsen (yum) who can be freakin' hilarious

but it also has Seth Green as a smart ass Amish.
Comic genius that boy! Family Guy, Robot Chicken, his portrayal of a disgusted and frustrated Scott Evil...not to mention his Chris Crocker spoof.

Sunday found me actually making an effort at responsible home ownership. I figured now that it was October it was time to put the Slip 'N' Slide away. But first I had to de-poo the lawn. This was quite the project and brought home to me that perhaps I should not have left it quite so long, or I should have put my indentured servants..er...children to work. I then pulled the Slip 'N' Slide off the big toy, where it resides to be safe from Knucklehead McSpazatron from chewing it into confetti, and was promptly stung by the last living hornet/wasp/whatever the hell in the Northwest. I stood there, trying to maintain my composure as my favorite word bounced around my head like a game of Brickbreaker, glorying in the fact that at least that little rat bastard would now die faster! Cruel I know, but damn, that hurt. I was saved from weeding by a return the torrential downpour, so I retired inside and curled up with a cheesy '80s movie from Netflix on my laptop.

My insomnia being what it is, coupled with the fact that I had to keep a fish eye on my dishwasher to make sure it wasn't trying to go tits up on me, found me in bed at my usual late hour. I had found my mouth guard again, so I was sleeping fairly well, chewing on that instead of my tongue or the inside of my mouth. My eyes popped open at 0230 to the sight of FB standing at the bedside. His modus operandi when trying to wake me up is not to say my name or touch my shoulder, but to shake and jiggle the mattress until I wake up. This pisses me off for no known reason. So my reaction is to screech "What?!?' like a demented fishwife trying to sell her wares to the deaf. Poor FB says "My ear hurts." Change of weather plays havoc with his allergies and has a tendency to plug his eustachian tubes. I keep a handy supply of Auralgan for just such occasions. I fill his ear canal with lidocaine goodness and tuck him into bed. This morning I dope him up with more Auralgan, ibuprofen and some Claritin to try and open things up. I made it through work without a phone call from the school which had me pleasantly surprised as FB has more of his father's wimpy constitution, (prone to howling over every hurt real or imagined) rather than my more stoic one. (Hey! Natural childbirth dammit! And getting back into a saddle on a broken ankle, thereby dislocating it to a mere breadth of a compound fracture!) When I picked him up from daycare he was a little peaked looking and acting kind of punk. We got home and he said his ear still hurt. I put more Auralgan in and then decided, critical thinking in action here, that maybe I should look at his ear as he has a history of perforating his eardrum. (While I was at ACLS, thankyouverymuch!) I use my little otoscope and da-yum! We should probably take a trip to Urgent Care. When the doc in the box says "Oh, yeah, that's a good one!" you know that sucker is bad. I told the doc, who was the same one from our visit in May with the perfed eardrum, about the Motrin and Auralgan and he said, "Well, you have the pain control portion covered, we just need the antibiotics." Dude, did you forget I'm a nurse? Better living through pharmacology. And if those didn't work I could always let him nibble on a Perc or a Vike I have left over from my surgery.......I kid.

My day started innocently enough, I took my BFF to an appointment for an MRI at the crack of dawn. I was there not only for moral support, but also for transportation because they were going to have to trank her like a bear slated for relocation to get her into the MRI in the first place. After I dropped her little stoned self off at her house, I came home to tackle one of the many projects I've procrastinated on for pretty much all of the years I have lived in this house. One of my first projects was to take an arse load of stuff to Goodwill. This included my great-grandmother's bed frame and dresser set that had been mine from the time I was 12. Now, most might think I would keep this for sentimental value, but I'm pretty much over it. It's taking up space, collecting dust and I have other plans for that room. So, time to 86 the stuff I no longer use. The dressing table was the only piece I was concerned about getting downstairs. As I chivvied my offspring to hurry up this morning, I gently eased the dressing table down the stairs. ka-THUNK! ka-THUNK! ka-THUNK! I winced with each step thinking a) it was a good thing the kids were already up and b) this sucker may be kindling by the time I get finished with it. After my ferrying duties, I went to my parents house to steal my dad's truck and trailer. On the way there I decided that all this stuff could actually fit into the bed of his truck, which was fortunate, because I wasn't completely sure I knew how to hook up the lights for the trailer, which might pose a problem. I pull into their driveway and am immediately struck by the lack of truck. My father is on the umpteenth restoration of his '56 Chevy not too mention that the '65 Corvette hasn't even been started yet and the chassis and parts are strewn about like the aftermath of Hurricane Pops. What's the matter with these people? Don't they know they should have taken the gas guzzling, air polluting SUV on their trip, thereby allowing me free, illicit reign with the truck? I don't even have a hitch on my Tahoe, so I couldn't jack the trailer either. Never one to be despondent for too long, I put my superbly twisted mind to work and figured I could take the seats out of the Tahoe and just make several trips. I arrived back at my own house and took the third row seating out. Now, one of the "selling points" at the dealership was how easily these seats were removed. They fold down, you grab the handle, and voila! The look like a suitcase and are carried just as easily. Except for the fact that the bumper for the Tahoe hits me about mid-pelvis, these seats when I grab the handle are at chest level and I have to lift them up to my head to get them out of the back. Easy? Did I mention they each weigh about 70 pounds? During this weight training exercise I found myself engaged in, I noticed that the rear of the car could use some vacuuming. Then I flipped the second row seats forward. The foulness found therein is not to be described. Crackers, unknown substances, toys....unbelievable! But what can you expect with two young boys and a double coated dog who sheds like a chemo patient?

I loaded the dressing table, stool, bed frame, and several other items into the back of the vehicle for my first trip to Goodwill. This is what the back of the Tahoe looked like:

Not too bad really. Although my usual 4th turn at Daytona style of driving was impacted because of the side rails just inches from my head. I was afraid I would take a turn to fast or something and this sucker would end up embedded in my skull:

And really, if I end up on Ripley's Believe it or Not, I want it to be for something really exciting and not for having a 6 foot piece of wood hanging out of my head like a parasitic twin.

Off I go to Goodwill, to say sayanora to some of my worldly possessions. Everything went along swimmingly until we got to the bed frame. It seems that Goodwill's goodwill does not extend to 50 year old wooden bed frames. Plan B: Pierce County Solid Waste Transfer Station. Otherwise known as the dump. That works for me too, just get this crap outta my house! The dump was pleasingly dry. I have been know to have to visit when it was soggy and slimy with a primordial soup of Zeus knows what, which does nothing for the ambiance, let me tell ya. I dumped off the bed frame as I was getting into the car felt some dump detritus slide into my Keens. Motherfucker! Had I known that I would be visiting the dump I would have worn closed toe shoes, preferably thigh high, but as it was I wore my Keens and now had to soak my foot in bleach to guard against whatever multi drug resistant organism to which I had now been exposed. Yecch.

Back to to house for another load. This load consisted of two drill press boxes full of Norman Rockwell figurines that the hubster had purchased many moons before he met me. They had never once, in all these years, been out of their original boxes. This is indication enough for me that they need to bless someone else's home.

I got home and then tackled the wonderful job of de-gunking the car and replacing the third row seats. That was only marginally more difficult than removing them, like to the 10th power, since I now had to avoid banging up my paint job.

I spent a greater part of the rest of the afternoon cruising ebay like a sweaty Chihuahua who had eaten it's owner's meth stash. The boyz are getting a Wii for Christmas. And that's all they are getting, you practically need a home equity loan for one of these suckers.

In other news: FB usually listens to country music as he falls asleep. Last night as I put him to bed, I thought, "What sounds like Metallica?" Apparently, the boy is being influenced by his mother's car tunes.

5-0

It's Joan Jett's 50th birthday! You've got to love an androgynous rocker in black leather and even blacker eyeliner. Not to mention she still speaks to the teenage angst inside me!

A-hole Doctor Quote of the Week

Dr. Good drugs (full of himself version): "I need an alcohol swab."

Me: "Here, I have one." As I pull a swab from my left breast (repeat BREAST) pocket and hand it to him.

Dr. Gd(fohv): "Well, if I knew where they were kept, I could have gotten it myself."

Did I mention married a-hole? How'd ya like a size 6 springy shoe up yer arse?

I Hope You Dance

Because this brings a smile to my face. And I miss Waldo. I give you "Where In The Hell Is Matt?"

Because My Friends Rock

I love this song, it speaks to me! I know it's a Beatles song, but I like Joe's version better and not just because he looks like he's about to seize when he sings. At least in this version you can understand him, unlike the Woodstock version when he was so high he didn't know what planet he was on. Go Joe!

I also tried to find the version on SNL where John Belushi does a spot on Joe Cocker with Joe onstage next to him...darn it, it was not to be found! I'm feeling extra musical today, and I don't want to fold laundry, so there may be more......

The Reason For This Season

That's right! Nothing makes me happier than the advent of Halloween and the re-stocking of Boo-Berry, Frankenberry and Count Chocula cereals. I don't even care that Halloween is a month and a half away, and that this is a shameless ploy for consumers to spend more money based on fond memories. (Unlike the Christmas display I saw in Costco the other day. There should be a moratorium on selling holiday paraphernalia more than a month in advance of said holiday.)



Ah, the old days. I spent every summer at my grandparents, running wild in the logging camps where my grandpa worked. Every few weeks we'd come back down the mountain to stock up on supplies. Grandma was great because she let us eat pretty much whatever we desired, as opposed to Mom and her so-called "healthy" breakfast cuisine. There is only so much oatmeal, cream o' wheat, eggs and pancakes one can take before the soul just cries out for some sugar coated compressed cereal compound. We would drive out to Goose Creek (pronounced "crick" to you philistines) General Store (900 square feet of love), where we would bask in the neon glow of the monster cereal boxes. My brother and I got to pick out our own boxes, so there was no bickering or jealousy to be had. Paradise, I tell you! Sadly, the monster cereals were discontinued when I was 10 or so. Rain fell in my soul and life became bereft of joy. But now! Now, I get to relieve my childhood once a year with a plethora crappy breakfast cereal that turns your milk different colors and treats you to a flood of insulin after the first spoonful. Thereby guaranteeing you spend the rest of the day in a stupor.