I'm going to take you out of here
scoop your frail little body in my arms
and run like there is no tomorrow.
For you, maybe there is.
I'll carry you to where ever it is
you want to go,
no need to ask,
I know it will be home.
This sterile hospital bed
is not your destiny.
Let me take you back
return your to you your dignity.
I'll be your legs
and your voice
everything will be your choice.
We'll return to yesteryear
together we'll travel there
I'll damn sure persevere.
There you'll walk again
don't fear
The fountain of youth
is were we'll cavort
and taunt that grim reaper
as we splash and cavort.
Peering in your pain filled face
while you lay sobbing gently
it is my own tear filled eyes
quietly begging back at me.
Take me out of here.
Backwards.
Run.
I had thought of naming this "He ain't heavy he's my brother" after the famous picture taken during the depression of two boys walking to boystown, an orphanage for homeless boys. When asked if the brother he was carrying on his back, was heavy, the first boy simply replied, "He ain't heavy, he's my brother." Kid said it all with that simple sentence,
Friday, April 29, 2005
Monday, April 25, 2005
Giants Walked the Earth
In my mind he is a giant. My only brother, Butch is the stuff legends are made of. Bigger than life is how I will remember him, always.
Being fifteen years my senior, Butch has been an adult all my life. My big brother is the epitome boy next door. If you stand too close to him you will smell the apple pie. Married his high school sweet heart and settled down on the family homestead. Played a little hockey, loves fast cars and hunting. Butch has always been big into physical fitness, and he takes great pride in the strength of his body. Understandable why all my girlfriends all had crushes on him. It's tragic that his body is now failing him.
Butch was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes when he was seventeen. A few years later, I was also. My sis, Flower Heidi, would follow us shortly after. Colorado Heidi is my only sibling fortunate enough to escape this disease. For which she has unwarranted guilt.
My brothers diagnoses occurred just as he was looking forward to his upcoming high school graduation. He had planned on enlisting in the service, as did many of his friends at that time. Butch was devastated that he would not be able to do his part in the Viet Nam war. I thanked God many times he had not gotten into the army. My soft hearted big bother wouldn't of had a chance in combat. I believe the appropriate term is fodder.
Growing up in a rural town of two hundred, we knew no one else with type 1 diabetics. Health care as minimal bordering on non existent. Our doctor also took calls concerning livestock. Living with this decease we knew more than any specialist we would later find on how to take care of ourselves. Butch was the most disciplined of all of us with his diet and exercise. Even his self care was something to look up to.
Three years ago, one Sunday morning, Butch stood up from the breakfast table to let his dogs out and passed out on the floor. He woke up from that stroke in the hospital after loosing his ability to speek and the use of his right side. He learned to walk with a cane and hunt with his left hand. He continued his daily two mile walks and work outs. Butch is entirely too young and strong to be handicapped.
Last winter he was out shovling snow when his blood sugar dipped low and he suffered a reaction and fell. Broke his hip badly, it was discovered when he finally allowed himself to be taken into the hospital the next day. Butch spent most of the rest of the winter in the hospital. I leave today, his birthday, to spend with him, after they remove part of his foot. His downwards spiral has began. Once complications set in, the future for a diabetic is bleak. It will be hard to see him sick and venerable in a hospital bed.
When asked why I went through what risks I took having an experimental procedure tried out on me, I answer as if I had no choice. It was not a matter of if I would develop complications but when. My husband did not want me to have it. My own physician would not sign my consent form stating I was a good candidate for the experiment. The doctor told me only a desperate person would sacrifice herself for this. It was not his choice. I found myself a new doctor that would. If my new cells failed tomorrow, and I become insulin dependent, at worst I have bought myself three years. If my brother could talk, I am sure he would be supportive. I wonder at this point what he would trade for three more good years.
Being fifteen years my senior, Butch has been an adult all my life. My big brother is the epitome boy next door. If you stand too close to him you will smell the apple pie. Married his high school sweet heart and settled down on the family homestead. Played a little hockey, loves fast cars and hunting. Butch has always been big into physical fitness, and he takes great pride in the strength of his body. Understandable why all my girlfriends all had crushes on him. It's tragic that his body is now failing him.
Butch was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes when he was seventeen. A few years later, I was also. My sis, Flower Heidi, would follow us shortly after. Colorado Heidi is my only sibling fortunate enough to escape this disease. For which she has unwarranted guilt.
My brothers diagnoses occurred just as he was looking forward to his upcoming high school graduation. He had planned on enlisting in the service, as did many of his friends at that time. Butch was devastated that he would not be able to do his part in the Viet Nam war. I thanked God many times he had not gotten into the army. My soft hearted big bother wouldn't of had a chance in combat. I believe the appropriate term is fodder.
Growing up in a rural town of two hundred, we knew no one else with type 1 diabetics. Health care as minimal bordering on non existent. Our doctor also took calls concerning livestock. Living with this decease we knew more than any specialist we would later find on how to take care of ourselves. Butch was the most disciplined of all of us with his diet and exercise. Even his self care was something to look up to.
Three years ago, one Sunday morning, Butch stood up from the breakfast table to let his dogs out and passed out on the floor. He woke up from that stroke in the hospital after loosing his ability to speek and the use of his right side. He learned to walk with a cane and hunt with his left hand. He continued his daily two mile walks and work outs. Butch is entirely too young and strong to be handicapped.
Last winter he was out shovling snow when his blood sugar dipped low and he suffered a reaction and fell. Broke his hip badly, it was discovered when he finally allowed himself to be taken into the hospital the next day. Butch spent most of the rest of the winter in the hospital. I leave today, his birthday, to spend with him, after they remove part of his foot. His downwards spiral has began. Once complications set in, the future for a diabetic is bleak. It will be hard to see him sick and venerable in a hospital bed.
When asked why I went through what risks I took having an experimental procedure tried out on me, I answer as if I had no choice. It was not a matter of if I would develop complications but when. My husband did not want me to have it. My own physician would not sign my consent form stating I was a good candidate for the experiment. The doctor told me only a desperate person would sacrifice herself for this. It was not his choice. I found myself a new doctor that would. If my new cells failed tomorrow, and I become insulin dependent, at worst I have bought myself three years. If my brother could talk, I am sure he would be supportive. I wonder at this point what he would trade for three more good years.
Friday, April 22, 2005
Working Stiff
don't be looking at me
mr. blue collar joe
don't you know
won't even listen to Springsteen
on my high tech stereo
my working class stiff
workin class stiff
trying to get ahead
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
tell me bout your package
display a thick portfolio
I need stocks and bonds to hold me
pack some platinum annuities
before you even get close to me
twice as easy to love a rich man
if I can hire back here please
my working class stiff
working class stiff
trying to get head
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
what's the blue book
on your sweet ride
best be an exotic import
before you qualify my escort
how tight is your mechanic
and dirty is his nails
my working class stiff
working class stiff
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
corner office
but a stepping stone
pent house top floor
is were I want my money maker to roam
the donalds brain oh so appealing
but it's the maintenance man's glo
got my senses reeling
"...poolboy fill me up..."
my working class stiff
working class stiff
trying to get ahead
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
don't want your name on your shirt
or desk
best on the building
at least the letterhead
three little words I long to hear
chief executive office
make you my hearts thief
make your grunts dance for me....
my working class stiff
working class stiff
trying to get ahead
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
"is that your roll or are you just happy to see me?..."
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
yeah
mr. blue collar joe
don't you know
won't even listen to Springsteen
on my high tech stereo
my working class stiff
workin class stiff
trying to get ahead
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
tell me bout your package
display a thick portfolio
I need stocks and bonds to hold me
pack some platinum annuities
before you even get close to me
twice as easy to love a rich man
if I can hire back here please
my working class stiff
working class stiff
trying to get head
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
what's the blue book
on your sweet ride
best be an exotic import
before you qualify my escort
how tight is your mechanic
and dirty is his nails
my working class stiff
working class stiff
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
corner office
but a stepping stone
pent house top floor
is were I want my money maker to roam
the donalds brain oh so appealing
but it's the maintenance man's glo
got my senses reeling
"...poolboy fill me up..."
my working class stiff
working class stiff
trying to get ahead
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
don't want your name on your shirt
or desk
best on the building
at least the letterhead
three little words I long to hear
chief executive office
make you my hearts thief
make your grunts dance for me....
my working class stiff
working class stiff
trying to get ahead
sweat sweat
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
"is that your roll or are you just happy to see me?..."
my ditch digger
I want your muscles torn
yeah
this song written for our road construction season and dedicated to the mancandy holding the "slow" signs and buttcrack foremen smart enough to give them the opportunity to brighten my commune time. thank you company owners for being able to afford a woman like me who is able to write such nonsense as I drive
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
What A Piehole
I was fascinated with his mouth. For a manly man, his lips were sensually lush and full. When I focused on his kisser, I was able to overlook all of the other screaming shortcomings. Mermorized, I would listen to countless hours of rederick just to be able to loose myself in those plump orbs. When he ate, I longed to lean across the table and use my tongue to wipe any miscreant crumbs that had fallen on them. The whine of my nerve endings from want of their touch was excruciating. Crying shame that boy never reaally knew what to do with them.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Such a Woman
I HATE BEING A WOMAN. This being stated in my worst screechy nails on a chalk board, voice, I'll continue. I dunno, you tell me why.
Maybe it is because someone snuck into my perfectly good body again this month when I wasn't paying any attention, and replaced my nether reasons with a wringer washer who's agitator is stuck on frenzy. That explains my bloat factor. Cramps is the acronym for "cranium retardedly attempting mutative persona syndrome". It's not pretty. But it is a girl thing. Unless you are lucky enough to live on a mountain top in Sri-Lanka, nestled safely away in a cozy monastery, chances are you have to deal with one of us. Poor men. I don't even like being around myself at this time. And I'm so fine, if I wasn't me, I'd fall in love with myself.
I can always tell when my time is approaching when I start going all primal with my instincts. Reverting back to Neanderthal woman, my senses heighten. My olfactory abiltitys sharpen. I am able to distinguish the smell of food, testosterone, danger, and money (basic provider instinct) from afar. Sequencualy the world breaks it's self into four groups:
Those I want to kill.
Those I want to mate.
Those I want to eat.
Those I want to nurture.
These four groups are in a constant kaleidoscope of motion, intergrating and passing through one another like a dance. Conceder yourself an elusively lucky survivor if you make it through only one of these category's if you happen to encounter me during this time. My motives, change as fast as my emotions. If I call you up to ask you to cook dinner for me, be wary. I may just want sustenance, but it has been known to lead to copulation requiring resuscitation. If I ask if you "got milk?", run. Don't look back.
For those I want to kill, my temper fuse becomes so short it is non existent. Yelling "What do you mean by that!", is not a question but a heavily loaded threat. My ears become so sharp I can hear what you are thinking. And it is wrong. I pick fights with groups of teenagers, construction workers, and basically anyone who crosses my path. Anger is; another needs getting extreme reagrangment.
For those I want to mate, you are safer away from male dominated areas. Gyms, sporting good stores, and automotive supply places begin to hold a greater appeal for me. A no-mans man hunting ground. If you product any testosterone, your best chance for survival, is playing dead. Period now stands for; pants existing rip immediately off deviantly.
For those I want to eat, your are more likely than not to be a cow or a cocoa plant by product. Good for you because you know I will finish you off in your entirety no matter what your size. Whomever managed to sneak into my body to accomplish my gut renovation happened to hollow out my legs while at it. My appetite is limitless. I eat till my jaws are tired from chewing but never mange to fill up. Craving equal, can't resist a vast indulgent nutritional gorge.
Those I want to nurture are babies. At this time I want babies. They overnight become irresistible. The smell of baby powder and the sight of a diaper commercial causes me to cry. If I could put down this candy bar, I'll go hang out at the playground and find me one. My cat really does look cute dressed up in a sleeper wrapped in a blanket but his sharp theeth hurt when I nurse. Longing is; lucidity on natal grandeur infants now grievous.
Acient cultures knew what they were doing separating menstruating woman from all others during their time. Doing so probly saved the human race. I bet my chances of coercing my Hubby into building me my own hut out back through threats, copulation and starvation are pretty high right now. I just don't want to be stuck in it with myself.
Maybe it is because someone snuck into my perfectly good body again this month when I wasn't paying any attention, and replaced my nether reasons with a wringer washer who's agitator is stuck on frenzy. That explains my bloat factor. Cramps is the acronym for "cranium retardedly attempting mutative persona syndrome". It's not pretty. But it is a girl thing. Unless you are lucky enough to live on a mountain top in Sri-Lanka, nestled safely away in a cozy monastery, chances are you have to deal with one of us. Poor men. I don't even like being around myself at this time. And I'm so fine, if I wasn't me, I'd fall in love with myself.
I can always tell when my time is approaching when I start going all primal with my instincts. Reverting back to Neanderthal woman, my senses heighten. My olfactory abiltitys sharpen. I am able to distinguish the smell of food, testosterone, danger, and money (basic provider instinct) from afar. Sequencualy the world breaks it's self into four groups:
Those I want to kill.
Those I want to mate.
Those I want to eat.
Those I want to nurture.
These four groups are in a constant kaleidoscope of motion, intergrating and passing through one another like a dance. Conceder yourself an elusively lucky survivor if you make it through only one of these category's if you happen to encounter me during this time. My motives, change as fast as my emotions. If I call you up to ask you to cook dinner for me, be wary. I may just want sustenance, but it has been known to lead to copulation requiring resuscitation. If I ask if you "got milk?", run. Don't look back.
For those I want to kill, my temper fuse becomes so short it is non existent. Yelling "What do you mean by that!", is not a question but a heavily loaded threat. My ears become so sharp I can hear what you are thinking. And it is wrong. I pick fights with groups of teenagers, construction workers, and basically anyone who crosses my path. Anger is; another needs getting extreme reagrangment.
For those I want to mate, you are safer away from male dominated areas. Gyms, sporting good stores, and automotive supply places begin to hold a greater appeal for me. A no-mans man hunting ground. If you product any testosterone, your best chance for survival, is playing dead. Period now stands for; pants existing rip immediately off deviantly.
For those I want to eat, your are more likely than not to be a cow or a cocoa plant by product. Good for you because you know I will finish you off in your entirety no matter what your size. Whomever managed to sneak into my body to accomplish my gut renovation happened to hollow out my legs while at it. My appetite is limitless. I eat till my jaws are tired from chewing but never mange to fill up. Craving equal, can't resist a vast indulgent nutritional gorge.
Those I want to nurture are babies. At this time I want babies. They overnight become irresistible. The smell of baby powder and the sight of a diaper commercial causes me to cry. If I could put down this candy bar, I'll go hang out at the playground and find me one. My cat really does look cute dressed up in a sleeper wrapped in a blanket but his sharp theeth hurt when I nurse. Longing is; lucidity on natal grandeur infants now grievous.
Acient cultures knew what they were doing separating menstruating woman from all others during their time. Doing so probly saved the human race. I bet my chances of coercing my Hubby into building me my own hut out back through threats, copulation and starvation are pretty high right now. I just don't want to be stuck in it with myself.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Better Than a Flashing Marquee
When Munkay puts on THE SUN DRESS, she wants attention. See previous blog.
Every woman has such an outfit. It may not be a dress, and she may never wear it, but hanging in every girls closet is such an ensemble. The dress that will get us noticed. It is not quite appropriate and would never be descibed at modest. It is the outfit that if you had a daughter, you would not let her wear. Nor would you show it to your mom. Or anyone from your school district or any religious affliction you may hold.
Mine is a red strappy sundress. A little too snug and a couple inches too short. All that is left to the imagination when I put on this dress is the amount of trouble I will cause by wearing it. It makes both men and women check me out. Men love it. Women love the dress and hate their men for the whiplash it causes them as their crane their heads for a better look. Not only do I want attention when wearing this dress, I expect it. I rarely have cause to wear it now. Only when I need an esteem boost or nothing else is clean. It is not a dress I can pull off when I am having a bad day. No slouching in this dress. Slip on this dress and I am Marilyn Monroe, Erica Kane, Tyra Banks and Beyonce all wrapped into one. Danger wrapped in red.
Knowing the power of my dress, and not having done laundry in a couple of weeks, I slipped it on to run errands and break hearts. After frolicking like I had no sense and causing mischief galore, I picked my kids up from school before one final stop at a shopping meca. We are walking across the parking lot, me in front and the boys far behind me arguing over their purchases. As I near my jeep I hear the wizzing sound of skateboard wheels shortly before a group of teenage boys come shooting out from behind the row of parked vehicles. I smile as the cat calls and wolf whistles begin. "Hi", I chirp cheerfully as they pass, thinking I reconizing them. They are a couple years older than my my oldest son, K1. "Is that K1's mom mumble mumble?", I barely make out as they are not behind me. "No way", is the reply I hear. Then "Hi K!" "I told you it was", in an embassed and disgusted tone.
On the way home K1 asked me not to wear the dress again. Maybe it is time to retire my pistol.
Every woman has such an outfit. It may not be a dress, and she may never wear it, but hanging in every girls closet is such an ensemble. The dress that will get us noticed. It is not quite appropriate and would never be descibed at modest. It is the outfit that if you had a daughter, you would not let her wear. Nor would you show it to your mom. Or anyone from your school district or any religious affliction you may hold.
Mine is a red strappy sundress. A little too snug and a couple inches too short. All that is left to the imagination when I put on this dress is the amount of trouble I will cause by wearing it. It makes both men and women check me out. Men love it. Women love the dress and hate their men for the whiplash it causes them as their crane their heads for a better look. Not only do I want attention when wearing this dress, I expect it. I rarely have cause to wear it now. Only when I need an esteem boost or nothing else is clean. It is not a dress I can pull off when I am having a bad day. No slouching in this dress. Slip on this dress and I am Marilyn Monroe, Erica Kane, Tyra Banks and Beyonce all wrapped into one. Danger wrapped in red.
Knowing the power of my dress, and not having done laundry in a couple of weeks, I slipped it on to run errands and break hearts. After frolicking like I had no sense and causing mischief galore, I picked my kids up from school before one final stop at a shopping meca. We are walking across the parking lot, me in front and the boys far behind me arguing over their purchases. As I near my jeep I hear the wizzing sound of skateboard wheels shortly before a group of teenage boys come shooting out from behind the row of parked vehicles. I smile as the cat calls and wolf whistles begin. "Hi", I chirp cheerfully as they pass, thinking I reconizing them. They are a couple years older than my my oldest son, K1. "Is that K1's mom mumble mumble?", I barely make out as they are not behind me. "No way", is the reply I hear. Then "Hi K!" "I told you it was", in an embassed and disgusted tone.
On the way home K1 asked me not to wear the dress again. Maybe it is time to retire my pistol.
Friday, April 15, 2005
No Chance In Hell
I see you looking at Me
and I pretend not to care
go ahead, check Me out
of you I am quite unaware.
minutiae is more interesting
than you could ever hope to be
vie for my attention
I would if I weren't Me
you I'll keep in my perimeter
there safely you should stay
don't look away from me now
oh see how I toss My hair
My laughter rings infectious
I know by your stare
you my captive audience
poor bastard you haven't got a prayer.
and I pretend not to care
go ahead, check Me out
of you I am quite unaware.
minutiae is more interesting
than you could ever hope to be
vie for my attention
I would if I weren't Me
you I'll keep in my perimeter
there safely you should stay
don't look away from me now
oh see how I toss My hair
My laughter rings infectious
I know by your stare
you my captive audience
poor bastard you haven't got a prayer.
Monday, April 11, 2005
A Measure of Spring
1 iceless lake
95 horsepowers
22 feet of boat
3 boys, 1 munkay
24 minnows
24 worms
12 cans of root beer
4 ruben sandwichs
2 PBJ sandwiches
18 ounces M&M's*
2 books, The Hobbit, East of Eden
48 crappies
48 sunfish
6 bass (recycled)
3 muskrat spottings
2 turtles
71 degrees
4 golden hours
* a large amount of m&m's are neccessary to play "feed the Munkay". To play this game, one does not need to be a munkay, but be only be willing to yell, "feed the munkay", while opening mouth wide, baby bird style. challanger must then toss candy into waiting mouth until a chocolate point is scored. once point is scored, and only after it is scored, will the feeder be allowed to become the feedee. extra points awarded for distance of successfull throw. whip handfulls and you are disqualified and must eat wasted floor candy
95 horsepowers
22 feet of boat
3 boys, 1 munkay
24 minnows
24 worms
12 cans of root beer
4 ruben sandwichs
2 PBJ sandwiches
18 ounces M&M's*
2 books, The Hobbit, East of Eden
48 crappies
48 sunfish
6 bass (recycled)
3 muskrat spottings
2 turtles
71 degrees
4 golden hours
* a large amount of m&m's are neccessary to play "feed the Munkay". To play this game, one does not need to be a munkay, but be only be willing to yell, "feed the munkay", while opening mouth wide, baby bird style. challanger must then toss candy into waiting mouth until a chocolate point is scored. once point is scored, and only after it is scored, will the feeder be allowed to become the feedee. extra points awarded for distance of successfull throw. whip handfulls and you are disqualified and must eat wasted floor candy
Monday, March 28, 2005
The Snob in Me
My inner snob:
Will someday stand gaurd in the candy isle of the bulk wharehouse food store yelling, "If your butt is already bigger than your cart, don't go here!"
Admires the courage it takes to drive the fifteen year old rust bucket of a car she passes on the interstate and wishes she had one iota of mechanical abillty so she could drive one without knowing she would be stranded on the roadside for all eturnity.
Knows all drivers of cheap Jap bikes make the "BRROOMM-BROOMM-BLUB-BLUB-BLUB" Harley sounds on the down low. Wanna be's.
Giggles and points at people wearing knock offs. Have some integraty. Be genuine.
Pegs fellow barbique partakers from across the room with packages of dental floss when seen picking their theeth in public.
Longs to stop the jogger who's form resembles an albatross during take off to teach him a smoother, more gracefull stride. The day she can sprint farther than her mail box, she will do just that.
Automatically hears the phrase, "My daddy always says I'm the best kisser in the family", when she hears the word fish. That was the name of the kid in her class who married his own cousin. The fish that was suposed to be in her class, not his older bother, who had flunked, and was also in her class.
Will run the driver of the next automobile with faux wood panels off the road and tell them they are fooling no one. The only real woody driven was by a Flintstone.
Carries a picture of Jonny Depp in "Pirates of the Carribian" with her to show females who incurcle their eyes in heavy black eye linner. That hard look screams welfare whisky and food stamp crack.You can take the girl out of the trailer but you can't take the trailer out of the girl. That look doesn't even work for Jonny.
Whispers to herself, "No-no- what were you thinking? Blueberry is the new black", when she passes the big baby blue house on the corner.
Covers her ears while chanting, "Get in the now, get in the now", when forced to listen to the all eighties channel.
Dreams of buying the learing tool in line behind her wearing the t-shirt that says, "0-horny in 3.2 beers" three beers. Then shaving his mullet.
Despises shopping in Walmart for fear she too may one day find herself in the hair bleach section like the marority of shoppers there, thinking that giving herself her own home 'do is a good idea.
Slips fresh fruit into the shopping bag of the mom in the grocery store who is loading up on cocca pebbles, chef boy are dee and sunny delight.
Wouldn't be caught dead being seen with the likes of me.
Will someday stand gaurd in the candy isle of the bulk wharehouse food store yelling, "If your butt is already bigger than your cart, don't go here!"
Admires the courage it takes to drive the fifteen year old rust bucket of a car she passes on the interstate and wishes she had one iota of mechanical abillty so she could drive one without knowing she would be stranded on the roadside for all eturnity.
Knows all drivers of cheap Jap bikes make the "BRROOMM-BROOMM-BLUB-BLUB-BLUB" Harley sounds on the down low. Wanna be's.
Giggles and points at people wearing knock offs. Have some integraty. Be genuine.
Pegs fellow barbique partakers from across the room with packages of dental floss when seen picking their theeth in public.
Longs to stop the jogger who's form resembles an albatross during take off to teach him a smoother, more gracefull stride. The day she can sprint farther than her mail box, she will do just that.
Automatically hears the phrase, "My daddy always says I'm the best kisser in the family", when she hears the word fish. That was the name of the kid in her class who married his own cousin. The fish that was suposed to be in her class, not his older bother, who had flunked, and was also in her class.
Will run the driver of the next automobile with faux wood panels off the road and tell them they are fooling no one. The only real woody driven was by a Flintstone.
Carries a picture of Jonny Depp in "Pirates of the Carribian" with her to show females who incurcle their eyes in heavy black eye linner. That hard look screams welfare whisky and food stamp crack.You can take the girl out of the trailer but you can't take the trailer out of the girl. That look doesn't even work for Jonny.
Whispers to herself, "No-no- what were you thinking? Blueberry is the new black", when she passes the big baby blue house on the corner.
Covers her ears while chanting, "Get in the now, get in the now", when forced to listen to the all eighties channel.
Dreams of buying the learing tool in line behind her wearing the t-shirt that says, "0-horny in 3.2 beers" three beers. Then shaving his mullet.
Despises shopping in Walmart for fear she too may one day find herself in the hair bleach section like the marority of shoppers there, thinking that giving herself her own home 'do is a good idea.
Slips fresh fruit into the shopping bag of the mom in the grocery store who is loading up on cocca pebbles, chef boy are dee and sunny delight.
Wouldn't be caught dead being seen with the likes of me.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Munkay Speak
"Have you been eating Snickers bars?'' Translation-"Come here and kiss me so I can enjoy a sugar rush second hand."'
"I wanna try ski-journeying eh?" Translated- "I am willing to be pulled behind running dogs while precariously balancing on skis for a minimal effort adrenaline rush, and I think this is a fine idea." Adding the "eh?" on the end, I am reaffirming to myself what a good revilation this is. No need for an answer, I know what I have just stated. Repeating the sentence and stressing the "eh?", in an exaggerated question form only annoys me. I am not asking a question. To me, the word "eh" is a verbal cross between an exclamation mark and a period. Proper response, "Knock your crazy assed self out. I'm bringing my camera with me when I visit you in the hospital."
"I think that two week old steak we forgot in the bottom of the fridge looks a little juicy." Translation- "That is scary nasty beyond words." Juicy is a questionable state of being or substance, indescribable. Coined when Goosemount was strapped into the toddler seat of the Jeep Wrangler and in a panic was searching for the appropriate words to exclaim while hydroplaning sideways down the muddy road. "MOM! Why did you have to pick such a JUICY road?!"
"Let me think about it." Translation- "Oh hell no, I don't want to. I just haven't thought up an excuse not to yet."
"WHERE'S MY FOOD WOMAN??" Translation- "Please excuse me, but I am extremely hungry and am on the verge of wasting away." Unless spoken in a restaurant. Then it translates to, "WHERE'S MY FOOD WOMAN!!", regardless of sex of waitperson.
"I don't think I am in the mood." Translation- "Oh heck ya, I want some, you just gotta put a little more effort into it."
"Ok" Translation to my kids-"I'm not listening to you right now." Translation to my Hubby- "What's in it for me?" Translation to all others- "I'm not sold on this yet. I was holding a conversation with my Rock in my head."
"Keydoks" Translation- "Ok", in Finnish. But must be chirped in a happy attitude.
"K" Translation- "I hear you but not only am I not going to do that, I am too lazy to even answer with a complete word. Go away now. You disgust me."
"Okaly Dokaly" Translation. - "Not only will I do that to inhibit further prompting, but I will accomplish it in a speedy and mindless manner." This term is rare, last heard, June 11th, 1993.
"No thank you, I couldn't possibly eat another bite." Translation- There is none. Those are words you will never hear coming from this girl.
"Look at all the tall buildings Punky!!!" Translation- "I am innodated and overwhelmed by all the urban culture and architecture surrounding me currently." It is to be used also as a greeting when ever you happen to meet a man who goes by the name Skeeter Minyeah, as he was the first one to utter these words right before he walked into a pole while admiring the Winnipeg skyline above. It was spoke many times as we waited for the ambulance to transport his unconscious form to the hospital. More times as Punky and I became lost trying to follow the ambulance through the unknown city. Not so often when we sobered up.
"Whats going on in here?" Translation- "I don't know why or how a wild squirrel got lose in my bathroom, but he better be gone before another little blood vessel ruptures in my brain."
"You are grizzling up nicely there Goat." Translation- "I love you dearly and can not pass up the chance to tease you about how much older your are than me. "
"Can't talk, eating." Translation- "Keep all limbs and digits near clear for your own safety. Not responsible for burns from sparks flying from my eating utensils. If I am bothering to use any"
"No breakee t' eegg." Translation- "That was a totally stupid thing to do, bone head." Derived from Eli's dad, who once accidentally cut through the gas line leading into the Asian restaurant he was working on causing the non-English speaking proprietor to come out and in a highly excited mannor, pantomime as best he could using a skillet and an egg, that he could smell sulfur in the air and an explosion was immanent. Must be said in a really bad Asian accent.
"Wanna dance?" Translation- "No Hubby, I do not expect you to dance with me and would be quite shocked if you did. But I am going to dance around you as you sit there. Please don't swat at me when I get in front of the T.V."
"Ron Burgundy" Translation- "I want to see you laugh so hard you do a spit-take when I utter this phrase in a muppet voice. "
*Rolling eyes upward and nodding head.* Translation- "No I am not experiencing a grand maul seizure. I have 10 minutes and the inclination to meet you upstairs." I know this not words but communication none the less. Fat chance you will ever see me speak this way to you. Other than you, Rock, that is.
"If there is anything I can do to help.." Translation- "I am polite and insincere."
"What can I do to help?" Translation- "Give me something here, my intentions are good."
"Shut up." Translation- "Tell me more." For example when you say, "The UPS driver delivered my order from Fredericks of Hollywood yesterday but I had to sign for it before he would take it off.", triggers me to say, "Shut up.", meaning I want further information.
"Get out eh?" Translation- "Don't you dare stop now." I am not questioning your presents. I want some background. For example. "I could tell right away just by looking at him, that it wouldn't enhance my cleavage either", is cause for me to answer, "Get out eh?"
"You gonna finish that?" Translation- "You have T minus 3 seconds before I lunge for your plate and you lose a finger."
"What do you mean by that?" Translation- "You have bored me beyond tears rehashing the same old drivel that you are patronizing me with. Stop already. I am making fun of you."
"That feels like fuck." Translation- "I do not know how I am feeling but am adamant about it none the less. Might be wonderful. Could possibly be horrible." Term jacked from Ben, a six year old first time swearer. He was trying to descibe the intense sensation achieved after biffing the fast waterslide at the local water park. To his uptight fathers extreme embarrassment, he loudly proclaimed his experience using the most powerful words he was capable of. Ben made his statement before most of his fathers company. Ben is now a Jr. project manager for same company.
"Is the pizza here?" Translation- "I am planning on grabbing you to sneak a kiss while you are momentarily silent and easy prey as you listen for the sound of the delivery boy's knock."
"I was just thinking of you." Translation- " I have hatched a ludicrous idea and you are the only one who will hear me out before calling the nut wagon and I am planning on making you my acomplise." That or "I have been drinking heavily all day."
"I love you." Translation- "I love you." It does not have hidden meaning. It does not even require a response.
"I wanna try ski-journeying eh?" Translated- "I am willing to be pulled behind running dogs while precariously balancing on skis for a minimal effort adrenaline rush, and I think this is a fine idea." Adding the "eh?" on the end, I am reaffirming to myself what a good revilation this is. No need for an answer, I know what I have just stated. Repeating the sentence and stressing the "eh?", in an exaggerated question form only annoys me. I am not asking a question. To me, the word "eh" is a verbal cross between an exclamation mark and a period. Proper response, "Knock your crazy assed self out. I'm bringing my camera with me when I visit you in the hospital."
"I think that two week old steak we forgot in the bottom of the fridge looks a little juicy." Translation- "That is scary nasty beyond words." Juicy is a questionable state of being or substance, indescribable. Coined when Goosemount was strapped into the toddler seat of the Jeep Wrangler and in a panic was searching for the appropriate words to exclaim while hydroplaning sideways down the muddy road. "MOM! Why did you have to pick such a JUICY road?!"
"Let me think about it." Translation- "Oh hell no, I don't want to. I just haven't thought up an excuse not to yet."
"WHERE'S MY FOOD WOMAN??" Translation- "Please excuse me, but I am extremely hungry and am on the verge of wasting away." Unless spoken in a restaurant. Then it translates to, "WHERE'S MY FOOD WOMAN!!", regardless of sex of waitperson.
"I don't think I am in the mood." Translation- "Oh heck ya, I want some, you just gotta put a little more effort into it."
"Ok" Translation to my kids-"I'm not listening to you right now." Translation to my Hubby- "What's in it for me?" Translation to all others- "I'm not sold on this yet. I was holding a conversation with my Rock in my head."
"Keydoks" Translation- "Ok", in Finnish. But must be chirped in a happy attitude.
"K" Translation- "I hear you but not only am I not going to do that, I am too lazy to even answer with a complete word. Go away now. You disgust me."
"Okaly Dokaly" Translation. - "Not only will I do that to inhibit further prompting, but I will accomplish it in a speedy and mindless manner." This term is rare, last heard, June 11th, 1993.
"No thank you, I couldn't possibly eat another bite." Translation- There is none. Those are words you will never hear coming from this girl.
"Look at all the tall buildings Punky!!!" Translation- "I am innodated and overwhelmed by all the urban culture and architecture surrounding me currently." It is to be used also as a greeting when ever you happen to meet a man who goes by the name Skeeter Minyeah, as he was the first one to utter these words right before he walked into a pole while admiring the Winnipeg skyline above. It was spoke many times as we waited for the ambulance to transport his unconscious form to the hospital. More times as Punky and I became lost trying to follow the ambulance through the unknown city. Not so often when we sobered up.
"Whats going on in here?" Translation- "I don't know why or how a wild squirrel got lose in my bathroom, but he better be gone before another little blood vessel ruptures in my brain."
"You are grizzling up nicely there Goat." Translation- "I love you dearly and can not pass up the chance to tease you about how much older your are than me. "
"Can't talk, eating." Translation- "Keep all limbs and digits near clear for your own safety. Not responsible for burns from sparks flying from my eating utensils. If I am bothering to use any"
"No breakee t' eegg." Translation- "That was a totally stupid thing to do, bone head." Derived from Eli's dad, who once accidentally cut through the gas line leading into the Asian restaurant he was working on causing the non-English speaking proprietor to come out and in a highly excited mannor, pantomime as best he could using a skillet and an egg, that he could smell sulfur in the air and an explosion was immanent. Must be said in a really bad Asian accent.
"Wanna dance?" Translation- "No Hubby, I do not expect you to dance with me and would be quite shocked if you did. But I am going to dance around you as you sit there. Please don't swat at me when I get in front of the T.V."
"Ron Burgundy" Translation- "I want to see you laugh so hard you do a spit-take when I utter this phrase in a muppet voice. "
*Rolling eyes upward and nodding head.* Translation- "No I am not experiencing a grand maul seizure. I have 10 minutes and the inclination to meet you upstairs." I know this not words but communication none the less. Fat chance you will ever see me speak this way to you. Other than you, Rock, that is.
"If there is anything I can do to help.." Translation- "I am polite and insincere."
"What can I do to help?" Translation- "Give me something here, my intentions are good."
"Shut up." Translation- "Tell me more." For example when you say, "The UPS driver delivered my order from Fredericks of Hollywood yesterday but I had to sign for it before he would take it off.", triggers me to say, "Shut up.", meaning I want further information.
"Get out eh?" Translation- "Don't you dare stop now." I am not questioning your presents. I want some background. For example. "I could tell right away just by looking at him, that it wouldn't enhance my cleavage either", is cause for me to answer, "Get out eh?"
"You gonna finish that?" Translation- "You have T minus 3 seconds before I lunge for your plate and you lose a finger."
"What do you mean by that?" Translation- "You have bored me beyond tears rehashing the same old drivel that you are patronizing me with. Stop already. I am making fun of you."
"That feels like fuck." Translation- "I do not know how I am feeling but am adamant about it none the less. Might be wonderful. Could possibly be horrible." Term jacked from Ben, a six year old first time swearer. He was trying to descibe the intense sensation achieved after biffing the fast waterslide at the local water park. To his uptight fathers extreme embarrassment, he loudly proclaimed his experience using the most powerful words he was capable of. Ben made his statement before most of his fathers company. Ben is now a Jr. project manager for same company.
"Is the pizza here?" Translation- "I am planning on grabbing you to sneak a kiss while you are momentarily silent and easy prey as you listen for the sound of the delivery boy's knock."
"I was just thinking of you." Translation- " I have hatched a ludicrous idea and you are the only one who will hear me out before calling the nut wagon and I am planning on making you my acomplise." That or "I have been drinking heavily all day."
"I love you." Translation- "I love you." It does not have hidden meaning. It does not even require a response.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
The Bunny House
I am walking in my yard through the mud. Signs are spring are slowly emerging every where. It is the ugly time of the year but I love this season the most. The days are now longer, and that brings the promise of the return of warmth and summer. The fresh air is full of hope of new beginnings. It no longer hurts my lungs to breath in the cold, I can smell the earth coming back to life. I look down to the greasy clay covering my boots and I spot it half burred in the mud. My traveling bunny. Or it is one half of him. I crouch down and examine his remains before gently picking him up. Last falls landscaping must have left him here. He is bend at funny angles, that is why I did not recognize him sooner. But it is my old friend. I brush the soil covering him off with my fingertips. There is his backpack. And his walking staff. This rabbit has covered many miles in his lifetime.
Traveling Bunny was with me in my old life. Back in my pre fire candy making days. This bunny was one of hundreds that inhabited my home. I collected them from all over the world. I had waltzing bunny's from Switzerland. Gardening bunny's from Germany. Bunny family's from England. Bunny's wearing clogs from Holland. I new every antique dealer who specialized in metal chocolate molds in the States and thanks to the internet had suppliers from Europe that soon became fast friends.
Every one of the molds was a work of art. From the outside, they appeared to be just a lump of unrefined metal. But when you opened them up, to their smooth polished shiny silver interior that produced the intricatly detailed chocolate, you apeaciated their real workmanship and beauty. The nicer ones from the turn of the century would show every hair the artist had given the rabbit. Most were adopted by me from old candy making shops. Often, it was the local pharmacist that would also me the candymaker. Only the large, well to do family's would own their own mold. The idea that the same molds I used had brought joy to lucky children on Easter morning delighted me.
At Easter time, I would become the Easter bunny. I would order fifty pounds each of white, mild and dark chocolate, and every surface in my house would become covered in candy. I was a hero in my son's school. Neibhors and dentists loved me.
After the house burned, and I was walking around the large ash pit that once was my home, along with the smell of charred ash, was the sickening sweet stench of burned chocolate. That gave me optimism. "My bunny's were metal, at least they will have made it", I had hoped. Not a single one escaped perishing that night.
As I squat down on my haunches staring at all that is left of traveling bunny, Goosemount walks over and places his hand on my shoulder to have a better look at what I am holding. "Mom you can make Easter bunny's!", he excitedly exclaims. "No, honey, he is all beat up." "Yes, you can, they don't have to be perfect." "No, he is no longer safe for making candy." K2 by this time has joined us and is having difficulty seeing a rabbit in the scrape of metal I am holding. He is too young to remember the details. "Why don't we buy new ones Mom?", he asks, "And save that one for memories?" I stand up and toss traveling bunny into the trash. "No, how bout you guys help me make some chocolate eggs this year?"
Traveling Bunny was with me in my old life. Back in my pre fire candy making days. This bunny was one of hundreds that inhabited my home. I collected them from all over the world. I had waltzing bunny's from Switzerland. Gardening bunny's from Germany. Bunny family's from England. Bunny's wearing clogs from Holland. I new every antique dealer who specialized in metal chocolate molds in the States and thanks to the internet had suppliers from Europe that soon became fast friends.
Every one of the molds was a work of art. From the outside, they appeared to be just a lump of unrefined metal. But when you opened them up, to their smooth polished shiny silver interior that produced the intricatly detailed chocolate, you apeaciated their real workmanship and beauty. The nicer ones from the turn of the century would show every hair the artist had given the rabbit. Most were adopted by me from old candy making shops. Often, it was the local pharmacist that would also me the candymaker. Only the large, well to do family's would own their own mold. The idea that the same molds I used had brought joy to lucky children on Easter morning delighted me.
At Easter time, I would become the Easter bunny. I would order fifty pounds each of white, mild and dark chocolate, and every surface in my house would become covered in candy. I was a hero in my son's school. Neibhors and dentists loved me.
After the house burned, and I was walking around the large ash pit that once was my home, along with the smell of charred ash, was the sickening sweet stench of burned chocolate. That gave me optimism. "My bunny's were metal, at least they will have made it", I had hoped. Not a single one escaped perishing that night.
As I squat down on my haunches staring at all that is left of traveling bunny, Goosemount walks over and places his hand on my shoulder to have a better look at what I am holding. "Mom you can make Easter bunny's!", he excitedly exclaims. "No, honey, he is all beat up." "Yes, you can, they don't have to be perfect." "No, he is no longer safe for making candy." K2 by this time has joined us and is having difficulty seeing a rabbit in the scrape of metal I am holding. He is too young to remember the details. "Why don't we buy new ones Mom?", he asks, "And save that one for memories?" I stand up and toss traveling bunny into the trash. "No, how bout you guys help me make some chocolate eggs this year?"
Sunday, March 20, 2005
With an Ass like a Rock Star....
With an ass like a rock star, I'm going to conquer the word. One small northern Midwest chunk at a time. And break quite a few hearts doing it.
I was in deperate need of new clothes. I would peek into my bare closet and stare in dismay at the worn and tired rags that shamefully hid there waiting to be bundled into a garbage bag for the "Dead Clothes Walking" trip out to the curb side garbage. Every morning I did this ritual, hoping to find a long lost designer outfit that perhalps I had over looked. More often than not, I settle for whatever I can find that is relatively clean, and a size or two away from what actually fits me. In otherwords, little boys baggy cargo jeans and a skateboard sweatshirt. I hate clothes shopping and would rather pull my own teeth than go into a mall to try on clothes. I am prone to just mail order them. So that's what I did. Except I blow my entire wardrobe budget on a single pair of jeans. Rock star jeans. Yeah, I spent more on these jeans than double my rent, in my salad days. But I don't care. With these jeans, no one can stop me. Or would want too.
With these jeans, I have already achieved great things. I have tamed wild animals. Ok, it was a squirrel. In a live trap. I have been awarded fabulous prizes. I did fill out the raffle ticket that won my son's mountain bike. I have been asulted by adoring public. Sure, it was a sale at IKEA., but the glimpse I caught of my hinney in the mirror, while I was there, was worth every penny.
If I wear these jeans, two times a week, for the next three years, as I plan, it will be worth all that interest accruing on my credit card. I did invest in a pair of to die for jeans, four years ago instead of paying my car payment, and every time one of the collection agents called, I just described the lift they gave me and they understood.
Not only do I owe these jeans to my self, but to the public at large. Set an example to all other women out there. Yup no more leaving cheek marks in the snow behind me when I walk. Make them ask themselves, "Is that her caboose or is she wearing a pack back?
I now am draggin a wagon with an ass like a porch. Got my junk in the trunk thanks to my rock star jeans. Step back J-lo.
I was in deperate need of new clothes. I would peek into my bare closet and stare in dismay at the worn and tired rags that shamefully hid there waiting to be bundled into a garbage bag for the "Dead Clothes Walking" trip out to the curb side garbage. Every morning I did this ritual, hoping to find a long lost designer outfit that perhalps I had over looked. More often than not, I settle for whatever I can find that is relatively clean, and a size or two away from what actually fits me. In otherwords, little boys baggy cargo jeans and a skateboard sweatshirt. I hate clothes shopping and would rather pull my own teeth than go into a mall to try on clothes. I am prone to just mail order them. So that's what I did. Except I blow my entire wardrobe budget on a single pair of jeans. Rock star jeans. Yeah, I spent more on these jeans than double my rent, in my salad days. But I don't care. With these jeans, no one can stop me. Or would want too.
With these jeans, I have already achieved great things. I have tamed wild animals. Ok, it was a squirrel. In a live trap. I have been awarded fabulous prizes. I did fill out the raffle ticket that won my son's mountain bike. I have been asulted by adoring public. Sure, it was a sale at IKEA., but the glimpse I caught of my hinney in the mirror, while I was there, was worth every penny.
If I wear these jeans, two times a week, for the next three years, as I plan, it will be worth all that interest accruing on my credit card. I did invest in a pair of to die for jeans, four years ago instead of paying my car payment, and every time one of the collection agents called, I just described the lift they gave me and they understood.
Not only do I owe these jeans to my self, but to the public at large. Set an example to all other women out there. Yup no more leaving cheek marks in the snow behind me when I walk. Make them ask themselves, "Is that her caboose or is she wearing a pack back?
I now am draggin a wagon with an ass like a porch. Got my junk in the trunk thanks to my rock star jeans. Step back J-lo.
Friday, March 18, 2005
A World Without Numbers Amen
If there were no numbers, I would be a happy person. I would never be late. Scales would not scare me. I would save countless (figuritivly) hours by not having to reset the clocks on my electronical devices. I would not have to buy box after box of candles for my birthday cake. Speeding tickets would be nonexistant. As I am not starving, I would consider myself rich. Ok that I do already. Change would not clutter my house. Tax people would be my friends. We would hang out at my house during all their free time. I'd bake them hot fresh cookies. Bake. Bake. How the heck would I bake? Damn numbers.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Nocturnal Emissions
Now don't be getting your panties all in a twist, this isn't another "adult" insight on my personal life. But man have I been busy lately at night. Dang shame I am unconscious during the fun.
A couple days ago I dreamt I was riding around on the back country roads where I grew up in a small hatch back car with Bill Murry and Chevy Chase. We are happy and having a great time until Chevy reclines the front seat he is sitting on, all the way back so he can make faces at me in the back. This irritates me so much I lose all it and yell while taking a swing at him.
I woke up sitting up in my bed swinging and yelling in the dark. Cat still won't sleep with me.
This weekend, on Saturday night while I was sitting in front of our country's founding fathers on trial, Thomas Jeffersons astrued wig caused me to laugh. I woke up in the sitting position breying and gafawing like a donkey. My Hubby who was up playing games in the computer room, heard the sound and came running into the room. "Who was that?", he asked, not reconizing that laugh ever coming out of me.
So I've taken up fighting and chortling in my slumber, I'm good with that. Long as I don't start walking around. The neihboors all know me in thses parts. My sister one summer became prone to rearranging furniture in the room we shared at night. "Heidi? What are you doing?, I asked her after being woken by the sound of a heavy object being dragged across the floor. "I can't find the light switch for the stairs", was her reply. Our bedroom was on the ground floor, no stairs anywhere near. "Let me help." Together we moved the heavy antique dresser with the mirror attached away from the wall into the center of the room. Second thought, that might be the way I get my boys to clean their rooms. Middle of the night scare tactics.
"ZZZZzzzzzz." "Mom what are you doing in here?" "ZZzzz must pick up garbage." "No Mom, I need those papers." "ZZzzz mumble.. into the trash...." " NO MOM- No- I will put it away, I will right now." "Chevy, you help too, or you are going to taste my zzzz fist".
A couple days ago I dreamt I was riding around on the back country roads where I grew up in a small hatch back car with Bill Murry and Chevy Chase. We are happy and having a great time until Chevy reclines the front seat he is sitting on, all the way back so he can make faces at me in the back. This irritates me so much I lose all it and yell while taking a swing at him.
I woke up sitting up in my bed swinging and yelling in the dark. Cat still won't sleep with me.
This weekend, on Saturday night while I was sitting in front of our country's founding fathers on trial, Thomas Jeffersons astrued wig caused me to laugh. I woke up in the sitting position breying and gafawing like a donkey. My Hubby who was up playing games in the computer room, heard the sound and came running into the room. "Who was that?", he asked, not reconizing that laugh ever coming out of me.
So I've taken up fighting and chortling in my slumber, I'm good with that. Long as I don't start walking around. The neihboors all know me in thses parts. My sister one summer became prone to rearranging furniture in the room we shared at night. "Heidi? What are you doing?, I asked her after being woken by the sound of a heavy object being dragged across the floor. "I can't find the light switch for the stairs", was her reply. Our bedroom was on the ground floor, no stairs anywhere near. "Let me help." Together we moved the heavy antique dresser with the mirror attached away from the wall into the center of the room. Second thought, that might be the way I get my boys to clean their rooms. Middle of the night scare tactics.
"ZZZZzzzzzz." "Mom what are you doing in here?" "ZZzzz must pick up garbage." "No Mom, I need those papers." "ZZzzz mumble.. into the trash...." " NO MOM- No- I will put it away, I will right now." "Chevy, you help too, or you are going to taste my zzzz fist".
Monday, March 07, 2005
Personal Sex Thoughts
This is a collection of actual thoughts I have had during intimate times. Not your usual, "I gotta paint the ceiling", or "This is worth changing the sheets for", musings. Up to you to decide which I meant in context at the time.
Are we in gear? Yes! No. Yes! YESSS!
She is a nurse, she hadda seen worse than this before.
I'm soo going to invent one of those beer hats that holds two beers with a little tube that runs into my mouth that works in the horizontal position.
1 centimeter closer and that skate blade will scar me for life.
Baby oil is foreplay in a bottle.
Hot idea but I bet this raises my blood sugar level to a bizillion. Mmmmm who cares.
I LOVE ICE FISHING!!
A fifty thousand dollar rug. I'm glad I have the camera.
Wake up baby.
Yeah, let Marge burst in here one more time with that flashlight of hers now looking for the men who stole her vacuum cleaner.
I better not get a splinter off this sauna bench. Dang those looms are loud.
When I said I was cold, I meant I was cold.
Rah! Rah! Raw.
RED LIGHTS SHIT! Good thing he is the sheriffs son.
Hope this doesn't tip the boat, we never unlocked the life preservers.
"...train keeps a roll'n all night long, train keeps aroll'n all night long..."
I shouldn't have bothered shaving.
Hurry up and get back on the lawn mower.
That's going to hurt when he wakes up.
Go nuts. Your gonna get paint on that!
Does he know the Rock is hosting SNL tonight?
Damn you curry. When I am done here, I'm finishing you off.
Mechanical bull, ha ha ha ha ha ha.
This is quaranting neither of us gets a deer now. I'm glad this stand has a chair.
I should drink every night.
"Bring me another shrubbery for a two level effect, knights who say nei!"
Thank you yoga instructor.
Extra sauce there delivery boy.
Are we in gear? Yes! No. Yes! YESSS!
She is a nurse, she hadda seen worse than this before.
I'm soo going to invent one of those beer hats that holds two beers with a little tube that runs into my mouth that works in the horizontal position.
1 centimeter closer and that skate blade will scar me for life.
Baby oil is foreplay in a bottle.
Hot idea but I bet this raises my blood sugar level to a bizillion. Mmmmm who cares.
I LOVE ICE FISHING!!
A fifty thousand dollar rug. I'm glad I have the camera.
Wake up baby.
Yeah, let Marge burst in here one more time with that flashlight of hers now looking for the men who stole her vacuum cleaner.
I better not get a splinter off this sauna bench. Dang those looms are loud.
When I said I was cold, I meant I was cold.
Rah! Rah! Raw.
RED LIGHTS SHIT! Good thing he is the sheriffs son.
Hope this doesn't tip the boat, we never unlocked the life preservers.
"...train keeps a roll'n all night long, train keeps aroll'n all night long..."
I shouldn't have bothered shaving.
Hurry up and get back on the lawn mower.
That's going to hurt when he wakes up.
Go nuts. Your gonna get paint on that!
Does he know the Rock is hosting SNL tonight?
Damn you curry. When I am done here, I'm finishing you off.
Mechanical bull, ha ha ha ha ha ha.
This is quaranting neither of us gets a deer now. I'm glad this stand has a chair.
I should drink every night.
"Bring me another shrubbery for a two level effect, knights who say nei!"
Thank you yoga instructor.
Extra sauce there delivery boy.
Friday, March 04, 2005
No Demise This Week
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger"
Yes, we have all heard that old over used quote too many times. But here is the list of things that didn't kill me this week.
Sitting through an almost two hour production of a seventeenth century play, written entirely in rhyme. Only not being able to remember a single line wounded me a little. Anyone seen my memory strength anywhere? Can't remember where I left it.
Eating a delicious meal of Swedish brown beans with out soaking the beans first to "degassify" them. During the following intestional gut cramps, I would of welcomed death, but that too passed.
Getting back to my daily rigorous exercise habit. Can't be dead if you ache so much.
Being bit by the neibhors boxer dog. I did have to put my torn glove to rest tho.
The tot war of 0-Tuesday. Only my hunger for battle died.
Cleaning out the freezer for the first time. The shock of opening the door and seeing a light inside did make my K2 slam the door in shock and miss a heartbeat.
Going with out TV. Didn't even miss it. Have all the Simpsons memorized.
Reading the novel, "Life of Pi", in it's entirety in under 20 hours. One can live without eyesight.
Parent/ teacher conferences at the Jr. High school. I think it was Goosemount who longed for my non-existence then.
Meeting with a life coach. Nope, only a few small twinges there.
Yet no response from The Rock. Ok- he has to be dead not to respond to me!
Am I stronger for these things in my life? Entertained, stinky, sore, traumatized, shamed, accomplished, weaned, advised, enlightened, and dangling definitely. Can't wait for the weekend.
Yes, we have all heard that old over used quote too many times. But here is the list of things that didn't kill me this week.
Sitting through an almost two hour production of a seventeenth century play, written entirely in rhyme. Only not being able to remember a single line wounded me a little. Anyone seen my memory strength anywhere? Can't remember where I left it.
Eating a delicious meal of Swedish brown beans with out soaking the beans first to "degassify" them. During the following intestional gut cramps, I would of welcomed death, but that too passed.
Getting back to my daily rigorous exercise habit. Can't be dead if you ache so much.
Being bit by the neibhors boxer dog. I did have to put my torn glove to rest tho.
The tot war of 0-Tuesday. Only my hunger for battle died.
Cleaning out the freezer for the first time. The shock of opening the door and seeing a light inside did make my K2 slam the door in shock and miss a heartbeat.
Going with out TV. Didn't even miss it. Have all the Simpsons memorized.
Reading the novel, "Life of Pi", in it's entirety in under 20 hours. One can live without eyesight.
Parent/ teacher conferences at the Jr. High school. I think it was Goosemount who longed for my non-existence then.
Meeting with a life coach. Nope, only a few small twinges there.
Yet no response from The Rock. Ok- he has to be dead not to respond to me!
Am I stronger for these things in my life? Entertained, stinky, sore, traumatized, shamed, accomplished, weaned, advised, enlightened, and dangling definitely. Can't wait for the weekend.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
The Great Tot War of 0-Tuesday
"I remember it well. Like it was yesterday.", the grizzled old codger muses, rubbing the stump were once her limb had been. " The gruesome images from that battle will haunt my memory for eternity. What is that you ask? You have never heard of the Tot War?"She shakes her graying head, her rummy eyes puzzled in disbelief. "Have it in ya to pass an old veteran a Dot, will ya, and you'll hear it first hand. Not the mollycoddled version you will find in the history books". As she settles back into her computer chair more comfortably for the duration of the tale, candy buldging in her cheek, one can almost see the years slip away from her face. She, herself already lost in time, were her story started, two days before....
"There we were together in the mess hall, the entire regiment exhausted from the rigors and training of the day. Tired, muddied and wet, the weary men slumped were they could find room, vieing for a spot closest to the fire. The days drills over for the day, their uniforms drying on make shift clotheslines. The air was filled with jovial banter, bursts of laughter, and the smell of the meager sustenance the kitchen sergeant had prepared, along with the smell of the wet wool. The unmistakable aroma of tots enticing wafted through out the encampment, the anticipation of their upcoming delight helping to create a lighthearted atmosphere. Conversation was cut short once the food rations hit the table, the men's attention focused on filling their empty rumbling stomachs. What should have been the high point of their day, the time when their sole mission was satiating their belly's, suddenly and unexpectedly turned into the type of ilk nightmares are born of.
Silence invaded the camp once the fatal strategic error was noticed. The men stopped their chewing, mouths full, as the count began. One two three four five six seven eight nine ten. Ten. An even number. Ten tots left and there were an uneven number of men. Sneaky calculated sideways glances where stole as once again chewing started, faster now. No head was lifted, all concentrated on finishing their ration first, hoping to nonchalantly reach for the remaining morsels unnoticed. Impossible, that battle tactic failed..."
"You know, the red ones are my favorite?" "C'mon, pay attention now, you have no idea how much longer a coot like me might be around. Pass the red Dots over to me and I'll continue with my epic tale. mmmm"
"It was the green horn, the fodder boy of the troupe who sounded the first battle cry.. "MINE! I get four! I'm done first!" NOW-", was caption Goosemounts reply, "we each get three." All the men, suddenly spurned on by greed, grabbed their life line of three tots, leaving the last tot alone on the platter. But only for an instant, when stimutainously, all three hands quickly returned to claim the remaining prize tot.
It was Cooke, having been armed with extra long appendages that swooped up the nugget. The troupe turned on her like jackals. Tot held high above her head, she fled the mess area, the remainder of her regiment in hot perused at her heels. They attacked her all at once, lethal friendly fire if you will. Shots whizzed by her, some finding their mark. She was pummled from behind, below, and straight on as they encircled her. A hit to her ankles from Goosemount immobilized her. It was the weight of K2 climbing up her flank that took her down. Down but not out. They fought hand to hand, tot disimulating itself almost entirely in her clentched fist. Over and over they rolled as the raging combat continued through out that long night. Her breaths came in hot sharp gasps and her body began to weaken. But not her sprirt, nor her love of all things potato enhanced, as she held tight to the soggy grail. All is fair in love and war. It was K2, in a bloody fit of passion that swung the fatal blow to her most venerable spot, her unprotected raised armpit. But it was Goosemont who enjoyed the spoils, as he won by assimilation, waiting for the fallen alpha to drop the tot before throwing himself on it. It was in his mouth, where he chewed the victory tot open mouthed for the rest of us to watch his feast. We sunk to our knees as we wailed, beating our chests in defeat and despair."
"I may have an entire Sams Club size bag of tots in the basement freezer, unopened, and unknown by my men, but my hand to God, none will ever taste as sweet as that one I lost on Tuesday."
"Go now, and tell your grandchildren of the real ill sought glory of such a battle. It is now my nap time. Leave an old vet with her memories. And the box. Just leave the whole box. Don't try sneeking any off, I am well vised in the ways of food battle."
"There we were together in the mess hall, the entire regiment exhausted from the rigors and training of the day. Tired, muddied and wet, the weary men slumped were they could find room, vieing for a spot closest to the fire. The days drills over for the day, their uniforms drying on make shift clotheslines. The air was filled with jovial banter, bursts of laughter, and the smell of the meager sustenance the kitchen sergeant had prepared, along with the smell of the wet wool. The unmistakable aroma of tots enticing wafted through out the encampment, the anticipation of their upcoming delight helping to create a lighthearted atmosphere. Conversation was cut short once the food rations hit the table, the men's attention focused on filling their empty rumbling stomachs. What should have been the high point of their day, the time when their sole mission was satiating their belly's, suddenly and unexpectedly turned into the type of ilk nightmares are born of.
Silence invaded the camp once the fatal strategic error was noticed. The men stopped their chewing, mouths full, as the count began. One two three four five six seven eight nine ten. Ten. An even number. Ten tots left and there were an uneven number of men. Sneaky calculated sideways glances where stole as once again chewing started, faster now. No head was lifted, all concentrated on finishing their ration first, hoping to nonchalantly reach for the remaining morsels unnoticed. Impossible, that battle tactic failed..."
"You know, the red ones are my favorite?" "C'mon, pay attention now, you have no idea how much longer a coot like me might be around. Pass the red Dots over to me and I'll continue with my epic tale. mmmm"
"It was the green horn, the fodder boy of the troupe who sounded the first battle cry.. "MINE! I get four! I'm done first!" NOW-", was caption Goosemounts reply, "we each get three." All the men, suddenly spurned on by greed, grabbed their life line of three tots, leaving the last tot alone on the platter. But only for an instant, when stimutainously, all three hands quickly returned to claim the remaining prize tot.
It was Cooke, having been armed with extra long appendages that swooped up the nugget. The troupe turned on her like jackals. Tot held high above her head, she fled the mess area, the remainder of her regiment in hot perused at her heels. They attacked her all at once, lethal friendly fire if you will. Shots whizzed by her, some finding their mark. She was pummled from behind, below, and straight on as they encircled her. A hit to her ankles from Goosemount immobilized her. It was the weight of K2 climbing up her flank that took her down. Down but not out. They fought hand to hand, tot disimulating itself almost entirely in her clentched fist. Over and over they rolled as the raging combat continued through out that long night. Her breaths came in hot sharp gasps and her body began to weaken. But not her sprirt, nor her love of all things potato enhanced, as she held tight to the soggy grail. All is fair in love and war. It was K2, in a bloody fit of passion that swung the fatal blow to her most venerable spot, her unprotected raised armpit. But it was Goosemont who enjoyed the spoils, as he won by assimilation, waiting for the fallen alpha to drop the tot before throwing himself on it. It was in his mouth, where he chewed the victory tot open mouthed for the rest of us to watch his feast. We sunk to our knees as we wailed, beating our chests in defeat and despair."
"I may have an entire Sams Club size bag of tots in the basement freezer, unopened, and unknown by my men, but my hand to God, none will ever taste as sweet as that one I lost on Tuesday."
"Go now, and tell your grandchildren of the real ill sought glory of such a battle. It is now my nap time. Leave an old vet with her memories. And the box. Just leave the whole box. Don't try sneeking any off, I am well vised in the ways of food battle."
Cutting the Umbilical Cord
One very harrast mom armed with a semi-sharp kitcken utility sissors can indeed cause imense damage to not one, not two, but five TV's. (not to mention the dvd player that got in the way) I expect the additude and the grades will improve around here. I know mine has.
Monday, February 28, 2005
"Hello..Is It You?"
I've been alone with you inside my mind
And in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times
I sometimes see you pass outside my door
Hello, is it me you're looking for?
I can see it in your eyes
I can see it in your smile
You're all I've ever wanted, (and) my arms are open wide
'Cause you know just what to say
And you know just what to do
And I want to tell you so much, I love you ...
I long to see the sunlight in your hair
And tell you time and time again how much I care
Sometimes I feel my heart will overflow
Hello, I've just got to let you know
'Cause I wonder where you are
And I wonder what you do
Are you somewhere feeling lonely, or is someone loving you?
Tell me how to win your heart
For I haven't got a clue But
let me start by saying, I love you ...
Hello, is it me you're looking for
'Cause I wonder where you are
And I wonder what you do
Are you somewhere feeling lonely or is someone loving you?
Tell me how to win your heart For I haven't got a clue
But let me start by saying ... I love you
The first time I seen this Lionel Richie video, when I was young, it just plain disturbed me. In the begining of the short film piece, you see an artists studio and the back of a man as he skulpted with his hands, the face of a beautiful woman in clay. With great care he caresses his medium into the form of her face as he sits in his bright sunny studio as this sentimental music plays. At the end as the last choras starts with the refrain, "Hello..", the modle, his love muse enters the room, and you realize as the artist taps his way blindly across the room with his white cane to greet her, the depth of the lyrics to this song. The almost oversweet words, in my opionin, about such an imperfect love, unsettled me.
Shortly after, I met my Hubby.
Not long ago we are watching TV together and the Star Burst commercial came on. It is a high school boy showing a girl that he is infactuated with, the candy bust he had made of her, as this Lional Richie song plays on his boom box in their art class. The young girl looks on horrified as he descibes the different flavored candy he had used to recreate her image. He then loses himself in his passion and eats the nose of her (candy) face.
At the exact time Hubby and I look at each other and said, "Thats soo"- "sweet", I said just as hubby said, "sick". Our opionons didn't change a few minets later as it played again . "That is so romantic", I tried to convience him. "No that is just twisted", he thinks. "Man, I wish someone would make my head out of sugar", I told him with all sincerity. "I wish I could", was his answer, I would love to be an artist. "Yeah, but Dad, Mom IS", both boys piped in.
That was all the challange I needed.
And in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times
I sometimes see you pass outside my door
Hello, is it me you're looking for?
I can see it in your eyes
I can see it in your smile
You're all I've ever wanted, (and) my arms are open wide
'Cause you know just what to say
And you know just what to do
And I want to tell you so much, I love you ...
I long to see the sunlight in your hair
And tell you time and time again how much I care
Sometimes I feel my heart will overflow
Hello, I've just got to let you know
'Cause I wonder where you are
And I wonder what you do
Are you somewhere feeling lonely, or is someone loving you?
Tell me how to win your heart
For I haven't got a clue But
let me start by saying, I love you ...
Hello, is it me you're looking for
'Cause I wonder where you are
And I wonder what you do
Are you somewhere feeling lonely or is someone loving you?
Tell me how to win your heart For I haven't got a clue
But let me start by saying ... I love you
The first time I seen this Lionel Richie video, when I was young, it just plain disturbed me. In the begining of the short film piece, you see an artists studio and the back of a man as he skulpted with his hands, the face of a beautiful woman in clay. With great care he caresses his medium into the form of her face as he sits in his bright sunny studio as this sentimental music plays. At the end as the last choras starts with the refrain, "Hello..", the modle, his love muse enters the room, and you realize as the artist taps his way blindly across the room with his white cane to greet her, the depth of the lyrics to this song. The almost oversweet words, in my opionin, about such an imperfect love, unsettled me.
Shortly after, I met my Hubby.
Not long ago we are watching TV together and the Star Burst commercial came on. It is a high school boy showing a girl that he is infactuated with, the candy bust he had made of her, as this Lional Richie song plays on his boom box in their art class. The young girl looks on horrified as he descibes the different flavored candy he had used to recreate her image. He then loses himself in his passion and eats the nose of her (candy) face.
At the exact time Hubby and I look at each other and said, "Thats soo"- "sweet", I said just as hubby said, "sick". Our opionons didn't change a few minets later as it played again . "That is so romantic", I tried to convience him. "No that is just twisted", he thinks. "Man, I wish someone would make my head out of sugar", I told him with all sincerity. "I wish I could", was his answer, I would love to be an artist. "Yeah, but Dad, Mom IS", both boys piped in.
That was all the challange I needed.
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