You know that feeling....

You know that feeling you get when you are experiencing the greatest joy imaginable? It's that tight excited tingly feeling deep down in your stomach that dances up your backbone and on out to every nerve ending in your body causing every fiber to react. Your feet cannot hold still and you do a little hop/shuffle/dance, causing your booty to shake as your hands clap and do wild victory gestures. Laughter bubbles up from your core, you are unable to stop the sounds emitting from your mouth, nor do you want too. Some people feel this when achieving perfection, after completing a project, or scoring a goal during a sport. Some I know accomplish this feeling when finding the ultimate sale. Adrenaline junkies get it from their endomorphin rush. I experience mine in the sick way of scaring my husband.
Hubby does not scare easily. I do not dress up in monster costumes, or imitate the unknown, I opt for the element of surprise. This startling technique does not work on everyone. What I look for in a victim is the shock, action, reaction factor. Some will only react with shock, only to stand frozen in fear, or open mouthed at my well devised assault. They are too boring for my time. Hubby is perfect as he will be shocked at first but pass through it to the action part, his survivalist instinct kicks in and he will retreat, which is followed by reaction when his self protection mechanism kicks in and he takes a swing. Knowing this makes him the perfect target and adds to my anticipation. Timing is crutial. Go time for the scare is vital, jump out too soon or too late and your effort is blown. I have in the past, wedged myself in small confined spaces only to wreck my setup by trying to jump out to fast before my mark is within close enough range. I have also waited to long only to be trapped by hubby in a cabinet when I failed to pop out early enough, only to be contained in my own ingenious but ill-timed hiding spot. Not knowing when I should retreat myself has resulted in my own bodily injury, when Hub's reaction time was faster than I expected. As I lay face down, bleeding from my mouth onto the carpet after I had shut all the lights off in our downstairs and lead Hub to believe I was already tucked in bed upstairs, I knew he was not one to jump out of a dark place without better retreat plan in place first. In our previous house there were many knooks and crannies perfect for me to jump out at him from, but our new house is big and wide open so I had to rethink my camouflage techniques. I have jumped out from behind furniture, doors, the shower. I have lied myself prone across the dining room chairs, hidden by the table cloth for what seamed like hours waiting for him to walk by. I have jumped sideways, matrix like, from the top of the bunk beds. Sometimes it can be as easy as hiding under a blanket in plain sight. It when they least expect it that causes their reaction to be so intense.
Once, while we were living in Texas and I was studying yoga, I waited by my kitchen widow for the sight of Hubbies truck pull into the apartment complex. I then maneuvered my way into the double cabinets above the fridge. As I lay curled tight on my side, I head Hubby walk in the door and over to turn on the t.v. Then he walks over to the fridge below me and grabs out a beer as I knew he would. While he is still standing infround of the fridge twisting the top off his beer- I kick a leg out of one cabinet and one arm out the other. "AAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!" I yell. Hubby half drops half throws his beer at me while stumbling backward and falling against the dishwasher of the narrow kitchen. I am laughing so hard I can't wiggle out of my hinting spot and end up falling out onto the beer soaked floor were I remained laughing crazily, unable to move. Least I hope the wet was beer and not my own pee.
Recently while wearing my baggy army cargo jeans I came up with a spur of the moment scare so good I giggle as I type. One of the front pockets of my jeans are very deep and goes all the way down to my knee. Halfway up this pocket is a zippered opening, so if I unzip the zipper I can stick my hand into my pocket and out the zippered opening while my cell phone and big ring of car keys remain safely in the bottom, making a noticeable buldge at my knee. Hubby is sitting at our counter, intention absorbed in watching golf. I noisily go out our front door, wait a few minutes and walk around our deck into the side door. Hub is still staring at the game so I walk right up besides him and stick my hip with the cell phone close to him and say, "Wanna see what I manages to get in my pocket?" while shaking my leg ever so slightly. In the top of my pocket goes my hand, down to the unzipped opening were I shoot my hand out in a uncontrolled rapid animal manner at my poor unsuspecting hubby."WWAAAAAAA!" I yell. Shortly after I am changing out off my now coffee soaked clothes as Hubby did for a fleeting moment think I had some sort of live animal in my pants.
Yesterday I went public with my favorite endeavors. We are in Home Depot and in the appliance department looking at freezers. The store is bustling but everyone is lookind at the lawn furniture or the home improvement supplies. The department we are in is totally empty. It takes us two minutes to find the big chest freezer we want, but there is no salesperson anywhere to be found. I watch my Hubby amble off in quest of some assistance,opting to stay behind with our choice. My plan instantaneously forms deviously in my mind. In the matter of seconds I pull out the wire basket in the module we want and jump in unnoticed, pulling the door closed behind me. As I sit there in the dark, trying my hardest to suppress the laughter slipping out of my grinning mouth, I give silent prayers that noone else uncovers my hiding spot before my hubbies return. An eternity or so later I hear his familiar voice say, "This is the one we want", followed by the sound of his knuckles rap on it's top. That is my cue. I spring up flinging the door open and like an insane jack in the box wave both arms around as I do. "RARRRGHHH", I yell in my best outside voice my hubby and the unsuspecting salesman leap backwards with horrified lookes on their faces. Because it was a public place Hubby didn't swing into react mode, thank goodness. I, on the other hand totally lose any resemblance to composure and am laughing so hard I can't breath and am gasping like a fish out of water between my snorts and howls. Husband now is lecturing me on the dangers of hiding in an airless place, trying to regain his dignity as he does.
I recommend whole heartedly that you try this one at home, er your own Home Depot that is. It's almost fail proof and the reaction is worth the risk. Just make sure if you have uncertain bladder control to practice up on your Kegle muscle exercises before you do.

Slut on the Run

Today is a beautiful day. The birds sang with joy and the sun smiled down warmly as I skipped off on my run. Dressed in my clingy form fitting shorts, a jogging bra covered by a shorty t-shirt, I bounced happily off, long pony tail swinging with my rhythmic steps. About three miles into it I reach the curvey inclines amounst numous picture perfect ponds. I hear a vehicle approaching from behind slow it's ascent and then howls and wolf-whistles cut through the air. A Beamer passes me on my left and I can see it's windows down and muscular arms, bent at the elbows, catching some rays. As the car slows infrount of me before coming to a stop on the side of the road, I hear, "Hey Baby! Nice ass!" accompanied by more howls. On the passenger side as I venture closer I recognize my friend Mitch. Mitch lives very close by and has his own home buisness explaining why he was out enjoying this fine day. I do not know the driver of this sports car, but I decide to take it even further. "My ass thanks you and want wants you to know it could use a little spanking", I play along. Mitch's friend is now staring at the both of us in shock, at Mitch's outrageous behavior, and my equally unexpected reply. Mitch now assures me of his "firm-handed abilities". Sex starved slut that I am I offer to take him up on it if he wants to meet me in my shower after my run. Mitch now tells me he is going to dump his friend and I ask for a pen to write down my number. The number Mitch knows by heart and has called millions of times arranging play dates for our kids and such. I pull off the t-shirt and write my number on it and throw it into the car. "Hurry now-you'll want me when I'm hot", I whisper as I turn on my heel and bound off in the opposite direction. Beamer driver stares open mouthed at what he thought just transpired between Mitch and I. When I walk in my frount door my phone message light is indeed blinking as Mitch did call to thank me and promise me a beer for jacking his friends day. Sometimes the best sex is when you just fuck with their mind.

Compliment of the Day

This morning I got my compliment of the day.
A Mitch said to me, "I love you more than a pig." (A pig stands for the utmost, as in, dirty as a..., lazy as a..., well get were I'm coming from.) He then added, "but then another even cuter pig walks by, and I think, ahhhh....bacon".

Candy Whore

I wake up in the middle of the night and my stomach is making the deep rumbling sounds my bike makes when I rev it's engine. This is not unusual for me as I require constant feedings. Strange thing is I'm craving a very specific food item, or in this case, what I classify as a non-food item: Dots. Dots are the fruit flavored, gummy candy that I have eaten perhaps twice in my life. The last time was on halloween and that was by accident. Yes, I do have food accidents but when you are talking one of the motherload candy holidays such discrepencies happen. In the past, I have actually mocked fruit flavored candy. If I'm going to endulge myself in a sugar laden treat there damn well better be some chocolate involed in it somewhere. Nuts for the salt and crunch added is good, include caramel and you are over the top in my book. To me, food disgusized or flavored as another food is just wrong. Pickle flavored potato chips are my nemesis, if I want a pickle, I'll eat a pickle, my potato chips should taste like a potato. Unless of course the could make a pickle that tasted like a potato...anyway I figure my cell donar must have loved Dots because it is 3:00 a.m. and I am seriously considering driving myself to the closest conivance store, about 4 miles away to get my much needed candy groove on, something I have never done in the past, not even while pregnant. I get through the night and most of the next day without weakening to the lurking craving until about bedtime the following day. During our bedtime routine, it dawns on me that I have hours of Dotless time ahead of my me once again and without a hesitation I grab my boys and my purse and head for the jeep. PJ clad we devise how I will get my fix. My oldest son is the fearless one who is to enter the store for my much needed new addiction. I watching my kid clutching the cash and running for the store across the parking lot, as he darts furtive looks at other customers while hoping not to be reconized, my younger sons chants, "Go,Go,Go....". I hang my head in shame. Admittedly I have sunk to a new low in snack food. I hope I can control my new devulgace, but you you happen to notice my personal hygiene slacking, a few more trips to the dentist, or any of my valuables one by one disappearing, this candy whore welcomes your intervention.

Tori, My Tori

My youngest son, K2 is a natural born charmer. He was blessed at birth with the ability to captivate and endear himself to anyone who he deems worthy of his attention. In his eight years he has learned to use this skill to his advantage, though he is a sensitive child and defiantly not a user of others affections. K2 has the most off-the-wall sense of humor, and his quick spur of the moment wit is a delight. The fact that his sparkly enormous eyes are lined with lashes any mashera modal would envy certainly helps. Best part is when his wide infectious toothy gins spreads across his face, and his eyes reflect his joy.

K2 also values things of beauty. He is the first to notice art of any form, senerey, and yes, women. Standing in a check out line K2 noticed the young high school clerk running the till and when it was our turn to pay,he sweetly taps her hand for attention. In his best, then five year old voice he tells her, "You are very, very pretty!". Witch of course he whole heartedly meant. The delighted lovely young lady then smiles and leans over the counter to kiss the top of his head. This was the beginning of many such encounters until at one point I had to have a talk with K2 on the subject of being a "player". When I explained this concept to him, he looked up at me with all earnest and replied, "But Mom, I really think they are beautiful, I wouldn't say something I don't mean".

A short time after school started a year ago, K2 happily came home with the news there was a now girl starting school and he was lucky to be her first friend. Her name was Tori, short for Victoria. K2 talked increasingly often of Tori. At one point Tori was even K2's desk partner until the teacher had to separate them for being too "chatty". K2's grades dropped around this time and his teacher send home a note explaining K2 was offtask and no longer volunteering to class discussion. When I asked my son why this was, he explained, "My Tori can't see the board, so I read the words for her". Awwwww. When helping his older brother hang a dirt-bike poster on his bedroom wall, a picture of a bike and a volumptous scantily dressed woman, K2 made the comment, "I wish I had a picture of my dirt bike to hang on my wall". K1 then commented, "And a girl! You need a girlfriend." K2 glibly answers, "Yes my Tori". Having never seen his Tori because she started the school year after pictures were taken, I imagined an underdeveloped Brittany Spears type girl posing in a swim suit and heels and trying her best to look provocative.
This year began and K2 was gleeful when he found out Tori was to be in his class again. His second grade teacher never did assign Tori to sit right next to him, but a reprimand did come home that K2 was being disruptive in the halls. K2 explained when I questioned his behavior that Tori had broken her glasses and he helped her walk. Awww again.
The day of his classes big field trip and I volunteer to chaperone. I arrive with my son early to his classrooms and seize the opportunity to read all of the thirty some kids name tages hoping to spot the little girl who had so encaptured my son's heart. What a unexpected surprise. It took me a long time to see the quiet little girl with the thick coke bottom glasses held together with tape. Tori's fine uneven brown hair had obviouly been cut by a pair of very dull sissors. Her well-worn clothes were from an older sibling. The few times I did see her smile, I understood perhaps why she did not want her smile to be obvious. Tori has a gentle grace and dignity way beyond her years. Befitting her name, Victoria has an erethral classic beauty one had to look past the surface to see.
I happily followed my son and his love/buddy that day. I envy the innocence of there friendship and affection. On the long bus ride home, from behind my reflective glasses I watched my son use his new "moves". Huddled shoulder to shoulder, three in a seat, K2 would hold a note between himself and Tori. Tori, of course would have to stay close to read it with my son. K2 would at times reach over to encouraging pat her back as she read with him. He would then look deeply into her eyes, then at her mouth, and back up at her eyes, back at her mouth, not wanting to make the fist move by pursing his lips but wanting her to be the aggressor buy giving her these subtle signals. I was very glad for my dark glasses when Tori did lean in close for a kiss, as I'm sure they would have not been so obvious if they had known they were being watched,but also to hide the tears that leaked out of my eyes at this tender scene.

Back from the edge

After a miserable reaction to my new prescription, I realize that my newly found Dr. Wonderful is indeed a Mr. Hyde. The new drug, one I don't really need as it was to cure my p.m.s.,was just another symptom of my bleeding. Fix the real problem, the secondary ones disappear eh? If I'm not bleeding all the time, no p.m.s. As much as I want to always trust the professionals, I must remember to always question everything. Anyway, after three entirely wasted days, I feeling back from the edge. Thank God for my self-sufficient kids. Thank God for it happening over the week end so hubby was home. Heidi is my favorite person for cleaning my house, because after this long not doing any matainace, I would undoubtedly crumble with despair with the mess to catch up on. Thank God for Spam, yes the nasty canned mystery meat, that I crave so much after not being to eat or drink for so long, because it is a sure sign I'm feeling better.

Dr. Wonder

Today was my appointment with Dr. Wonderful. Yes, a name I gave the good obgyn. And yes, I am laughing at that oxymoran. I am due to for this visit and need it as with my anemia I bleed all the time. Look at me too hard and I start to bleed. Of course along with it comes the dreaded pms. I have it so bad I don't enjoy being around myself. Anyway nice nurse takes all my vitals and remarks on the long list of drugs and vitamins I require- I carry my spread sheet with me along with my monthly labs so hopefully I can avoid any further munkay poking. When she is finished with her preliminary work up I expect her to order me to undress and slip into the provided gown and wait on the table for the Dr. Nope in comes the man himself, introduces himself, shakes my hand and politely asks if I would care to step into his office. Wow- I get treated like a human and not a walking vagina. Once seated in his office he question why I am there, plus a million other questions on health of family, history, lifestyle. Nice older man, he naturally askes me countless questions about the study of my transplant-all that I have come to expect as most Dr.'s have not even heard of it yet. Dr.W asks me,"How long I had been a diabetic before my cure?" and I answered him,"32 years- all my life". He looked at me and said- "Yes, you are blessed, that is how long my sister had it when she died last year. She was your age but not so fortunate." When I gave him my condolences, he replied, "She had gone blind from complications, and had received a pancreas/kidney transplant but died of phenomea." Shit. Bam. And I was just feeling sorry for myself about a little blood and some yearly matinance. This is the man I would want as my father. Set aside the fact that he scraped my neather regions with metal instruments. If I am there to have him check out my incubation vessel why must they grope my breasts too? At least he did not stop prodding my cleavage to walk out and pull in another physician mid-cop for a second opinion, and then a third, as I have had in the past. After the dreaded pelvic he brought me back into his office were he approached each of my concerns and not only explained all my options, but drew me pictures and wrote down web-sites for me to look up. I did walk out of there with yet another new prescription, but I will not bitch again about matinance on this body.

Word theory

Last night I was lucky enough to be enjoying a lovely dinner with my friend Mitch and Kid1 and Kid2 and the conversation turned to the meaning of words as it often does when I refuse to not yammer on about this subject. Different cultures have many different words and their meanings- for example, Inuits have how many words for snow and love. We have all had those conversations were we are both on the same subject but not relation to the same topic at all? In one of my classes I learned conversation was any spoken words between two people. My professor hated me because I refused to agree to that- is the cry of your baby not communication? Can't my dog relate to me with his barking? Maybe I just spend too much time in conversations with myself. Anyway my bizarre theory that any forein language can be infact be translated into anything the translator wants it's meaning to be. Yup- I think it is just bilinguals messing up our heads. Spanish is our favorite to misinterpret into whatever we want. My family uses any Latin word we want now as a term of endearment or praise. "guacamole- Kid1", at our house when said in the right tone now means "I love you Kid 1". "Nice fritata's"- therefore means "nice whatever body part I'm looking at".
The following is an actual conversation held with my boys in the jeep last night after dinner and on the way to church. Kid1 in front seat- Kid2 in back with Three Doors Down playing loud.
"Chimmichanga Kid1", I said to my son sitting next to me. (meaning I love you) Kid1 replies, "Not really no, why do you ask?" "No", I answer, "I said chimmichanga to you." "Ah-fre-olays, mom", he replies, "I thought you asked me if I were cold." At which time Kid2 pipes up from the back seat and yells, "Who has got mold?" This causes Kid1 to reply, while messing with his little brothers head-"I do. I'm all about mold!!!"
Conversation ends with sound of kid2 grumbles on the unfairness of not having his own mold.
One of Kid1's first words was "tuttimon" He used it all the time for a very specific something and would become quite agitated when "tuttimon" was not achieved. I never did figure out what it was and would give anything to know what was going through his head and what exactly "tuttimon" was. Kid2's word was "mee-mee"s". I discovered it's meaning the hard way by kissing the end of his outstreached finger, assuming of course that "mee-mee" was his word for boo-boo. Mee-mee's was in fact Kid2's word for bugger. If anyone cracks the "tuttimon" code- please let me know-I'll caseadea you forever.

Let it be said- let it be done.

In future reference to lessen confusion and protect the innocent all my girlfriends I will now rename as Heidi. Reason being Heidi is beautiful name and I have never met or seen an uncharming lady named Heidi. Brings to mind Swiss-miss type girls gathering flowers on hillsides. All men will be now called Mitch. Nice- masculine and my first crush on an adult was named Mitch. The world needs a few more Mitchs. Hubby most of the time will remain Hubby- unless he has angered or displeased me. Kids will appropriately be called Kid 1 and Kid 2. Alto I like the title "She who must be obeyed", I will try to refrain from refuring to myself in third person. Yup renaming things in my surrounding is just one step closer to my total world domination.

The Hell?

Yesterday was just one of the very best, very worst days. I chaperoned my son's second grade class at the Min. History museum. Fun but very stressfully chasing a bunch of hyper 8 year olds on their big day out. Driving home I'm feeling all good because I am able to do this and enjoy the precious time with my exceptional child. Walk in my door and open my mail- a birth announcement of my hubbies first grandchild- and a picture of a beautiful baby girl. Immediate intense baby envy hits me like a cannon ball to my gut. Go to answering machine and listen to me girlfriend cry about the abortion she just had decided on having. Talked to her along time or more less listened to her justify why she is having choosing to have the life she planned to carry, cut out of her body because giving birth is too "hard". This is a married adult woman who is in the upper income bracket and has extended family wanting to help. Showing empathy to her unreasonable selfishness was very difficult for me to do. I know I am not to judge other peoples decisions and as much as I think she is doing a horrific thing, I could not flat out tell her how wrong a choice she was making. I know in the past I have made obviously unwise major choices in my life that others probly wanted to scream and shake me over because I just wouldn't see a different outcome due my tunnel vision, but if they had, would I have listened? I know what to some degree my friend was feeling, but what the hell was she thinking?