Good question.

Emma:  (examining the bottom of her foot) Daddy, what's this?

Joe:  Oh..that's just dead skin.  That's what you're skin does.  New skin grows.

Emma: WHY?? I liked the OLD skin!!

LIARS!

I bought a set of books yesterday at the hospital book fair.  I was coming back to the office after seeing a patient in the ER and I walked through the book fair area chanting "I am not buying, I am not buying".

After I lugged my arm load of books to the check out area (I can't help it, I'm weak when it comes to buying books.  It's a sickness, I swear!), one more set of books caught my eye.  "The One Minute Organizer" and "The One Minute Cleaner".  AHA!!!  Thinking of the dresser in the bedroom that has everything on it from Christmas decorations to rocks from Door County, I snatched the set up.

Last night while I watched Michael Phelps narrowly avoid defeat, I sat down with my new books just dying to know the secrets of cleaning and organizing and was disappointed to find out....

It CAN'T BE DONE IN ONE MINUTE.   

Those rocks and Christmas ornaments might be on that dresser for a while longer. Damn the book fair anyway.

Mr Thirsty.

Yesterday was Emma's first dental appointment.  Oh settle down.  Yes she's four and she has the worst diet on the planet and I wrenched the pacifier out of her trembling fingers just this past April (I kept it in a drawer in case I needed to negotiate for something BIG).   But I didn't really HAVE a dentist.   I am an Anti-Dentite (reference: Seinfeld) so I try to avoid the dentist...read as...I don't go unless the pain is severe or I can't chew chocolate or God forbid the cold Diet Pepsi is making me pass out because it hurts my teeth.

Anyway. Found a dentist that was supposed to be good with kids and made the Rat Toothed child an appointment.  She recently lost both bottom front teeth which freaked me out a little.  I thought that maybe I'd harmed her mouth for life with the orthodontically correct pacifier and it was causing all her teeth to fall out.  She had learned all about the dentist at school and she thought it sounded "fun!".....so I just let her think that.

Last night, right before we went to the appointment, I sprung it on her that she was going to the dentist.  "YAY!!!  The DENTIST!!!"  She skipped all the way to the waiting room.  I filled out all the ridiculously repetitive  paper work while she hummed happily on the floor playing with some office toy.  They called her back to the room and she hopped happily up in the chair.  They played her a couple of cute videos about two dogs who go to the dentist and Emma sat in the chair totally nonplussed like this was the best thing she'd done all summer.  The hygienist took her to another room to get her x-rays and I expected some hesitation, but nope...again with the skipping.  Back in the chair, they cleaned her teeth and she giggled the whole time and used the suction herself (aka Mr Thirsty) to suck out the saliva and tooth paste.  At one point she was laughing so hard that the hygienist stopped to ask if she was choking and Emma helplessly shook her head no and went back to giggling hysterically. It all ended with a dentist autographed picture of her x-rays to take to school, a new princess toothbrush and some dinosaur flossers.  She skipped happily back out to the waiting area and called out "I can't WAIT to come back!!"

Let's talk about MY dental experience.  The place LOOKED like we were in the Soviet Union and smelled strongly of fluoride or alcohol or some vile dental product.  My dentist was short, Greek and CRABBY.  There was no cherry toothpaste to clean teeth or smiley blond hygienist, it was funky tasting SPACKLE with extra GRIT and it was applied by said CRABBY GREEK DENTIST.  And AND.... there was NO Mr Thirsty.... it was the dreaded SPIT SINK. EWWWWW.... Okay okay... I have to stop, I'm getting all sweaty and shaky. 

Emma got into the car last night and sighed happily holding her dentist treasures.  I remember stomping to the car, slamming the door and giving my mother the evil hairy eyeball.  Emma may have a permanently damaged mouth, but at least will be well adjusted and won't hate me while she takes care of it.  I'm a good mom after all.

I'll obviously do anything for kettle corn.

Nice day today.  Weather was about perfect.   And of course we couldn't think of anything to do. Did all the usual Sunday morning things like read the paper, Joe mowed the lawn, I made breakfast.  Then I knew that if we didn't do SOMETHING I would spend the entire day staring blankly at Facebook on my Macbook like I did yesterday.  Since I'm starting to resemble some albino bat that lives in a cave and never sees the light of day, I thought I'd better get out of the house.  So I suggested (insert dramatic drum roll here)... The Gladiolus Festival.

Okay..I know...calm down...who plans a whole festival around a flower that's usually only used in funeral pieces.  MOMENCE, ILLINOIS, that's who.  Home of the Johnsonville Sausage by the way and apparently the gladiolus capital of the known world.  Who knew?   Anyway... they were supposed to be having a craft show, flea market, etc etc etc, ad nauseum.  How bad can it be?

Oh it could be bad.  As we walked onto the grounds, Joe SWEARS he heard the banjos from Deliverance playing in the background.   Everywhere I looked, men AND women looked just like Larry the Cable guy.  I kept thinking "I actually changed clothes for this?"  I tried to make the best of it as we went through the flea market/crap...  I mean CRAFT show... Emma found a Beanie Baby she couldn't live without.  There was table after table of empty Avon perfume bottles, cheap pressed glass candy dishes and Campbell's soup mugs all under the premise of being "collectable" or "antique".  Right.    So I think we spent all of 14.6 minutes there and back to the car we went.  

But we did stop at the ubiquitous Kettle Corn stand where I bought a bag of fresh Kettle Corn that was almost as tall as Emma.    Fabulous.

So now we can scratch the Momence Gladiolus Festival off our list of "Local Festivals to Visit". I think that just leaves us with the Hoopeston Sweet Corn Festival.  

I don't like Kettle Corn THAT much.

Happy Meal Hell.

It's no secret that Emma won't eat.  For a kid that won't eat, she looks pretty damn healthy and is her appropriate weight and height for her age.  Don't ask me, I have no idea.   She only has one food group she eats.  Fried.  Make that two food groups.  Fried and Pop Tarts.  I know it's not healthy, but my brother was the same way and lived on the crispy coating off of chicken and grilled cheese for 20 years.  He's fine.  Somehow she's getting what she needs and occasionally I'll actually talk her into a Flintstone vitamin.    I'm such a good Mom.  Unless you talk to the people that work at the McDonald's here in town...who see me almost every day at the drive thru.  I think they might vote me "Worst Mom on the PLANET".   I told Emma that the McDonald's people were going to think I'm a bad mom for feeding her McNuggets so much.  She said "No mom...they all like you.  I KNOW they do....I want an Orange Drink too".

Today I cleaned Emma's room.  The sheer volume of Happy Meal paraphernalia was overwhelming.   Bears, ponies, pandas, cats, dogs, rabbits, surfing roosters, giant eyed pets of all types.  It just didn't STOP!   They were everywhere.  Under the bed, in the bed, in shoes, in the dresser, on the dresser, in the bookcase, in the TV stand, in the closet, in the toy cabinet, behind the closet door.  There were crowns, necklaces, bracelets, tiny guitars that played music, and a lumpy looking guy that farts when you pull his arm down.  What the HELL.  (I do like to call people and just pull that guy's arm down to make him fart in the phone).  Then there are lots of WEIRD dolls.  Pollys, weird looking Japanime purple haired dolls, other dolls that have large heads and lots of red hair.  And the bad part is....there are doubles and triples of some of this weird shit!

So I sorted and categorized and by the end of the day....she'll have it all spread evenly all over the house again like it was this morning.  That farting guy is cool though...and who doesn't love a surfing rooster?  Emma's healthy...I have a farting lumpy guy...the room is clean for 20 minutes.  Life is good.

Strike One Matey!

Joe had free tickets to a Chicago Cubs game this past Friday.  I'm not a huge sports fan, but I'm always up for interesting snacks, so I agreed to go and took the day off. 

Heading anywhere in Chicago is never "easy".  We made the woeful decision to follow MapQuest's directions and I think it took us through seven small Chicago suburbs before we finally found ourselves in Wrigleyville.  Wrigley Field is an interesting place.  There is NO parking facility.  It's all street parking and the driveways and alleyways of wily Wrigleyville residents.  As we got closer to the field, we noticed that there were people with home made poster board signs that advertised PARKING $30.  

WHAT?????  Oh that must be three dollars...no, no, I'm pretty sure that was a THIRTY.  Like, Three Zero.  We drove closer and finally were across the street from the field.  By this time we're running late for the game...according to Joe.....it's still 40 minutes before game time but he has to get the scorecard and program and rev up his testosterone level.  It's a baseball game after all!   

So Joe pulls into a driveway and this swarthy, pirate looking guy says "Pull in pull in pull in!!" Joe asks how much and the guy says "$40 dollars....you leave your keys and you leave anytime.  $50 dollars and you take your keys".  Joe nods and the guy jumps on a BIKE and yells "FOLLOW ME!!". 

I said "what was that part about keys???"  Joe is all intent on following Bob the Bicycle Boy down a side alley next to the ball park.  There are three guys standing in a small area with two driveways on either side of the alley.  They have the area stuffed with CARS.  One of the guys comes up to the window and says "Let your passenger out and back it in".  So I get out and Joe backs MY car in and the guy says "You leave keys...40 dollars...you leave whenever you want".  I stood there slack jawed.  We're in Chicago and Joe just handed the keys to my NOT PAID FOR SUV to a band of swarthy pirate guys in a back alley.  What about this doesn't seem right to YOU?  

We're walking to the ball field and I kept saying "you left the keys".  Joe says "I know".  I say "you left MY car keys with a guy we don't know".  "I know, it's fine".  "WE'RE IN CHICAGO".

"I KNOW IT'S FINE".  I think we had the same conversation about 269 times on the way to the ball field.  I wasn't feeling any better about it by the time we got to our seats, but our seats were pretty good.  I talked myself into the idea that THIS IS WHY WE HAVE CAR INSURANCE.  It took me awhile.  I was pretty sure there was a no pay clause if you HAND the thief your CAR KEYS.  Especially if he looks like a pirate.

The game itself was a SNOOZE.  The crowd however was very entertaining.  Especially as the $6.25 beers seemed to become more popular as the temperature went up and the innings went by.  Hotdogs...$4.00.  Bottle of diet pepsi $4.00 and so on.  I busied myself with a $3.00 dollar bag of peanuts in the shell and thought about what kind of car I'd buy with the insurance money after the pirates stripped my Equinox to the bare chassis.

The game mercifully ended three hours after it started, but not until after the crowd danced to YMCA.  I might add the guy in the red, white and blue clown afro was pretty good. We went back to the spooky alley inhabited by the creepy, swarthy, pirates (did I mention they were wearing alot of gold chains?).  And there they were...the pirate guys...and there it was!!  My CAR!!!!!!  I almost hugged it.  Joe and I got in and as we drove away I said "SEE, I told you it would be fine."  

And then because MapQuest gives such stupid directions, I decided I would get us home an infinitely shorter and more direct way.  

And I got us lost.  The end.

Ting CLINK Ting CLINK!

My husband is hot...no, I mean SWEATY.   All the time.  If he thinks about hot, he sweats.  When I first met him  he had several fans in his bedroom and I don't mean the kind with pom poms or that want autographs.  I'm talking oscillating, humming, fans on poles.  It was like the fan display aisle at Wal-Mart. 

So when we moved into this house he was MORTIFIED to learn there wasn't a ceiling fan in the bedroom.  We had one put up and for the last several years it's been just fine.  Always on HIGH, but just fine.  Every once in a while when the build up of dust on the blades gets to critical mass, I make him clean it off.  He's always turning it on, I'm always turning it off.  It's just a little fan dance we do.....(AHAHAHAHAHA....okay that wasn't that funny...)

Anyway. Recently, something happened to the fan.  In the middle of the night it started to go tink-tink-tink-tink.  The little pully chain that can be used to switch speeds or turn the lights on or off suddenly  started hitting the light fixture.  TINK TINK TINK TINK.  That will PISS YOU OFF in the middle of the night.  Okay...a little aside here...I'm one of those people who can't stand repeated noises.  If it's a rhythmic repeated noise I don't find it soothing, I want to smash it with a ROCK.  So TINK TINK TINK at two am am am pisses me off off off.  What did I do?  I woke up Joe and made him stand up and fix it.

I'm not sure what he did, but it seemed to work until the middle of the night just the night before last when it started to ting CLINK ting CLINK in the night.  DAMN pully chain thing!  Only louder and with a new CLINK added just for rhythmic fun.  It was like sleeping with the percussion section from the Miami Sound Machine in the room.  I woke up Joe to make him FIX IT (I'm not going to stand up and fix it for Pete's sake...that fan will whack my hand off in the dark).  And this time...no fixy.  It just wouldn't stop!  It was maddening.  I finally made him turn the fan off and then he laid there and griped because he thought the bedroom instantly became a sweat lodge.

My question is this.  What makes a fan go bad?  We had no earthquakes, house shifts or otherwise fan unbalancing events!  All of a sudden it's got more sway than a hula girl convention.  What the hell is that?  I even thought about taking off the pully chain things (source of the damned clinking) but then Joe will somehow get it on HIGH and I won't be able to turn it down and it will be like a wind tunnel in there.  And you know what's as bad as ting CLINK?  FREEZING TO DEATH.

I have to kind of laugh because he actually gets up to fix it when I wake him up.  Either I've got him really well trained or he knows that if I had to get up to fix it, the thing would get yanked out of the ceiling and tossed through the window like a propeller.

I'm not friendly in the middle of the night.

Crickets. Nothing but crickets....

So I was all excited about the job thing.  To the point that I was actually DANCING after the phone interview!  I sent a cheery little thank you email and got a cheery positive response back.  I had been told that I would be contacted again at the end of last week...which obviously has come and gone.  

I sent another happy little email and this time...no response.  I thought...well...maybe they're busy.  Waited a couple of days...nuthin.  Sent a second inquiry email.  Again...not a PEEP.  WTF? They had even gone so far as to give me their cell phone number and had encouraged me to call with any questions.  So today, I called and of course they didn't pick up the phone.  I left a happy message, give me call, blah blah, looking forward to hearing from you, blah blah. And...NOTHING.  No return call.  

I do believe I've received the blow off.  Could they have possibly found out that I feed my daughter chicken nuggets most nights of the week and have even on one occasion given her a bowl of Oreos for breakfast?  Did she really HAVE one of those George Jetson phones and could see that I wasn't quite the model of health and fitness?  It was such a GREAT interview I thought!!  I can't quite figure this out.  There's got to be more to it. (I'm trying to make myself feel better). I mean, it's not like I'm a brain dead three toed sloth.  If they've changed their mind, aren't hiring, don't have a position, just CALL ME.  I'm reasonable.  

Most of the time.

Unless you don't return my emails and phone calls and then I can get down right hormonal, bitchy and way past unreasonable.  I think I might even border on being an asshole if this goes on too long. 

Yeah.   Pretty sure of that, actually.

Sister Nancy Negative.

I have nothing positive to say today.  Stay tuned for a better mood when I no longer feel like I've been beaten to death by my job. 

Heheheh....

I also like these.   Some of them are rated PG14 and maybe even R.

I SO need one of these!!!!

I'm an impulse buyer.  And not of things that are useful like chapstick or on-sale spaghetti sauce. I like  to buy things that are completely not useful.  There was this one time (don't you hate stories that start that way?) my cousin and I were in like 8th grade and we were at "The Mall" and we bought these DOG puppets that we thought were hysterical.    Completely an impulse buy that at the time my mother thought was HORRIBLE.  It was a dog puppet.  Come on.  

Any way.  I am a big fan of another blogger and it turns out she makes a unique product that I'm just drooling over.  Sock Zombies.  I am completely enamored with these things.  What would I do with it?  What WOULDN'T I do with it?  Zombies eat brains and my desk in a neurosurgery office would be the PERFECT location for a Sock Zombie to live!  I just get so much of a kick out of the detail and the fake blood.  The person that makes them writes very funny descriptions that make me want one even more!

And now...there are Sock Zombie Cozies.  I can just SEE one of these babies on the gear shift of my Equinox!!!!  How GREAT would that be?  His little red eyes beaming in the sun...sparkly red blood twinkling by the dash board lights.  I totally don't need one...MUST STAY AWAY FROM ETSY!!!!!!  You know I'll be hitting that "Shopping Cart" button in a moment of total weakness! Sock Zombies!   MUST.....HAVE....ZOMBIE......

Sizzle.

Tuesday at the big pool, I learned a valuable lesson about SPF values.  Like, SPF zero does not protect you from the sun at all.  I came home with a sunburn that was quite impressive.  Not just red. REDREDRED.   I thought I needed a little color...fire engine red wasn't what I had in mind.

When we got to the big pool, I sprayed the child down with sunscreen and added a little bug spray just for chemical fun.  (There are some big ass bugs out in the country)   My cousin swears she doesn't have stock in a company called "Banana Boat" yet she took almost 20 minutes to slather her children with sunscreen from the parts in their hair to between their toes and I think she might have done their nostrils but I couldn't swear to it.

Anyway, I have been dealing with the sunburn (self inflicted) for the past couple of days and it's been (gulp) painful but the worst has come on day three.  ITCHING.   I think as the top layer of skin, which is most assuredly DEAD, detaches from the new red, raw, new skin underneath it must create this itching, prickling, there-are-fireants-on--my-back feeling. I'd like to take one of those wire brushes on a handle that is used to clean grills and just go to TOWN on my back.  I don't know if  I'd pass out from the pain or the relief from the itching!!

You know what's next?  PEELING.  Did you ever see the episode of Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe where he's in an attic with an exterminator looking for a snake...and all they find is the SKIN the snake has shed.  That's what is going to happen with me.  Joe is going to walk through the living room and I'll have left for work, but there is going to be a pile of skin shaped like me.  

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! That'll freak him out.  

I hate Frosty and other rants

This morning Joe had to leave early for work, so I planned to take Emma to day care. No problem. She's pretty good in the morning.

So I got up my usual time and staggered around the house for a while, checked my email, made sure nothing earth shattering had changed on Facebook (it COULD, you never know) and thought "huh...those plants on the front porch look a little wilty. Think I'll go water them."

As I opened the front door, I swear it wasn't even open a CRACK, Frosty (the doofus pictured above) shot through the crack and out into the front yard. Now this should not be an issue right? Because the dog should obey the mistress, right? Well, Frosty didn't get that memo. She shot across the street and into a thigh high field of soy beans where I could only see the tip of her fluffy tail from time to time.

I was so pissed.

A. I haven't had any coffee yet and 2. I have on men's pajama pants that are two sizes too big and no bra. And no SHOES. And no CONTACTS. I yelled at Frosty (or at least the blurry cream colored thing I thought was Frosty) and she completely ignored me, so engrossed was she in her soybean field heaven.

So I went and put on scuffy slippers and my contacts (oh that looks better)..and went back out. Now she's gone...the little *&^%$&($$#@. I CROSS the road and start looking through the bean field to find her thinking of all the nasty things I'm going to do to her when I catch her (back down PETA people...I was only going to do it in my head...not really to her). I can't find her. It's now getting closer to time to be out of the house. I'm still in jammies in a bean field. Emma is still asleep across the street in the house. Then I saw a flash of white. It was HER. I crept up to her murmuring all kinds of sweet puppy love talk and when she wagged her tail and stood still I grabbed her and she knew she'd been really really bad. I stopped murmuring sweet puppy talk and told her that she'd make a nice sandwich for the German shepherd down the street. She's muddy, I'm muddy and we head for the house.

Needless to say, she got put right in her crate with no ceremony or treats. Peaches watched the whole thing with mild amusement.

The morning went down hill from there. I ran out of eye liner, my pants had slipped on the hanger so that they were all crunched up on one end so I had the most lovely accordion wrinkles at the knees.

Got Emma to school on time, I got to work on time. You can hardly see my eyes due to lack of liner and I look like an unmade bed because of wrinkles, had no time for a shower, so it's yesterday's hair (isn't that supposed to be cool?). On the way out the door Emma said "maybe we should get rid of the dogs, they are too much WORK". I told her that sounded like a really GOOD idea. Frosty is lucky she's not in a box addressed to Zimbabwe right NOW.

What a four year old thinks about...

Emma:  Mommy?

me:  Yeah?

Emma:  How come hands are the same color as bologna?

And no day is complete at the big pool....

Without one of these.....nothing says  non stop fun like a lobster chair.  Cheap popsicles, an acre of water surrounded by 6 foot tall corn,  and a lobster chair.  America is wonderful.

The big pool

Out in the middle of nowhere and I mean NOWHERE, there is a pool.   Well actually not really a pool, but more like an ACRE of water in a big concrete square  It's jaw dropping when you first see it.  Massive.  Surrounded by cornfields.  Holds 3500 people according to the "Capacity" sign. That number...by the way...is more people than live in the small town where this pool is located. No one can really explain to me why it's there.  "Some guy built it".   It's the last of it's kind, I assure you.  I paid THREE dollars for my daughter and I to get in.  Popsicles are a quarter.  Candy is 75 cents.  Where can you find values like that?  Better yet, how do they keep this place open?  I'll bet there were maybe 50 people there.  and 12 were life guards.

I took the day off (read as got told that I had to take the day off because the doctors were off) and took Emma to the pool with my best friend and her kids.  Emma was so excited.  She fairly danced with excitement all morning until we finally started on the hour drive to the pool town.  As we drove deeper and deeper into the corn country she became more and more discouraged when we didn't arrive at the much touted pool.  At one point she said "I don't think there IS a big pool!".  Like I'd lie about something like that.

We had a great time at the pool, weather was perfect.  But poor Emma.  We were there for six hours and the following happened:

1.  She fell and skinned both knees

2. Went down the slide and lost a tooth when she hit the water

3. Jumped off the play gym and twisted her ankle

4. Got a chafed bottom from going down the slide so many times

5. Scraped the skin off the pads of her toes from the concrete bottom of the pool and was     leaving little bloody toe prints.

I SWEAR I was watching her every second!!  She played so hard and had so much fun, I had to DRAG her out of the water every time the life guards blew the whistle for a break.  The minute the whistle blew again she was back in the water.  She was completely pruney.  

At the end of the day (SIX HOURS LATER) I was getting her dry clothes on and she looked at me with glazed eyes and said "I had so much fun...thank you  for bringing me mommy". 

I almost cried.  I nearly WRECKED her by letting her play so long and so hard and she loved every minute of it.  She fell asleep after eating 6 chocolate chip cookies in the backseat, face smeared with chocolate, hair still damp from the big pool, mouth agape with a new gap-toothed grin, tan from the sun, completely and utterly spent.  

I love the big pool.

Well well wellness

So I've got this job possibility that I can't say too much about, but suffice it to say it concerns teaching people about how to lead a healthy life style and thus...be healthy.  Sounds good, huh? Insurance rates go down, health care costs go down,  I get a new job, everybody wins.

I'm very excited...but now the 20 pounds I've put on since January is feeling like 400!!  I've had a phone interview that went very positively.  PHONE INTERVIEW.  Just a regular phone, not one of those George Jetson TV phones.  So the people haven't actually SEEN me yet.  I'm about a size 14...last year this time I was a size 10...(falls face down onto Macbook in horror).  I'm not sure what happened other than 1. I stopped taking the stairs at work and B. I started eating fried food again.  I'm tellin ya, they could fry GRAVEL and I'd eat it if it were breaded and dipped in ketchup.  So I'm trying to figure out how to lose 30 pounds and get the flab tightened up before the person who wants to to interview me returns from the east coast next week.  Short of sawing off a limb...it ain't gonna happen.  So I'm going to have to distract them with my incredible wit and maybe dazzle them with a new pair of shoes.  I can imagine it now after the interview.  Funny girl, kinda cute, nice shoes...but did you see the size of her ASS????

I'm also the worst parent of the millennium because my child exists almost solely on chicken nuggets and Pop-tarts...no...actually she DOES exist on that with the occasional pancake thrown in and on a really good day, a grilled cheese.  I'm the biggest hypocrite of the century!  Um...oh yes, I'm your wellness specialist and you need to be trim, fit and healthy...unless you're my five year old and then you can have fatty streaks in your liver and a cholesterol level of 1209.  I guess that's really not that funny. (is that DCFS at the door?)

I also have no patience because I think after one phone call and not actually MEETING me they should hire me and pay me more money than I'm making now...what?  Is that weird? I don't think so. Let's save everyone a little time.  Cut to the chase.   Give me what I want and everyone will be happy.

So, I can either eat that left over spaghetti in the fridge for dinner, or I can start this whole healthy thing right now and try to find something a little less...mmmmm...pasta-y.  Kraft Macaroni and Cheese?  No?  

AM I NOT GOING TO GET THIS JOB?????  I promise to eat a whole head of lettuce and maybe some broccoli if I get the job.  Now I have to go...someone wants to show a movie on my ass.

AUNTIE EM! It's a TWISTER!

So the Humidity Festival has been going on lately. Gets to be about 90 degrees with 200% humidity. Everybodies hair gets funky and then we have storm warnings. The village tornado siren goes off and we all go and stand in our driveways which is just the opposite of what the siren is telling you to do. I guess the term village idiots is rather accurate.

Anyway. Saturday night we had one of these (see picture...which I can't take credit for) come spinning through. It really didn't look that bad by us. I know that for a fact because when the siren went off I went out side and stood on the wet sidewalk in my barefeet and assessed the situation. I deemed it safe. I've always been terrified of storms every since my French-Canadian grandmother (who was a bit of a mental case) made us lie on the bed with our shoes on while she raced around the house throwing holy water on the windows and lighting candles. Wouldn't that scare the shit out of YOU? But I digress...as usual...So I returned to the living room sofa to finish eating dinner (yes the living room sofa...you know you do it too) and watch the storm warnings crawl across the bottom of the screen. The big guy in the picture above, came within a short distance of where my teenagers were making pizzas at a restaurant where they work. The power and phones went out but no damage to the pizza kingdom. Lots of damage however to very tall scary powerful high tension lines, trees, vehicles and other stuff that isn't made to fly through the air, but actually did a pretty good job of it Saturday night. Major expressway near us is closed due to teeny bits of semi truck that the tornado pretty much ground up as it went through. I can't remember the last time we've had so many severe storms. Makes me want to stop all those cows from farting and melting the polar ice caps...you know that methane from cows is causing all this, right? Google it. I swear.

You'll be sorry you read this one

It's another installment of "Meet Frosty's Friends". When we got her from the breeder, she came with a cute little stuffed bear that they had let her mama and siblings sleep with so that she wouldn't miss them. She still YIPED like she was being skewered the whole first night despite said cuddly bear friend.

We threw the bear in the cage with her every time we put her in her crate. The bear was pretty much bigger than she was for a really long time. Not being completely "potty trained", Frosty had a bad habit of...'wetting' in her cage. I washed blankets and bedding constantly and noticed the cage still had an odor. I washed out the whole bottom and still...bad funky smell. It was the BEAR. Who now no longer smelled like baby pomeranian and mommy pomeranian. No..the bear had earned a new name. Pissy.


So this is Pissy. OH CALM DOWN, I WASHED IT. Frosty ADORES Pissy in a sort of unnatural way. She hauls this damn bear all over the hose and bangs it on the floor so it will squeak like that freaking CARROT, Fourteen. She also...and this is the scary, disturbing part...sucks on Pissy's nose...until she falls asleep...like it's some sort of WEIRD dog pacifier. Oh man. I always get the FREAK dogs!! You know what else is fun? Throwing Pissy against the wall and Frosty dashes after her, can't stop on that shiny wood floor and CRASH! (heheh) . COME ON...the dog TORTURES ME with barking and chewing and general constant mayhem! She doesn't even FLINCH when she skitters into the wall...which probably says even more about her. I always pick the freaks.

And on TOP of THAT!

Yesterday, before the big hail-the-size-of-human-heads tragedy I get a call at work. From the doctor's office that I was supposed to be going to at 3:15. Seems the guy is a COWARD. The receptionist girl says "um...we need to reschedule you to see the nurse practioner because the doctor doesn't deal with menopause issues".

A. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE DOESN'T DEAL WITH MENOPAUSE ISSUES? IF I HAVE TO SO DOES HE!!! So does everyone for that matter, it seems!

and

2. I don't LIKE the nurse practitioner, she's ICKY.

I bitched about it for a few minutes and she cheerfully said, "so would you like to reschedule for Tuesday then?"

"NO!"

So I called my gynecologist. The last time I went to see him, he decided to take parts out of my body that I was really sort of attached to. I'm not all that thrilled about seeing him again. But if I can get some DRUGS to combat the CRABBINESS, I guess it will be worth it...for everyone involved.