I'm sno very unhappy. I miss my good friend. I miss his icy embrace and the shivers he gives me. I want him so badly I can almost taste him. It has been months since his last fleeting visit.
He is the ultimate sensual tease. I see him everywhere and nowhere. Lurking in the shadows but not giving me enough of what I yearn for. I need him to cover my body with stinging kisses to leave me aglow. "Come, please come", my begging goes unanswered. I desire to roll in his essence and jump for joy in his presence. Instead I sink to my knees on the dirty hard ground to sob in despair. "Gimme some", I plead to the nothingness, face turned up pleading to the stradisphere. "Please.."
I lay in bed at night in anticipation of his arrival. I hear his howl far away in the distance. Will tomorrow be my special day When he finally arrives? With mittens and boots ready I wait.
I grew up in the land of ice and snow and I miss it. I need my snow fix bad. I love to shovel it and refuse to use the snow blower to clear my driveway. It gives me a sence of unequivocal achievement to clear a path using my hands. I fall into bed sore and tired but happy. I shovel the neighbors driveway, and I don't even like them, so they will get their mail when it snows. There is no better toy than snow. My hubby is building a project in upper Michigan and it snows there almost continuously. He taunts me with this information. Current estimated depth, eight feet. Lucky devil.
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Monday, December 20, 2004
Life imitates Commercialism
My boys watched the American Express commercial were Ellen DeGeners dances through her day to what ever music is available to her ears. "Hey Mom", they yell, "There's a woman on TV who acts like you." I took it as a compliment that they would she would be a spin off me instead of me copying her. Then again she doesn't have the two great reproductions in boy form that I have.
Come Kiss Off
I want you to need me
so I can push you away again
come after me now
lets play this game some more
I love you to miss me
but I'm only going to knock you down like before
I need you to want me
but don't hit your ass on my door
yeah yeah game
If you could have anything in this world
it would be me
remember that as I allow you in closer
before I pull the rug out from under heart
and resent it when you hit the floor
you are for my entertainment
do not push me for commitment
but you better want it all the same
yeah yeah game
You are to love me without condition
that is your role
but you are too needy and dependent
the thought that I'm attracted to you
totally sickens me
you hold a world of possibilities
but I want no unfinished clay
yeah yeah game
we are getting to close now
the thought unsettles me
I love you more than I should now
time to start another mother f##ing fight.
say anyting or nothing
I'll make something off it
lets go game
There we are done now
don't bother me no more
how dare you not want me
when you are silent for too long
I dream up a reason to talk with you again
yeah replay game
Back it up
just one more time
I need you to love me
so I can cut you loose some more
I'm thinking straight now,
your what I want
I long to send you packing
to run unwavering to me
so I can throw you away again
yeah yeah
I want you to need me
so I can push you away again
come after me now
lets play this game some more
I love you to miss me
so I can knock you down like before
I need you to want me
but don't hit your ass on my door.
game
Saturday, December 18, 2004
My A List
Here is my Christmas list. It is not a list of more stuff of which I really don't need but lust over. It is a list of things I really want to give to the deserving people who need it.
A sense of smell for my husband. He has odor enough to spare but not the ability to taste flavor through his nasal cavity. It would help him locate his dirty socks, mildewy towels and the package of raw shrimp he once forgot in his suit case for the weekend that I mistook as a dead body. Silent stinkys do smell honey, yes they do. We all know it is you.
For K1, I want to give him a butt. I am so tired of seeing his boxers and heavens knows a belt doesn't work on my son. He does not need an ass like a porch, or to be draggin a wagon, just a little junk in his trunk to keep his pants were they belong. And yes, his stocking will be stuffed with new undies for me to admire in the mean time.
I want an off button for K2. I would settle for a dimmer switch if I could find one. Perhalps a time freeze ray just so I could slow him down on occasion and do a quick pressure wash on him and a hair cut. Then again he is growing up so fast, and travels at the speed of light so I might aim it at the the wrong kid by mistake and beautify my neighborhood in the process.
For my flower Sis, I want to send her to the jungle. Concrete jungle. I soo want to bust her out of her busy plant filled shop and take her into the big city for a cultural exchange and sightseeing journey. We might even bag us some suit wearing executives or exotic art contisours as we sip our chocolate martinis. Don't tell the Hubbys. Ironical her husband is also names Hubby. Us munkay women are attracted to spouses named Hubby.
For my boss, the cheese natzi, I want a giant fondue set. I'm going to spear her on a huge fork undo dunk her in it for not giving me any time off during the holiday.
For my friend, Gym Mitch I want a little sports car. One that he can do reps with so he does not have to pick me up and throw me into his jacked truck if I need a ride. His way to work out and impress me. Maybe a MG Midgit to increase his flexibility.
For the Dove chocolate company, I want to give them the perfect new taste tester for their products. I will put in a hard eight hours of chewing for them every day.
For my Mafia transplant drug company suppliers, I want to give a conscious. They have all the money they can ever hope to use by charging my such astronomical prices to be dependent on their product. What more could they possibly need?
RJ Mitch needs to have his funny bone hit more often. Better yet I want the ability to find and hit it. I once, swear to God, seen this man bump his elbow on the edge of the table. He then instantly broke into hysterical laughter. Ten minutes later when he was able to breath and stop drooling he told he had hit his funny bone. Man to have the power to find that spot and whack it whenever I wanted.
For the Washington/Chisago county I would like to give back all the speeding tickets they were so very generous to give me over the past year. They could recycle a lot and save all that need for my fines in the cost of paper alone.
For my neighbor, Shirtless Dude, I want an unremovable outer garment. His six pack is a good incentive for me to run in the summer months, but I don't care if his garage is heated or not, seeing that in December is just disturbing. Maybe just an automatic garage door opener. I will keep the controls in my pocket.
Norman Mitch needs a new beard-do. I'm picturing lots of braids with green and red beads. Specificly the beads I have right here. Say the word, Norman, say the word.
X-ray vision is needed for the lab tech's who draw my blood every month. Maybe after eight attemps to find blood in my arms and hands they would know they are not going to locate a vein in between my toes. Then again they make their living probing people with sharp instruments and trunicates.
For my Rock, a book on polyamory to help him understand it is perfectly reasonable for me to have and love both him and Jonny. I know in his heart he wants me happy.
I know now I have only a couple more days of shopping left to find these much needed items. If any of you can hook me up, please let me know. You will be well rewarded with chocolate and malt liquor.
A sense of smell for my husband. He has odor enough to spare but not the ability to taste flavor through his nasal cavity. It would help him locate his dirty socks, mildewy towels and the package of raw shrimp he once forgot in his suit case for the weekend that I mistook as a dead body. Silent stinkys do smell honey, yes they do. We all know it is you.
For K1, I want to give him a butt. I am so tired of seeing his boxers and heavens knows a belt doesn't work on my son. He does not need an ass like a porch, or to be draggin a wagon, just a little junk in his trunk to keep his pants were they belong. And yes, his stocking will be stuffed with new undies for me to admire in the mean time.
I want an off button for K2. I would settle for a dimmer switch if I could find one. Perhalps a time freeze ray just so I could slow him down on occasion and do a quick pressure wash on him and a hair cut. Then again he is growing up so fast, and travels at the speed of light so I might aim it at the the wrong kid by mistake and beautify my neighborhood in the process.
For my flower Sis, I want to send her to the jungle. Concrete jungle. I soo want to bust her out of her busy plant filled shop and take her into the big city for a cultural exchange and sightseeing journey. We might even bag us some suit wearing executives or exotic art contisours as we sip our chocolate martinis. Don't tell the Hubbys. Ironical her husband is also names Hubby. Us munkay women are attracted to spouses named Hubby.
For my boss, the cheese natzi, I want a giant fondue set. I'm going to spear her on a huge fork undo dunk her in it for not giving me any time off during the holiday.
For my friend, Gym Mitch I want a little sports car. One that he can do reps with so he does not have to pick me up and throw me into his jacked truck if I need a ride. His way to work out and impress me. Maybe a MG Midgit to increase his flexibility.
For the Dove chocolate company, I want to give them the perfect new taste tester for their products. I will put in a hard eight hours of chewing for them every day.
For my Mafia transplant drug company suppliers, I want to give a conscious. They have all the money they can ever hope to use by charging my such astronomical prices to be dependent on their product. What more could they possibly need?
RJ Mitch needs to have his funny bone hit more often. Better yet I want the ability to find and hit it. I once, swear to God, seen this man bump his elbow on the edge of the table. He then instantly broke into hysterical laughter. Ten minutes later when he was able to breath and stop drooling he told he had hit his funny bone. Man to have the power to find that spot and whack it whenever I wanted.
For the Washington/Chisago county I would like to give back all the speeding tickets they were so very generous to give me over the past year. They could recycle a lot and save all that need for my fines in the cost of paper alone.
For my neighbor, Shirtless Dude, I want an unremovable outer garment. His six pack is a good incentive for me to run in the summer months, but I don't care if his garage is heated or not, seeing that in December is just disturbing. Maybe just an automatic garage door opener. I will keep the controls in my pocket.
Norman Mitch needs a new beard-do. I'm picturing lots of braids with green and red beads. Specificly the beads I have right here. Say the word, Norman, say the word.
X-ray vision is needed for the lab tech's who draw my blood every month. Maybe after eight attemps to find blood in my arms and hands they would know they are not going to locate a vein in between my toes. Then again they make their living probing people with sharp instruments and trunicates.
For my Rock, a book on polyamory to help him understand it is perfectly reasonable for me to have and love both him and Jonny. I know in his heart he wants me happy.
I know now I have only a couple more days of shopping left to find these much needed items. If any of you can hook me up, please let me know. You will be well rewarded with chocolate and malt liquor.
Not so First Class
My darling Rock,
It is with my warmest regards and deepest love that I write you today and hope this letter finds you well and full of your usual vim and vigor. It is with a heavy heart that I send this shattering news to you, and do not wish to tell you in this way, but since you will not tell me of your current shooting location, I am left with no other way to confess my recent indiscretion. Do not hate me for being weak, but last night, during his upcoming Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory trailer, I shared a moment with Johnny Depp. It was kismet for us. The chemistry we share and joint love of chocolate was noticeably undenighable. As I stopped in mid-chew, starring into his mocha colored eyes, K1 turned to me when me missed the sound of my Whopper chomping jaws. I paid no attention to my sons questioning, "Mom, you ok?", as I sat now silent as Johnny gazed back at me, Whopper drool gathering at the corners of my gaping mouth. Thinking I was choking, K1 started pounding me on my back to dislodge the sugary mass he imagined caught in my throught, causing me to drop the tasty unfinished mega box of goodness. Unable to tear my eyes of Johnny's luscious face, I aloud my sweet treasure to bounce down the theaters floor unheeding my 4 second food on the floor recovery rule. (Usually this rule is 5 seconds on the floor food lasts before gathering too many crunchy unknowns, but in a public place it goes down to 4 seconds- depending on the location and food item). Alais, our time together last night was way to short for my liking. I do not wish to hurt you by telling you of my infidelity, but want only to be honest with you to maintain the integrity of our relationship. I cannot promise you I will never crave this feeling again. Or if Johnny is sent to treatment here at the famous rehabilitation center nearby me that I will not sneak into his room with the family sized squirt bottle of Herseys and slurp slurp slurp bwla blwa hwa hwa......But I digress. My Rock you are my true heart and you will have my undying love forever. I hope this is but a passing phase were I am only attracted to his metro sexual substance abusing good looks and the freaky sexual energy of a mad candy gueniss but I can not promise. I will save all my hot munkay luvin for you. I await you answer and in the mean time have been hanging out at all the barber shops in the vicinity trying to find were you are filming your upcoming movie. Gay hair stylist my candy lovin ass.
Love and chocolate kisses,
Munkay-pie
It is with my warmest regards and deepest love that I write you today and hope this letter finds you well and full of your usual vim and vigor. It is with a heavy heart that I send this shattering news to you, and do not wish to tell you in this way, but since you will not tell me of your current shooting location, I am left with no other way to confess my recent indiscretion. Do not hate me for being weak, but last night, during his upcoming Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory trailer, I shared a moment with Johnny Depp. It was kismet for us. The chemistry we share and joint love of chocolate was noticeably undenighable. As I stopped in mid-chew, starring into his mocha colored eyes, K1 turned to me when me missed the sound of my Whopper chomping jaws. I paid no attention to my sons questioning, "Mom, you ok?", as I sat now silent as Johnny gazed back at me, Whopper drool gathering at the corners of my gaping mouth. Thinking I was choking, K1 started pounding me on my back to dislodge the sugary mass he imagined caught in my throught, causing me to drop the tasty unfinished mega box of goodness. Unable to tear my eyes of Johnny's luscious face, I aloud my sweet treasure to bounce down the theaters floor unheeding my 4 second food on the floor recovery rule. (Usually this rule is 5 seconds on the floor food lasts before gathering too many crunchy unknowns, but in a public place it goes down to 4 seconds- depending on the location and food item). Alais, our time together last night was way to short for my liking. I do not wish to hurt you by telling you of my infidelity, but want only to be honest with you to maintain the integrity of our relationship. I cannot promise you I will never crave this feeling again. Or if Johnny is sent to treatment here at the famous rehabilitation center nearby me that I will not sneak into his room with the family sized squirt bottle of Herseys and slurp slurp slurp bwla blwa hwa hwa......But I digress. My Rock you are my true heart and you will have my undying love forever. I hope this is but a passing phase were I am only attracted to his metro sexual substance abusing good looks and the freaky sexual energy of a mad candy gueniss but I can not promise. I will save all my hot munkay luvin for you. I await you answer and in the mean time have been hanging out at all the barber shops in the vicinity trying to find were you are filming your upcoming movie. Gay hair stylist my candy lovin ass.
Love and chocolate kisses,
Munkay-pie
Friday, December 17, 2004
Just Another Kid
My son, K1 has made a new friend this school year. I had first seen Codi when I stopped in K1's classroom one afternoon this fall. The two boys soon became fast friends. Both are in the same "special" reading class and share the same homeroom. K1 was delighted to be invited to Codi's birthday sleep over bash. Codi's mom and I both now share joint weekend custody of our boys. I have yet to meet her in person, as she also works weekends.
I came home from work one Friday night and there was Codi in my kitchen. "Hi, you must be K1's mom, it's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Codi", the ashonishingly well mannered pre adolescent greeted me holding out his left hand for me to shake. "Umm, hi Corey, good to see ya" , I answer surprised because I was unaware we were having a house guest."It's Cori, my name is Cori". "That's right, sorry", I answer peering around my darkened house for signs of my Hubby and my kids. "Is anyone else awake yet other than you Corey?", I probe. " C-O-D-I, you can remember it like, Code-eye", he tells me calmly and unpatronizing. "Well you mind if I call you Corey from now on? The name Jake is already taken". Without hesitation he hits me with the comeback, "Sure you can, I'm going to call you Mom." "Deal, Corey, wanna come watch Lettermen with me?" "As we sit on the couch giggling in the dark watching the flickering screen and listen to the sound of my two kids softly snoring were they dropped after a hard night of playing, my watch alarm goes off to remind me to take my anti-rejection drugs on time. "Oops I tell Codi, time for my munkay pills." "Munkay pills? Codi asks me. I then explain to him why I must medicate myself at regular inervils. "If I don't take my pills on time, Corey, I start to grow a munkay tail." "Right Mom, I need to take my pills now too. My Corey pills. If I don't, I turn into a forgetful woman". Sure enough, he shows me two zip lock baggies of prescription pills with the time written on the outside. I don't bother to ask what they are really for. If he wants me to know why he maust take theses he will tell me without my questioning.
The next morning we all playing the shooting video game Codi had brought with him to our house. Codi teaches me how to aim better by holding the rifle butt against my side as I shoot. It is then I finally realize he cannot use his right hand at all. Cerebral palsy has affected his one side is my guess. He does perfectly well with out as is. I do not ask him what causes him to be diferent. My kids with handicaps try their best not to stand out.
This past weekend Codi had planned on coming over. It was my idea to go to his house and surprise him by picking him up. I had never been to Codi's house. Hubby had met his mom while I was at work but I have only talked on the phone. K1 gave us the directions to his place as we were on our way to go kill a tree in the spirit of the holiday. Our tradition is to load numerous axes , hatches, and saws into our car and go hunt a Christmas tree. We have tamed it down over the years, as we only hunt on tree farms.
"There's Cori's house, mom, right there. It's the first trailer." We pull alongside the trailer that is smaller than my husbands truck, and out pops a kids head out of the door. Then another. And another. And some more. When I walk up to the house to talk with his mom, I find that she is at work but the surly teenage babysitter is expecting me and more than happy to have one kid less to be responsible for. As she packs up Codi's medication, I survey the clean little trailer with a bed were the living room should be. Cori's mom sleeps in the livingroom so she can get up for work early and not wake up her sleeping kids who inhabit the two bedrooms.
Cori was ecstatic when he found out we were getting a tree. "You get a tree? Really? A real live tree?" The thought boggled his mind. He has never gotten a Christmas tree.
We slowly cruised throughout fields of trees looking for the perfect one. When we spotted a likely candidate off on the distance, we stop the truck, grab an axe and run like maniacs. Part of the fun is seeing who can get to the tree first. We want the biggest fattest tree possible. Last year we found a giant spruce that we names "Mongo". Mongo was so fat he would not fit into our tree stand when he drug him home. We tried to prop him up but he fell over. Usually the trees always look better from far away and once we close we spot the defects and look for another tree to chase after.
This year we gave Codi the privilege of choosing the tree. After turning down all our many picks, Codi told us, "The one you like are just too fat, they look over stuffed". The one he found us was skinny and twisted, even crooked. "This is Lucy -Loo, (from The Grinch) she's perfect." We drop to ground and began fighting over who gets first turn at being a lumber jack. A third of the way into our hacking, Lucy-Loo, we discover, is a Siamese tree and a big part of her trunk falls over but her main body is still standing. "Oh no- can we put both parts into our tree holder", we ask Hubby. "No- it's not going to work". "Off to find a new tree" K2 yells ready to run again. "NO!", yells Codi, "You can't kill her and leave her lay". "Ok", my boys say, we will just push that side to the wall." "No, it is perfect for hanging ornaments", Cori our new found tree expert tells us. It was easy to drag light Lucy-Loo to our truck.
The boys decorated the entire tree. All the ornaments are hung at about three feet high. That is eye level for the boys. They do fit perfectly in that flat bare area that had been the other part of the tree. It is beautiful, like a hidden Christmas party surrounded by green.
That Cori's body may not be considered perfect by someone looking for a sculpted norm. But he sure got his head on straight. This kid has won a special spot in my heart. I'm going to do my best not to treat him "special" though. In our home he is just another kid.
I came home from work one Friday night and there was Codi in my kitchen. "Hi, you must be K1's mom, it's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Codi", the ashonishingly well mannered pre adolescent greeted me holding out his left hand for me to shake. "Umm, hi Corey, good to see ya" , I answer surprised because I was unaware we were having a house guest."It's Cori, my name is Cori". "That's right, sorry", I answer peering around my darkened house for signs of my Hubby and my kids. "Is anyone else awake yet other than you Corey?", I probe. " C-O-D-I, you can remember it like, Code-eye", he tells me calmly and unpatronizing. "Well you mind if I call you Corey from now on? The name Jake is already taken". Without hesitation he hits me with the comeback, "Sure you can, I'm going to call you Mom." "Deal, Corey, wanna come watch Lettermen with me?" "As we sit on the couch giggling in the dark watching the flickering screen and listen to the sound of my two kids softly snoring were they dropped after a hard night of playing, my watch alarm goes off to remind me to take my anti-rejection drugs on time. "Oops I tell Codi, time for my munkay pills." "Munkay pills? Codi asks me. I then explain to him why I must medicate myself at regular inervils. "If I don't take my pills on time, Corey, I start to grow a munkay tail." "Right Mom, I need to take my pills now too. My Corey pills. If I don't, I turn into a forgetful woman". Sure enough, he shows me two zip lock baggies of prescription pills with the time written on the outside. I don't bother to ask what they are really for. If he wants me to know why he maust take theses he will tell me without my questioning.
The next morning we all playing the shooting video game Codi had brought with him to our house. Codi teaches me how to aim better by holding the rifle butt against my side as I shoot. It is then I finally realize he cannot use his right hand at all. Cerebral palsy has affected his one side is my guess. He does perfectly well with out as is. I do not ask him what causes him to be diferent. My kids with handicaps try their best not to stand out.
This past weekend Codi had planned on coming over. It was my idea to go to his house and surprise him by picking him up. I had never been to Codi's house. Hubby had met his mom while I was at work but I have only talked on the phone. K1 gave us the directions to his place as we were on our way to go kill a tree in the spirit of the holiday. Our tradition is to load numerous axes , hatches, and saws into our car and go hunt a Christmas tree. We have tamed it down over the years, as we only hunt on tree farms.
"There's Cori's house, mom, right there. It's the first trailer." We pull alongside the trailer that is smaller than my husbands truck, and out pops a kids head out of the door. Then another. And another. And some more. When I walk up to the house to talk with his mom, I find that she is at work but the surly teenage babysitter is expecting me and more than happy to have one kid less to be responsible for. As she packs up Codi's medication, I survey the clean little trailer with a bed were the living room should be. Cori's mom sleeps in the livingroom so she can get up for work early and not wake up her sleeping kids who inhabit the two bedrooms.
Cori was ecstatic when he found out we were getting a tree. "You get a tree? Really? A real live tree?" The thought boggled his mind. He has never gotten a Christmas tree.
We slowly cruised throughout fields of trees looking for the perfect one. When we spotted a likely candidate off on the distance, we stop the truck, grab an axe and run like maniacs. Part of the fun is seeing who can get to the tree first. We want the biggest fattest tree possible. Last year we found a giant spruce that we names "Mongo". Mongo was so fat he would not fit into our tree stand when he drug him home. We tried to prop him up but he fell over. Usually the trees always look better from far away and once we close we spot the defects and look for another tree to chase after.
This year we gave Codi the privilege of choosing the tree. After turning down all our many picks, Codi told us, "The one you like are just too fat, they look over stuffed". The one he found us was skinny and twisted, even crooked. "This is Lucy -Loo, (from The Grinch) she's perfect." We drop to ground and began fighting over who gets first turn at being a lumber jack. A third of the way into our hacking, Lucy-Loo, we discover, is a Siamese tree and a big part of her trunk falls over but her main body is still standing. "Oh no- can we put both parts into our tree holder", we ask Hubby. "No- it's not going to work". "Off to find a new tree" K2 yells ready to run again. "NO!", yells Codi, "You can't kill her and leave her lay". "Ok", my boys say, we will just push that side to the wall." "No, it is perfect for hanging ornaments", Cori our new found tree expert tells us. It was easy to drag light Lucy-Loo to our truck.
The boys decorated the entire tree. All the ornaments are hung at about three feet high. That is eye level for the boys. They do fit perfectly in that flat bare area that had been the other part of the tree. It is beautiful, like a hidden Christmas party surrounded by green.
That Cori's body may not be considered perfect by someone looking for a sculpted norm. But he sure got his head on straight. This kid has won a special spot in my heart. I'm going to do my best not to treat him "special" though. In our home he is just another kid.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
My Incentive
My sweet naive Hubby called me from the east coast last night. We had both been to busy to talk earlier in the day. "What did you do with your day?", he asked me. I was to exhausted from my early doctors appointments, errand running, work, child transporting, domestic details to answer him. I decided to write it down.
Top Ten Reasons I, Munkay, Got Out Of Bed This Morning:
10- That dang noon wake up call.
9-Needed to get myself to the 15k cross country marathon. Across the room. On the TV.
8-I smelled the Hersheys truck pull into Rainbows parking lot in town.
7-Needed a quick wake up before upcoming nap.
6-Wanted to beat the rush hour traffic to happy hour.
5-Disturbing nightmares of my 3 day wedding to Vin Diesel.
4-Had to throw feces at loud garbage man.
3-Someone needs to run my prosperous home tattooing business.
2-The desire to cram in a quick 5 hours of cake eating before dinner.
And the number 1 reason I got out of bed this morning-
I had to make The Rock breakfast.
Top Ten Reasons I, Munkay, Got Out Of Bed This Morning:
10- That dang noon wake up call.
9-Needed to get myself to the 15k cross country marathon. Across the room. On the TV.
8-I smelled the Hersheys truck pull into Rainbows parking lot in town.
7-Needed a quick wake up before upcoming nap.
6-Wanted to beat the rush hour traffic to happy hour.
5-Disturbing nightmares of my 3 day wedding to Vin Diesel.
4-Had to throw feces at loud garbage man.
3-Someone needs to run my prosperous home tattooing business.
2-The desire to cram in a quick 5 hours of cake eating before dinner.
And the number 1 reason I got out of bed this morning-
I had to make The Rock breakfast.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Gingersmith
As I pull into my drive way, home from the car dealership, I see a Dodge Ram Charger, similar to the cardboard cutout I had just seen on the show room floor, parked by my house. The members of Aerosmith lounging on it's tailgate, waiting for my return. I had been legitimately upset at that Chrysler adds campain. Everyone knows rock and roll icons do not drive redneck trucks. Their lyrics to"Just Push Play's" next line, which is to vulgar to be aired on the commercial, are the first words out of my mouth as I open my jeep door. "F***ing A! ", I exclaim to the band, as I fumble for my keys to let us in my side door, just in time for cookies.
As they gather around my kitchen island I pull our traditonal Christmas gingerbread men out of the oven. Every year I bake these and personalize them to look like family members. "But where are we?", Steven Tyler asks when he does not recognize any that look like them. "On the tree already", I answer as I lead them into my livingroom. "Here we are!" Maybe it was all the neon lights on the tree that confused the band into thinking they were on stage, but they begin breaking into the opening cords of "Sweet Emotion". "SHHHHH", I warn them, "here comes Hubbies truck." (Not a Dodge.)
"I'm home woman, where's my food?", honey announces, as I scurry into the kitchen to kiss him. We then here the the starting strains of "Sweet Emotion", coming louder from the living room. As we go to check it out, there is Brad Whitford, rattling one of my gifts from under the tree as a shaker box for the songs opening rhythm. Steven Tyler is showing K2 how to fit his entire harmonica into his mouth. Joe Perry is is entertaining K1 with the picture of his model girlfriend on his guitar. Tom Hamilton is playing with my cat.*
"Dang Munkay, I thought I told you, no more Areosmith for Christmas", Hubby says.
Thats ok, I have them in my dreams.
i once was complimented by tom hamilton on my shirt. there was a cat on it.
As they gather around my kitchen island I pull our traditonal Christmas gingerbread men out of the oven. Every year I bake these and personalize them to look like family members. "But where are we?", Steven Tyler asks when he does not recognize any that look like them. "On the tree already", I answer as I lead them into my livingroom. "Here we are!" Maybe it was all the neon lights on the tree that confused the band into thinking they were on stage, but they begin breaking into the opening cords of "Sweet Emotion". "SHHHHH", I warn them, "here comes Hubbies truck." (Not a Dodge.)
"I'm home woman, where's my food?", honey announces, as I scurry into the kitchen to kiss him. We then here the the starting strains of "Sweet Emotion", coming louder from the living room. As we go to check it out, there is Brad Whitford, rattling one of my gifts from under the tree as a shaker box for the songs opening rhythm. Steven Tyler is showing K2 how to fit his entire harmonica into his mouth. Joe Perry is is entertaining K1 with the picture of his model girlfriend on his guitar. Tom Hamilton is playing with my cat.*
"Dang Munkay, I thought I told you, no more Areosmith for Christmas", Hubby says.
Thats ok, I have them in my dreams.
i once was complimented by tom hamilton on my shirt. there was a cat on it.
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Play at Your Own Risk
Due to the overwhelming responses from my earlier post, "Road Games", I thought I'd further enlighten you with games to play in the privacy and safety of your own homes. As a matter of fact, I strongly suggest you DO NOT play these while driving. Although you could under the influence of alcohol. Actually a drink or two would probly add immensely to any of our games, just remember to play responsibly and tip the munkay.
I'll start with a game I made up called, "Combusta a Move." It's not really an interactive game but crazy fun none the less. I like to wait until my family members are totally engrossed in a TV show or video game before I walk "accidentally" in between them and the attention sucking screen. I then pause, turn to face them and yell "Here's a move you just can't get enough of!" I then dance. No ordinary civil sane type dance mind you. The most egagerated embarrassing move I can think up at the time. Standing on one leg and pulling up the other to my side and shaking every part of my body is effective. My youngest likes to turn and shake what his mama gave him. Which is humorous in the fact his Mama whent in debt for the little she did give. Only rule is that you yell a warning before you spontaneously combusta dance. "CAN'T GET NUFF" or "Shake it Arisol", will warn anyone watching you are not having a seizure. We have practiced this one so much members of our family will automatically yell out a score, similar to high dive judges if the dance is original enough. If the interupted movie that was worth listening too, sometimes it is just a hand signal that is used instead of a spoken number. Not sure why all mine only rate a one.
Slug Attack is a a game of patience and agility. The "Slug" must have excellent timing and wait until his victim is entirely absorbed in something. Reading instantly turns you into a prime "mark". The "slug" then quietly and unobserved, enters the room, remaining out of direct line of vision and clinging to the rooms perimeter. "Slug" then will venture closer, under the guise of retrieving an article of clothing or toy and find some subtle excuse to remain. Tying your shoe lace or looking for a specific page are good bets. Slug will then inch closer to the "mark"slowly and quietly but never looking at the "mark" or making eye contact. The ultimate destination for the "slug" is the end of the couch the "mark" is sitting upon or the arm of the chair. Closer. Closer. Ever so quiet. Until the "slug" is within leaping distance. Then the "slug" must yell at the top of his lungs, "SLUG ATTACK" and pounce on the "mark" emitting a million slimy kisses to the startled "mark". Loser must clean up any pee marks or "Slug Trails" left behind.
For "Spin Me Spin Me", all you need is a slippery floor. If you are small,you can be Spun easier, although two kids can spin an adult if curled tightly into a fetal position. Finding an adult (sized anyway) person curled into a fetal position is easier than you would expect if you play our first two games often enough. You then completely spin the floor person a set amount of times before they must jump up and run around a large stationary object, kitchen island for example. The cotton candy head, which is the term of the individual who is spun until there brain is like sugar floss, must maneuver over any obstacles that the floss spinners make. If you are able to navigate while jumping over any trippy feet in your way, or toys, without falling of running into anything, you will be cheered. When you win this prestigious acclaim you must break into a victory dance. I suggest re-reading the Cumbusta Move guidelines for this.
Pickle Under the Wing is not for the faint of heart. It is a vicious nasty game for those with iron nerves and armpits. Basically you walk up to your opponent and jam your thumb into his unsuspecting pit and throw down the challenge,"Pickle Under the Wing." Do not wiggle your thumb but hold it still for as long as you can, if that is at all possible, as your foe will react with a recoil often before they are even aware of the impending match. If they are man enough, they will return your look straight in the eye, before then jamming their own thumb into your pit with the volley challenge of, "pickle under the wing". You now must gaze unflinching into each others eyes and hold your thumb as still as possible without any tickling or wiggling motion if you can. The first sign of any weakness, and that would come as giggles or squirms and breaking of eye contact and you lose. I have never lost a game of Pickle Under the Wing. But then again I have never won one either. Hard to pick a champion when the game disinagrates leaving everyone involved snorting up dust bunnies off the floor inbetween guffaws.
Rock, Paper, Hot Lava is based on the old classic. Close to rock- paper-sissors but with a few twists. In our game, rock is The Rock, paper can be paper or money, and the sissors is anything we can dream up to yell after chanting the first two set weapons. Rock, Paper....fill in the blank. K2 seams to think hot lava can beat just about anything so he yells that often, hence the name. Rock, Paper....Tidal wave can beat out hot lava. Rock, paper...Freeze ray is argumentative, causing many questions. If the Rock armed with freezer paper, went up against a freeze ray, who would win? Does Rock have enough money to hire a stunt double to take on a hot lava and still win? Imagination is vital in this one. We are at a stand still to this day whether Rock, Paper Nosebasket beats a Rock, Paper, Tickle dust or not. Rock, Paper, Howling Munkay does too beat a Rock, Paper, Lightning bolt. Cuze I said so.
Sumo Mama was first invented when my boys were in diapers and has lasted like the classic game it is. Their little eyes would light up when I initiated this game and they would squeal with glee. Picture in your mind "Fat Bastard" of Austin Powers. Now with feet shoulder width apart, rub the palms of your hands together before slapping them palms down on your knees as you assume a crouching sumo wrassling position. That should get their attention. If they know what is good for them they will drop themselves into a capital M shape as well. Lift one leg up off the floor and stamp it down as loud as you can. Continue as you advance crab like towards your opponent, soon to be dust essence. Chanting "Sumo-Sumo", gives you an edge. I prefer sticking low and close to the ground to maintain my center of balance and tiring out my opposition. That worked in the past, but now my kids are able to build up enough speed to knock me into sake land. Now they squeal with when they are able to knock me over. Jokes on them as they have to carry me to the couch.
Take a little time evey day for these fun activities. Family holiday season is just around the corner. With a little practice you could start a few of your own new traditions. Might even cull out a few of the weaker relitives and shorten the Christmas card list for next year. Keep the first aid kit close by and play on! Happy Hollidaze.
I'll start with a game I made up called, "Combusta a Move." It's not really an interactive game but crazy fun none the less. I like to wait until my family members are totally engrossed in a TV show or video game before I walk "accidentally" in between them and the attention sucking screen. I then pause, turn to face them and yell "Here's a move you just can't get enough of!" I then dance. No ordinary civil sane type dance mind you. The most egagerated embarrassing move I can think up at the time. Standing on one leg and pulling up the other to my side and shaking every part of my body is effective. My youngest likes to turn and shake what his mama gave him. Which is humorous in the fact his Mama whent in debt for the little she did give. Only rule is that you yell a warning before you spontaneously combusta dance. "CAN'T GET NUFF" or "Shake it Arisol", will warn anyone watching you are not having a seizure. We have practiced this one so much members of our family will automatically yell out a score, similar to high dive judges if the dance is original enough. If the interupted movie that was worth listening too, sometimes it is just a hand signal that is used instead of a spoken number. Not sure why all mine only rate a one.
Slug Attack is a a game of patience and agility. The "Slug" must have excellent timing and wait until his victim is entirely absorbed in something. Reading instantly turns you into a prime "mark". The "slug" then quietly and unobserved, enters the room, remaining out of direct line of vision and clinging to the rooms perimeter. "Slug" then will venture closer, under the guise of retrieving an article of clothing or toy and find some subtle excuse to remain. Tying your shoe lace or looking for a specific page are good bets. Slug will then inch closer to the "mark"slowly and quietly but never looking at the "mark" or making eye contact. The ultimate destination for the "slug" is the end of the couch the "mark" is sitting upon or the arm of the chair. Closer. Closer. Ever so quiet. Until the "slug" is within leaping distance. Then the "slug" must yell at the top of his lungs, "SLUG ATTACK" and pounce on the "mark" emitting a million slimy kisses to the startled "mark". Loser must clean up any pee marks or "Slug Trails" left behind.
For "Spin Me Spin Me", all you need is a slippery floor. If you are small,you can be Spun easier, although two kids can spin an adult if curled tightly into a fetal position. Finding an adult (sized anyway) person curled into a fetal position is easier than you would expect if you play our first two games often enough. You then completely spin the floor person a set amount of times before they must jump up and run around a large stationary object, kitchen island for example. The cotton candy head, which is the term of the individual who is spun until there brain is like sugar floss, must maneuver over any obstacles that the floss spinners make. If you are able to navigate while jumping over any trippy feet in your way, or toys, without falling of running into anything, you will be cheered. When you win this prestigious acclaim you must break into a victory dance. I suggest re-reading the Cumbusta Move guidelines for this.
Pickle Under the Wing is not for the faint of heart. It is a vicious nasty game for those with iron nerves and armpits. Basically you walk up to your opponent and jam your thumb into his unsuspecting pit and throw down the challenge,"Pickle Under the Wing." Do not wiggle your thumb but hold it still for as long as you can, if that is at all possible, as your foe will react with a recoil often before they are even aware of the impending match. If they are man enough, they will return your look straight in the eye, before then jamming their own thumb into your pit with the volley challenge of, "pickle under the wing". You now must gaze unflinching into each others eyes and hold your thumb as still as possible without any tickling or wiggling motion if you can. The first sign of any weakness, and that would come as giggles or squirms and breaking of eye contact and you lose. I have never lost a game of Pickle Under the Wing. But then again I have never won one either. Hard to pick a champion when the game disinagrates leaving everyone involved snorting up dust bunnies off the floor inbetween guffaws.
Rock, Paper, Hot Lava is based on the old classic. Close to rock- paper-sissors but with a few twists. In our game, rock is The Rock, paper can be paper or money, and the sissors is anything we can dream up to yell after chanting the first two set weapons. Rock, Paper....fill in the blank. K2 seams to think hot lava can beat just about anything so he yells that often, hence the name. Rock, Paper....Tidal wave can beat out hot lava. Rock, paper...Freeze ray is argumentative, causing many questions. If the Rock armed with freezer paper, went up against a freeze ray, who would win? Does Rock have enough money to hire a stunt double to take on a hot lava and still win? Imagination is vital in this one. We are at a stand still to this day whether Rock, Paper Nosebasket beats a Rock, Paper, Tickle dust or not. Rock, Paper, Howling Munkay does too beat a Rock, Paper, Lightning bolt. Cuze I said so.
Sumo Mama was first invented when my boys were in diapers and has lasted like the classic game it is. Their little eyes would light up when I initiated this game and they would squeal with glee. Picture in your mind "Fat Bastard" of Austin Powers. Now with feet shoulder width apart, rub the palms of your hands together before slapping them palms down on your knees as you assume a crouching sumo wrassling position. That should get their attention. If they know what is good for them they will drop themselves into a capital M shape as well. Lift one leg up off the floor and stamp it down as loud as you can. Continue as you advance crab like towards your opponent, soon to be dust essence. Chanting "Sumo-Sumo", gives you an edge. I prefer sticking low and close to the ground to maintain my center of balance and tiring out my opposition. That worked in the past, but now my kids are able to build up enough speed to knock me into sake land. Now they squeal with when they are able to knock me over. Jokes on them as they have to carry me to the couch.
Take a little time evey day for these fun activities. Family holiday season is just around the corner. With a little practice you could start a few of your own new traditions. Might even cull out a few of the weaker relitives and shorten the Christmas card list for next year. Keep the first aid kit close by and play on! Happy Hollidaze.
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