Weekend Report 11/08/09 aka The Scrubbing of Detritus.

Whoa...baby...what a weekend it has been. High points, low points and points in between.

Lady J and Tall Boy were both home from college over the weekend. (Like a little mini-christmas for me. Complete with the anticipation and then the let down afterwards; as I sob my eyes out wave as they drive away.)

lil dub had his first piano recital since starting with his new teacher at the beginning of the school year. Not to brag or anything. but yeah, he was the only kid there with his piece memorized AND who finished with a flourish; standing up, throwing one arm in the air, twirling his hand in a circle as his arm came down across his waist as he bent and took a bow. Surely, in his mind, he heard a thunderous applause. Or, that just might have been me.

Tall Boy came home chiefly, (ha, unintended obscure pun!), to talk about some Life Plans. Egad. Words like MCAT, Grad school, Biology, Umpteen years of school, Money, Now, Later, What IF, Quit job, Cut back hours; the words swirling around the room and twisting into knots at times. The Hubs is Mr. Pragmatic (hm. I think I have a new fake name for him now!), and was able to sort a lot of the words and help Tall Boy be better able to make some decisions he will have in the near future. It was just so exciting and confusing and boring at once, (come on, it was like midnight by the time we sort of kinda wrapped things up). Tall Boy had other plans too...like sleeping in and drinking chocolate milk and watching crazy you tube videos which someone who is his mother might have forced him to watch, and eating. He's a good boy, that Tall Boy.

My life plan? TO NOT DIE. (another post for another day.)

Lady J graced us with her presence as we had a concert to attend; a concert that I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that I was just as excited as a 13 year old girl to see. Miss K, Lady J, and myself joined a trillion other screaming mimi's at the SYTYCD show. If you don't know what that is, then I am not going to tell you. You can't make me and why do you always have to ruin my fun!!!! The ocean of estrogen we were swimming in may have made my uterus grow back. I'll know for sure in about 28 days. I think I saw in total 12 men. And they did NOT look happy. Well, maybe the guy dressed in  sadomasochist garb enjoyed it...I really have no idea where to go with that. Maybe his S&M girlfriend made him go with her just like the other 11 guys were by their forceful significant others. I can't wait for google to ping on this post.

The wheels in my head are beginning to veer straight into the abyss of introspection and I am only half heartedly trying to brake. The light is yellow in my mind. If I was seeing red I would stop and dole out a blog post lite. If the light were green, I'd be writing in obscure verse; dressed head to toe in black and a million candles burning in the background. Mascara would be running in rivulets down my ghostly pale skin.

Just so you know, It's all good now as far as me being okay with myself and enjoying this experience of blogging. I have granted myself full permission to blog how, where and what I may. When is also my choice. Who is obviously me. There is no stopping me now; I'm a runaway train and proud of it.

No, no. I've graduated to a different level of musing. I'm feeling like I need a good scrubbing down of the detritus clogging my thoughts. I've got so many barnacles clinging to the hull of my soul that they are threatening to pull me under.

(How many more transportation metaphors can I cram into this post? It's a game I like to call "Let's Distract with Corny".)

I think that, for me, blogging is less about the details of my everyday life and more about whatever emotion I want to work through at the moment. Mostly cuz the monotonous details of my everyday life bore me to tears; I can only imagine what kind of effect they must have on anyone who happens to read about them. I like reading about the everyday lives of others; you make everything sound so fun and so interesting; I learn from you and I feel I KNOW that I 'know' some of you more than I know my neighbors and some friends; you really ARE my new neighbors and friends. But I just find myself feeling kind of false when I tell you that today I did this and then I did that and I was so sure of myself and funny and you should do what I do and I love everything and I made this and whipped up that and I am brave and wise and look at me I am confident and let my inimitable skills at writing transport you through a portal of understanding and blabbity blabbity gag gag cough choke...

You know what though? It IS when I write about the dumb little details of my life that I DO find myself working through issues; slogging through at times; other times cautiously tip toeing. Know what else? It is when I read the stories you tell about your lives, and when you share the experiences you might have at your jobs, or with your childen, or when you just share a moment and it feels like we are on the same page or the same chapter or maybe even an entire book. So, when I travel with you down a bit of your path, I often feel like I've grown a new perspective. Your insight, intended or not, influences me. Hey, I'm a big girl, I can see the rose from the thorn and I'm not about to be suckered into just blindly following whatever or whoever crosses my path; but I can recognize what feels right most of the time. I can't even put into words, (something I am struggling with greatly right now in fact), the effect on me of clicking on a blog post and having that 'aha' moment of 'you too?".  Sometimes I just can't comment fast enough. That's when I wanna reach out and hug someone. Anyone. Usually lil dub is the unwitting receiver. So far he's good with it.

I think I have just discovered "The Real Secret". Blogging is not the mystery it was for me 9 months ago. Hey Oprah, Call me, k? Or have your little minions do it. Whatever...I can wait. I've got all the time in the world--IF my Life Plan works out that is.

The Honeymooners

The Honeymoon That Wasn't

The year was 1983.

Not really the good old days; but old for many of you.

Before cell phones, before personal computers; after microwaves and color T.V.

After 8 track. Well before CD's. The age of the cassette tape.

T'was the musical era of: Styx and Journey, (always and forever great); The Police, (pre Sting, oh yes, Bless-ed be every breath He takes); Darryl Hall and John Oates, (who later became Hall & Oates, which didn't seem to help their career a whole heaping lot); Michael Jackson, (Beat It-oh yeah, he was/is great); The Clash, (who doesn't want to Rock the Casbah? A term I use a lot with no real idea of what it means. I'm sure I could come up with something dirty); & "We've Got the Night" by Kenny Rogers and Sheena Easton (TERRIBLE SONG. BEST FORGOTTEN.)

Wedding Dress fashions were still stuck in the '70's-- Pioneer Dress Style, with high necks, long sleeves and floppy hats. This was just before the over the top ubiquitous wedding attire for which the '80's is best known for.

Unemployment was rampant. Talk about a recession. (Now, you young ones, I am NOT referring to "The Great Depression". I'm not THAT old.)

And it was also the year of "THE WORST HONEYMOON EVER".

We were young, we were and still are for that matter, IN LOVE. Which automatically means we were stupid.

We had NO, NADA, NIL, money. (Triple negative?)

We met and were married near the place where some of you live now, and far away from others of you.

We did not live near either set of parents. But both sets came to the wedding of course.

After our sweet wedding ceremony in a sacred and intimate setting, we took off as husband and wife for our wedding luncheon. Which was held in the basement of my new BIL's home. We got lost. LOST. We were mucho late for the luncheon, which resulted in endless jokes of what we were "doing" and no one believing that we had been LOST. (I have no idea now why it was so important to me that everyone understood that we really were LOST and not doing what they thought we were "doing".)

Quickly the families separated into their camps as two families brought together are apt to do and my new Hubs became the center of attention. I simply faded into the background. Whatever, I really didn't care. I was just too mortified that everyone thought we had been doing "it" before we got there. (Does this give you any indication of my 'status', ahem, before we were married?) The point here, and I do have a point in here somewhere, is that our Wedding Luncheon became a Wedding Roast of the hubs.
Every single story of my hub's life told in great detail. Stories that I have heard approximately 56 million times now. Not one story about me. My side of the family and I simply slipped their minds.

Wedding Reception #1 was held that night in a room at our church. Hubs excited, me freakin' nervous.

Honeymoon Night #1 was held at a fancy hotel in the big city that I have idea who paid for because as I mentioned we were living on love, not money. The only thing I'm saying about that night is that the most difficult thing about being married for me at first was the part about having to SLEEP in the same bed with someone. I was accustomed to having my bed to myself. Relax children; there will be no mature content here. For many reasons.

Wedding Reception #2 was held in the very small town where MY parents lived; in their church. The year were married was also the birth of Wedding Videos-we were actually the first wedding video our photographer shot. It is better than any Comedy Central Special you will ever see. (But will never see.) He asked each of us, separately, (as if we were suspects in a crime), if we loved each other. ?????????????????

Honeymoon Night #2. My sister's house. At least they spent the night somewhere else. Thank you very much.

Honeymoon Trip. Think Interstate. For Hours. Endless Hours. The definition of ribbon of highway. To a place I'd never been to and had only heard stories of. Stories that consisted of a lot of INSECTS.

Honeymoon Nights #3 or #4 thru 8. or 9. (there was a stop at our new to us apartment I believe).

Back it up.

Honeymoon DAY 4. We arrive at our destination, the Hubs hometown, before his family does. We walk into the home of his youth, where, before his parents had left to come up country to our wedding, there had been a bug bomb let off. Or blown up. Or released. I don't know how those things work.

Dead bugs, most cockroaches I do believe, all over the floor. Not a few...I'm talking covering the floor in a black creepy crawly mass of bugs.

Me, thinking the big "D" word. Do I have to spell it out for you? Sort of rhymes with remorse, ironically. Oh yeah, I thought of a lot of cuss words too. My knees buckled, I RAN out of the house and did not return until the bugs were gone. The dead ones anyway. Bless the hubs. Awww.

Back to the rest of the Honeymoon Nights. Brace yourself.

Our Honeymoon Destination was the Hubs sister's house. Let me tell you right away that I love my SIL with all my heart, more than that if it is possible. She has saved my life more times than I can count. I love my hubs entire family deeply.

Okay, now that that's out of the way....

We are led to our Honeymoon Suite which is a room shared by my two twin nieces, (LOVE YOU A&B! Thank you for giving up your room!)

Twins who slept in twin beds.

Yes, the remainder of our honeymoon was spent (well, the night part) in a child's bedroom, furnished with 2 TWIN SIZED BEDS. (My children: Plug your ears. Or eyes. For the next paragraph.)

Thank goodness that both the hubs and I probably weighed a total of 120 pounds TOGETHER. A Twin size bed was not a deal breaker.

Wedding Reception #3 was held on one of those nights. I didn't even get to wear my frumpy dress and floppy hat. I knew practically no one there. I had visions of cockroaches in my thoughts pretty close to all the time.

I spent time with my new family who are the best people on the planet, whom I dearly love. People that if the big "D" word were ever to happen, I would move in with. People who have sacrificed so much just for the hubs and I; just because they love us almost as much as we love them.

But, could you have found it in your hearts to have at least forked over some change for a Vegas Getaway? Just joking. (not really).

*********
The inspiration for this retelling of ancient history comes from Mama Kat's writing prompt..."A Humorous Wedding Story".

(don't click on the button. blogger won't link it. dang. click on mama kat ☝)

Because although it sounds as if I found my honeymoon story HumorLESS, (which I admittedly did at the time), I now find it endlessly HUMOROUS. Downright HILARIOUS. Not the stuff dreams are made of; but a true love story. A story of young love and hope and idealism, and of learning to love through times that are not the best of times. That love is about what is within and not without. Which has really been a big part of the success of our marriage so far and hopefully in the future. An Unforgettable Honeymoon.

The advantage I see in a wedding story like ours is that we started our life together with our feet on the ground. (Where else were our feet gonna be?) I worry that couples who have these extravagant, lavish, budget busting weddings are going to find marriage to be a big letdown. At least in the beginning. I could be wrong. What I am really afraid of is that I am going to over compensate and bust my budget for my children's weddings.

By the way, anyone want to contribute to a Vegas Getaway?

Time Management

     I have not been managing my time well lately. I've never excelled or even approached mediocrity in the area of time management, but I have reached a whole new level of ineptitude with my whole blogging schedule the past couple of weeks. My routine of writing, reading, commenting, responding to comments and just plain keeping up with the many blogs and bloggers I love is a jumbled mess. (Because for good or ill I have fallen 'in love' with most of you.) Lately, I have been reading 3-4 posts at a time, playing catchup, (and not because I have to, but because I want to), and my comments have been kind of screwy; cause I read backwards in time. I'm sure there are some bloggers shaking their heads, and who pity me for my early onset dementia. Perhaps they skip those comments on posts that are a week old. Seriously though, I miss everybody and your stories! I just need to hit my re-set button and get back on track.

     I often wonder about the blogging routines of other bloggers. I know a lot of you write your posts ahead of time, and I have tried that, but I am much better at the spur of the moment way. Well, I don't know if you would consider it 'better' really, but it's what works for me. (If you think I'm long winded now, you should see the posts I spend real time on.) I find notes around the house of ideas that I think might possibly make a good post and what I've jotted down is either indecipherable or irrelevant. (As if what I write is relevant. haha.) I think it's the real writers who can pull off the planned posts; and I just like to get stuff out of my head so it will stop spinning around in there, making me dizzy.

     I know my posts are mind numbingly long and because I think I must include every little detail, I'm sure most are just skimmed over. Half the time I think of more details later that I wish I had included. Can you imagine? Which is considered bad writing by anyone who is a real writer; I do know that much about the subject. My last post should have been broken up by chapters instead of paragraphs. I know that what I write is all over the map; my thoughts don't always follow a consecutive order. And I write sentences that read as though I think you already know what I am referring to. Both of which are an indication of how I talk in real life. My grammar is a train wreck. In real life I tend to adopt the language style of whoever I'm around in as little as 5 minutes and that too crosses over into my writing. If I spent any time with a caveman my communication would consist entirely of grunting. And a lot of scratching. Which might not be a bad idea. Because of this tendency I try to write before I read other blogs so I don't unintentionally plagiarize. I boomerang from present tense to past tense; from first person to second person. There is also the issue of my made-up words. Also how I talk IRL.

10,000 words just to explain my messed up blogging schedule! (Rough estimate.)

     One of the things I am really awkward with in the World of Blogging are AWARDS. Gosh knows I love receiving them; it's like a great big fist pump to the ego. The awkward part is that I suuuuuuu-uck at passing them on. But when Deb at Menopausal Mom gave me 3, yes 3, awards last week, I thought I should at least try to be less than my usual lame self and accept them and pass them on. I haven't known Deb for very long but I love her attitude and we have a lot in common. Imagine the effect of 3 awards on my ego. I practically reached semi-self confident. For a few minutes. (A while back some friendly bloggers gave me a couple of awards and I spaced it and completely forgot who it was who gave them and didn't even thank them. Sheesh. What a LOSER.)

     Since I have such a problem following directions I am going to pass on all 3 awards to the same blogs, the number of which will be random. I will tell you what the real rules are though.

*hushed silence...curtains slowly parting...ooohs and aaaahhs* all in my imagination.

This first award looks like 2 awards connected together and the imagery of a laptop and hearts feels quite appropriate to me.  I love my laptop so much it's possibly a sin. And I love blogging just about as much. The official rule with this award is to pass it on to 15 other blogs. Honestly, even though I could easily think of 15 blogs to give them to, if I tried to link 15 blogs in one post you would probably hear me scream (or grunt) from where ever it is you might be.

This 2nd one I always read as Honest Crap. With this one you are supposed to reveal 10 Honest things about yourself. I hope I can keep it to 10. And these really are honest crap.

1. I hate repetitive noises. Anything or anyone which clicks or taps or snaps or beeps or smacks. Especially out of rhythm.

2. I have the maturity level of a 13 year old; I can and do twist any word or phrase into something dirty. Just yesterday some older gentleman told me I had a firm grip. I had to leave because I couldn't stop chuckling over that. See what I mean?

3. People with 'an agenda' really get on my nerves. Salesmen, friends who use you, people who won't give you the time of day unless you fit into their circle, clerks after a commission, people who flaunt how charitable they are, POLITICIANS.

4. I change moods more often than my underwear.

5. I have nerve damage in my nasal cavity which causes my nose to run NON STOP. How one gets nerve damage in that region of your body, I have no idea. But I do know that the Dr. was so excited about this rare yet real condition, that he grabbed a resident doctor to show off ME and my nose. I felt special. Fortunately there is medication for this. (For feeling special? I want me some of that.) No, for my nose.

6. Speaking of noses. I once had a lady stop me and tell me she was getting a nose job and wanted hers to look just like mine. As far as I could tell, she had no need for rhinoplasty.  I had never given a thought about my nose; I obsess over other parts of my face. Just goes to show you that we worry too much over our perceived imperfections.

7. You know the rubber thingamajig in the drain of your sink? That thing you can't remove; therefore cleaning the underside is kind of impossible, at least I've never figured out how to do it, and who knows what is growing under there? It makes me gag to even think about it. The guy on Dirty Jobs probably makes his wife clean it.

8. In my imagination I dream of being a princess slash librarian slash writer slash olympic athlete.

9. I MUST see a castle, a real castle, preferably in Ireland, before I die.

and 10. I love sarcastic humor; be it smart or stupid. I don't like slapstick or magic. I don't know what the two have to do with each other. I just ran out of numbers. (I could easily think of 10 more honest crap  randomness...scary.)

And finally this cute little Lemonade Stand award is for blogs who show Good Attitude or Gratitude. Which means I should probably pass this on as quickly as possible before anyone figures out I received it.

Here is a random selection of bloggers to which I would like to give these illustrious awards. There is no rhyme or reason, because although I act as though I have a cold, unfeeling heart I am really a lovesick follower to a dozen (or more) blogs besides these. I know some of you don't do awards, or you've received the same award a dozen times already (probably from me); I just want you to know that I'm thinking of ya. I feeling very deja vu here; maybe even deja vu on top of deja vu.

Joanne @ Moving Forward Half Speed
Jo @ Under The Influence
Tammy @ Keep in Touch with Mommakin 
Kristen @ K.Law Inspired
Tiffany@ On the Verge
Jules @ literally laughing out loud
Sandy @ It's A Jungle Out There
Mag@sitting on the mood swing

I need a nap; Awards is too hard for me. Can you hear me grunt?

Halloween Update or Is a Good Cup of Chili Too Much to Ask?

Halloween 2009 Update

Because I know you've been sitting at your computer checking and rechecking for Mama-Face's Halloween Stories and what not, I am here to oblige. Tis the season for Thankfulness now, so I should get Halloween 2009 off of my chest and out of my head and move on. Really.

If I had my way, Halloween would always fall on a Saturday; Thanksgiving's got Thursday, let's give Halloween Saturday. There, I said it. I expect it will be changed by next year. (I have no idea what it would take to change a tradition that keeps growing and growing and will probably soon swallow all other holidays; but I'm up for it. Just don't make me Secretary or in charge of Publicity. I'm just an idea person.)

Back to this year's Halloween. I've gotta keep it real and tell you I didn't love it. I wouldn't say I hated it so much; I think I was disappointed, no that's not it; let me see, bummed? No again; gosh, what words am I looking for?...frustrated and sad?? Sadstrated?

It began inauspiciously enough with a trip to the grocery store; me and about 90 billion other shoppers. What is it with you people procrastinating your shopping until the last minute? PLAN AHEAD. You annoy people like me that just want some peace and quiet; not to mention not having your cart ram into my ankles while shopping. I do think it's time for turn signals to be placed on grocery carts. I am full of  good ideas! And a little button to push with a little voice that politely says "Excuse me", or "I'm sorry", or "Stop blocking the aisles you moron". My mind is lighting up like a Christmas Tree with ideas right now.

Anykay...

On Saturday, whilst I was maneuvering my cart throughst the aisles, I had a pounding headache. The kind that makes you squint your brows together and causes your eyes to water, so clearly, I could do no thinking. I threw in only the groceries I absolutely needed, which included a bag of those little Heath bars, (cuz I already ate one bag that was designated as Trick or Treat candy), and made my way to the checkout stand.

Now, obviously if you are wearing a costume you will be in a better mood as evidenced by my cute little check out girl. (I was a check out girl like 8 trillion years ago; but we never got to wear costumes). I am at a complete loss as to what she was going for; but I think she was a skanky umpire devil. But, skanky can be nice. The little Skanky Umpire Devil even mentioned how exciting it was that the Halloween Candy was 50% off. WTF. Clink Clank went the synapses in my brain...CANDY? 50% OFF? The same candy I bought at full price a month ago because I was PLANNING AHEAD? Well, at least I got my baby Heath bars for 1/2 price. I would have gone back for more, but I wasn't up for it. (The headache, remember?) Besides, I did not need any more candy.

Luck was not my lady Saturday, because although the hubs promised to pick up a Diet Dr. Pepper from Sonic on his way home from Home Depot, (his home away from home), HE FORGOT. Anyone who knows anything at all knows that drinks from Sonic are best. It's the ICE I tell you. I played the martyr, something I could win an Oscar for, and used my boring refrigerator ice.

Back to the subject at hand; Saturday, aka Halloween, aka Chili Day. Yes, our tradition has been for years, (probably since the year after the 'dinner in a pumpkin' debacle), is 'Chili for Halloween Dinner'. I do not know why we have this tradition; I don't even really like Chili. None of us do, except for maybe the Hubs. This year I searched for a new recipe, thinking I'd find something new and that I might like. I found a recipe for Vegetarian Chili; to which I added meat; making it Turkey Vegetarian Chili. The ground turkey is not for me; it's the Hubs who thinks you have to have meat with every meal. I chopped vegetables, I opened cans, I stirred, I seasoned, I simmered. Well, the chili simmered. I looked at my literally trashed kitchen, and put my aching head in my hands. This better be good chili; it was certainly a way crazy amount of work. And add a headache on top of it. Yeah, It BETTER be lip smacking delicious chili.

Okay, the headache was a doozy. It wore me out. I think I looked at the clock with anticipation 50 gazillion more times than lil dub; I just wanted to get the whole day over with and go to sleep.  He just wanted to leave for his first year of trick or treating with just his friends; NO PARENTS. (No worries, there were plenty of parents in the wings should any problem pop up.) He was giddy with excitement. Of course, he did have to have something good for him to eat before leaving, so I ladled him up a nice bowl of chili. He looked at it, repulsed, and began dry heaving. Dry heaving enough to nearly cause me to wet heave. (Darn Headache.) Okay, I had no parental oomph in me to coerce him into eating the chili; so I made him a cheese quesadilla. Out the door he went. And inside the house remained the hubs and I.

Guys; for approximately 20 years we have had one parent stay home; one parent taking the kids trick or treating. (Maybe we had a bit of a break in between Lady J being old enough to go on her own, and lil dub being able to go at all.) I knew this day would come. I just did not expect it to be so WEIRD.

Did I mention the chili sucked? It really did. Did I mention I had a monster headache that had wore me out to the bone? I did. Did I mention that there was a NCIS marathon on all day? I didn't?

It was surreal. The Hubs and I eating our chili. When I asked him if he liked it, (because it is him after all that I was really making the chili for), he said well, he ate it, didn't he? Okay, that is not saying you like it, is it? Am I right? Then there was me, eating the chili even though I knew I didn't like it. I spent 45 quadrillion hours making it and there was no way I was going down without a fight. Boo yah

The doorbell started ringing and through sheer dumb luck a carefully thought out plan, the hubs answered it every time. Meanwhile, I was sprawled out on the couch watching the NCIS marathon. (I finally understand that whole Ari sequence.) During commercials I ate baby candy bars. Twix, Heath, Pay Day, 100 Grand...SO helpful for a headache. Bah. I also made stabs at a little kitchen cleaning during commercials. (Cuz my TIVO broke a long time ago and I have to watch TV like I live in the Stone Age.) My.Life.Is.So.Hard. Hubs sat at the table looking at books trying to figure out how to build a shed in our postage stamp sized backyard. Not.Going.To.Happen.

The 'plan' went smoothly. Doorbell rang, hubs gave out the treats. NCIS on; me on the couch. Hubs planning a shed that will no way in heck fit into our backyard; me checking the clock for when lil dub should arrive home.

Do you want to know just how badly my head was aching? I tried to read some of your blogs and I just couldn't do it. The words were swimming all over the place. The only trick or treater I saw the entire night was lil dub. But I am up for a good game of NCIS Trivia now. Wasn't a total waste.

Around 8:30 p.m. or so, lil dub calls. lil dub wants to know if he can stay at his friend's house and watch a movie. Ok, fine, more NCIS for me. At approximately 8:45, the phone rings again. lil dub wants to know if we have the movie they want to watch. Now, I'm getting kind of put out; cuz this is screwing with my schedule: couch when show on; other stuff during commercials. This was definitely other stuff and lil dub didn't even seem to care. How did I raise such an insensitive child?

Once I filled two gargantuan freezer bags with chili and put them away, things were good. As good as it was gonna get. I was able to get a surprising amount of kitchen work completed during 6 hours of NCIS. I was also able to consume an astonishing amount of baby candy bars during that time. (Note to self-headache and candy bar no good together.)

10 p.m. rolled around and finally lil dub returned home. He had such a great time, it made my day. Seriously. He was tripping over his words telling about how cool it was to trick or treat 'alone' and how some houses were so awesome because the whole family dressed up...(what's that about?)...and he knew exactly which houses gave out full size candy bars...(seriously; what's THAT about?)...and so much more. I did my parental duty and checked out his pillowcase full of candy, looking for razor laden apples and such and came across this:

Really?

Really.

Not only am I weirded out simply by the fact that it is a DIET cookie; but the fact that it looks like its been stuffed in someone's pantry for a couple of years, disturbs me even more. Okay, I did think of this one thing: what if one of you out there gave out Nutrisystem cookies; maybe you are even the person who threw this particular cookie into lil dubs pillowcase, so maybe I shouldn't be trash talking you. We might be neighbors. (Actually that would be kind of fabulous. I would totally forgive the cookie thing.)

But, really? Come on. (But I must thank you for providing the ending to this never ending story.)

Loose Ends...chili recipes welcome, I am going for Thankful this month, I still haven't emailed the teacher about my volunteering choice, lil dub is still having panic attacks, I sent the dumb flat belly diet book back, I'm chewing gum again, (mwahahaha), sticks and stones may break my bones, but I can't let the fact that you don't read me anymore hurt me, (and if you are reading this it is obviously not you. yet.), Mark Harmon will ALWAYS be a hottie, I have a lot of blog reading to catch up on, AND finally, I caught the hubs eating a cheese quesadilla at about 11 p.m.)

Oh, and Happy Halloween after Halloween from the Dementor. I think that's what lil dub said he was.

1st Annual Halloween Post

I present to you my 

1st Annual Halloween Post.

You get what you get and you don't throw a fit.

Here we go...

As a child, costumes surely were not the over the top productions of today. My mom sewed every article of clothing, other than our underwear, for us girls, so I doubt sewing a costume was high on her priority list. Every year I was a hobo. Which meant I put on a dirty sweatshirt, and smudged some dirt on my face. I'm pretty sure I had (or have) never seen a hobo, I just knew they must be pretty scruffy since where would they shower, jumping from train to train? Plus, I'm pretty sure there was a hobo on "The Andy Griffith Show" more than one time. Hobo was the lamest costume ever. But I didn't want to stand out by being the one who didn't wear a costume at all; I didn't want stand out at all.

I lived in the day when kids were free to roam unescorted *gasp* down darkened streets to go trick or treating. I remember going to houses more than once; thinking we were really living on the edge, what would happen if someone recognized us? If we did score another piece of candy (and that's what is was, one piece, none of this grabbing handfuls), we thought we were criminal masterminds. Haha, they were probably just nice people taking pity on the kids. Or more than likely they couldn't care less.

When my kiddos were little I actually sewed *double gasp* costumes. I made the cutest clown costume you have ever seen, a disney Jasmine costume, and a couple of others. If I didn't hand make a costume, I would hunt down various articles to put together an undercover agent, a baby, a mad scientist, and others that don't come to mind right now. Many times I borrowed from my sister, whose kids were just a bit older than mine and who can sew almost as well as my mom and made some beautiful costumes. (I can say almost as well because I have never known anyone who can sew like my mother did.)

Once the 3 older kids could make their own, then they were left to their own devices. I think they started being one of those kids who trick or treats with just a prop like funny glasses or they just stopped going altogether.

With lil dub I have become the lazy mom. He gets the store bought costume. Easy and cheap. He's perfectly happy, and I'm ecstatic. lil dub is ALL about the candy.

That cute little clown to the left is "Tall Boy". He looks like "Tired Boy" in this shot.

Snow White is none other than My Miss K. Quite the makeup jobs on those 2.

(the other two are their cousins; incognito army guy and clown baby #2)

Circa 2000. Miss K., Tall Boy, and Lady J.

lil dub, age 3. His teacher asked him, "What are you?" He said he didn't know.

I will tell you what he was...He was CUTE!

I'm old enough to remember when the first actual scare with the razor blade took place. Maybe it wasn't technically the first time this happened; but things did seem to shift all over the country at the time.  Some crazy person hid a razor blade inside an apple, (yes, people did give apples out for treats back in the day, but normal people left out the razor blades), and after that it became mandatory for parents to inspect each individual piece of candy. We would pour out the entire haul for the night onto the table and look for any candy that might look like it had been tampered with. I think some people even took candy someplace to be x-rayed. Is that possible? That seems so absurd now...did the hospitals really x-ray candy? Should anyone eat candy that has even been exposed to that level of radiation? That must be some crazy mixed up memory I have. It was the end of the good old days of popcorn balls, and apples, and any kind of homemade treat being handed out at the door. Now the only reason I really check lil dub's load is to find all the candy he's willing to barter for. No worries about him eating an apple anyway.

The closest thing I can come to as a legit Halloween Story, isn't really about Halloween. But there is a connection. I just know it.

In our part of the country, and believe I can safely assume this is the case where a bunch of you live; Corn Mazes have become pretty standard Autumn and Halloween attractions. Even mazes with hay bales abound. I think whoever came up with this is a marketing genius; make people pay money to walk through your corn field by cutting paths through a field of dead corn stalks. But at the same time I hate these people. Because I have a visceral reaction to any type of maze. I have a maze phobia. And I can trace the routes of my condition.

I can remember this as if it were yesterday and not 37 years ago. Oh please, you young people, let us old people reminisce.

It wasn't a corn maze; it wasn't even fall, it was in the springtime. I lived in Virginia and when I was 10 years old, I went on a field trip to some colonial historical site, (there a lot of those in Virginia), with the entire fifth grade class. I loved the portion of the field trip exploring the old mansion, I was weird that way. But I looked at the maze as something to be endured, not enjoyed. I was weird that way. You can see that I haven't changed so much. I didn't want to go in there to begin with and I didn't even know what was in store for me.

The maze was cut out of hedges of boxwood. Humongous hedges. Much taller than I was; and I was fairly tall for 5th grade. Back row of the class tall. I remember walking into the maze, along with the rest of the kids, and walking slowly; each kid taking off in different directions, and soon I was alone. As I tried to follow the nearest voices I just walked deeper and deeper into the maze and soon I was lost. LOST. I was turning every which way trying to find my way out. I considered busting through the hedges, but a. I was afraid of making a scene and getting into trouble. I doubt I'd ever even been in trouble at school; yet I was petrified of the whole idea. I had never even had so much as my name written up on the chalkboard, you know, when the teacher leaves the classroom. Probably because I was usually the nerdy kid the teacher chose to write down the names of the 'bad kids'. Whose names I rarely had the courage to write; I was petrified of those kids; and b. boxwood hedges are dense; you can't see a dang thing through them.

I remember the exact spot I was standing in, alone, hopelessly lost, and I'm sure, crying. I could hear the teachers calling to the kids to get on the bus. I was in abject fear. What if they left me there and I never got out? (I really thought I was never going to get out of that prison.) It was truly frightening. The more yelling I heard the more confused and lost I became. I was trembling.

Who rescued me? I have no idea. Surely it was a teacher. I remember nothing else about that day other than me standing in that spot, staring at the sky, and praying harder than I ever had before, maybe harder than any other  time in entire life. That day changed my life forever. My intense claustrophobia can be indisputably linked to that moment that seemed like an eternity at the time.

So, yeah, I will not, nay, I CANNOT go into a maze. Sometimes amusement parks feel like a maze and I get all panicky feeling. Yes, I know this makes me sound like I was a loser in elementary school. I really was.

And now mazes are just as much a part of Halloween as trick or treating. When my kids were younger I would drop them off with friends to have that scary fun and I would wait in the car. I would watch other parents go with their kids; see them go in and come out, but no way, no how could I or can I do it. I see the big billboards advertising mazes for weeks before Halloween and get kinda nervous, from the signs alone. I am more afraid of a maze than I am a haunted house. And the only time I went to a Haunted House I backed out of the door the minute I walked in; so you can see that I'm pretty skittish all the way around. (Haunted Houses are all about inescapable enclosed spaces, so once again, the claustrophobia.) I've told you before about my fear of airports and airplanes.  I ran out of the first Friday the 13th movie, after being crouched on the floor of the theatre; and there's not place much more gross than a movie theatre floor, but that wasn't even safe enough, (besides it was quite claustrophobic down there), so I left all my friends and raced out of the place. I had to measure my fear of looking uncool to my friends against my fear of slasher movies. That night the seed of my fear of campground restrooms was planted. IF you don't know what I'm talking about, you have not seen Friday the 13th.

Me, with my 2 sweet daughters and a couple of witches. You can figure out who's who.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

p.s. If there are typos, misspellings; anything at all like that, than please excuse me. What can I say; I'm feeling "squeezed" for time? My back's against the wall? The walls are closing in? I'm feeling boxed in?baaaah. I am so funny.

Help!

Hey everybody!!! Listen up!


2nd post for the day...but I need some help from my good buddies. That'd be y'all.


lil dub is in the gifted program at school. In an effort to burst out of my self-imposed prison I have been volunteering my butt off lately. (Wish I could volunteer other parts of my body off. Or add to. Or rearrange.)


Sooooooo,


I was conversing with the gifted program teacher yesterday morning and I let her know that if she needed any help, why I'd be happy to do so. She seemed quite interested.


I envisioned awesome field trips, festive parties, crowd control. Stuff that basically requires me to be a spare adult; an innocent bystander. No thinking involved. I'm good at that. Maybe even gifted.


Sooooooo,


This morning I had an email from Mrs. D. thanking me for the offer. Apparently I dazzled her with my charm, or she fell and hit her head, because she wants to know if I would help on the District Level as either a:


Secretary 


or a


Publicity/Web Page Person. 


Wha.......?


Not a single thing about a Party Planner. 


I'm barely qualified to write on this blog; my knowledge of anything computer involves turning it on, clicking on the internet icon, and conducting therapy sessions with myself. Sometimes I have to seek outside help for even these simple tasks. 


(We live in a small school district; the gifted program is rather small and runs mostly on volunteers.)


But, SECRETARY? or PUBLICITY? (Publicity requires maintaining a website; I don't even know what that means). Secretary means minutes and stuff like that. 


What do I do? If I say no, I am a jerk; I just volunteered to help. I can't say no. 


If I say yes to either position, then I imply that I know what I am doing. I can't say yes. 


Should I mention the idea of a party planner? 


HELP! 


WHAT DO I DO? Which of those jobs do I stand a chance at faking that I have any clue whatsoever I am doing?


p.s. Don't forget to read today's previous post. I've got other problems too. I just really made you not want to read that post, didn't I? FORGET I said anything about problems. FORGET you even read this.
But do read the other post. And don't forget to HELP ME!

Renegade Customer Service Representatives

The last bill I received from our cell phone provider was a whopping, heart attack inducing, $293.90!!!!!!!!!!!! 

two hundred ninety three dollars and ninety cents!!!!!!!!!!!!

Unfortunately, THIS IS A PROBLEM.

I’m not going to name names *coughladyjcough* but 600 minutes alone were used by one child. 

Well, obviously I need more minutes. I NEED a new plan. This should be a piece of cake, right? 

Wrong. Of course. 

There is one aspect with calling any company customer service which always makes me feel somewhat discombobulated. When Ms. Automatic Voice begins her spiel, (with a superior smirk in her tone), and commences to list  choices and which number to push according to which topic best describes your reason for calling, it seems that no category ever fits my issue. I listen intently to the choices; I try to decipher which description best fits my situation. There is never an option that fits my situation exactly. I usually have to push the repeat button several times before taking a leap of faith. Like today, was there a number to push for, “I nearly crapped my pants when I opened my bill and now I need a new plan”? Hecka no. At one point, the dang automated lady hung up on me. I’m sure she was shaking her automated head and thinking, “Oh yeah, we got another doofus on the line". Not to be shot down so easily, I called her back. I threw caution to the wind and pushed #2- with no idea of which option I had chosen. 

Now, this is what I picture the customer service department to look like: a room full of computer nerds geniuses, each with a head set and a computer. Do you expect me to believe that customers who push #1, #3, or #4, actually get the special customer service reps in the special room? NO. Here's my opinion, in case you were wondering: What is it with the number choosing before you speak to a real live person? I say, just go straight to being put on hold and skip this whole feeling empowered by choices crap. Straight to hold, where you will be told, all customer service reps are currently busy. No punching in your phone number. No punching  in your password. Just a thought. 

Anywho...as I mentioned, this should be a cakewalk...

Bwahahaha. Not so quick there, pardner. Here’s what went down:

Welcome to Erizonvay, my name is Whatshisname, how are you today?

Fine and you?

Just Fine, Ma'am. Ma’am, what can I help you with today?

Well, you see, my last bill nearly caused me to die and it’s obvious to me that I need a new plan. I would like to change to a new plan. NEED MORE MINUTES on my new plan. Give.Me.Plan.I.Want. Can you help me?

Ma’am, I can definitely help you. That’s why I get paid the big bucks. heh heh Can I get your name, please?

Mama-Face

Okaaaay, Mama-Face. Ahem, It looks like you are not authorized to make changes to your plan. 

WTF? (I thought this; did not say this.)

Um, No, there has to be a mistake. I am authorized, in fact I have spoken with your customer service representatives several times in the past.

Yes, Ma’am, I can see that. I can see here (here is his computer I’m assuming) in the notes, that you have been helped before, but you were not authorized to do so.

Um, if I am not authorized how was I able to make changes in the past?

Ma’am, the customer service agents who have helped you in the past were BREAKING THE LAW. heh heh.

WTF! (unsaid; just thought)

um. what? 

Ma’am, the agents did help you (okay, this I know, I was there), but they were technically BREAKING THE LAW. Ma’am is ______ (the hubs) there? 

No, ________ isn’t here. He is at work. 

Ma’am, ________ is the only person who is authorized to access your account. Now, I could call him…

My husband is at work. No, you can’t call him. But...I remember specifically being  authorized at some point, why am I no longer authorized? 

Yes, Ma’am you were authorized, but in 2007 the laws were changed and then you were no longer authorized. 

WTF.? 2007? (he reads my mind at this point)…

Ma’am, as I told you, those Customer Service Reps were BREAKING THE LAW. 

(just a thought, does that make me an accessory to breaking the law? egad.)

Okay, okay. My husband will have to call. Does he need to talk to you? Or will any old Customer Service rep. be able to handle this? 

Well, Ma’am, I don’t want to TOOT MY OWN HORN, heh heh, but I am the only one who has noticed that you are not authorized to access your account...but yeah, any Customer Service rep. should be able to handle this. (I’m picturing C.S. reps in handcuffs and orange jumpsuits for BREAKING THE LAW.)

Okay, I will just have to have my husband call. 

Uh. Ma’am, do you have any questions that I could help you with today?

What...is going on here?

But, you just told me that I am not authorized, right?

Yes, Ma’am, but I can give you information about each of our plans. I just can’t change your plan, because you are NOT AUTHORIZED. 

Fine. Fine. Tell me about your plans. 

BlahBLAHblahBLAAAHHHblabbbbbbuhbuduh. 

Good, good. The 1400 minute plan. That’s what I need. Oh yeah, I'm not AUTHORIZED. 

Yes, Ma’am. Is there anything else I can help you with?

Are you kidding me? 

No, I will have my husband call you, get authorized, and call you back to change my plan. 

Okay, Ma’am. ThankyouforcallingErizonvaywirelessandyouhaveaniceday. 

*****

Last night ______ called Erizonvay Customer Service in order to authorize me. 13 minutes later I am authorized, (in some secret manner in which I am not authorized to know), and we have a NEW PLAN. It took twice as long than that to find out that Mr. Whathisname is superior to all other Customer Service Representatives (in the universe?) and that I WAS an unauthorized individual. 


heh heh