Disaster Updates

So you're probably sitting on the edge of your computer chair, wondering if we ever did manage to get that double blue smurf stain out of the carpet... so I thought I'd give you an update: The short answer is Yes, and Hallelujah. The first stain came out great. The second stain, thanks to the power of prayer, elbow grease, tireless effort, and the miracle wonder that is Oxyclean is also completely gone! Also we've learned to toss an old towel over the new shop vac so any exhaust can still get out, just not back onto the carpets. ALSO, if you are a shop vac company shouldn't there be a very large warning on the box stating that giant exhaust spray might shoot out the back of the machine?? I cringe to think if we had been cleaning up vomit... does that mean a fine 3-foot mist of vomitness would spray out over the carpet? Yikes and yuk. My husband did say in the small print there is a small warning about that, but I think they should opt for a large yellow and orange disaster warning type sticker so at least you know what you're getting into. Do all shop vacs do this? Our is this just a special feature of ours? Looking back so far we are still not to the point to find the blue paint stain hilarious yet, but just yesterday I think I saw my husband smirk when he read my blog about it.
Secondly, the extra tickets... what did I do with them you ask? Well I attempted my first ever Ebay sell. (I buy sometimes, just not sell). To my shock they went for double the starting price! (I listed them at the price I paid for them just hoping to get my money back) Visualize me now waving peace signs with my fingers over my head and in my best Nixon voice saying "I am not a scalper". Plus we know what Jesus does to scalpers. Apparently Hannah freaking Montana is the hottest thing since sliced bread and I just happened to ride her gravy train all the way to the bank by purely random coincidence.
Oh and the room. It turned out so NICE. It has the peaceful crisp/clean look about it. I still have to add some finishing touches, but all in all I am very happy with all the trouble it was to implement such an overambitious project. That's all for now. More later.

Big ambition = Big messes

 So I don't know if you've ever been six months pregnant and you get that crazy urge that some people refer to as "nesting" but I've got it... and I've got it bad. With that said we (and when I say "we" I mean "me", who then eventually talks hubby into it) decided to make over my bedroom. Our new recent obsession is Santorini Greece. The place looks like heaven. Perched high atop a 400 ft mountainous cliff at the rim of a dormant volcano surrounded by the ocean. This Greek white washed village with ocean blue domes can only be reached by gondola or pack mule. We decided to do our room in these colors (ultra white, blue trim, sky blue ceiling with clouds), which is quite ambitious seeing that we have this large room with a high vaulted ceiling, I'm 27 weeks pregnant, and afraid of heights to boot.

Now we're no painting novices. We've done seven other rooms in our house without a minor mishap. Light colors, bold colors, sponge painting, rag painting, you name it. Home Depot could hire us out practically. Now besides being a major decorative challenge we add into the mix a curious cat, a 2 1/2 year old that likes to "help", a climbing 16 month old. Are we CRAZY, you ask? Probably. Plus, you'd think it'd be one of these suspects to be responsible for some kind of a mess causing ruckus, but alas you would be wrong.

So we started with the bright blue trim around the doors and the indented frame in the wall above our bed. The name of the paint was "Mary's Robe" blue, which I thought was a good omen. How could you go wrong painting with the favorite color of the mother of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ? The other color we were looking at was called "Filth"... ok actually it was called Firth, but the other made us laugh harder. Most of the trim is done and we are about to move onto the sky blue ceiling. As we move the huge drop cloth over the bed and move the ladder, the entire tray of blue paint unbeknownst to us caught on the edge of the plastic and flipped over like a pancake onto the light beige carpet. We of course didn't discover it for a good 5 minutes when I looked down and gasped in panic. I lifted up the tray to find a GIANT 1 ft radius smurf blue stain on the carpet over 1 inch thick. I felt like throwing up.


Ironically only days before we had talked of buying a shop vac, but at the time had decided to wait. That was the wrong decision. So hubby takes off to buy a shop vac and I try to clean up what I can. Soon he is back and we set up the vac, get out some detergent and oxiclean and turn the bad boy on. To my surprise... the stain starts to come out! As we both watch the blue paint come up we get very excited. Suddenly, hubby says.. I'm getting wet! We turn around to find that there is a huge exhaust spray (blue of course) coming out the top of the shop vac, covering hubby and everything behind him in a 3 foot radius. So now we have stain number 1, which is coming up, and a very large stain number two now soaking in to the carpet. Grrrr. Needless to say it put our paint project on hold for hours as we tried to get the paint up. Two days later the original stain is totally gone, but the secondary stain (which must have gone down into the padding) keeps coming back. At the time I was like, honey, will this be something that's funny later? He's like... I sure hope so. So far we're still waiting.

Covered in Poo, Paste, and Cookie Crumbs...

This blog could also be called, "Jesus doesn't like scalpers". See this gigantic pile o' animal cookies? Well it's from a Costco sized vat (newly opened) that fell from the kitchen table and spread in a 10-foot radius all over my hardwood floor. This is the picture AFTER I had cleaned it up mind you. Who knew over 2000 cookies could make a 1-inch layer of mess over your entire kitchen, with your 2 1/2 year old marching in her bare feet just to hear the terrific crunching sound it makes. All while your 15 month old who has climbed up onto the table, knocked over a cup of water, and is smearing a nice thick paste of smashed cookies all over the table like some paper mache project gone awry. Oh and their both poopy to boot.

How did this happen, you ask? Well technically I could blame that monopoly Ticketmaster. So after the story below where I botched the presale, the sale to the general public was Saturday. My sis had got 2 tickets for the concert by going to an actual location, where I had bombed out again at home. After she noticed how high the tickets were selling on the black market she calls me and suggests the San Antonio concert is about to go on sale in a few minutes, will sell out in minutes, and maybe we should try to buy more tickets because she has "tons" of mom friends that will drive the extra miles to go to a sold out concert.

So I got the girls downstairs all ready for the 5 minutes I'd be strapped to the computer. They had snacks (cookies obviously), sippie cups, their favorite kid songs show in the DVD player and were sitting nicely on the couch whilst I raced upstairs to try and buy the tickets. Bam I got right in and just bought whatever the hell they offered me (crap seats at expensive prices) and wouldn't you know it, but I GOT them?! Sweet. I print out the receipt and call my sis in sweet victory while heading downstairs. When I approached the kitchen the above scenario is what I found. We weren't even planning to sell them on eBay at outrageous prices or anything, just to mom friends dying to go to a sold out concert. When I saw the mess I thought to myself... Jesus doesn't like scalpers. Wow imagine the mess if he ever went after Ticketmaster...

Ticket Bas$%*ds

Capitalism is alive. Capitalism is well. Capitalism is breaking the hearts of little 9 year old girls everywhere.

So it's been a few years since I had to use Ticketmaster (well call it TM for short - or should that be TB?). Heck most of the concerts I've been to were more of a first come first serve basis where you camp out and the earlier you get there, the better your seat. I was recently drafted for a mission from my dear sis to play the role of "super aunt" and help procure Hannah Montana tickets for my niece. She was a member of the fan club and had a presale password to buy tickets before they went on sale to the general public. Since I'm an online wiz I took her up on the challenge and the second the presale started I was clicking away. The presale tickets sold out in literally seconds, with the only offerings being the nose bleed sections with the most expensive ticket price of $66 per ticket. (tickets were suppose to be $25 - $70). Thinking my sis wouldn't want to pay that much I didn't buy them at the high price and sadly I had failed my cute lil niece. I felt jipped.

I started researching complaints about TM/TB and found they are one GIANT monopoly. They control 90% of all large venues and 79% of smaller ones. If you want to go to ANYTHING you will have to go through TB. They have jacked up the prices but 30-40% after the ticket price with mysterious "fees" like the "convenience fee", the "facility charge", and of course taxes and shipping fees. They offer the worst seats first it seems, and come to find out they sell most of the medium to good tickets to ticket brokers (aka professional scalpers) who then jack up the prices to outrageous levels, with one ticket costing hundreds of dollars.

So the day of the "public" sale comes today and my sis decides to go TO an actual TB store in person to get tickets. I am recruited to try the online version again from another state at the same time to see if one of us can get them. This time we luck out. Well I don't, they offered me the very last row in the very back of the arena for $50 a pop. I think, I'll refresh and try something better. Nope. 20 seconds in they are sold out. My sis calls and says she was able to get 2, and her friend got 2 as well. All the tickets are near each other.. would you think they costs the same?? Well you'd be wrong.

My tickets: nosebleed near last row: $50 

Her friends tickets: nosebleed near the last row $60 

My sis's tickets: nosebleed near the last row $40

Now remember my nosebleed tickets at the presale I didn't buy: $66

Remember people that's the price BEFORE taxes, and about $17 in fees PER ticket

Is there any rhyme or reason to these prices? Wouldn't tickets on the floor be the most expensive around the $70 level and the nosebleeds be at the $25 price? A quick check on eBay and Craigslist shows that even these now crappy seat tickets are selling for $200 a ticket. This is crazy, what 9 year old girl and her mom can afford a $400 concert?

A few popular music bands have tried to sue TB as a monopoly. They have slowly been buying up smaller ticket sellers until there are none left. They can charge what they want, back door sell to scalpers, promise tickets together that when you get them are not together but they are not refundable (even if it is their mistake), and make a HUGE profit in the meantime. Heck I'm not against profit.. I'm against gouging the general public out of their hard earned cash. Even big sports teams have tried to sue them with no success. They cannot be stopped. They say absolute power corrupts absolutely. They ain't kidding.

Here's a link to consumer complaints against TBhttp://www.consumeraffairs.com/entertainment/ticketmaster.htm

The burning... the itching...

OK, so you know what hurts? A sunburn. You know what itches even more? Hives. You know what really really hurts and itches like a mofo??... A sunburn, COVERED in hives. That's what I've got right now. It is taking all my will power not to stop typing and scratch myself to death.

It started innocently enough. Went to the zoo, got a surprise sunburn around my chest, neck and shoulders. Matter of fact the shirt I was wearing was a scoop neck on both sides so when the burn showed up that night it was like a bright red collar or native-type head dress both front and back. The next day I went over to my parents and my mom recommended a "save a tan" lotion that turned out to be the start of my demise. Shortly after I put it on my skin started to mildly itch. I figured it was part of the sunburn. By the time I got home it was a very intense itch and a rash had started to form.

So then I decided to play "home apothecary detective" to sooth the itch. Um. This turned out to be a bad idea. First I tried Noxzema to cool the burn, but the itch got so intense I decided to try some Gold Bond medicated itch lotion, which dulled the itch long enough to allow me to fall to sleep, but I smelled like the little old lady from Pasadena. At this point I have 3-4 different lotions on my poor skin, and my clever and sarcastic sis thought I should perhaps marinate is some teriyaki as well. At 4am I awaken from a dead sleep with the most painful burning sensation, like I literally want to rip my skin off. One check in the mirror and I've got raised welts and hives all over my sunburn. I had to jump in a freezing cold shower to help relieve the pain, but oh MY it was COLD, so now I'm wide awake. 

Then I decided to call a phone nurse ("nursing consultant" I was informed by the PC hospital operator) to see what I can take (since I'm 20 weeks pregnant to boot). She told me to try white cider vinegar to sooth the itch. That one made me cock my head to the side but she told me not to worry. So downstairs I go to find out that I have only apple cider vinegar. Well heck it's the only vinegar I have so I'll try a little bit.

So now I'm sitting here with welts, red native collar, rash, sunburn, hives, pain, smelling like an old lady who just dyed a butt load of Easter eggs and still not sure what to do. I bid you soothing relief... hope I can find some myself

The scariest 30 feet...

My little 2 1/2 year old is getting so big. Talking up a storm, learning new things every day, makes me think it won't be long before she's out the door for kindergarten, grade school, high school, prom, college, moving out... and I can't even fathom right now sticking her on a bus in a few years and saying "see you at three"... makes me queasy just thinking about it.

So my siblings and I use to live right around the corner from our grade school. We were labeled "walkers" (aka nerds) and the closest we ever got to the inside of the school bus was the occasional field trip. Looking back now we were probably the lucky ones, living so close to home, not having to deal with any extra bully troubles, but at the time we thought we were somehow getting jipped out of something fun. The one plus side to the deal was that we did get giant whiffs of the diesel fumes as the buses zoomed by our house, which I have to admit I still rather like to this day.

Now my sister and I use to walk home together, and from the corner of the school's cyclone fence to the closest corner of my parents yard was literally like 20-30 feet. This mind you was in a quiet little peaceful neighborhood where nothing scary ever really happened. We however thought this the most terrifying stretch of road anywhere in the continental United States. We had been warned as most kids to not talk to strangers, and forced to watch a couple of cheesy after school specials about stranger safety... but with a dad that liked to spook us all the time and caused great panic just for fun made our active little imaginations believe that any car, bike, mail truck, ice cream truck, and especially "rapist vans" were out to get us. (You know, rapist vans, the kind that have no windows or doors except maybe the back that look all beat up - you better run like crazy if you see one of them).

So we would start at the corner gate and would first look in every direction for cars. Then we would book it as fast as our little legs would carry us (in complete terror mind you) to our parents yard, through the tree line, over the bark, leap over the shrubs, to the safety of the front door. This was a daily ritual, I'm sad to report.

It makes my husband laugh so hard now when I tell him of our running, since he's seen the shortness of that stretch of road and it's literally a stone's throw away. Now at first today when I was thinking of how scary it would be to put my future little 5-year-old on a bus and wave goodbye... Now I'm thinking hey maybe it's a very good thing she's not going to be a "walker"

Which way to the library??

So this little sign always cracks me up whenever we venture over to my husband's home town of Covington. Simple in it's message of course but it made me wonder if it might be a touch too simple?

Now if your looking for that place that holds all dem books with all da learnin' in them, then you've come to the right place. Looky here Ma, there's a person with an open book and an arrow pointing you in the direction of said person or book. In my fourth denominational thinking (as my dad so calls it) I picture a small video in my head where the camera rolls past this sign to three or four people sitting slightly off to the right of the sign holding books in the same pose. But if the average Joe uses their super-sleuthing deducing skills, I believe this sign will lead them to the local public library.

Here's my beef with this sign. If you're on your way to the library, shouldn't you know how to read the words "library"?? Do you really need a picture of someone reading a book to know where you need to go? And if you can't read the word "library" then maybe you shouldn't be going there in the first place.

Then this made me wonder about other signs. What if the restroom door signs with the male and female symbols on them were replaced with pictures that depicted what goes on behind closed doors? Is it only then people would know what to do in there?

I say this library sign is a slap in the face of our collective intellect. They say a picture is worth a thousand words... but in this case a picture is worth just one, the word "library". But it also has a very loud invisible parenthesis following that shouts (DUMB ASS)! It screams: "You're too stupid to read the word library, so we're going to SHOW you". Then hopefully you can follow the arrow to the correct building and get yourself some "edjumacation", you stupid ignorant prick. Hey is that sign yelling at me? Golly I love this country.

The Plasma Chain Reaction

OK, so hubby's been researching, and prepping, and shopping for plasmas for 6 months now. Finally the one he wanted went on sale and he brought it home. So I'm like plasma.. what's the big deal? But after we got it home and I saw the difference between regular and plasma well it's like night and day. Apparently I'm an HD snob now. LOL

Anyhoo.. he didn't just get any ol' plasma. He had to get a BIG one. This stems back to his childhood when his family always had the newest and biggest technology in the neighborhood. All the kids would come over and watch movies on their 6 foot projection TV in the 70's. They were the first ones to own a VCR on the block.. you get the picture.

Little did he know he would set off a huge chain reaction of events - filling our evenings with painting, moving large furniture, buying new furniture, and basically rearranging our whole lives....

Well this big ol' plasma does not fit in our current entertainment center, designed for lowly regular televisions. Oh did I mention we have 9 remotes? That's because we have 9 different VCR's, DVD's, laser discs, stereo stuff, record player, you name it. We're not super rich or anything.. just things he's collected over the last 20 years. (We work in TV so he loves techy stuff)

So I have this huge wall entertainment center that I have to get rid of.. well I think hey, I will make this an armoire dresser for my room that doesn't have enough storage anyway. The small dresser we have I will repaint for the girls room.... so this is the list of things now we are doing.

1. move and paint old dresser to match nursery
2. disassemble entertainment unit and move piece by piece upstairs
3. reassemble it as a bedroom armoire
4. go through all the closets/clothes and reorganize everything
5. paint all the walls in the family room
6. Buy a new armoire/audio cabinet to hold all the equipment
7. Assemble it and load up all the equipment
8. Hire our electrician friend to hide all the wires in the wall
9. Mount our surround sound speakers and hide wires in the wall
10. Rearrange the bookshelf to new room configuration (and all the stuff on them)
11. Buy plasma wall mount and hook it to the wall
12. Go to the dump to get rid of old machines, equipment, boxes... the works
13. Finally enjoy our new room

(this is all while a 2 year old and a 10 month old "watch" and "help"... YIKES

Anyway, I thought it funny that one purchase would change our whole lives and the look of our house!

Big belts and crappy hair

What's UP with fashion today? I've never been a trend maven, but I've been noticing the 80's are creeping back into the main stream and it's worrying me a bit. A few months back I was shocked, nay perplexed that stirrup pants and leggings were making a come back. I couldn't help but flash back to my absolute favorite outfit in 7th grade: White stretch pants, white loafers (no socks), over sized hot pink with white polka-dot shirt, with matching earrings and don't forget the banana clip). Another crazed 80's trend making a come back was mini skirts over the top of black leggings. Don't forget to slash up your sweatshirt to wear on top of that and about 50 Madonna bracelets on your left arm...

So I'm not opposed to belts, of course I haven't worn one since maybe the third grade (and it was rainbow, thank you). I've noticed all these wacky belts EVERYWHERE. They're not just for holding up pants anymore, and they are not for wearing around your waist for that matter. No these belts are HUGE, cover up your entire rib cage, start at your hips and sit up under your boobs. WHAT?? They make you look like you've been severed in half and held together with strips of buckles and leather.

  

Then there's the hair. I can't stand it. Technically it's probably more 70's hair than 80's... and MEN are the surprising culprits. It's way too long. Then it flips up on the sides in that ever so metro sexual way. It looks dirty, it looks unkempt, it looks like they rolled out of bed. Spikes I can handle, tousled I can handle, but stringy dirty mops... yuk. Hey I thought Justin Timberlake was gonna bring sexy back... well I'm still waiting JT. My hubby laughs at my solution when I see a gent with ugly tresses... I want to KICK it off their head. 



Oh and don't even get me started on Senjaya from AI, his hair gets girlier every week. I don't want to kick it off as much as I want to pour acid on it and rub it off with an old towel.

That's all for now

Mine Eyes!

So I don't know if you remember this picture or not... but it's the most hilarious picture ever taken at Disneyland. In all reality it was snapped at the exact time a large fireworks display was going off, however it looks like good ol' Walt and Mickey are leading their followers into an atomic bomb blast for a mass suicide.

I was reminded of this picture this morning when I went into my bathroom. We have one of those double sink counters with large mirror and at the top is a panel of lights. Now for the last three years they've been slowly burning out but we haven't been replacing them. I totally got use to the dimness in there and when I noticed we were down to one bulb I thought well heck, it's time to break down and buy some bulbs. So I went to the store and bought two 3-packs of bulbs and headed home. Well turns out they were 60-watters... EACH. I suppose the old bulbs must of been 40-watters so when I flipped on the switch I wasn't just getting 240 watts, but rather 360 watts! All at once. Coming from a darkened bedroom it was like I had entered the surface of the sun. It took me a full minute to stop squinting! It was like Jesus was coming back. Anyway, I was reminded of the picture where Walt tried to take us to heaven with him and it made me laugh. Thought I'd share.

Get your freaks here...

So here's another great sign from www.engrish.com. Apparently all the freaks in Japan are 75% off now, which I think is a great bargain. Matter of fact now that it's February, the month of Love... or month of "Lub" as my husband calls it, it's time to reminisce about those terms of affection we call our significant other.

If you settle for the mainstream you're probably use to hearing the basic sentiments, like honey, darling, and dear. Then there's the super sweet terms that are mostly reserved for the newlywed set, like sweetie, honey lamb, sugar pie, sweet cakes. If you're marriage is on the rocks you might go with the more gruff "hey you", or "yo jerk" or "hey loser". Or if you're marriage has lasted over 50 years you probably just resort to a series of grunts.

Now hubby and I have two sets of terms of endearment. One is cutesy cutesy and the other is of our own making. OK, so the cutesy one goes like this. I call him honey bunny and he calls me sweetie peetie. (I know, gag). The other sentiment we use is short, practical, and to the point... sort of like a verbal shorthand. I call him freak and he calls me leech. To the outside listener this might sound a bit harsh, but freak has become a term of affection in our house. If you are deemed a "freak" consider yourself in fine company. Our definition of freak is someone who is an original, an evil genius, someone who does something so off the wall, you're impressed. Then there's "leech". Normally a blood sucking worm-like creature but in the hands of a loving relationship it becomes a term that means loyal, steadfast, and "I can't live without you".

It makes me wonder what other couples are calling each other? Feel free to add your own endearments in the comment boxes. I can't wait to hear everyone's nicknames for each other. So enjoy this season of "Lub" (that's lub and not lube), oh wait, maybe it's both...? and, oh yeah... you're a freak!

Feeling Blue?

They say that January is the month where people are most likely to feel blue. Bills piling up from over spending at Christmas, the lousy weather, the days still being too short, and realizing you haven't been faithful to even one of your New Years resolutions can make some people feel depressed.

January is also a big month for travel, especially around here. Everyone wants to get away from the cold weather and January is the perfect month to jet somewhere tropical... like my friend here. Now it's a known fact that people don't get a lot of sun up in the NW. So if you're going somewhere warm, you might want to get in a few tanning sessions before you go, so you're skin is use to the sun rays and won't fry like a big ol' slab of bacon. Like Conan O'Brien says of his pale Irish skin... "I wear sunblock 50... it actually shoots rays back up to the sun".

This funny pic was sent to my cell phone by my friend... FROM her tanning bed! She had removed her sexy mini eye protectors and exposes her bare corneas to the gamma rays (or whatever rays are used in tanning beds) just for my sole amusement. Quite frightening, don't you agree? For some reason I just can't stop looking at it. I like how her blond hair looks fright white, how the whites of her eyes look pink... she's a cross between Violet from Willie Wonka and a blue man group blow up doll. So after seeing this picture maybe you're just too scared, amused, or distracted now to be depressed. You're welcome.

The olfactory marking method

So I've noticed something lately... there's more than one way to claim your territory. If you're "the Donald" then you can opt for the super obvious and just name everything after yourself. Trump water, Trump Towers, Trump golf course, Trump; the toilet paper (you know it's coming). But if you're clever, there's a new sneaky way to mark something as yours... using only your nose.

I used to work for a certain maker of airplanes. Everyone there seemed to look the same after a while; the ubiquitous middle aged man, slightly out of shape, balding a bit, wearer of glasses. Most contained no obvious scent (thank goodness). However there was this one engineer who would come update computer programs and GOLLY he smelled good. He smelled exactly like a big ol' pile of super fresh clean laundry. I realized right away that no man would smell like this on his own and I supposed this was his wife's sly way of letting the other ladies he worked with know that he was taken. I quick glanced down at his ring hand confirmed my musings. Wow... what a neat trick.

I didn't have to look much further than my own mother for a confirmation of this tricky trend. It must be something written in the secret grandma handbook, because no matter how clean my children are when they go to grandma's house, they come back smelling different. I could send them in crisp clean clothes, with a diaper bag full of clean replacement clothes, and by the time I get back they've had baths, and everything's been washed. We're talking clothes, blankets, jackets, hats... the works. If she could wash the disposable diapers, she would. Now I'm thinking either this woman really really misses doing laundry for 4 kids, OR, she is secretly marking her grand kids with her own scent...(diabolical). Maybe it's letting the other grandma's know these babies are hers. Maybe she's letting me know she's still the alpha female of the pack. Whatever the case the new scent is there, it's strong, and by golly it's quite deliberate.

So the next time you're not sure who is whose... just take a whiff around. The answer might be right under your nose.

Small Children and Dogs... a resolution story

Ok, so it's a new year. Happy 2007 by the way. Of course everyone's into those pesky resolutions, which most predict won't last but for two weeks at the most. There's the goal to lose weight, the one to get in shape, the one where you try to be nicer to people (that means you, Rosie and Donald), and the one where you try to be a better person.

One of my hilarious friends (mother of three with a super active sassy four year old son she'd like to possibly return to sender) sent me a most amusing text when I sent her one wishing her a happy new year. It simply said:

Happy New Year.  
My resolution is not to kick small children and dogs.

Ha. Now THAT'S a resolution. None of this world peace or lose weight, but one biting wish that must of come after one very long day of mothering. Matter of fact I locked that text in my inbox, so I could read it whenever I needed a good chuckle. Now of course I could resolve to blog more this year (which I will), and lose weight (which I hope), and resolute not to break these resolutions (ironic), but also maybe to resolve that I don't have to wait until I have some hilarious picture to share and the writing has to perfect before I blog. Maybe I can just lay it all out on the table, as is, imperfect and sometimes painfully funny. So small children and dogs stay out of my way... I'm gonna Blog BIG in 2007!

That's gotta be SOME Bee!

So I found this sign over at my new favorite website, www.engrish.com and I guffawed out loud. You see, I'm terrified of bees. Am I allergic? No. Almost wish I was though cause then I'd have an excuse for running and screaming across the room. Perhaps it stems from the fact that my practical joke father use to kill bugs and then chase us down the hall with them smashed in a paper towel. After a while he'd just have to crumple up a paper towel and chase us with that, no bugs in sight. Well this reminded me of a couple funny bee related stories.

Let's see, well I once heard my ultra conservative and sweet mother utter her first swear word in my presence due to a bee. We had been picnicking at a park full of yellow jackets when one had apparently dug it's way into the sexy orange tweed car seat cover in our butterscotch van with the large side pipes. As we were driving out of the park it stung her on the behind and she said a word starting with SH** and swerved all over the road. Us kids were shocked and awed that day.

Another time on one of our famous family camping trips, my sister and I were sitting quietly in the first row of seats, listening to Olivia Newton John on the 8-track when all of the sudden (in the days before AC and the windows were all open) a monster of a huge bee (it was very large, and orange and black, though no one believes me now) flew in the front window and right between us. Simultaneously and with the grace of synchronized swimmers, we both threw our heads towards the middle of the car and screamed, both hitting each others head with such force that we almost knocked ourselves unconscious. We get mocked to this day over that story.

Just recently my hubby of 5 years got to see some bee fear in action. He really didn't know of my phobia and we were all getting into the car. About 2 feet in front of us was a little creek running though some property. We all get buckled in when I hear a buzzing down by my door. I look just in time to see a yellow jacket stuck inside the car. I flip out and start screaming, I threw my head into my husbands lap, lay sideways in my seat, and tried to kick open the door and unbuckle my seat belt at the same time. He had no IDEA what was happening and almost drove our car into the creek. 

Finally I get untangled, open the door, and start running. The bee flew out and I get back into the car. His adrenaline was pumping, I had freaked him out and he was now MAD. The step kids in the back seat were mad. As we pulled down this long driveway it was deathly silent and I could feel glares at the back of my head like heat rays. Suddenly the madness wore off and almost at the same time everyone burst out laughing. I felt totally stupid... but sheepishly told them of my irrational fear of bees. Anyway, so when I saw this sign I started to worry what kind of BEE would need a sign like that?! Makes ya wonder. I'm staying clear of Japan just in case.

I'm back... and I've brought weapons!

OK so I've been away for awhile. My little one (the mini acrobat) gleefully ran off a kitchen chair a few weeks back and broke her arm, so I've been distracted with all the trauma that goes along with an injured child. Now that she's on the mend I'm feeling much more like writing again. I apologize for the hiatus and promise more fun stories and pictures. Speaking of which, I must share with you my favorite picture from a Halloween a few years back...



At first you must be saying to yourself, WOW, that must of been SOME party. Especially considering the fact that there was no alcohol involved. I love this picture for the fact that you can just stare at it and try to make some kind of story about it. Let's break it down.

Well at first you might see the poor hapless teenager who goes by the common name of "Jenny" (written on her skirt). I happen to know for a fact that this is not her name, so she's assuming the identity of cheerleaders every where with a name they can relate to.
That's Jenn with TWO n's 

She's not looking at her ever present attacker, but smiling slyly for the camera. Then there's chick wearing the heart on her head. She smiles knowingly as something bad is about to happen. Love IS blind, they say... here they mean it literally.

Then we've got a bee type character off to side. Hey, there's always bee's around pooh as he searches for honey. Then, the more obvious characters. There a very randy Austin Powers taking it all in - with what appears to be at least 3 gym socks in his trousers. He's quite out of place for this picture, but makes it all the more interesting. Lastly, we have Pooh. Beloved storybook character from yesteryear. However as we can see, pooh is on a mission. Pooh looks beYOND annoyed and has found a machete somewhere in the 100 acre woods and is wielding it around in a chopping-like fashion at on lookers. Has the cheerleader done something to deserve this, or has pooh gone mad? Either way it makes for one GREAT picture.

I'm not crazy - I just look it

So I thought I'd share with you a nice little short story from yesterday. I spent most of the day playing with my almost 2 year old daughter and taking care of her little 3 month old sister. The baby was napping and the toddler and I were have a rousing game of peek-a-boo using a blanket. She was having a blast and would throw the blanket over her head and walk around like E.T. in the Halloween scene. I would peek underneath the blanket and she would giggle with glee. Then she'd rip the blanket off both of our heads and start over. This went on for a while, and unbeknownst to me, my hair was becoming quite the disheveled mess.

About a 1/2 hour later I hear the doorbell ring, and without thinking, go to answer it. It was a carpet cleaning service lady who was offering a special. I stood there holding one baby, the other one clinging to my leg. I was glancing nervously around to make sure the cat didn't bolt out the small opening, and patiently listened to this lady's speech. I politely declined and closed the door. Then I happened to walk by our entry table mirror and saw what was probably the most frighteningly large, poofy, mass of hair ever to grace to the top of my head! I was MORTIFIED. It was sticking out in all directions and here the nice lady had said nothing! I was one step away from the tattered robe, bunny slippers, and ciggy hanging out of my mouth in the classic trailer housewife cliche. Heck, the pink curlers would of been a grave improvement. She must of thought I was stark-raving shifty-eyed MAD. Hopefully it was more like a mad scientist mad, and not plum loco. Hey, even Einstein had some wacky crazy hair. Maybe he was just playing peek-a-boo??

The Power of the Winky Smiley Face

So, I've come across a handy little accessory in the last few weeks. It's able to leap tall buildings in a single bound... ok maybe not...but it sure is helpful in getting one out of some sticky situations. Behold the power of the cute little winky smiley face! Oh sure, he's a tad unassuming, and not as popular as his football captain cousin, the "happy face" - but in the land of cyber space chat and cell phone texts this little face can say a LOT.

It's come to my attention that you can almost say ANYTHING mean, edgy, untruthful, or sarcastic to someone, and follow it up with a winky smiley face and bam, no harm done. It's like a cute little yellow get out of jail free card.

This came in handy just the other day, when I chastised a coworker who was using company property for personal use on the same weekend I needed the equipment to work from home. I was slightly ticked and in the heat of the moment sent what is probably the meanest text ever, which said, "Thanks for taking the food out of my kids mouths". I panicked as soon as I hit send, knowing it was too late to get anything back. As I sat dreading the impending reply... suddenly everything was ok again. Much to my surprise I got back a rather friendly reply with a "you're killing me" in regards to my comment. I quickly sent a winky smiley face to cover my butt and immediately got one in return. Phew. Of course it might help if you have a sarcastic nature to start with, so people are expecting you to be funny - but the winky smiley face definitely helped.

My friend Jill says that one should be careful when tapping into the power of the winky smiley face. She says one day there might come a time when the winky smiley face won't be able to repair what's been said. So far he's worked every time, but it's probably good to heed her warning none the less. So the next time you're cyber space chatting and maybe say something you shouldn't of, or get yourself into a tricky texting pickle, try out the good old winky smiley face. He's "just kidding" with an attitude.

Outsmart the Fart!

So we have a phrase at our house that I'd like to share with you. It's called "Outsmart the Fart". It's a great phrase, has two separate meanings, and it's so catchy and fun to say that I can see it easily sweeping the nation in the not too distant future. It originated from one of our classic kitchen white board moments, where you blurt out something with out thinking and it becomes an instant family classic.

Well as some of you know, if one were to "pass gas" so to speak, that gas (seemingly thicker than air) can quickly immerse in and around said farter. If that same said farter were say, to directly walk into the room, the gaseous cloud would waft on in right behind them thus leaving the entire room to smell the inner workings of their bowels.

HOWEVER. If a fore mentioned farter started out in the direction of the room, but quickly and without provocation doubled BACK from whence they came, (rightly confusing the noxious fog) then whip around in an rapid about face before traveling into the new room, the lost fart, not knowing which way to go would head in the opposite direction, and all in the room entered would be safe. Soon, it became a matter of courtesy. If a smell lingered about you, politely "double back" before entering a new room... and the phrase "Outsmart the Fart" was born.

Now the phrase seems to pop up whenever we talk about trying to outsmart a clever person or find the most desirable conclusion to tricky situation. For example: Hey your boss wants you to work this weekend but we've got those concert tickets, we should try and "outsmart the fart" and see if you can get out of it. Or borrowing from my many new motherhood experiences: Hey we want to eat some ice cream but we don't want the baby to see, so we'll have to be sneaky and "outsmart the fart" so they'll still want to go to bed on time. Remember, it's a great multipurpose, catchy phrase. So feel free to take our "Outsmart the Fart" and run with it... just be sure to double back first.

20 more random facts about me:

I'm sure you were sitting around saying to yourself, - "self, I just need to know a bit more about this girl they call "Jenn". What makes her tick and where does all this wackiness come from?" Yes I heard your inner-most thoughts and have posted a few more peculiar facts about myself for your bemusement. Enjoy

1. I'm afraid of Oompa Loompas. The song creeps me out

2. I have a talking Donald Trump doll - who fires you and gives business advice

3. I have double jointed thumbs and can bend them back over the top of my hand

4. I like ketchup, spaghetti sauce, and salsa, but NOT tomatoes

5. I can scratch the inside of my throat by making this somewhat annoying snorting sound

6. One of my favorite candies is red hots

7. I can tell entire bedtime stories in "spoonerisms" (see link below)

8. If timed correctly, I can make an entire free lunch from Costco samples

9. I can sleep with the lights and TV on, but turn everything off and I'm wide awake

10. I once jumped off a pretty steep hill going "on a lion hunt" in preschool. It's one of my earliest memories and I thought the lion was going to "get" me after we found it. I ran in a panic and leaped off the embankment

11. My baby threw up in my mouth last week. Gross

12. I like to dye the marshmallows in my rice crispie treats different colors

13. I've been behind the scenes /employee area at Disneyland - saw Mickey with his head off

14. I'm a sucker for Yankee candles - especially butter cream

15. I can text in T9 without looking down at the phone once

16. I always play the end of a classical piece first, if it ends lame, I won't play it, OR I'll make up my own ending. What do those timeless composers know anyway?

17. I get annoyed if people or companies do not color the rainbow properly ROY. G. BIV.

18. I just got my first mailing from the AARP. They're over 16 years off but jeez it freaked me out.

19. I have met in person my four musical inspirations. Amy, Amy, Emily, and Patty

20. My wedding registry included a bag of Cheetos. I received two


Spoonerism link
http://www.fun-with-words.com/spoonerisms.html

Love you Forever... or until mommy DIES!

I must be one cold-hearted, non feeling bitty. My sis in law gave me a bedtime story book as a gift for baby #2. She says she cries every time she reads it. Matter of fact, she almost started crying telling me she cries when she reads it. I'm thinking, wow, this must be a good book. Never could I have been more wrong. The book in question is apparently a "classic" (for the life of me can't figure out why) that's been around since 1945. How did I go this long without knowing about it I'll never know but I am so relieved it was never read to me when I was an impressionable child. The title of the book? "Love you Forever".


The story starts out ok, very sweet actually... but then it get's weird fast. Starts with a mother and her young infant son. After he's sleeping she crawls across the floor and then rocks him singing a lullaby. As the boy ages and starts to do bad things the mother continues to crawl across the floor, when he's nine he starts swearing in front of grandma (the little punk), when he's a teenager he smells and eats pizza, still she's crawling. Here's the ringer, now he's grown up, an adult who moves out on his own. Late in the middle of the night the mother straps a ladder to the roof of the station wagon, drives across town, breaks in through a window, CRAWLS across the floor and rocks her full grown son singing him that same creepy lullaby.

"I love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be".

Shortly after that, she's too old and decrepit to go stalking, so the son comes and rocks her, calling her "mommy" in the song instead of baby. Then, she dies. The man then goes in and sings the same song to his infant daughter.

Now the people that LOVE this book say it's a story of a mother's never ending unconditional love. Other people who detest the book find it creepy that she's stalking and rocking a full grown son. Here's my problem with the book. WHY IS SHE CRAWLING?? Maybe when the baby is tiny, you might crawl so they don't see you, but then you drive across town, breaking and entering into your grown sons' house... and still you crawl across the floor? If she can handle a stick shift and a ladder, she's obviously capable of walking. And the sing-song refrain is odd too.. 'as long as I'm living'... that's a nice thought to put in a kid's head right before bed. Hey, Susie, we're all mortal, oh yeah, and mommy will DIE one day... sweet dreams?That's nice.

What's with all this morbid stuff for kids anyway? Grim fairy tales, Ring around the Roses (about the plague), Rock-a-bye-baby (nice lullaby about an infant falling out of tree), and other stories and songs from the past that have death, dying, and maiming as the underlying theme? When you've got this beautiful, tiny child in your arms, the last thing I want to do is remind them life sucks and I'm gonna die. This world's a wacky place, let's try to keep the children loved and safe as long as possible. Oh yeah, and whatever you do, don't read them this book.

Painful Timewarp

So what the heck happened to June... or the end of May for that matter? Nothing like having a new baby to make you lose all sense off time and space. What with all the early morning feedings, burpings, and endless diaper changes, makes ya wonder how people don't go loopy at the thought of it. Matter of fact, while trying to type this very blog I was puked upon and had to go give a bath and clothing change to the little one, not to mention myself as well. It should also be noted that I am typing this entire entry with one hand, as I am now re-feeding the baby and balancing the end of the bottle with my chin. Damn, if only there was an Olympic medal for multitasking...I'd sweep up.

So much time has passed since my last entry that it would be safe to say I've fallen victim to what we like to call at our house a "painful time warp". Many moons ago... ok like 5 years ago (what's that, like 60 moons?), when I first got married to my hubby, I inherited teens (his teens, two of them) - who turned out to be quite funny in their own right. Hubby and I happened to be in the kitchen and step teen #1 was around the corner in the living room, talking loudly and right in the middle of a long story. She was moving about while she talked and all of the sudden made this squeak/scream/gasping noise accompanied by a thunk (like she had fallen down) - then dead silence. We both looked at each other as the moments ticked on without a sound... then she all of the sudden started talking, picking up right where she left off, like nothing had happened. No explanation of the horrible noise was given. Suddenly we both started laughing and I blurted out, "What the heck happened, did you fall into a painful time warp?" It was like she'd been sucked off the planet for a few seconds (painfully) then placed back in the same spot, just a few seconds off, with no recollection of being gone. And thus, a new family phrase was born. So if you ever have a span of time you can't quite account for, chalk it up to a "Painful Time warp".

Maternity Madness and Midnight Chicken

So I thought I would pause from my growing up stories to share some wackiness from the labor/recovery room. I just had my second child last week via C-section and had some very funny observations and odd situations happen to me during my three day stay - so I thought I'd share them with you.




1. Ceiling Stains - First, the stain above my bed. I noticed right away as they wheeled me into the recovery room. It was directly in my line of sight anytime I laid down (which was often) and almost gave the appearance of a rusty flower or water stain. My hubby and I stayed up late the second night thinking of what it could possibly be. Besides the obvious and slightly creepy thought it was a blood stain dripping down from the floor above, my personal favorite was the "explosive diarrhea" theory in which some poor soul must of had to flip over rapidly and crap 8 feet straight up. Almost laughed my stitches out on that one.

2. Sleep Deprivation - They intentionally don't let you sleep the first night after a C-section. Usually patients come in with little or no sleep to begin with the night before, and after what is considered a major abdominal surgery, they systematically come in about every 20 minutes to wake you up. Just as you drift off you'll get this big BANG on the door and someone comes barging in to take your blood pressure (hello, just shot UP due to the frightening BANG on the door moments before), emptying the garbage (just got here, it's empty you fool), or taking your blood. My favorite is after you get your new baby to sleep for the first time ever, some nurse is SCHEDULED to come in at 2am, wake them up, undresses them, and take them of to give them a shot. They return exactly 20 minutes later with a screaming, AWAKE infant who wants to eat again. I equate the whole process to Chinese water torture.

3. What Dignity? - So with any surgery, they shave the area. With a C-section they cut below the "bikini line" to hide the scar. Well they only shave maybe the top 1/3 of the general area, but not the whole thing. Which leaves you with something akin to a nether-region mullet of sorts. You know, business up front, party in the back. Also they have to measure your urine output. Sexy, I know, but true. After you waddle to the porcelain throne then you are forced to page a nurse and announce to the entire nursing staff that you have just gone to the bathroom and could they come take a look see. Makes you want to gussy it up or something... add a flower or a sprig of mint. They've been looking at urine all day long, how can you make yours extra special?

4. Nourishment Heaven - So there's this little known place in the hospital. I actually conceived my second child just to get back to it. It's the nourishment kitchen for patients. Located conveniently down the hall from your room is the ultimate mecca for post-pregnant woman cravings. There's not much in the way of actual "nourishment", but it's a little slice of heaven. Refrigerators full of juices, Popsicles, ice cream, pudding, crackers, snacks. All free and for the taking. I felt it my duty to stock up and get my money's worth. I couldn't get enough pudding and free juice. They give you these big ol' cups that hold 28 oz (or 700CC's). I literally had over 20 of these full of juice and crushed ice over the 4 day period. My hubby added that up, and it's FIVE GALLONS of juice. WOW. That explains the mouth full of canker sores I've got now and the unending need to pee every hour. But gosh it was worth it.

5. Passing Gas gets you Better Food - Never in my life has this many people been interested in the movement of my bowels. The question on everyone's mind and lips, from nurses to random doctors wandering by the door... had I farted yet??!! After abdominal surgery the way they tell if your body is getting back to normal is if you pass gas. One nurse revealed to me that farting would put me on the fast track to better food! What what what? Apparently I was on the "soft food" diet, nothing too spicy and everything just perfect for a grandpa with no teeth to eat. Try as I might there was no gas the first day. Finally the second night at about 3am it happened. I triumphantly thought of paging the entire floor and announcing my news, but held back and just told my personal nurse when she wandering in at 3am to make sure I wasn't sleeping. The next morning they brought in the breakfast tray. What wonders would I behold? The day before it had been plain eggs and a blueberry muffin. Today I open the lid and... it was plain eggs and a bran muffin. Was I jipped? The only noticeable difference was that they offered pepper, and coffee instead of tea. What a crock. However it DID pay off the third morning when they brought in strawberry crepes and sausage. Now THAT's the kind a food a fart should earn my friend.

6. Nurses are Mostly Nice - but I DID flip two of them off. My nurses were the best. Many went above and beyond the call of duty, and were very sweet. Day two I went wandering down the hall for the first time with my baby in her rolling bassinet and two nurses were at the station yapping it up to each other. I approached them and tried to ask a question. My throat was sore and my voice was quiet due to the tube they stuck down my throat during the operation. They either didn't see me, couldn't hear me, or were blatantly ignoring me. I asked the same question three times and they acted like I was invisible. They ended up walking away from me and into an office. I double flipped them off which made my husband laugh uncontrollably to see his wife in a robe, next to our new infant, with a double-armed bird flipped in the air. I felt much better after that. This one other nurse barged in mid-day and I had a room FULL of friends and family visiting the baby. She announces to the ENTIRE room that she has brought me my stool softener. Gee thanks lady. I wanted to die. Luckily my wacky father asked if they could all have a stool softener too. She then I think realized there were OTHER people in the room. How nice.

7. The beauty of Midnight Chicken - Well as you recall, I was on the "soft food" diet plan for the first few days of my stay. I had been on a liquid diet the day before the surgery in an attempt not to throw up after it. So liquid the day before and nothing the whole day of. By midnight I was really really hungry. My parents had brought some chicken for my hubby to snack on, but all of the sudden that sounded amazing. We ended up sneaking a fried chicken picnic in our room in the middle of the night, with pudding to boot. Totally contraband and very mission impossible-esque. I must say it was the best tasting chicken I've had in years.

Hottub Bedlam

OK, so I have this great sister. She is an amazing, funny, wonderful person, a caring mother of three, and a women's bible study leader. Of course we've had our share of sisterly spats over the years but our friendship has always remained very strong (insert the song "Sisters, sisters - there were never such devoted sisters" from the movie White Christmas here). I can't help but remember the one time though that this thoughtful, inspirational woman once left me for dead in our hot tub.

We were out in the back yard one summer night hanging out in the hot tub, chatting away and having a grand old time. What we didn't know was that our dad was about to put some trash in the metal garbage cans on the side of our house. All we heard was the garbage can's rustling with a definite "clang" as the lid slammed down and immediately we thought "rapists" were about to attack us. Now I realize that a normal person would probably just think, hey, someone must be taking out the trash. We were not normal.  We were the kind of kids that used to run home from school at top speed (we lived less than a block away) if we saw a van heading for us in the off chance we might be abducted. After the shower curtains and harks we were a little punchy to say the least.

So back to the clanging garbage lids. We look at each other in a wide-eyed panic and then my sister springs into amazing action. In one quick motion she literally DIVES head first out of the hot tub, lands on the cement on her head and arms, clamors and crawls up the wooden deck steps (ripping her legs and hands to shreds in the process) runs across the deck, throws open the sliding glass door, runs into the house, closes the door, LOCKS it, and SHUTS the curtains. My guess is she kept running all the way to her room, not looking back for a second. 

Where was I, you ask? Well in that old "flight or fight" response I guess I choose... freeze. All I can remember is sinking down low in the hot tub, till just my eyes and nose were above the water, waiting for whatever it was to just come and get me. With the door locked and curtains closed, I really didn't have many options anyway. It was dark and still for a long time... then, to my relief, the curtains opened up, the door was unlocked, and my mom appeared in the porch light laughing. She had been startled by my sister's panicked run through the kitchen and my confused dad had just returned from taking out the trash wondering what all the hubbub was about. They just stood on the porch and laughed hysterically at us. 

My sister sheepishly appeared moments later, bleeding in a few places and pretty banged up. I finally found my courage to climb out of the hot tub, now that the threat of an immediate attack was over.

Beware of Harks!!

So we did a lot of family bonding road trips in my youth. I have ton of fun memories camping and going on day trip adventures around Washington. Of course, some road trips were more adventurous than others. Heck, even trips down the hill and through the valley to church could take on an other worldly spin if you had a good enough imagination.

Luckily for us, my dad was a never ending spring of imagination, however warped. Whenever we would drive over a bridge, whether it was one that could open up to let boats through, or something very large like the Narrows Bridge in Tacoma, he would always pretend we were running out of gas and the bridge was opening. He would unevenly tap on the gas to give the illusion we would have to stop any second. As a child you would envision the bridge opening up fully and your van out of gas sliding off into the murky water below. But that wasn't even the really scary part of our trip to church.

We lived on a hill and had to go through the valley to get where we were going. It was always foggy in the early mornings and many people would drive with only their fog lights on. Dad decided to tell us that those yellow lights were not merely cars, but glowing EYES that belonged to the legendary creature known as "THE HARK". Yes the terrible Hark that was half horse, half shark - or rather a very large shark head (with lots of teeth) on a horses' body. It could run faster than a train and traveled the valley looking for broken down cars (and especially children) to eat. Needless to say that our trips to church were never dull or boring - matter of fact I think it enhanced our spiritual life, as we spent most of the time praying our car wouldn't run out of gas on the bridge.

Always check the shower curtain...

OK, so I've decided to devote the month of May to sharing a little bit of my wacky, sometimes frightening childhood with you. You see I have this father who is a huge piratical joker. He lives for scaring the bejesus out of you and making people freak out. Might I add I'm a grown woman now, but to this DAY am leery of walking down the hallway at my folk's house if I don't know where he happens to be...

One of his favorite things when we were growing up was to hide behind closed shower curtains. You go to the bathroom and get all comfy and situated (yes, he'd wait until you were "in process") then he'd throw back the shower curtain with a gleeful roar and scare the literal crap out of you. Ah good times.

I can't tell you what kind of lasting effect this had on all of us, because my entire life, even if I'm at somebody else's house, I will ALWAYS look behind the shower curtain before using the bathroom. Heck I was 1,850 miles away at college and STILL found myself checking behind curtains just to make sure he wasn't back there. He not only like to hide in the shower, but also just to stand in the darkened doorway of the bathroom with the hall lights off and wait for one of us unsuspecting kids to come down the hall and walk INTO him. Quite frightening. Sometimes he was just his plain self, other times he used "the mask". 

I must tell you about the "mask" in it's own blog, because it was a big part of my childhood but it definitely needs it's own space of reflection. Anyway, now I'm grown up and live in my own house and I have an opaque glass shower door, which is perfect because you can not only always see IN to it but OUT of it as well. Very important.

Michael Landon Jr. - He ain't no Pa.

See this guy? Do you know who he is? Well he's Michael Landon Jr., and all I can say about him is that he ain't no Pa Ingalls. Why oh why do I detest him so? Well although he followed in his father's footsteps and started work behind a camera, he sure took this idea of "creative license" to a whole new level. A LOW level, I might add. Now while ML Sr. did veer off the original books by Laura Ingalls Wilder in order to keep the TV show going for all those years, his son ML Jr. had to go and RUIN the my absolute favorite Christian pioneer book series by "trying" to make them into TV movies.

The series in question is the "Love Comes Softly" series by Janette Oke... the amazing story of Marty, a pioneer woman who at the age of 17, finds out her new husband of 3 months is killed while they are on a wagon train west and is left abandoned and alone near a small town on the prairie. That same day a man from the town approaches her and asks her to marry him, a marriage of convenience, in order for her to take care of his little 2-year-old girl Missie who doesn't have a mother. If at the end of the harvest she wants to return east, he will pay for her passage home, but she must take his little girl with her. Oh did I mention she's 3 months pregnant? Anyway, the book series follows Marty's entire life and how her situation turns out. I HIGHLY recommend reading them.

So this Michael Landon Jr. character comes along and decides to make this a TV movie. BRILLIANT I think at first. Now everyone can see this wonderful story evolve on film. So my step teen (a huge fan of the series) and I wait with great anticipation at the first airing of this show. The story starts out right on target. Things are progressing smoothly... then, something odd happens. Although the people have the same names and roles as in the book, they start veering from the story line. poignant and touching stories are changed and "slicked" over in the most annoying Hollywood fashion, to the point where by the end of the story, everything is MUCH different than the book. The way the book tells the story is very realistic, and it would of been no problem to relay it to film, but somehow ML Jr. decided to opt for the trite and predictable changes that make the whole movie not even worth watching! Matter of fact the second TV movie in this same series is so far off the story due to all the unnecessary changes that the only thing that remains is the name of the characters.

I realize that no movie can really be just like the book, some things need to be taken out because of time, or whatever, but to completely change what was already a good story, baffles me. So I guess this is another reason for people to get back to reading. Oh and here's a tip for all you would-be producers out there. If you're going to make a TV movie about an amazing book, you might want to try reading it all the way through before you start filming.

Growing up with the Prairie

So take a good look at Pa Ingalls. Dreamy, ain't he? Good ol' Michael Landon. He's got those long flowing locks, a twinkle in his eye, and boy can he saw large planks of wood into smaller ones at the mill (ever notice that's all he did there?) like nobody's business. 

We weren't really allowed to watch much TV growing up, but nary a day passed that we all didn't sit down and catch the loving family antics of Laura, Ma, Pa, and the whole Ingalls gang. Where we truly believed that Ms. Beadle was the nicest teacher around, that Nellie and Willie were pure evil, and that Mrs. Olsen sure was a major bitty. We just couldn't seem to get enough of that quality family programming with the feel good thought provoking endings. I don't think a single episode of LHOTP went by without Pa shedding a tear or playing his fiddle, or Laura wearing that red gingham dress.

This of course led to my current uncanny ability to actually know which exact episode is airing at any moment, based on watching only the first 15 seconds of the show. I'll be like, "Oh this is the one where Nellie pretends to be crippled", or "Oh this is the one where the wild dogs attack the kids while Ma and Pa are away". My sister and I use to pass the time on long car trips trying to quiz each other on random LHOTP trivia. Like how did Ma show she was irritated in bed? (Eat popcorn angrily), or why did the girls have such nice blue dresses for church (Ma was suppose to make a dress for herself but selflessly ended up making the dresses for the girls instead), or why did Laura sell her horse Bunny? (To buy a new stove for Ma for Christmas). So go ahead, throw your hardest LHOTP trivia at me, just see if you can stump me. If you too are a Little House fanatic, trying stumping your friends, it's FUN. 

Oh, and a few holidays back, my football playing, stud of younger brother who would probably never admit to watching LHOTP as a kid shocked us all when we gathered around to play one of the quizzes on the newly released DVD's (yes of course I own them). To our amazement he got every single answer right. He sheepishly shrugged but we all knew that he too had grown up on the prairie, even if it was involuntary.

Isn't it Ironic??

So many people have a difference of opinion when it comes to the definition of ironic. Some people confuse coincidence or sarcasm with irony. There is of course the official dictionary definition of irony:

Irony: 

1. Expression in which the intended meaning of the words is the direct opposite of their usual sense. 

2. An event or result that is the opposite of what is expected.

My friend and I had a conversation once about Alanis Morissette's song "Isn't it Ironic". Basically all of her examples in that song are not true representations of the term irony. Rain on your wedding day, a traffic jam, when you're already late, a no smoking sign on your cigarette break, a man who's afraid to fly and his plane crashes. All of these are examples of bad luck and sometimes horrible coincidences, but are not truly ironic situations. After much discussion we DID conclude however, in a most delicious and hilarious way, that writing a song entitled "Isn't it Ironic" in which no content contained actual examples of irony, was INDEED ironic! So did Alanis know this all along? She must have - and still the debate lingers on. Here's a few links on all you'll ever need to know about the term Irony. Learn it well then lord it over others.

http://webweevers.com/irony.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irony

Happy St. Patrick's Day

So I just wanted to wish you a very Happy St. Patrick's Day. My family is of Irish descent, so I'm sure you spent it like most of us... You woke up, took a shower with your Irish Spring, dressed in shades of green, whistled an Irish tune on the way down stairs for a scrumptious bowl of Lucky Charms, frolicked around the nearest meadow in search of a four leaf clover, said "Top O' the mornin' to ya" in your best Irish accent to everyone you passed, followed a rainbow for a chance at some gold, listened to Enya, had potatoes and a delectable shamrock shake for lunch, had corn beef and cabbage for dinner, Made your way to a local Irish pub where you downed a pint of green Guinness and swapped limericks with the locals, walked drunkenly home upon which you swore you saw a leprechaun, kissed the blarney stone then dozed off in bed watching River dance.

Or you could do what my mom did and dye all of our food green for the day. Growing up we would always know it was St. Patty's Day by the menu. Often we would have green pancakes for breakfast or dinner, or green eggs, or green mash potatoes, or green mac and cheese for lunch. Even the milk was dyed green. I have happily carried this tradition on with my own little family and it's always a big hit. Anyway, just wanted to wish you a very happy St. Patrick's Day.

So what's up with Baking Soda?

So I got to thinking the other day about baking soda and it's seemingly endless magical list of things it can do. What IS this crazy white powder and could we as a species manage to live without it now that it's so apart of our everyday lives? If it had been discovered in only recent years the government probably would of swooped down, locked it up in Area 51 and dubbed it "classified" for sure. What other substance can do things like this:



As a toothpaste
As a deodorant
As an antacid
As a facial scrub
A household cleaner
A laundry detergent
A soother of bee stings and rashes
A neutralizer of battery acid in case of spills
A rust remover
An odor neutralizer
A jewelry cleaner
A drain unclogger
A flea killer


And these are just a few. All of this PLUS you can put it in your cakes and cookies to make them light and airy. It just boggles the mind. So the next time you grab for your trusty box of arm and hammer, don't just think you're using boring old Sodium Bicarbonate, but rather you hold in your hand the most wonderful miracle powder that the world has ever seen.

Glad I'm not one of dem "smart" kids

So there are book smarts, and street smarts - but the question is, which is better? Back in junior high we had this program for "gifted" students called QUEST. Most of the kids in there were major nerds or pseudo-intellectual snobs. One of my good friends happened to be lumped in with this snooty group and luckily for us she became our spy - and so it is to her we must thank for this story.

They were all taking a trip to the ocean (west coast) for a group problem solving weekend, with games and obstacle courses. The first night there they all went down to the beach for a BBQ and campfire. They watched the sun set and roasted marshmallows, then went back to their hotel for the night. They decided to get up very early the next morning to maybe catch a glimpse of the sunrise. So down they all trot to the beach with their blankets and beach towels (with their adult teachers) and sit to watch the sunrise over the ocean. Well it keeps getting lighter and lighter out and still no sun. Finally one of them turns around and sees the sun rising over Mt. Rainier... in the EAST. That's right folks, they were sitting on the SAME beach (facing west) where they had seen the sun vanish only 12 hours before, and they were waiting to see it come back up over the same skyline.

I would of paid BIG money to see the looks on their dumbfounded faces when they realized their blunder. How must those teachers have felt? Apparently they all swore an immediate oath never to reveal this story to anyone back at school. I just have to thank my good friend for spilling the beans to me shortly after, because for once, it felt really GOOD not being considered one of them "smart" kids.

There's a wasp in my Newton!

So it's probably a good idea that you don't know everything that's in the food you're eating. Like back in junior high when I learned how hotdogs were made and I stopped eating meat for a couple of years. Or maybe the fact that most food that is dyed red is actually made from a certain type of squashed bug. Well if it weren't for that darn Discovery Channel trying to "teach" us stuff, I never would have been swayed away from what once had been a delectable "fruit and cake" treat.

The now infamous show featured figs and the pollination of fig trees. A certain type of wasp would come down and lay their eggs in the figs, fertilizing the fig flower at the same time, and then the baby larvae would grow inside the fruit and use it as subsistence until they hatched. Now that show was on years ago, but I got it into my head that when you bite into a fig Newton, those little crunchy things I thought were fig seeds were really WASP eggs. I stopped eating them all together. Luckily in recent years those clever people at the Newton factory came up with new flavors like strawberry, raspberry, and apple, so we could potentially be back in the fruit and cake business someday soon.

So flash forward to when I meet my husband, who happens to love love love his Newtons and it is then I remember the wasp egg factor. Of course no one really wants to believe me, so I jump on my trusty internet research ban wagon to search out the truth. Guess what? I'm RIGHT! Sort of. Each fig plant needs it's own special wasp to pollinate it. The female wasp squeezes into the fruit, lays her eggs, loses her wings in the process, fertilized the fig, then dies IN the fig. Then the wasp larvae grow eating off the fig and the wingless males are born and mate with the females who do have wings. The males die (in the fig) and the females fly off with their home fig pollen stuck to themselves to go find another fig to pollinate and start the whole process over. Those crunchy little pods (or nullets/galls) are formed by wasp pollination. So the wasp larvae eat off the fig to survive and in turn, the fig digests the dead wasps to produce the energy to grow into figs. The female wasp and half her offspring give their lives so you can enjoy a fresh Newton snack cake. Mmmm Tasty. Now don't say I never taught you nothin'...

Web links for wasp-fig relations below:
http://waynesword.palomar.edu/pljune99.htm

http://waynesword.palomar.edu/ww0501.htm#newton

http://waynesword.palomar.edu/pldec97.htm