Reasons to Smile

Ten on Thursday

(In no particular order)

 

1. Snooze Button Snuggles ~ For nine blessed minutes every morning I get quality snuggle time with Mr. J. We often snuggle on the couch while watching a movie or squeeze up tight together at the beach. But for some reason the nine minutes before the snooze button bleeps, are my favorite. No talking, no outside noises, no pressures of the day ahead… He pulls me in tightly and softly strokes my tangled hair and I drool sleepy slobbers on his chest. Complete Bliss!

 

 

2. Gorgeous Flowers are Everywhere ~ It would be hard to remain a sour puss when surrounded by spring flowers. Even the huge magnolia tree out front is loaded with large beautiful flowers. The air is lightly scented with azaleas, lavender, jasmine, and sweet alyssum. Sitting back on the patio for a few minutes in the morning, sipping my coffee, and breathing in the hints of heaven.

 

3. My Fantastic Job ~ It is not exactly my dream job of either sampling chocolates for Keggs or watching over the flora and fauna in the Rockie Mountains, but it is a pretty rockin way to make a living. I have my own office and am not bothered too often. I am challenged daily but never overwhelmed. The money is good. The commute is short. I set my own hours… The only thing missing would be nap time and massages. I will need to take that up with the Pres. 

 (I want to move my desk out here)

 

4. Fresh Baked Apple Cinnamon Muffins ~ It is probably a sin to find happiness in something so delicious. As they baked this morning I envisioned the butter slowly melting in, the warm goodness on my tongue, and the aroma filling the air. I was not disappointed. YUMMY!

 

5. D - also known as the Eldest Child ~ I have mentioned him in the past, even tried to get him married off. He will have nothing of it. I see so much of myself in D. He has my practical side. He is a deep thinker, wise beyond his years… Alas, that is partly due to his two tours in Iraq. D has a fabulous way of making me smile, just by hearing his voice.

 

6. J – Also known as the Middle Child ~ At 19yrs of age J seems to have his life together. A steady girlfriend of 3yrs. A steady job of 4yrs. Pulling good grades at college, which is a wonderful accomplishment for anyone… and an even more awesome feat for a young man who is dyslexic. J carries my sensitive genes. He is slow to anger and quick to jump in and help the down trodden.

 

7. T – Also known as the Baby ~ Where would one start with describing T? He is a 17yr old bundle of motion. He can have the entire room rolling on the floor laughing or in stunned silence listening to him spill his intellect. He is not shy about sharing the fact that he is more awesome than just about everyone. T is a firecracker. I always joked that he would one day conquer the WORLD… But he is content in his quest to study medicine and just instead save lives.

 

Having a D, a J, or a T would be enough joy in anyone’s life for endless smiles. Having all three is almost too much happy to handle.

 

8. Mr. J calling me at Work and asking ME how to spell a Word ~ This makes me smile for numerous reasons. The first would be the fact that I am a horrific speller. I tend to spell phonetically or even worse, I am now spelling in slang. But, the main reason for the smile would be simply hearing his voice. He is my island in the middle of a stormy sea. No matter how crazy my day, hearing his voice makes everything alright again.       

 

9. Finding out my fuzzy brain and falling down dizzy spells are not symptoms of a brain tumor or blood clots ~ (Mr. J thinks I am just a dizzy Dame) Thankfully it is just a severely low iron count, which is also causing the extreme itchies all over my body.

 

10. Watching the sun rise and the sun set ~ And knowing my family is safe and happy. Perhaps we are a tad bit CRAZY, but we are happy none the less.

My Shit Don’t Stink

I used to be uncomfortable typing curse words. It was not that I thought I was too pure. I may have used the word shit on an occasion or two. It just looked so crass in bold print.

I am a closet “Potty Mouth.”  When I am alone, I can belt them out just like one of the guys in a high school locker room! (I will not even mention what the girls locker room sounds like. As I would hate to ruin our image.)

However, when I am around other people I cannot spit out the vile words. Have you ever been extremely angry at someone or something and your scream out ~ ”Go to Heck!”

It just does not have the same effect. Unless you are attempting to smooth over the situation with hysterical laughter.

Last night, I was very ticked at my beloved hubby. (I can love him and still want to put a pillow over his head, while he sleeps, right?)

Anyway, I was thoroughly pissed off and I wanted to yell something to the effects of “You STUPID (which is a really really bad word in our house… Worse than profanity) - Mutha Fucka.”

However, it came out… “You are such a Fart Head!”… Close… But it did not carry the same punch. I know, my mouth shows my mental maturity.

It is so much easier to make up later when you chose ever-so-slightly less ugly names to yell out. Such as Butt Wipe. Or a favorite of mine cuz my hubby is so macho …  Girlie Man.  Or, thanks to the Orbit gum commercial, Lint-Licker.

Our arguments would make for an interesting sitcom. We are both extremely talented at the adult version of “You touched me first” routine. My favorite type of argument is the silent treatment game because, I personally love the quiet and I always win. “What, you aren’t going to talk to me? Does that mean I don’t have to listen to you anymore? Oh, Goody!!!”

Back to our delightful argument last night: Like most of them, we cannot remember what the “mental bash” was all about. For the record, I was most likely right.

However, Mr. J. Threw out one of his favorites… “You think your shit don’t stink?”

I cannot stay mad when he says this. I have such a smart mouth … “Of course my shit does NOT stink! And I can prove it. Come kiss my ASS!”

Ok, do you see how our arguments go? We are both laughing like the loonies we are.

Some things should never be uttered in a serious argument. (If you want to win!)

Such as, “I’m not as dumb as I look!” My reply has to be, “I have to be honest with you… You look pretty darn slooooooooooooooow to me.”

To which he will say, “You are such a smart ass”

And I will reply, “You would not have married me if I was a dumb ass.”

For the record, I am not a fighter. It takes way too much energy. That is not to say, I wouldn’t stand up for issues that I believe in. If you want to take me on, there are a few things to consider:

1.) Do you have any good comebacks - and can you sling them fast? I grew up in a family of WAY too many smart alecks.

2.) Is the issue one that may touch a sore spot with me? A childish issue will have me insulting you. A Raw-to-the-Nerve issue will have me looking for a place to hide your body.

3.) Can you out last me in the event of the Silent Treatment? I have no problem tuning out ignorance.

A favorite quote of mine is -

“Never argue with an idiot. They drag you down to their level, then beat you with experience.”

I am not really flushing ranting today. Just telling the world that I won the argument last night. Whatever it was. And for the record, I don’t sit and analyze the aroma of my body’s recycling products.

I flush before the intoxicating scent reaches me!

Gynecologist Humor

The following is not me (I promise) But, I feel her pain…

I was due for an appointment with the gynecologist later in the week.

Early one morning, I received a call from the doctor’s office to tell me that I had been rescheduled for that morning at 9:30 am. I had only just packed everyone off to work and school, and it was already around 8:45am. 

 

The trip to his office took about 35 minutes, so I didn’t have any time to spare. As most women do, I like to take a little extra effort over hygiene when making such visits, but this time I wasn’t going to be able to make the full effort.

 

So, I rushed upstairs, threw off my pajamas, wet the washcloth that was sitting next to the sink, and gave myself a quick wash in that area to make sure I was at l east presentable. I threw the washcloth in the clothes basket, donned some clothes, hopped in the car and raced to my appointment.

 

I was in the waiting room for only a few minutes when I was called in. Knowing the procedure, as I’m sure you do, I hopped up on the table, looked over at the other side of the room and pretended that I was in Paris or some other place a million miles away.

 

I was a little surprised when the doctor said, ‘My, we have made an extra effort this morning, haven’t we?’ I didn’t respond.

 

After the appointment, I heaved a sigh of relief and went home. The rest of the day was normal. Some shopping, cleaning, cooking.

 

After school when my 6 year old daughter was playing, she called out from the bathroom, ‘Mommy, where’s my washcloth?’

 

I told her to get another one from the cupboard. She replied, ‘No, I need the one that was here by the sink, it had all my glitter and sparkles saved inside it.’

Never going back to that doctor. Ever.

Sorry, I have been in the dumps and have not felt like writing anything. I guess it is all part of that whole perimenopausal  thing… Whatever.

For the Moms out there

I am posting this a couple days early as I will be away from the puter on Sunday. The following was sent in an email:

MOTHERS and MOMS 

This is for the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their  arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying,  ‘It’s okay honey, Mommy’s here.’ 

Who have sat in rocking chairs for hours on end soothing crying babies who can’t be comforted. 
 
This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and  milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse. 
 
For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes.  And all the mothers who DON’T. 
 
This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they’ll never see. And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes. 

This is for the mothers whose priceless art collections are hanging on their refrigerator doors. 
 
And for all the mothers who froze their buns on metal bleachers at football, soccer, or baseball games, instead of watching from the warmth of their cars.  And that when their kids asked, ‘Did you see me, Mom?’ they could say, ‘Of  course, I  wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ and mean it.  Who made sure their uniforms were clean, that they never missed a game or practice and that they were always on time.
 
This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat  them in despair when they stomp their feet and scream for ice cream before dinner. And for all the mothers who count to ten instead, but realize how child
abuse  happens. 
 
This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. And for all the (grand)mothers who wanted to, but just couldn’t find the words. 
 
This is for all the mothers who go hungry, so their children can eat. 

This is for all the Mother’s who tell their children they love them when they kiss them goodnight.

This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.
 
This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to  sink a jump shot. 

This is for every mother whose head turn automatically when a little voice calls  ‘Mom?’  in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home – or even away at college – or have their own families. 

This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to school with stomach aches, assuring them they’d be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from  the school nurse an hour later asking them to please pick them up. Right away.  
 
This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can’t find the words to  reach them.

For all the mothers who bite their lips until they bleed when their 14 year olds dye their hair green. 
 
For all the mothers of the victims of recent school shootings, and the mothers of those who did the shooting. For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their  TVs  in horror, hugging their child who just came
home from school, safely. 
 
This is for all the mothers who taught their children to be peaceful, and now pray they come home safely from a war.  This is for all the Mother’s who have lost a son or daughter, having sacrificed their lives for their country and freedom.
 
 What makes a good mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips? The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time? 
 
Is it the ability to love others unconditionally, although they step on her heart or judge her as a Mother? The ability to find the good in everyone? To smile, although her heart is breaking?  The loving heart to not to judge others,therefore to not be judged?

This is for all the Mother’s with aching hearts, who are not accepted by those she loves.
 
Is it the ache she feels when she watches her son or daughter disappear down the  street, walking to school alone for the very first time? 

The jolt that takes her from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put  her hand on the back of a sleeping baby? 
 
The panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M. when she just wants to hear  their key in the door and know they are safe again in her home? 
 
Or the need to flee from wherever she is and hug her child when she hears news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying? 
 
The emotions of motherhood are universal and so our thoughts are for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation… And for mature mothers learning to let go. 
 
For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers. Single mothers and married mothers. Mothers with money, mothers without. 

This is for you all. For all of us… 
 
In the end we can only do the best we can. Tell them every day  that we love them. And pray. And never stop being a mother… 

‘Home is what catches you when  you fall - and we all fall.’ 

Scorned

No more will you feel my breath on your thigh
nor the warmth of my lips as we kiss.
A teasing of tongues…
while hair falling softly
caressing my breasts, you’ll too miss.

You have shredded my heart and crushed all my dreams
I am hollow and void of emotion.
The day will soon come
when you search for my love.
What you’ll find is old porn and some lotion.

 (Kiss this)

Sunbathing Topless

Because some of the guys think they are not needed and appreciated:

 

From Sherri… Who seems to know exactly how I am feeling:

 

A Special photo tribute courtesy of our friends in China (via www.engrish.com) who are working diligently to prepare for the Olympics:

(makes one almost want to go to China!)

(naughty girls) 

A restroom for cross dressers. They have thought of everything.

Courteous kidnappers will lend you a cell phone for this purpose.

No matter how sexy they may appear.

I am putting that sign above my bed.

This sign must hang above the desk at the DMV

.

.

.

And the final picture today is not really funny. It is a prediction of sad times around the corner.

Knocked off Axis

Our delicate little ecosystem has been knocked out of whack. My little sister and her out-of-control monsters daughters came to visit. My sis and I can finish each other sentences, which we do, and we think it is both funny and rude… and yet, we continue to do it.

We are as different as night and day and yet we are so alike.  Physically… She was blessed with the big boobs but was given a flat ass. I was blessed with a nice ass and a barely-there set of boobs. She has the brass balls and loves to control the room. I prefer to sit on the sidelines and watch the crazies from the edge.

She likes to hob-nob with the rich and famous although she is neither rich nor famous. I cannot stand the pretentious crowds and steer far from them. She was mortified when Mr. J turned down an invitation from Avery Johnson for a bar-b-que. She wasted half the weekend whining… “But, that was Avery Johnson.”

I rolled my eyes and replied, “Yeah, and that is Mr. J”    *shrugs*

She does not understand the delicate balance we have with people. They invite us over knowing we will say no, and we invite them over knowing they will respond in kind. None of us want the other to ever say yes. It is understood. We are merely being polite with each other.

She almost crapped kittens.

Back to my sister and our LOVELY weekend. I spent three days pulling her daughters off of the back of the sofa and chairs, the banister, the kitchen counters… etc. All the while my sister was oblivious. The girls are 5 and 7 year of age, old enough to know better. I do not like to correct other people’s children nor do I like my things to be demolished.

Day 2 - Mr. J had taped a picture of one of our nephews on the milk carton. My 7 yr old niece started to laugh and asked why his picture was there. Mr. J stared toughly at her and said, “He has been missing since the last time he slid down the banister.”

Poor Ashley kept asking me if that was true. Maddie was not even phased, She stated matter-of-factly, “I don’t care. I know how to get home if I am lost.” (We were tempted to test her)

Day 3 - I have all the fixins for a yummy dinner. Grilled salmon, wild rice, asparagus with a yummy hollandaise sauce. My sis decides that she and the girls would rather have Taco Bell. She does not think the girls will eat fish. (OK, I understand… BUT Taco Bell?) Yes, they all wanted 99 cent burritos for dinner.

Cool with me. However, I don’t eat fast food for dinner and have no idea where to find one in my neighborhood. We drove around for a while with the girls grumbling and fidgeting. Out of desperation I pulled into a gas station/convenience store and asked the clerk if she had any idea. She pointed me in the right direction and I walked back to the car.

My sister was white as a ghost. She is deathly afraid of big city life and the Cholos hanging around the car were freaking her out. I laughed out loud when I got in the car and saw her hand on her cell phone. She had dialled 9-1 and was posed to hit 1 again if anything happened.

I could almost hear her mind screaming, “If you come a step closer, I am going to hit one. I am serious!”  She is very naive to gang activity in our hood. The cholos are cool for the most part, unless you call them out. They will whistle and throw out the cat calls… (which is a demented ego booster for us middle aged women.) But, they keep their distance.

The Asian Boyz are a tad bit more respectful of women and elders. But, they are more deadly. Even Mr. J will get up and leave the barber shop when they walk in.

And the Katricians… Loud, mean without reason, and brazen in their actions. They don’t care who sees and who gets hurt. They seem to hold no value to life. They are venomous carrying cockroaches, whom we give a wide berth. They seem to thrive on the misery of others.

There are many levels of the different gangs. We have extremes from the MS-13 to the street Wangsters.

… And my sister was prepared to save me with her finger posed on the 1.

All weekend this song was bouncing around my head…

We have all been sentenced to LIFE…. And I am kind of loving my sentence today; family, neighborhood thugs, and all.

Mental Constipation

I am self- diagnosed and it is official. (in my mind) I am suffering from an extreme case of Mental Constipation.

My Dementia is in actuality nothing more than a psychogenic state of being, brought about by an acute obstruction, leaving me with a limited intellectual ability of excretion.

In “Layman’s” terms; I am full of shit and can’t figure out how to put it in words, letting it ooze out of my head, freeing up space for more crap.

I will need to perform further analysis to determine the cause of the blockage. Preliminary investigations have allowed me to narrow down the culprit to two prime candidates.

1.) My new diet ~ I have cut the term “dessert” from my nutritional regime vocabulary. I will get back to you upon further study, but I believe science will find that the lack of sugar, chocolate, and butter (preferably mixed together) is a direct cause of mental break down in our society. The sooner the FDA gets to the bottom of this issue, the sooner I can eat the good stuff guilt free.

Fat Food = Happy Dance

Back off Mr. J

I did not say I would be content sitting around the house in my moo-moo, with you rubbing my feet and feeding me truffles. I mean seriously, who would find contentment in such a frivolous lifestyle?

2.) Cutting Back on Internet Time ~ I have a new found respect for the pain of fighting an addiction. I will no longer scrunch up my face at the Heroin Addict, who is trying to clean up. Oh, sure you can say PC addiction and Heroin addiction are not even in the same ball park.

But, have you tried to go a week without turning on your life support system? Don’t give me the “I need it for work” or “I am waiting on an important Email from my child” line.

Get up, turn the Computer off, and Leave it off for one week. (I dare you!!!)

You may be strong for a while but there will be moments of weakness. You have just finished dinner, the kids are tucked into bed, there is nothing on TV worth watching…

and the PC is calling out to you, sending subliminal messages.

Your fingers begin twitching. Your mind begins formulating reasons you need to look something up. You walk by the desk, pacing nervously back and forth.

But, you are strong. It has only been 8 hours, and you  only have 160 more hours to go!

If this is not one of the major factors in my emotional conflict situation, then perhaps I am just NUTS.

And I am not ready to give in to that prognosis. (yet)

“You go home now…”

Her words haunted me all night. “You go home now.”

After work I stopped in at the corner convenience store. The husband and wife who run the store are the best. Every week they order one loaf of Oroweat Health Nut bread just for me. One loaf of wheat bread sitting on the shelf with all the fluffy white bread.

It tastes so yummy when toasted and the butter has melted in…

Back to the store… I walked by the counter prepared to chit-chat for a few minutes, asking about their son who is in the third grade, discussing crazy gas prices and plans for the weekend.

But, it was so different. They were edgy and the wife said, “No more bread. You go home now.”

She pointed to the door and said again, “You go home now.”

I know that my hood has dropped into the crapper. I am very aware of the little gangsters that are mulling around outside.

I leaned a bit closer and asked if she was OK.

She looked so tired, so scared… Life is beating the hell out of her and our hoodlums are weilding the stick.

She sounded so sad when she replied, “No more bread here. Just go, please.”

As I was turning to leave a punk runs in screaming at a guy who is leaning on the counter, “This is bull shit. I paid you for three and you only gave me two.”

The guy punk-ass dealer at the counter reaches in his pocket. At this point I am worried about a gun. She had warned me, practically pushing me out of the store… Now, I was trapped. We were all trapped.

We all moved quickly to the back of the store. People have asked me why I am getting a concealed weapons license… If I could convey the helpless feeling, while crouching in the back of the little store, you would understand. If the jackass decided to kill us all, we would have been armed with nothing more than bottles of milk and juice.

As it turned out, the punk handed the other punk a bag of something and they cursed at each other and they both left the store.

This was at 4:00 in the afternoon. Dealing drugs in plain view in the middle of the afternoon! Mutha-fuckas…

I want to cry… No, I want to scream… No, I want to slap the shit out someone… I need to move.

“You go home now…” The dear sweet woman, I pray she makes it home alive as well.

ARGH….

Saturday we had to have a plumber come over and unstop the kitchen drain. There are numerous reasons why this makes me uncomfortable.

1.) I don’t like strangers in my home. Not ever. I barely like friends and family in my home. It is my space, where I can walk around naked if I so choose. I don’t do it often, but the option is there. I am anti-social to the max. I don’t like small-talk chit-chat and can only smile politely at people for so long. There is no reason to take the chance of my face freezing like that.  

2.) My dear friend Mario  has retired and is not physically able to make house calls. Not that I would ever bother him with my chores. He has enough on his plate as it is.

3.) It burns me up that I cannot reach the point of the clog with my basic tools. I even disassembled all the pipes under the sink, up to the point where the plumbing leaves the house. Grrrrrrrrrr…

4.) I hate being dependent on others.

Because of all the reasons listed above, I refused to call a plumber for three weeks. Three weeks of heating water on the stove and washing my dishes in dishpans on the counter, and tossing the water down the toilet when I was done. Mr. J asked me on several occasions to call a plumber. He felt bad that I had reverted to hauling water. I would shrug and say, “Our ancestors had it much worse.”

Crazy, I know. But, that is how much I hate strangers in my home.

Finally I relented… Only because Mr. J was going to be home as well.

I am happy that the drain is fixed and that I can once again run water in the kitchen. BUT, it was a painful experience. This guy will not be invited back. He proceeded to walk thru the downstairs area and verbally critique our entire home.  (his actual comments in bold)

“… Your TV is CRAP.”  Yes, that is what he said. “It is too big for the room and the quality sucks.” Excuse me? WTF? We know our TV is outdated. It was ok when we bought it 10 years ago. Way back in time before LCD and Plasma. I don’t give a damn what you think about it. I scrimped and saved our pennies and surprised Mr. J with a 64″ TV when we didn’t have the money for such a luxury. Now get your opinionated ass back into the kitchen and work on the drain…

“You need to stain your cupboards mahogany.”    … No, I don’t. Mahogany is too dark for my small kitchen. They are stained a beautiful shade of teak to match the flooring. “Teak is too light. It shows the wood lines.” Those are called grains, and I love seeing the grain of the wood. Dammit, if I wanted the wood grain to be hidden I would have painted the cupboards.

“You need a new microwave. One that mounts above your stove.” No, I don’t. I like my microwave that sits on the beautiful teak microwave cart. I like my kitchen. I like my house. What I don’t like is your opinionated ass walking around my home telling me what I need to change. Even my own mother does not do that to me.

He would not shut up the entire time he was there. I think he could have been finished in 30 minutes had he shut his mouth and worked. I am glad that I was being charged by the job and not by the hour. He  ruined almost 3 hours of my day.

On the way out he had to get in a few more digs… “Why do you bother with burglar bars? You don’t have anything that a real burglar would want to steal.” I explained that I was more worried about the crack-heads in the area than experience burglars.

“I doubt the installers put the burglar bars up correctly anyway. They need to install steel bars into your 2X4’s.” Dude, they are installed correctly. They will slow a person down enough for either my husband or myself to empty a clip on them.

“Bah, women do not shoot guns. They will end up shooting themselves first.” At this point it took every thing I had in my reserve tank to stop from proving him wrong. 

Mr. J had been watching a basketball game thru all of this. I heard him chuckle under his breath from time to time. But, he left me alone to deal with our charming plumber. However, he knew I was getting riled and came to my rescue.

The plumber tried to get in one more dig… “Who drives the Porsche?” Mr. J was so sweet in explaining that it was my car. The twit laughed and said, “You let her drive this?” Mr. J had to hold me back….

ARGHHHHHHH….. I hate people in my home! I swear, if the toilet ever plugs up we will be pooping outside.