"AND TO YOUR RIGHT, RAMPANT HEATHENS"

St D and I had our first vacation last week.  As hard working individuals, it was DESPERATELY needed, by late April!  Thanks to the fine folks at Pfizer, we haven't really been sick much since 2024 began, so no sick days, and I was about to drive down I75 and NOT STOP had we not taken our break.

We flew to Baltimore to visit our amazing friends- well ok, back up... we flew to CHICAGO, then Baltimore (thank you Southwest), THEN went to visit our amazing friends.  Seeing them always relaxes us because, like us, they find solitude in laughter, fun conversation, and sweatpants.  It's truly a beautiful marriage between us.  My beloved and I would walk the trails behind their neighborhood and bird watch- 

(OK... can I stop here real quick; we have REALLY become bird nerds!  I mean Dan was looking up what a yellow bellied wurbler looked like, and being in the Charm City, we thought for SHIT SAKE we would see about 3,145 orioles, but notta one?  Sadly we did see about 10,982 RAVENS flags, but dammit we were really hoping to see the O's!)

Ok... got that out... moving on...

So blah blah blah... it was RELAXING!  But one of the field trips that we have grown accustomed to with Ant and Mary Ann (Italian, from Queens, lived in Jersey for years, go back and say their names, but in a Tony Soprano kinda manner- NAILED IT) is to drive about a little over an hour to Lancaster PA.  It's safe, there are shopping outlets, Amish, and besides almost running them off the road from time to time, a fun town to visit!  We cap off our day of near Amish homicide and shopping with a visit to a small town called East Earl PA.  So ok, not a lot to see there.. but... they are home to...

SHADY MAPLE SMORGASBORD.

Google's free.  Go on, look it up!

It's definitely a "hungry man's paradise".  For about $24.99, you can feast for four hours- undoing ANY million dollar triple bypass within minutes!

Now in all fairness, this joint is really nice.  It has beautiful three dimensional art in the lobby, a really diggity dope gift shop downstairs, very nice restrooms (yes, a place can rise or fall to ashes based on the cleanliness and classiness of their shitters... moving on...).  And again, we venture there with Tony and Carmella EVERY YEAR, so its charm definitely does keep us comin' back.

But with all of that said... this year in particular, my blog juices got to flowin!  Much like the fountain of soft serve was doing at the dessert bars!

Folks, in general, lose their ever loving freakin MINDS when provided with WAY too many food options! I realized what the scene looked like to me- imagine human beings being air lifted onto Mars- despite not being able to survive for 1.8 seconds due to the heat, imagine us just walking around, looking aimlessly... the occasional spin of confusion.  OR the zombies in "Night of the Living Dead".  We all walk going -.32 miles an hour.  There is a blank stare on our faces.  The human brain wasn't meant to compute so many pleasurable emotions at one time!

IS THAT HAM?

DO I SMELL SWISS CHEESE CUBES IN A PLASTIC BIN?

WHAT ARE TONGS?

IS IT A SIN TO PUT MY FRIED CLAMS ON THE SAME PLATE AS MY PISTACHIO SALAD?

I mean, this joint is so huge, that ...ok... it starts with huge soft drink and coffee stations (BORING)... but then you venture back towards paradise, and there are two huge GRILL stations- want a Ribeye.. BOOM! Sausage and onions?  WA LA!  A HOT DOG? (SURE BUT WHY THE EFF ARE YOU GETTING A HOT DOG AT THIS JOINT?)  ALL THREE... BUT OF COURSE! (but first sign this waiver).  But just past the 189 degree flat tops are two IDENTICAL SALAD BARS- one to the left, one to the right.  Smart folks these Shady Maple designers-  "we are going to be feeding 1,987 folks at once, so how about we have the SAME shit to the left as the right.. pick a direction and keep going".  But NOOOOO... Jethro and his brood wonder around like (see above description of slow moving, zombie like aliens) thinking that there is "something better" to the left, even though they just filled up their plates on the right.

CORN, WE'RE GONNA NEED CORN HERE!

OHHHHH JOHN LOOK, CHICKEN CROCHETS AND TACO SALAD!

HEY WANDA, GRAB ME 3 PIECES OF THAT CARROT CAKE, BUT FIRST, ADD 17 LBS OF WHIPPED CREAM TO EACH (GOD that actually sounds good)

I started wondering if my judgement of these folks was being reciprocated?  I mean cmon, I'M THERE TOO?  But then I realized that I grabbed a clean plate and stood in line patiently, while 5 people cut in to grab that extra corn muffin and 19oz of ranch dressing.  I actually did structure my meal in the "proper Americanized order"- salad, entree (ok, so I went up 3 diff times and got 7 diff entrees but still), then dessert. I wore actual clothes- and a bra.  OH and I had showered first.  BUT I'm sure sandwiched in between "Thor" (complete with PJ pants, flip flops, and two ram-like french braids in the back of his other wise bald head) and Wanda (JOHN... grab me another 3 lbs of the fried shrimp balls), was a somewhat "routine" person, possibly eye balling me thinking "Ok you high haired Ohioan, how much more peanut butter sauce can you pour in that damn bowl?"

And I hope that they blog, and I hope that I read about me :)

 

 I KNOW I USED TO BE CRAZY....

Not really.

As my sister lovingly likes to point out to me, I was indeed, a nerd.

A goody goody.

Well OK, back up... I did my fair share of questionable shit, BUT, I just managed to NEVER GET CAUGHT!  Oh, and I was an honor student.  And I didn't smoke.  So yeah, revert back to "goody goody".

I loved school- I mean Jesus (capitalized as if I'm speaking to Him and not being blasphemous), instead of getting a job my senior year of high school, I would fill any "void" periods with "office aid" shit.  I LOVED being there? (I can feel it.. you are all team "my sister" at this point ).  I participated in clubs, ran copies, etc... I even remember helping the school secretary clean out an old storage closet!

Do I have any regrets? NO.  No I do not.  It was who I was at that time in my life.  We all try at some moment in time of our life journey to "change to please others", but all in all, I've just always been "me".  Love me, hate me, find me to be annoying, love the shit out of me... yeah.  

Fast forward to well, NOW.

I'm an eclectic lover of music.  I mean ANY AND ALL MUSIC!  I've been spoiled the last few years ever since St D lovingly bought me a 2017 Honda CRV, complete with a "free" subscription to Sirius, which then turned into "Hey, continue your free subscription for only $2.99 for the next 90 days" to "Hey dipshit, you're hooked aint ya?  LOOK AT ME NUMB NUTS... WE ARE THE CAPTAIN NOW... PAY US WHAT WE WANT".  I run the gambit on "70s on 7" and "Mosaic", then getting in the mood for Neil Sedaka and Connie Francis on "50's on 5".  I go from belting out "American Woman" to "9 to 5" to "Chains and Things" to "In Case You Didn't Know".  

So with all of that mumbo jumbo said, I'm really out of touch with what is actually the "here and now" in local hits.  Yet I find them.  Oh yea, Sirius DOES have normal modern era music- I HAVE HEARD of Olivia Rodrigo, and SZA.  I was impressed with my "modern day music knowledge" when Abs converted St D and myself into old, "kinda" Swifties, and Miley Cyrus' "Flowers" was my JAM!  And by the looks of her performance of said song on the Grammys this year, EVERYONE UNDER THE SUN finds "Flowers" to be THEIR JAM too.  

I then noticed Sirius playing a lot of her follow up hit "Used to be Young", so I finally took a break from the Guess Who and Suzie Quatro and "stumbled in" (hehe) to listen.  OH MILEY!  I mean I've never been a huge mega fan, even when a young Abigail lived and breathed Hannah Montana. (eh, maybe not that crazy, but she watched it.. moving on....)  But her voice, her talent!  It's a letter to herself- to those that keep telling her that "she's changed" and "whatever happened to the girl that...".

I know I used to be crazy

I know I used to fun

I know I used to be wild

That's cus I used to be young

I found myself drawn to it.  Loving it.  "Feeling it".  

But WHY?

Scroll back up to my era of NERD-DOM.

I was never crazy- I was fun but in a dork kinda way.  I wouldn't call going to see Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Neon movies at midnight every Saturday with St D and my crew as necessarily "wild". 

But, I used to be young.

And I revel in the memories.

I smile thinking of my "past".  I smile even more at my PRESENT.  And I look forward everyday to my FUTURE.

 

I know I used to be nerdy

Straight A's but GOD was it fun

I know I used to be normal

That's cus I used to be young.

 BREATHE, BREATHE IN THE AIR...DONT BE AFRAID TO CARE...

I gotta be honest- I really wasn't much into the countdown, the constant yammering, of the solar eclipse. I went into yesterday without even (PARISH THE THOUGHT) possessing a pair of eclipse glasses!  (yeah, I know!)  My news family on Newscenter 7 were counting down for the last 3 months,  and although the idea of the economy being boosted by something other than Taylor Swift was encouraging, I approached April 8th like well... I didn't.

I tend to be one of those people that get uber excited about 3 minutes before the "event"- New Years Eve is just a fun, end of the year ritual, complete with celebrating the birthday of our great friend, prepping to drink like I was going to the chair, and THEN, about 90 seconds before the ball drops in Time Square, my inebriated heart starts to race a bit.

So all of that said, yesterday was just a normal Monday, complete with pondering my life decisions as I hopelessly got ready for work.  By about 12:30 pm, I was the sole survivor in the office, considering my lack luster attitude about the eclipse must have telekinetically been transposed to my boss, because not once was I told "Hey, get on outta here around 1 and go enjoy the eclipse at home!"  I sat here ticky tappin away on my keyboard, working, scowling...

Then, as I was eye rolling life... I noticed.  It was about 1:32pm.  Hmmmm.. wonder what's goin down outside?  I walked out and looked directly at the sun (yeah) and thought ok, I dont see shit!? (other than the start of retinal burn) I thought it was going to start around now?  My daughter shortly after texted and said "The sun is halfway covered, it's actually pretty cool looking".  OK.... my blessed eldest nugget usually doesn't get too excited about this crap either, so for her to relay this information to us, I started feeling it.  That "90 seconds before the ball drops".  I saw the guy from across the hall out smoking and asked if he had any extra glasses, and said he has one pair and they are on his desk and "have at".  I found said glasses and walked back outside and looked up (properly) and saw it- the moon was beginning to blanket our sun!  Amazing that the solar eclipse glasses um, actually WORKED?
I then found myself stepping out (like Joe Jackson told us to do back in the 80s) about every 15 min, eye spyin (properly) and being in awe of I don't know.. our universe?  I started noticing more and more of the fine employees of building 228 going out back to the parking lot and one of them asked me if I needed glasses because "she has a ton of them".  I thanked her and saundered outside.  It was about 2:50pm. 
And then it happened.
I was again amongst the finest people that I don't know- I see some of the gals in the potty from time to time- nice "good morning" smiles are shared in the lobby.  And yet me and this merry band of 228 office building goons were about to experience BEAUTY that none of us will ever see again in these here parts.  I booted up "Dark Side of the Moon" on my phone- some nameless guy sitting on the concrete wall said "Hell yeah!", and started singing.  Another guy said he was going to go and lay in the grass.  I found myself chuckling with some of the ladies, laughing how the news had to "inform people" NOT TO DRIVE with the glasses on- UM, I was blinder than Stevie Wonder?  NO SHIT!  We kept looking up and every now and then mentioning "ONLY A SLIVER LEFT".
Soon after, TOTAL ECLIPSE!  We all marveled at the drop in temperature.  The sky went to dusk.  I LITERALLY heard crickets!  We marveled at the beauty in front of us as we all dropped our glasses to our hands.  We felt spiritual.  We were, if only for a few brief minutes, a "family"?  No "pleasant" smiles in a lobby.  No "flushing of toilets" to interrupt restroom small talk.  We were experiencing one of natures most spectacular phenomenons- together.  We laughed.  We stood looking at Heaven in awe.  Suddenly the world didn't exist around us except for what was placed in front of us.
Then we all smiled, nodded, and walked back into reality.
I said last week in my first blog in 914 years that I find beauty in the ordinary.
I found PEACE in the extraordinary.

 EWWWWWW THAT SMELL!

 

My sister and I were never raised to put "hammer to nail" so to speak. 

 Dont get me wrong- lil sis and I had great childhoods!  But my father was never really "hands on" when it came to home improvement- and the lovely Linda Marie had the most kick ass father in allll the land (at least the 45416), so Grandpa was always our knight in shining tool belt!

I suppose this is why we barely knew what a wrench was, let alone how to build a fence.  I recall the first time I knew the difference between a flat head and Philips head screwdriver (which wasn't all THAT long ago), and all of the sudden thought I was Bob freakin Villa!

But slowly over adulthood, and being married with a mortgage, St. D and I realized that it was much cheaper to LEARN and DIY than to hire someone to do it for us.  It was around that era that I started to first experience my first interactions with...well..."those places".  Again, I never grew up with home improvement projects being thrust upon me and if it wasn't Kmart, Rinks, Gold Circle, or Salem Mall, I just didn't SHOP THERE!  I could tell you where Funway Freeway was in said mall, but couldn't tell you what "drywall" was.  Learners, Elder Beerman, J C Penney, and Sears were my meccas, but NEVER the "Black and Decker" section of Mr. Robuck.

Those places.  Quotation makes adorned those two words, so ya just KNEW I'd explain.

I'm talking about... (pause, whew... just... the feels coming over me just THINKING about them)... HOME IMPROVEMENT STORES!

Lowes. Menards.  Possibly Home Depot (dont really hit that one much but I'm sure it would give me the same awesome sense of euphoria).  A few years back, my girlfriend and I talked of our love... our love of the the smell of walking into a Lowes- and knowing that shit was about to get REALLLLL special!  The smell hits you in the face like a brick of pesticide- MMMMMMMM my GOODNESS TAKE THAT SHIT IN!  

Whether it's a major room renovation, or needing light bulbs- "Hi I need a mega bottle of Downy Unstoppables", or "Hey um, the dog crapped on our brand new Burber, can ya point me in the direction to Floor Coverings, and the nearest pet cemetery", these utopias of blue collar just hit me where I live!  The aroma tantalizes your senses the second you walk in to find a cart... or a pallet...and I feel more alive than I normally do on a lazy Saturday.

As I was mowing our lawn this morning, (with our new self propelled Toro Mower, purchased at yea... LOWES), I began dreaming of a reason to go after I was finished.  MULCH!  BLACK MULCH FOR THE BACK GARDEN!  Once my task was complete, I knew all that I had to do was wash the sweat off of my face and run a brush through my weave to relieve it of any lawn/bush debris.  I texted Abs to let her know that I was "GOING TO LOWES"... her reply "OOOF, how embarrasing", and OFF I WENT!

As I saundered into the Lawn and Garden section, I realized that this wasn't going to be a quick "Hi I need 4 bags of Premium Black Mulch" kinda visit.  No.  I was by myself.  With a Lowes card (well ok, St D has it but ya throw them your license and they will find ya.. oh yeah,... they will).  I walked into my Graceland, and began lovingly gazing at patio furniture.  Then lawn gnomes.  I found myself eyeballing "pond fountain pumps", even though I don't own a fountain.  Or a pond.  I dreamed of gutting our kitchen (again) and replacing everything with stainless steel appliances...I ran my lawn work stained hands over PVC piping like Ralphie did the Leg Lamp in A Christmas Story.  Why?  Cus I could.

Why was I looking at Clorox Pool tablets?  Do I really need another pair of garden gloves?  (Considering I dont wear them anyways- revert back to "lawn work stained hands")  I walked down aisles looking at light fixtures, Valspar paint, and storage bins.  I breathed in the smell of ceramic floor tile, and almost did one of those Julie Andrew twirls as I got to (man..oh man..) LUMBER!  I was in my paradise.  I was in my Heaven.  Like MacLemore in a Thrift Shop, I'da bought a broken keyboard, if it smelled like Miracle Grow.

I ended up buying my 4 bags of mulch and a bottle of Dasani water- $11.08 cash.  My mental tab by the time if was all said and done? Around $93,768.14.

Ponds aint cheap.

 OHHH what's 12, 13 years....

BLOGGER!  OH how I have missed thee!  Well ok, truth be told I haven't thought much about blabbing my inner most thoughts for some time- again, laziness, age, mortgages, adult children, small godchildren, kinda, sorta take up a lot of time, ya dig?

I used to be able to come up with plithy dribble at the drop of a hat.  I'd be drifting off to sleep, wondering why my thoughts were racing, and instead of counting sheep, I would get up, boot the old "Gateway" desktop (sitting next to our bed), and write a half hour diatribe about insomnia and stupid shit entering my nighttime thought process ("did I pay the DP&L bill, why is an olive floating in my brain).  I would see a commercial for "E-Harmony" and immediately write a damn Lifetime in my head- complete with names and weirdo scenarios.

Then eh, again, who knows what happened?  I always blame shit on "getting older", but I honestly think my new passions in the evenings were no bra, PJs, and any game that I could download onto my phone.  Dont get me wrong, those are STILL my PASSIONS (I will be playing that shit sans 8:42pm later this evening), but something lately has just rejuvinated my want.. no, my NEED to write?  If only for those that know me to read and begin compiling "evidence" for my commitment hearings down the road.

It possibly began this past Sunday.  It was Easter Sunday to be exact.  We just got done having an amazing family get together at my daughter and son in law's house, and because I can't leave any dish "unwashed", I stayed behind to help them with K-P detail.  My sister and her family went to the cemetery to visit my dad, nephew, and grandparents, and once I was done, and since St D and Abs drove home separately, I ventured to said cemetery on my own to pay my respects.

I used to love cemeteries.  I mean I would go on my lunch break (when I took them) and walk around, visiting "older" relatives, enjoying the peace.  The tranquility if you will.  Sunday was a gorgeous day- sunny, not super chilly... I found myself kneeling over my nephew and my dad, picking a few weeds around their stones... apologizing for stepping on them.  I then drove to the back of said cemetery and talked smack with my bestie's daughter... 

Then I realized- I was weeding my nephews tombstone.  I was talking smack to my best friend's daughter... laughing with my dad at how I hoped I wasn't stepping on his nutsack.

I realized- fucking life got in the way.

It smacks you in the face like an anvil.  It takes those that you love with every ounce of your soul without even asking permission.  

I've been absent from writing for some time, but I can guaran-freakin-tee you, the last 7 years, I've had no joy in regailing anything in writing.  We as a family and close knit friend community trudge on- we god damn HAVE TO!  And life in general is glorious.  Redd in Shawshank said it best-"get busy living, or get busy dying".  LIFE took that away from those we have lost.  WE have a choice.  So we get busy LIVING every. Damn. Day.  And I find beauty in the most ordinary things.

But sometimes, I'm reminded that "some birds aren't meant to be caged, their feathers are just too bright.  And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up DOES rejoice, but still the place that you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone.  I guess I just miss my friend." 

I need to stop being afraid to write.  I need to laugh at the ridiculous.  I need to take my insomnia and turn it into an imaginary story of the ants I saw in my bathroom one night and their sad stories of their anthill condos being destroyed by leaf blowers.. and how Chris and Stephanie now have to find subsidized housing...

I wanna get back to silly.

PROUD PARENT OF SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER 221-53......

PROUD PARENT OF SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER 221-53......

It's been way too long.

And all that shit....blah fuckity blah blah.

Not that there has been a "lack" of anything inspiring, comical, uplifting, or shocking in my recent life- I just think my brain goes into "sleep" mode more often than it used to. I mean in the last year, I have moved my oldest daughter into an apartment (better than our own damn house) and she is now attending (and loving) mortuary school in Cincinnati. My youngest has her temporary permit, and, although she seems to drive quite well, shows no real motivation for it, which translates into my continuation as "taxi service", well into 2013 at this pace. St. D is doing grand; our jobs are, well, we still HAVE them...So all in all, we are doin' just fine....

Which leaves me time to notice the little annoying SHIT around me. :)

Ever since I became a parent, I have OOZED with pride over my children. Ask me about them, as if you really want to know, and I can talk your ear off for an hour without stopping for air. In my eyes my girls are the most beautiful, smartest, and enriching goofballs that a sperm and egg could have ever created!

But ONLY if you ask me about them. (and ONLY if you really seem to want to know).

Don't get me wrong- immediate family, grandparents, aunts, etc... they will get the 411 ALWAYS! Close family friends too. It's just part of the "deal" we make with all of the above. I won't even bat an eye if my close girlfriend gets out the latest school pictures of her brood, and will proudly show off said pics on my hallway wall and fridge. And whereas there is nothing WRONG with being proud of our children, and WANTING to talk non-stop about their first bowel movements, the goal they scored in youth soccer, and the B & E wrap that they beat in court, as a society, we have to start realizing that not EVERYONE cares. To be honest, MOST DONT! When I see "Karen" in Walmart in the checkout line, and she casually makes small talk and asks how "the girls" are doing- I know to keep it to a quick "Oh GREAT! I couldn't be prouder!..And your kids? How are they?" Karen and I both have ice cream, milk, Vodka, and Ring Dings that need checked out and taken home QUICKLY.... so WRAP UP THE NICETIES!!

So it still, to this day, amazes me how much our society LOVES to place our moppets on some God-forsaken pedastal, to the tune of creating an unsafe situation. I see it EVERYDAY I drive to and from work- when I park at the grocery. I know that the red Windstar van that seems to travel my same root in the mornings is so fucking proud of "Kellen" (#32, Northmont Green 3rd grade Pee Wee Football) and "Kylie" (7th grade cheer- Northmont Middle School), that said "proud parent" is willing to PLASTER this shit on the rear window... most likely fucking up the rear defrost mechanism...for not just me, but I'm sure the area pedophile, to see.

To study.

To remember.

Whereas I find it more annoying than anything, I'm sure "Walter", the registered sex offender, knows now that if he attends the Northmont "Green" 3rd grade Pee Wee football game in the fall to "scope" out, that #32's name is "Kellen"....hoping that "Kellen"'s proud mamma and pop aren't watching when he follows...

And before you think I swiped this from Season 4 of Showtimes "Dexter", I make no claim to coming up with this horrific scenario myself- "Dexter"'s creators seem to also be annoyed by the same bullshit. The unassuming beige van with the "sticker family" on the back (another one of my all time "favorites") depicts "Mom", "Dad", "Kyle" and lil' sister "Emma" (can't remember the exact names, fuck it, be happy I'm penning this blog- don't feel like researching the correct names... moving on....). "Trinity", the Season 4 serial killer (played BRILLIANTLY by John Lithgow) lurks a few spaces down to see a young girl (too young to be the mother, most likely the sitter), getting young "Emma" out of her car seat while an older, maybe 9-10 year old KYLE gets out and waits. Upon entering the "arcade", he sees "Kyle" all alone.. playing a game. "Kyle"? (Trinity asks the young, unsuspecting boy)... "Yea? How did you know my name"? "I'm a police officer Kyle- I have already informed your sitter and she has Emma out by my police car- your parents have been in an accident and you need to come with me right away...."

Do I need to go on?

"Yea, well my kid isn't stupid enough to fall for this... we have told them that...."

Are ya sure? I'm not stupid enough to blast my kid's names and accomplishments on my rear view window either, in some attempt to PROVE that they are WONDERFUL and that I'm PROUD OF THEM to the entire world! I pretty much tell them all the time in the privacy of my own home, without the "Trinitys" and "Walters" watching.. and waiting.

By the way, the #32 "Kellen" and "Kylie" are made up. The Windstar Van is made up. Even I know better than to print the ACTUAL minivan and the children's names and jersey numbers on a blog. But the vehicle does exist. Actually there are about three that I see everyday... license numbers in view as well as the prodigal children and their amazing extra curricular activites.

However, I wish "Walter" was a figment of our nightmares.

But he's out there.

So what does this all mean? I guess it's just my ranting and annoyance (remember, my blog, my opinion, you don't have to agree). But it would be nice to be able to teach our children that we love them, are proud of them, and what not without always having to have their name in print on the back of our 2002 Chevy Blazer. You can be a great athlete, captain of the cheer squad, and class president without always having the "printed notoriety".

After all, isn't that what teaching humility is all about?

A time for new beginnings, and all of that horseshit....

I feel jipped.

I mean, being a Buckeye gal born and raised, the one thing I can truly say that I love about livin in the midwest is that we get to experience all four seasons in their purest form. Granted the Spring and Fall can bring confusing times of "heat" in the car in the morning that turns to "AC" by quittin time, causing the sinuses to throw a coniption fit, but all in all, I've come to enjoy the fab four growin up in SW Ahia.

There's nuttin like that first "jacket weather" morning somewhere in late September that leads to the slight color changes in the trees- the smell of someone in the neighborhood hosting a bonfire (or committing arson, never quite sure), the sounds of NFL Sundays on the boob tube, and our local vendors selling pumpkins and haystacks. These all inevitably flow into putting the jacket away for your winter coat because Jamie Simpson on Newscenter 7 tells us that "we might see our first bout of that "white stuff" during the rush hour evening drive, so bundle up Miami Valley". We kick on the furnace, always to that initial smell of something burning in the ducts. The pumpkins, now rotted from sitting out on the lawn for 2 months, make way for anything made of pine. Little twinkling lights adorn most homes (unless you are one of our Jewish neighbors, then it's a blow up lawn Menora), and Lite 94.9 starts their 24 hours of Christmas music. Eventually, once we ring in the New Year, schools are inevitably delayed or closed from ice storms, Winter's fury. St. D and myself rev up the snowblower, and clear a small one foot path down the sidewalk and driveway. We go sledding in West Milton down the "sledding hill", and walk through the Englewood Reserve's natural "winter wonderland"; admiring the ice coated branches and veils of white that surround the trails.

By March, we are usually ready for the blanket to melt, and for a tinge of "jacket" weather to begin. By the beginning of Spring, it's a welcoming sound to hear birds chirping outside of our window, being able to open up the windows "a crack". By early April, the sight of the first daffodils blooming, that first scent of lawn chemicals polluting yards.... Lowes and Home Depot hit the airwaves reminding us to get our lawns ready for a busy summer, and by May, I'm ready to spend Abbey's college education fund on flowers and mulch... preparing ourselves for the hazy lazy days of Summer. Days become longer. The window air conditioner units are "in place", making Uncle Dayton Power and Light Co. "very happy".

But again, we were jipped.

I grew weary and tired of hearing folks chime "My GOD, I can't believe what WONDERFUL WEATHER we are having"!!! I would go out and stroke our snow blower, who by this time, started filling out paperwork for unemployment benefits. I found myself having to scramble to get my capris and summer clothes washed and ready- my pasty white girl legs, still realing from not seeing much "light" in the last few months, blinding me in the mirror.

But I did what I had to do. I tried to go out and walk, and enjoy the early Spring that God, the Devil, or Lex Luther managed to bestow upon us. A few days ago, I found myself walking around our neighborhood with our smiling pup, and got my first tinge of excitement when I began to smell beautiful spring flowers and bushes. As I smiled, the sun beaming down on my pasty pale face, I began digging the beautifully mild temperatures through the majesty of smell. Suddenly, I got a whiff of my dog's "shit" bag that we take along to pick up her crap, and it suddenly became an epiphany of my mood for again, being jipped outta my winter.


I truly did need an attitude adjustment. I mean it's no one's fault that I was jilted by Mother Nature, unless you wanna blame Al Gore and all of his "global warming" bullshit. (yea, let's just blame Al, just cus we can). I did our weekly grocery shopping with my Lil Abs at our local Walmart last night, and as I sweated profusely from the 82 degree evening, I began she and I's weekly ritual of grocery shopping. Her reminder to me that she is in need of a new bathing suit shifted me to the mindset of "JESUS... a BATHING SUIT! Isn't it only February?" But alas, again, I was snapped back to the reality that it was indeed March, and the first day of Spring. She picked out a very pretty purple bikini, reminding me too that my baby is 15, and yea, wearing (quite perfectly) a bikini.

Then it happened.

God was growing quite weary of my "mental bitching".

Truly a sign from above.

As swimsuit model Abbey and I got to the car, I began loading the back with the 514 plastic grocery sacks, I heard a commotion underneath a mini van parked a few spaces over.

It was a bird, in some sort of distress.

As I kept loading the family truckster up with our purchases, I began to have a feeling of dread. I absolutely HATE to hear anything in distress.. but ESPECIALLY an animal! I did a quick peek under the mini van, and it appeared that this little wren had a broken wing... now honestly I couldn't tell, but the poor little guy definitely was having a rough time. The squalking was unnerving, and I could feel a lump in my throat. I figured maybe that unfortunately when the mini van pulled into the parking space, maybe it clipped the birds wing? It's cries were deafening, and I found myself just wanting to get the car loaded and leave.

Suddenly, the calvary came... IN DROVES!

I couldn't help but watch it as it unfolded in front of me.

At least a dozen birds came swooping in from the sky, and surrounded the mini van. One little bird seemed to be talking to his distressed friend, quite the conversation it sounded. I began wondering what he was saying... "It's ok Paul... ITS OK!!!! We heard your cries and we are here buddy, hang in there!" Even as I walked by the mini van to put my empty cart back in the nearest "corral", the birds NEVER left.

I noticed on my way back over to my car, that SOMEHOW, the heroic friend was able to SCOOT the distressed bird out to the open lot... the distressed bird's cry now silent. Suddenly, without warning, BOTH birds spread their little bird wings and FLEW AWAY, followed by the entourage.

Now at this point, I had NOOOO idea what was initially "wrong" with the distressed little bird under the mini van- I must have been incorrect about it's wing since it managed to fly away. I wondered if maybe he had been stuck in something?

But what I did know is that I witnessed a beautiful occurance in nature. A band of tiny little warriors, hearing the sound of a fellow species in need, and came to the calling. I remember thinking initially that, even if this little distressed bird is dying, he wasn't going to die alone. He would have his posse there to guide him to the light. But the fact that somehow Baby Wren MD was schooled in the art of "wing" repair, what I thought would be a terrible end to my day turned out to be the awakening that I needed!

First day of Spring indeed! I'm suddenly enjoying the beauty that is the cherry blossom trees in my fair city. The smells of grass and flowers. The beautiful sights of young children riding their bikes and playing hopscotch in front of their homes.

Now watch it fucking snow.

How Long Has it Been??!!! 14 Minutes???

    

And no, the title of this blog doesn't have a DAMN thing to do with my absence. Yea I know.. it's been an oogle of months since I've put the petal to the medal and "created", but holy hell I just don't have the juice when I need it! It used to be that if a really good blog idea popped into my cranium, I'd stop everything that I was doing, whether that meant interrupting work, wiping my butt, pulling over to the side of the highway, or waking from half a foggy sleep and logging onto a computer.. SOMEWHERE... and just start clickity-clackin away! As of late, when they come, I giggle to myself, put another Cheetoh in my gullet, and check to see what that night's episode of Little House on the Prairie might be, and whether or not it's worth my time.

 

But there comes a time in one's life that you just have to let shit happen. This one has been kind of stuck deep within, and I really feel the need to just let it all out.

Last month was my high school 25 year reunion. OH YEA! TWENTY FIVE enchiladas... the "big" one... well ok, one of the "big" ones. Five years ago I went to my 20 year reunion and honestly, had a lot of fun. I saw a lot of my old classmates at our alma mater's football game, then had a great family BBQ the next afternoon. I came away with a lot of memories and everyone I saw looked great and seemed to be doing well in life. Keep in mind I didn't get any kind of formal invite in the mail, nor did I receive a phone call or hell, even a damn text message from someone saying "Hey Terri... guess what... the big 2-5 is comin up, wanna help us organize, or hell, just show up?" Honestly I would have never known we were HAVING one had it not been for my beloved St. D having a.. well yea, you know what I'm about to say...

A Facebook Account.

Ok. I've made it abundantly clear in past blogs my feelings about the entire FB taking over the world issue- killing what was once my and the entire Western Civilizations "love" of "Myspace". And no, I still to this minute do NOT have a Facebook account nor will I in the future. I mean sure, St. D lets me get on his account to browse pictures and "laugh-stalk" with my sister from time to time, but honestly, I have no desire to get one of my own. As I've stated in the past, my affliction lies mainly with the entire social genre of modern age that "once you love something, watch out.. cus eventually something cooler and better will come along". EASILY FUCKING DISPOSABLE SOCIETY! And to my knowledge, I do not recall a time when I heard "Well if you dont have a Myspace account.. you wont get information, you wont receive copies of photos, you dont get SHIT sucka!" Folks would just say "Oh ok no problem.. what is your email address and I can ship all of that to you toot sweet!" Or better yet, I can mail you this info via good ol fashioned regular US mail! Now-a-days there is this attitude of "Well if you have Facebook great! if you dont, tough shit sucka!"

 

But I HAVE come to peace with the fact that my beloved Myspace is pretty much dead (although this mutha fuckin blog WILL be posted on it.. OH YES IT WILL) and that Facebook and it's whore second cousin "Twitter" is pretty much here to stay, so since this is a fact... and since it's tough "bein on top" sometimes... Facebook gets fingered for the blame in what I'm about to say... (hehehehe.. I said "fingered"... moving on...)

In July, St. D was Facebooking and happened to announce to me, while I sat watching reruns of Seinfeld, Cheetoe-less, that MY HS graduating class was "getting together" in August for my 25th reunion. "Oh really, when?" was all I could muster up at the time. "Ummmm looks like it's the weekend of Aug 5-7". I believe it was about this time that I was thinking "shitty weekend" because a) we had my daughter's college visit on the morning of the 6th and b) her birthday was the 7th. I kept wondering to myself that even though those ARE INDEED two very important issues, why we couldn't go to the get together on Friday night, and still make the broo-ha-ha on the evening of the 6th since her visit was in the morning.

Then it hit me.

I really didn't CARE to go.

But why?

I mean, there isn't one single person that I graduated with that I didn't like. I loved high school.. was popular and all that horse shit. There wasn't some "dude" that I didn't want to "run into" since I married and share a mortgage with my high school sweetie. I pretty much look butt-assed the same as I did not only at the 20 year, but also IN HIGH SCHOOL- plus a few extra pounds, so who cares? I just couldn't understand my sudden "blase" feeling about the entire issue.

And then... "it" hit me again (not sure what the fuck "it" is.. but damn.. kept gittin me...)

 

There truly is no more "magic" to high school reunions anymore. (again, my blog, my opinion, dont like it? suck it!)

Back "in the day", you always kept in touch with maybe a few very close friends from high school. These were the chosen few that you continued to get drunk with at parties, were a bridesmaid or usher in their wedding, made "god parent" at baptisms, met up with on Sundays for tailgates and BBQ's. These were and still are to this day true friends. Could be just one, maybe ten. But they never needed to know what your mutha fuckin Twitter account was cus if they wanted to "tweet" your sorry ass.. they would drive over and walk in your front door and do it in person!

Then, there was "the rest". Not necessarily folks that you didn't like in school per say, but just folks that were "friends back then", and you just drifted off after school. You didn't wish them any ill will, but just really didn't lose much sleep over "losing touch". Some folks had a choice few that they maybe wished dead, and if they never saw their triflin asses again, life would be that much better.

But when it came time for the "reunions"... there was always a little bit of "pomp and circumstance" involved. Maybe you lost 50 lbs since high school (or the last reunion), got VP of sales at the new job, and bleached ya grill. Maybe you are newly divorced, and HOPE that the hot basketball captain's wifey-poo from the last reunion aint in the picture anymore! Maybe you just want the food and booze and to see who your class has tragically lost since the last shin-dig.

But with the majesty of Facebook, where's the mystery? Even if you loathed some fucker back in the day, it seems like the more friends you have on the "book", the better life is, so hell yea you "friend request" said fucker, and some how make amends via the world wide web. Your goal is to have everyone in the class of ---- from ------------------ HS on your friends list. I mean jesus, there are freakin "groups" you can join, "clubs" you can start up, making sure that you NEVER lose touch with ANYONE ever again!

Your entire graduating class, former teachers, and Lou the custodian knows you lost 50 lbs cus you have 318 pics posted of your new wardrobe. Mr. Basketball now looks like a coked out homeless douchebag, so you have no desire to even TRY to claw him away from "Alice" his boo... and considering "Alice" is still thinner than you, and has a better hairstyle (you know this from Basketball Douche's photos), then why bother?

And "whose who on the death list"- NO WORRIES! Cus I'm sure every other day on SOMEONE'S WALL from __________ High School class of _______ , is a "In Memory of _______________ tragically cut down this morning in an unfortunate zebra mauling accident off the coast of Australia..." Forty-two comments of "OMG.. in our prayers" later, a FB memorial site is fired up.

No longer are there questions of "Oh wow Margie! It's been YEARS!!!! Do you have any children?"

Now it's "Oh wow Margie, since I last read your status this morning, how is little Natalie's infected ass boil, and did she cry when you had to have it lanced?"

Replace "MY GOD JOSIE, YOU LOOK WONDERFUL!" with "DAYUM JOSIE GIRL... that extensive gastric bypass surgery for which you had to argue for 10 months with Blue Cross and Blue Shield to allow you to have, resulting in a horrific bowel obstruction HAS MADE A DIFFERENCE! I'm glad to have read that you passed a turd this morning at 8:17am!"

 

So yea.. I dunno...

Social networking has taken a lot of the compelling and often times "fun" "wondering" out of reunions. If I already know what the fuck you are wearing cus you posted 10 pics (from your Droid) on your page announcing to your 718 friends that "this is what I'm wearing to the formal dinner at my reunion tonight!", then what's the point?

Guess I needed to hit that big "New Blog Post" link...

Four months.

 

Holy batshit- it's been four months since I posted a new blog. I vaguely remember a time when I had these sons a bitches beeboppin and scattin off my digits every other day! Not really sure what the issues have been for the "block", but it's quite possibly just lack of motivation for much of anything other than "mom and wife" duties and taking naps when possible. I suppose a more animated lifestyle would bring blog ideas from the left and right, but it could also harbor with it a few incurable STD's and jail time...

Since 2011 sprung upon us, it's difficult to say that it's been a "business as usual" few months- Harold Camping might have predicted the "rapture" (quite shittily I might add- is "shittily" even a word? Not certain, but fuck it, it's a word in my book... moving on...) for May 21st at suppa time, but if you speak to any Japanese citizen, resident of the midwest, or Charlie Sheen, they might question that it's already done occurred. Whereas I do try to find "good" in the world, 2011 has been a headscratcher to say the least, at the very minimium so far. I'd say Mother Nature, in all her whorish ways, is mostly to blame, but you can pencil in psychotic shooters, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and anyone that finds "Jersey Shore" "entertaining" on the list of culprits.

 

But still, in all that is me, I'm genuinely happy with life and the world. I think maybe it's a small tick of a birth defect that allows me to overlook SOME douchebags. It's also possible that because I can vent in writing, it keeps my hand from reaching for that letter opener or pair of scissors, and gutting some a-hole like a fish.

In other words, it's time for me to randomly gripe about shit that has been bothering me- they are random, they dont always make sense, but I really dont give a shit- CLEANSE THIS VENOM OUTTA MY SOUL JESUS...I gotsta make room for the second half of the year somehow!

1) As most know, I work in insurance. Property & Casualty Insurance. Let this be a lesson to you kids- STAY IN SCHOOL! I've spent most of the last few months explaining to my homeowner insureds why their premiums have gone up, and whereas I understand that the general public doesn't understand insurance, and only see their rates going up, I feel it's important to calmly try to explain to them what's happening in our industry- or at the very least have them turn on their local news any given morning and see how the weather's been. I shall illustrate by replaying an actual phone call I received at work this morning...

 

(ringgggg)

Me: "R--- Insurance" (yea, I dont want a bunch of whackadoos knowin where I work)

Client: "Hey there hon.. it's Mr. F------- (it's not Fucktard, but if you wanna insert that name, I wont object).. Say, why is my homeowner insurance premium goin up?"

Me: "Well I hate to break it to you, but everyone's is- honestly these carriers are losing their shirts on home and property insurance- I wish I had better news for you, but it's just what's happening nationwide"

Client: "Huh?"

Me: "Well as you can see every other day, this Spring has been a bear (yea, I said bear...wanted to say a mother fucker, but I have to keep it professional). Last year brought a lot of bad weather and losses to these carriers as well. Everytime you hear of tornados, hail, heavy wind, wildfires, locusts, and diseased toads, an insurance carrier is having to pay big money to fix all of these things, which are all covered perils (minus the locusts and diseased frogs)" Keep in mind that your insurance company as well as just about everyone's writes in these states. So even if Ohio isn't getting hit with a lot of major problems (they are fyi), your company still writes for states that are, such as Alabama, Mississipi, etc..."

Client: "So in other words, we have to pay for the bad guys problems?"

silence

Disgusted Me, but still tryin to keep it real: "Ummmmm well if you are referring to those people who have lost everything due to a catastrophic weather loss, then UMMMM.. yea, I suppose you are having to "pay" for the BAD guys...Say Mr. FUCKER... I'm looking over your loss history and see that in the last 4 years, you have turned in 3 claims, so does that make YOU one of the bad guys?"

silence (BULLLLYAAAAAAA!!!!!)

Jackass: "Well hehehe.. ok..."

 

Seriously kids.. stay in school...

2) Is it just me, or does that one commercial for Snickers Peanut Butter Squares bother anyone else? It portrays some lady in a conference room setting with two tripods behind her, a picture of a young man to the left, a young lady to the right. She cheerfully asks "Now which one of these tasted better?" At this point, two great white sharks start debating with each other, but come to the conclusion that "Alan" (fuck if I remember his name.. I think it was Alan, or Ted, or Walter) "tasted much better". The conference room chick reveals that YES.. Alan had JUST EATEN SNICKERS PEANUT BUTTER SQUARES!!! I dunno.. I try not to be too damn sensative, but that's just freakin gross... (again, these are random... and I have to get these out to cleanse.. so fuck off if you don't agree...)

3) I'm a HUGE NFL fan, and whereas I am hoping that this lockout bullshit can get cleared by summer so I can enjoy another 4-12 season by my Bengals, I'm to a point that I really don't care one way or the other. But the end all, beat all quote of the morning was from the Baltimore Ravens lineman Ray Lewis when he stated on some radio show that he hopes that this all gets resolved or "we are gonna see a huge increase in crime"...

 

Say WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA?    

Now I'm not from the po end of the ghettos, but what he's basically stating is that folks dont have anything better to do in the fall and early winter on Sunday afternoons and Monday evenings other than a) watch football or b) bust caps in someone's ass. Apparantly there is no leaves to rake. There are no naps to be taken. There isn't pumpkin patches to visit, malls to shop at, kids to play with. If professional football ceases to exist this year, people are gonna be rhymin and stealin in drunkin states- raping, pillaging, smokin crank, and takin old lady's purses. I truly hate this loud mouth idiot, but I suppose I'm not that surprised since he "got out of" a murder rap back in 2000.

4) St. D and myself have really gotten into some of the shows out there regarding "survival", "stalking", "disappearing", and what not. I'd rather watch someone talk of their will to survive a brutal attack and live to tell about it than Khloe and Lamar. And as distressing as some of these shows can be, I truly believe that they have a message- "Disappeared" sheds light on missing person's cases that have grown cold; "I Survived" gives viewers the hope that, God forbid if EVER put in a horrific situation, dont lose hope; "Stalked" gives me ideas.... (bahaha.. ok, that was uncalled for, but it is a good show... moving on...)

But there is one in particular that I have watched that I'm just not sure about- I (Almost) Got Away With It explores fugitives on the run... how some of these badasses (wearing Ray Lewis jerseys I would imagine) ALMOST got away with their crimes. I suppose we the viewers are supposed to be transfixed on how great a job law enforcement does to finally bring these b-holes to justice, but to me, all it does is accentuate how they ALMOST let these mutha fuckas get away. Plus they allow these criminals to help narrarate the show.. "Yea, after I shot the baby, I grabbed her sippy cup of juice for nourishment, then stole her dead mamma's car and booked it on outta there before the police arrived..."

I really don't care for any show that gives these convicted douchebags ANY kind of voice. Wear your orange jumpsuit and take it in the ass by "Thor" like a good little boy and fade off into oblivion.

I'm suddenly beginning to feel a little better.

 

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to begin planning my "save Jim Tressel's job or I'll set my hair on fire with gasoline" stunt...

"And keep your fancy learnin to yourself!"

I vividly remember, many moons ago, having my little 8 year old heart race after Christmas break, third grade.  It was like any other normal Monday- salt clung to my Kmart snowboots, I took my knit cap off to the glowing rage of "static hair", back before I discovered Sprunch Spray, and hung it up in my shared locker next to my winter coat and brand new matching scarf and mitton set.  Something was going to be "different" today- Mrs. Talcroft had mentioned to us since early September that "after winter break, we would be learning something new".  I was always up for the challenge of learning "sumthin new", but it was usually met with a tinge of anxiety, apprehension.

"Class, I have placed a fresh sheet of printing line paper on each of your desks.  Please take out your #2 pencils, make sure they are sharpened, and today, we are going to begin our lesson in cursive writing."

Cursive writing.

Just like the "big kids" wrote.  Just like I saw my parents write when they had to sign papers for school, our grocery store account receipt, and anything from the government.

Would I be up for the challenge?  It was difficult to comprehend because for the first 3 years of my structured educational existance, I learned, and mastered quite satisfactorily, the standard American Block form of handwriting and print.  My "K's" might as well have been drafted by a T-square ruler- NO ONE could put the little line in the "Q's" quite as nifty as myself.  I remember getting an "E" for "Excellent" on my report cards in handwriting, but now, all of that was going to fall by the wayside for something new- something more challenging.  But we never questioned the new turn of events in our educational curriculum.  Because at 8 years old, we were about to learn something that almost reflected some kind of ritualistic passage into higher learning.  Soon after cursive, we would be writing book reports, having to draft mock letters to our congressmen, go to the blackboard and write answers to oral exams...ALL IN CURSIVE PRINT!

Not surprisingly, there has been a lot of talk in the news as of late about whether or not this artistic form of writing should even be taught.  "Let's face it, kids these days really don't USE it anymore, so why waste valuable "standardized testing" study time on something that will get lost on them as they get older?   And quite frankly, I'm quite open for the debate!  I recall about 2 years ago my youngest daughter doing her homework.  She asked her older sister to help her with something, and somehow, in between calling each other a "jackass" and "doucher" (where do they get this behavior?), my beloved eldest mentioned, half non-chalantly, about "why are you even writing in cursive anymore?  You won't HAVE to once you get to high school!"

That statement started me thinking about the "importance" of taking the time to teach our younger generations a writing technique that has lasted for centuries.  I mean, let's face it, how often do we, as adults, actually hand WRITE anything anymore, unless it's to sign our life away?  If it's not something that can be electronically transferred via a keyboard, then how important can it really be?  Over the years, my handwriting has suffered immensely due to lack of usage.  My oldest daugher, BRILLIANT beyond any comprehension, has an almost indecipherable handwriting, which is NOT cursive FYI.  I used to strain to read her notes when I would help her study for tests and wonder how, ON EARTH, her teachers could read her handwriting.  But the arguement can be made that even in written cursive, it varies from person to person so much that where one person is considered to have mastered impecible penmanship, another's looks like cave writings from the stone age.

We live in a society that "easier has GOT to be BETTER".  I mean honestly, why take the time to teach young children a way of writing when it's OBVIOUSLY going to be lost on them by 9th grade?  Just make a barbaric "X", written in red crayon, an acceptable means of a personal signature.  With technology out inventing itself by leaps and bounds, why not use that valuable 3rd-4th grade teaching time to teach how to update your Facebook status or get your innermost feelings across in 140 characters or less, since that seems to be the "norm".

I suppose, while we are at it, we could also stop teaching basic arithmatic skills since we have calculators smarter than NASA to figure out simple addition and multiplication for us- available at any neighborhood CVS. 

And really, why learn about the Pyramids of Ancient Egypt?  Or Ancient Egypt for that matter?  Who really is ever going to be able to GO there?  Or even appreciate their existance?

I really don't recall ever needing to know spherical trigonometry past Mrs. Snelling's 12th grade pre-Trig class, or having to know what the periodic table symbol for Scandium was unless Otto Hoffman was having a pop quiz that day.

My point being- where is the challenge?  So what if we are eventually going to "forget" or "not need" the information anymore?  It was a right of passage (or "write" of passage if I wanted to get really cheeky) from being one of the "little"kids to being taken a little more seriously as a student, when Mrs. Talcroft told us to sharpen those #2's.  I remember struggling the first few weeks, but practicing until I had it down fairly well.  I remember penning one of my first creative writing poems in "big kid cursive", and feeling a sense of accomplishment, not just for the poetry, but for how it was written.  I remember getting my social security card in the 5th grade (yea, damn, back in the day when it took awhile to encode you with your permanent life marker) and actually having to SIGN it in cursive.  Nothing made me feel more official.

So do I write in cursive anymore?

Not really.  I find myself writing a few things here and there in cursive format, but printing when it starts looking unreadable.

But I learned it.

Just like I learned about the Council of Trent and how to properly and safely use a bandsaw.



Just like I learned to dribble a basketball in PE and bake a pineapple upside down cake.

I learned to use paper mache but I'm not an artist.

I learned musical notation but never made it as a composer.

I found writing a theme about Harry Truman boring, but I discovered the joys of creative expression, even without having become a famous author.

Technology is a blessing and curse.  Before we take what was basic education and turn it into a thing of the past, make sure our children at least know how they can voice their opinion- write to someone to complain.

Preferably in cursive 

And this just in... the remain of Jimmy Hoffa HAVE been found!

(originally written a couple of years ago- the message still very important, so I'm sharing it with hopefully a new audience...enjoy!)

I turn 40 in a few months.  In all honesty, and I believe that I can say this sincerely, it doesn’t bother me in the least!  I know that 30 didn’t bother me, and other than a cute little surprise party planned by St. D with all of our family, I looked at that milestone as merely another warm June day.  I mean sure, I was surrounded by black balloons, vulture and casket cut outs, and "Over the Hill" confetti, but my main concern that day was making sure that I got the last piece of Marion’s pizza and that my little Abbey, age 1 1/2,  didn’t get her hand stuck in the "Claw Game" door (again)...

It has become an oh-so surreal reality that I should be taking better care of myself... no... really! (hold while I grab the last chunk of Otis Spunkmeyer Blueberry Mammoth Muffin that just fell on my lap... hold... ok... GOT IT!)  I have seen all too clearly that, regardless of how many times we go and get "checked out", that life can throw us curveballs- those crippling kind that break someone’s huge bay picture window, leaving us holding shattered pieces of glass and nothing more than shere memories of the past, and vague wonderment of "what could have been"’s.  As a woman, it doesn’t stop with the annual "Lube & Grope" appointments with our OB/GYN’s- as important as they are, the buck doesn’t stop with that office copay.

I realized that despite having a normal BP reading... I needed to start looking into having my cholesterol and thyroid checked, and having a baseline colonoscopy.  Despite what most of you jackasses might be thinking.. the idea of having a 72 foot tube snaked up my bunghole does NOT thrill me in the least, but I understand it’s importance and, since I have a family history of colo-rectal cancer, I figured it a tick important to at least have some kind of initial screening.

My family doctor agreed and put in a "good word" to Dayton’s Digestive Specialists.  I got a phone call shortly after to come in and go through an initial consult, and they would book me an appointment from there.  I was surprised at how quickly they were able to get me scheduled, and was told that this past Wed. would be a perfect time to get cornholed by machinery.  I was given the "prep" kit (well ok, not given, shelled out $10 for some saline solution, Dulculax tablets (for which I have at home), and a nifty Digestive Specialist tote bag), and told to follow the directions PRECISELY as written in order to ensure a CLEAN, HEALTHY CLEANSING....

Now I understood what I was in for- I mean, St. D had his ass Stanley Steamer’d in May of 06.  I remember his "cleansing" day because, as I sat here at work working on a burger and fries for lunch, he would call me every 15 minutes to announce that he was "going"... AGAIN...

St. D: "OMG honey... it’s horrible... OHHH THE HUMANITY....you there honey???"
Me: "Yea honey, sorry, just finishing up the last of my Big Mac... boy, hehehehehe, I shouldn’t have Super Sized... ya know...?"
St. D: "OMG honey... it’s horrible!!!.... I can’t eat, and I’m starving, and there are things coming out of me that just aren’t normal!!!"
Me: (sound of slurping through a straw)... "Yea, ok honey... finishing up my McFlurry..  I will see you when I get home... k?"

I knew what was in store.  I even stratgically looked at the "Things You Can "eat" During Cleansing Day" menu, and decided to be creative and make it a fun adventure.   I purchased my Sugar Free Jello (no red or purples), my orange popcycles, my FAVORITE Propel Fitness Water flavors... and I was SET TO GO!
Tuesday morning didn’t start too bad.  After having taken the Dulculax tablets Monday night, I awoke to the releasing of the hounds before I even had to take the girls to school.  "Well damn!!!! It’s not even noon!  This will be a snap!Besides, I’m not a breakfast eater anyways, and I have been known to be able to skip lunch on some occasions..."

Come 9:38am, I felt as if I had been wondering the Sahara Desert for 17 days.  "WHAT THE SHIT?"  If I were at work, I wouldn’t have given food a second thought!  I decided sitting down to television, wrapped in a snuggly blanket, would take my mind off of being hungry.  Nineteen KFC and 38 cereal commercials later, I contemplated eating my gym shoe... or the dog...."Jesus I can’t do this... I can’t watch commercials anymore!!!!!"  I dubbed any advertising firm in the free world the anti-Christ, and chose to zoom in on commercial-free reruns of the Sopranos on I-Control.   "Very cool, no commercials, just a lot of F-bombs and "busting caps"...

The first scene of the first episode viewed pictured Tony and his crew sitting down to a huge spaghetti and meatball dinner, complete with Italian bread and a huge green salad.  After cursing God, Allah, James Gandolfini, Carmella for all of her excellent Italian cooking, and David Chase, it was decided it might be a good idea to eat some of that yummy lime jello that I made the night before.. just to take the edge off- Funny how it’s difficult to enjoy yummy lime jello when it’s still sitting in your cabinet, dry and powdered, because your sorry ass forgot to make it up the night before.  I decided it best to simply pour the powdered mixture into my mouth, and swoosh it around a tick... "gelatin" is SOOOOO overrated....

I began yelling at the dog for having to urinate.  I contemplated smashing my toes into the baseboards to take the hunger away, and replace it with skin-crawling pain.  It was now 9:52am...
Several hours, one LONG nap, and about 715,914 curse words later, it was time to take the "stuff"- the saline shit that you mix with a clear beverage of your choice... I mixed 1.5 oz of this in about 17 gallons of lemon flavored Propel water... and it still tasted like I was supping on a fucking salt lick.  I asked St. D when he thought it might "kick in"... he answered "about an hour after you take it"... Fifty-nine minutes and 47 seconds later... I lost things from my digestive system that I hadn’t eaten since Kindergarten.  A Twinkie that I ate in 1978 emerged from my loins, as did Amelia Earhart’s shoe, one of Van Goh’s last paintings, and my dignity... St. D jokingly asked me if I was "taking the Brown’s to the Super Bowl".... my precious husband and eldest child had earlier attended a meeting for our "Relay for Life" walk team at my friend’s home, and decided that all of her home cooking shouldn’t go to waste...they brought in homemade Sloppy Joes, green bean casserole, cheesty potatos, and choclate iced pound cake.  They lovingly left the styrophone plate with about 5 pieces of cake on it wrapped in see-through plastic wrap on the counter, for me to pass as I crawled into the kitchen from time to time, on my hands and knees...  It was at that time I wished myself dead....

By the time Wed. morning rolled around, I believe I was too dehydrated and delerious to even care anymore.  I had lengthy conversations with myself about politics, Barbie Dolls, and whether or not Melissa Gilbert has had a nose job.  I longed for raw red cabbage, cherry koolaid, or even cherry rolaids.  I forced myself to take the LAST of the saline enima... and drank the salty confection as if I was eating a Wendy’s frostie.  I chose to pass some time before my appt. by actually bathing- if only to soak my now raw ass.  St. D made it home, and we were off to the doc’s....

I wish the actual procedure was nearly as prose-worthy as the "getting ready", but it really isn’t.  Only word of advice- whatever you do DO NOT make eye contact with the "camera".  They brought in a 103 foot black hose that looked like it had been a stunt double in the movie Anaconda... I asked the nurse if "that" was "it"... she laughed and said "YEP... that’s him".  I felt unnerved until a beautiful stream of narcotic entered into my pierced vein.  I don’t remember a thing, except waking up in a cozy little recovery room, surrounded by the sounds of old folks next to me farting, oh wait.. that’s me...

One small polyp removal later (I’ve named him "Spot")... I’m happy to say I’m "fine".  The doctor stated that everything looked fine, and saw "no cancer".  I’ve resumed eating, and I’m sure, in about another week, I will start having "potties" again...I can fart and no one thinks much else of it because I’m simply releasing the 14 pounds of air that was shot up my asshole during the procedure.

I also know, regardless of the outcome of "Spot", that I did the right thing.  I made a promise to my grandfather 5 years ago as he lay in a nursing home bed, dying of colo-rectal cancer that I would get checked routinely.   I will do it again three years from now, and probably off and on the rest of my life.  I didn’t just make him a promise, but myself as well.  I can now check a colonoscopy off of my "to do" list this year... and next is a simple blood test to check my cholesterol and thyroid.

Life is beautiful- curveballs be damned!

Whose turn was it to do laundry?

I recycle.

Mind you I'm not looking for any kind of metal, although a gift card to Cracker Barrel is always welcome.  But I say this because before reading on, just note that I'm all for trying to keep as little as possible out of the crater-sized pits that we lovingly refer to as "landfills".  St. D, myself, and the little Pav-ettes recycle all plastic and glass waste that we come across, and salvage every aluminum soda can to give to Pappa-P (aka my father in law) for "cash-in".  It makes me feel good at the end of the day to know that, for every layer of Ozone I diminish on any given morning with my Aussie Sprunch Spray usage, I can at least keep the family sized glass mega jar of Prego from becoming someone else's backyard garden.

But as with anything else, there has to be some sort of line drawn in the sand- a limit to how far I or anyone else should go to keep garbage from becoming well, "garbage". 

I was lazily reading our Wednesday edition of The Dayton Daily News when I got to the "Life" section.  Always one of my favorite sections of the paper other than the obituaries, I saw an eye-catching title- "An earth friendly approach to feminine hygiene".  It shows an over-abundantly happy young lady, approx. 19 years of age, on the front cover holding an illustrated "recycle" symbol surrounding a "female" icon.  I suppose I wasn't as intrigued about reading as much as I WASNT intrigued about moving off the sofa, so I proceeded to read the article to appear to be "busy".

Now let me forwarn any reader about the upcoming subject matter- I'm going to talk about "menstration".  I would think my male readers can handle the subject since most of you are well beyond the age of 11 where you and your buddies would "tee hee" in sex ed class, but I'm not completely convinced.  I might offer too much information about the following- clotting, flow, heavy saturation... if you can't handle it, I suggest you click on your "home" page never to return to this blog again!  If I ever experience prostate issues, jock itch, or erectile dysfunction, I will gladly sit over a brewskie and shoot the shit with ya...

Apparantly a woman by the name of Madeleine Shaw, a former fashion designer in Canada (eh?), has come up with a way to not only save Mother Earth from the whiles of waste, but to JAZZ UP that time of the month that most women lay around in gray sweats and oversized sweatshirts anyways.  Ms. Shaw has founded a company called Lunapads, a company that sells reusable pads.

I said REUSABLE pads.





According to Ms. Shaw, there are 85,000,000 women of menstration age in North America, and among all of us Western Civilians, we conger up about 250-300 pounds of "Aunt Flo" waste in a lifetime.  Her grand idea is to market a "reusable" pad that can velcro itself into your cotton lined granny panties and, once "soiled", can simply be removed and thrown into the laundry.  She is quoted as saying "They're about as hard to wash as a pair of socks".  They come in various sizes, ranging from pantyliner small to "say honey, hand me that beachtowel",  and a bevvy of bright and fashionable colors, with groovy flower prints and Easter Egg colored pastels.  Their cost- $50.99 for a three pack with an "average" life of about 5 years.

Before we go ANY further... let me chime in.  Whereas I suppose the initial "concept" is noble, the reality of the entire situation doesn't sit well with me. 
They come in a 3-pack- Any woman who has ever had a period can tell you that the average "curse" will last you from 4-6 days, with about 2-3 of those days flowing like a fucking beer keg.  Now unless I want to do 4 loads of laundry a day, my guess is you'd be wise to purchase at least four of these "3-packs" just to make sure that I have a)a clean lunapad to put on after I scoop up the filthy one and b) I have enough of the "right sizes" for my current need.  I'm now looking at an initial investment of $203.96, not including I'm sure some kind of Canadian-moose tax PLUS shipping and handling.  Between me and my female cohabitants, we go through a "package" of disposibles once a month- I spend about $5.50 on said package, which in essence costs me $66.00 a year.  In five years, I would say I spend about $330.00 making someone at Kotex very happy.  So whereas I would still be about $100.00 ahead (over the course of 5 years mind you) if I invest in Ms. Shaw's brain child,  let's discuss how much extra water we're using at the Pav household keeping these bad-boy's clean. I can guaran-fuckin-tee you that throwing a few of my DNA encrusted Lunie's into the wash with everyone's hoodies and blankies would cause a much deserved disgust, which means I would most likely have to wash the sons of bitches "by themselves"...  I've had yet for anyone to bitch about putting our filthy socks in with the towels, know- what- I- mean?

She also goes onto say that for those critics that find this idea "yukky", just imagine the "yukky" chemicals that are going into our sanitary napkin products and filling up our landfills.  Not for anything Ms. Shaw (who I'm now starting to envision as walking around with no makeup, a flowing Joan Biaz skirt, unshaven armpits, and some kind of body odor), but looking at these beautifully colored Lunapads, what kind of dye ya usin to pertify these bad boys up?  I see blues and blacks, pinks and reds... these all natural?

Just when you think I'm finished.. there's more!  As to not exclude my "plugger" sisters, Ms. Shaw has a tampon for you! 

The Divacup.





Yes, you read it properly- the Divacup.  The name itself pisses me off from the get-go.  The marketing folks at Lunapad must have sat around some big conference table saying to themselves "Yes Pete... let's call it the DIVA cup.. that will appeal to females far and abraoad!"

The article explains, underneath the creepy picture of said device, that the Divacup's job is to COLLECT... rather than ABSORB.  Now, not being a fellow "plugger", nor have I ever been, I really can't testimonialize tampons or their absorbancy.  I'm sure those women that DO use tampons use them because they work for them.  Soak that shit up, pull the cute little string, and insert new!  I've always been amazed at how well these sons of bitches must work because, I can tell you, that Tampax must use some kind of top secret government cotton to grab and hold that shit.  But the idea of inserting this plastic little "cup", and yes, the picture indicates it's about the third of  the size of a shot glass, and "catching" all of that unused goop, only to "hold it" until you "empty" it, leaves my salivary glands on active dry heave duty.  Whereas Lunapad provides you with a cute little draw string "bag" to house said device when not in use, it doesn't appear that the cup itself has a string or any kind of "exit" clasp.  Which leads me to believe whenever you have to dispell it, a good quick SNEEZE should do the trick...

And clean up?  Simple soap and water my friends!  Empty your endometrian lining and it's fluid based gravy into the toilet, go over to the family bathroom sink where everyone brushes their teeth, clean it up (make sure to wash all the nooks and crannies so that the stank disappears), and shove that bad boy right back on-up there, but only AFTER you dry it off on Jr's face towel....Cost of the Divacup- $34.99...

Ms. Shaw stated that the idea hasn't "taken off" in the US as of yet (no shit lady- you gave us Tim Hortons, and we thank you, but just leave it at that!).  She's hoping that "getting the word out there" will help, plus the unconfirmed claims that by using her reusable products, you will experience a "lighter and shorter" cycle (possible fucking mutated "non-chemicals" in your product.. sounds like a gift from the Devil honey).  She also wants women to stop thinking of their cycle in terms of "garbage".  "It's more than just an implicit culture of we take our menses and use disposable products... We're basically treating it (our periods), as garbage, but our period is really INCREDIBLE!  It has the power to bring LIFE into the world".

It was about then that I envisioned myself setting this fucking freak on fire.  Not for anything, but our period does NOT have the power to bring LIFE into the world Ms. Shaw.  LACK OF PERIOD does, but not our period.  If Flo comes to town, face it, the egg didn't split.  It fucking died from lack of fertilization and is now ready to become landfill- learned that in the 5th grade, well ok, except for maybe the landfill part, but you catch my drift.

I have decided that my battle to recycle will remain strictly with glass, plastic (that hasn't been shoved up my twat), and cans.  I'll continue to kill Mother Earth with my unfertilized zygotes and bloody cotton wads.  I'll save my family the years of mental anguish of NOT having to throw my soiled Lunapads in with their jeans and baby-doll tees.

But thanks for the laugh Ms. Shaw... and the blog idea.

And remember....

Have a HAPPY PERIOD!

Shoes

Several months after my best friend Jody passed away, her daughters made a request to her girlfriends- "Ya know, mom would want you guys to go through all of her clothes and shoes to see if there is anything you would like before we take them down to the battered women's shelter".  A fitting tribute really for a phenomenal lady- take care of your friends and family first, then take care of those that can't always take care of themselves.

So the weekend before Thanksgiving, 2008, we gathered at our friend Marsha's house for a deliciously prepared spaghetti dinner, complete with some NFL football game on the telly, lots of chatter and laughter, enough food to feed a third world country, or at the very least our brood, and a lot of sharing of memories.  It was the first time most of us had gathered together since her funeral, and it was theraputic to say the least.  After dinner was over and the guys settled into another room, we girls sat around in a circle and began going through storage bins of sweaters, dresses, capris, shoes and handbags, sharing heartfelt stories of "remember when she wore this sweater to Sam's Club and she got into a pissing match with some ya-hoo that took her parking space!" and "Holy crap!  She wore this dress on her trip to Colorado with Stephen for the military ball!" 

We took turns sharing and laughing- trying on shoes and pants.  There were a few tears through the belly laughs, a couple of hugs.  I believe the half a loaf of garlic bread that I had engulfed prior to our starting had made its way to my feet because as I came to her shoe collection, I noticed some of them fitting a big snuggly, but I staked my claim to a few pair anyways, figuring a good diaretic and jog around the block might allow me the pleasure of avoiding having to buy new ones myself.


Fast forward to present day life.



Our Relay for Life walk was this past Friday at the high school, and as not to disappoint, Mother Nature found a way to cast her furry- thunderstorms and near record breaking cold spells reared their ugly heads about 3 hours into the walk, but we were able to do some earlier in the evening.  Preparing for the walk this year seemed like a complete blur to me- I really didn't do much of anything other than collect my family's money for the walk and serve a few BBQ sandwiches at our Quarter Auction.  I looked around at all of the soon to be lit luminaries and realized that I had forgotten to buy them this year.  Surely there would be one for Jody- I mean really, the last couple of years she had at least a couple!  But as we made our way around the track, my eyes never saw her name.  I remember getting a little pit in my stomach thinking to myself "you have got to be KIDDING me!?"

I never uttered a word, but I felt bad.  I felt like maybe she had been forgotten, if only for this event.  This is the freakin Relay for Life for Cancer and she didn't have a luminary in her honor?  And it was about this time that I happened to look down.

My shoes.

Her shoes.

That clean, perfectly white pair of size 9 Keds that I found at the bottom of a storage bin that November afternoon in 2008 were now stretched out, grass stained...

Worn.

Her shoes have taken me places.

They've journeyed with me through my year long Weight Watchers endevour- walking and running through muddy reserve trails, down rock covered paths.  They protected me through my first bouts of "jogging" (used loosley, but yea, I can actually jog a little without keeling over), and I do believe at times I can hear her laughter, especially when my little jogs would break into Olympic sprints upon St. D mentioning that he "thought he saw a snake under that log you just passed"

They mow my lawn and plant my garden.

They have accompanied me to quick trips to the grocery store, Sunday morning PSR drives, and "Hey, can you go to CVS cus we're outta milk" runs.

The soles are worn, and there a little pieces starting to break off inside, but they are the most comfortable filthy shoes I've ever owned.

I realized that the luminary wasn't any match to where she has accompanied me.

How fitting that the luminaries couldn't really be lit due to the rain, but my shoes stayed on my feet until we got home and I was ready for sleep.

She was there.  She is always