So today the Punk came home from school and told me all about her day in her usual twittering way. Bits and pieces in a high pitched voice. I can't tell if this is because she is really excited or is learning to fake enthusiasm at an early age. Could be either one. So she asked for her usual afternoon treat of chocolate milk and cookies. Low and behold the slacker that is mom...I forgot to bake or buy cookies and we are currently out. She comes up to me and pats me on the belly like I'm a bad dog or a Buddha statue and says, "That's OK, Mommy, you can just give me some pudding."
Sure enough she goes straight to the fridge and opens the door and points right to the last pudding cup. Wow. Did you have that last pudding cup lojacked, Punk? She grabbed a spoon and all was well with the afternoon...or so I thought.
I little while later, she comes to me and says she wants some chips. Now my daughter is not into just any chips. She will turn her nose up at anything in a bag. It must be the chips in the can. Ya know. Pringles. She can even tell if you are eating them without her by the sound of the seal on the can popping. She is worse than a pet and a can opener.
I inform her that (once again, like a bad mom that forgot to stock up) we are all out of chips. She informs me matter-of-factly that there are chips in the house. Oh yeah? Where? (I challenged her because I would have bet money I was right.) She grabs a kitchen chair, pulls it up to the counter, climbs up to the drinking glass cabinet, and points to the highest shelf which she still cannot reach. I pull her down and climb up there myself. (I'm 5'9" and FCB is 6'2" so he knows where the good hiding places are.) Sure enough there is a can of chips. Seems the dad-guy was holding back. He probably put it up there thinking she wasn't paying attention. Hahaha..yeah right. Knowing my luck if she wasn't watching him do it, she can just read minds.
So she got her chips. I would have lost that bet. Oh well, I'll take solace in the fact that when the FCB goes looking for his next stash of goodies, he will come up with a can of chips containing one single chip left. (oooh, I am just so baaaaad!)
Little aliens are landing on my face at night. I am positive of this. The reason I know this is because they are staking their territory by planting little "we were here" flags in the shape of long black curly hairs that are not there one day and are longer than humanly possible for a hair to grow overnight the next day.
It's a conspiracy.
I say this because I think the aliens are in league with the gremlins and they are planning a coup. The gremlins are dying individual hairs on my head gray every night in an attempt at trying to make me think I am all old and shit. Which I know is not possible at all. And of course has nothing at all to do with the granny hairs sprouting out of my chinny-chin-chin. It's just an attempt by forces out of my control to completely fuck with my mind....and my follicles. Little bastards.
Where's Tweezer Man in a brightly colored, tight fitting, revealing yet concealing (read: hung) suit to come to my rescue when I need him most?
With tongue. On top of that, if it were socially acceptable to publicly declare my love for Swiffer with people thinking I was doing something freaky with cleaning products, I would.
I cleaned today. Not a lot, so don't go getting all shocked and awed or anything. But I cleaned enough that you could see the original color and wood grain of the kitchen table, and the kitchen and entry way floors are not actually chocolate milk flavored. Well...they aren't supposed to be. Mine are most of the time though. Not my fault. Wait...um...I don't actually taste the floors...so umm....never mind about those flavored floors. Anyway.
I also discovered that the nice brown carpet in my bathroom isn't actually carpet. Apparently I shed. A lot.
All of this cleaning was for a guest. I really wasn't trying to impress him, but I figured he shouldn't have to enter my house only to leave with an overwhelming compulsion to have to wash his ankles at the corner fire hydrant.
But I digress. House cleaner. Not spotless. I am not Suzie-fucking-homemaker. Sue me.
On a funny note, I was waiting for a light earlier today and there was a bumper sticker on the car in front of me that made me laugh for a good 5 minutes. I needed that.
"St. Augustine - A great little drinking village with a fishing problem."
If you have ever been there...or anywhere like it...you'll get it.
I am off to bed now. Clean sheets are on tomorrow's to do list.
Don't get me wrong, and I am not an unkind, unfeeling bitch, but when the radio station this morning announced that the coroner in South Carolina had named the cause of death of the 4 people in the plane crash, the first thought that came to my mind...and to be honest escaped my lips in the minivan devoid of anyone but me and the radio...was "you mean besides the obvious burning fuselage of plane wreckage that failed to take off and crashed into a hillside?"
Yeah, you could call me a little sarcastic and cynically bent.
This crash is tragic, but would it garner as much attention if the two survivors weren't celebrities? I think it is great they managed to get out. Terrible that they are so severely hurt and even more sad that 4 people died. But really? Would the media have dug their teeth in so hard if it were just 6 unknowns?
I have been watching the news here lately with morbid fascination as the whole country is doing a proverbial death spiral in economics sprinkled with brightly colored flaming attacks by presidential candidates. Throw a little gas on the fires and...oh wait...the country is running out of gas. My bad.
I think I need to turn off CNN and watch reruns of Charmed or troll through my daughter's Disney collection.
One last thing to leave you with, just a little mental chewing gum for the day. I ran across this photo while reading my AOL news and totally ripped it off....so I am giving credit...so I don't get in trouble...or whatever.
Check out the ladies of The View! I understand that some women get all hot and bothered by the former POTUS, hell even I think the man has something a little sexy going on. Of course, I thought so before the whole big Lewinski thing. (Sue me for being weird, already...and Feisty? Get off my older man complex, I have issues...geesh.) So anyway, the whole body language thing is making me giggle like a madwoman! Not to mention Whoopi working those bitchin' red shoes. Every last woman on that couch has her legs crossed towards that man. He stole the show. I watched video. The man is a tiger. I'll bet secretly every last one of those women is picturing getting jiggy with the man in their heads. You know they are. Even that little uptight, over emotional one.
Now I need to go scrub my brain with a Brillo pad to remove that image of Bahbwa and Bill doing the nasty. Probably won't have to scrub as hard as the guy that had to clean that couch after those ladies got done with that show. Ewww.
So I found out today that if you feed a 4 year old 10 small party plates of cookies and chips and Doritos and Goldfish and a small plastic cup of gelato, they will magically transform from the "Beautiful Miracle" that all the NICU doctors and nurses at the reunion today couldn't stop gushing about, to the little demon seed that wouldn't stop hitting me while calling me "stupid idiot" (thanks Fat Cranky Bastard for teaching my child those words) because I wouldn't buy her every single thing that she wanted from the store, and like a big meanie, made her get in the car without buying her the $149 yard inflatable horse pulling a pumpkin with a ghoul head popping out of it, or the $169 inflatable haunted house, or the $145 (on sale) audio-animatronic hag-witch that stirred an actual cauldron with dry-icy-smoke spilling out of it. I am such a unthoughtful, inconsiderate, uncaring mom. I know. It's just so hard to live with me, let alone rise every morning and have to look at my disapproving face. Gee...can't wait for the teenage years.
On the plus side, I made a major score today at the Halloween store.
They are hideous.
They are my size.
I will wear them till my feet bleed.
Even after the holiday is over.
I am just quirky like that.
Or if you must, be prepared for a very pointy shoe to be lodged up your un-sun-shiny region.
Now on a more personal note...this is my little "miracle." I debated putting pictures of her out there on the Internet, and decided for this occasion...because she has come so far and I am proud of her, I will.
Busy, busy, busy here. Well....not really. Actually I have been sleeping like 18-20 hours a day. I am guessing my body needs it or I am severely lacking in potassium or I have mono or some African Sleeping Sickness or something and I swear I am not a hypochondriac I really just have a shitty immune system and I am going to get so bitch slapped by my 9th grade English teacher for this run on sentence and I am going to end it now.
So a few things have happened in the last week, (and no, one of those things was not a throw down with Limpy while the NA/AA meeting looked on while holding their cups of coffee) one of which was my daughter missing her first week of school with her new teacher because of a really bad cold. Yes, you read that right, her new teacher. (Doing a happy dance!!!) Her regular teacher, who we have had lots of problems with, has been overwhelmed with new 3 year old students and has passed her four 4 year olds onto the kindergarten teacher next door. So now my baby is in kindergarten. Yay! She is even going to get homework! I went to the open house tonight and all but hugged the woman because she laid out how she teaches and said she doesn't take no "guff." And since you all know by reading my previous posts that my daughter is all about "the guff" and can give it with a vengeance, and I think these two are going to meet their match in an all out and out showdown of who is going to "break" first. Should be interesting. Maybe I should sell tickets...
The second thing that has been occupying my time this week (other than the sleep) is my impending garage sale on Saturday and Sunday. Getting rid of everything that isn't tied down. Partly because I need some money, and partly because we are thinking about getting the hell outta Dodge...or well, at least the neighborhood. Which brings me to my third reason. On Wednesday morning at 12:30am, there was a knock on my door followed by a ringing of my doorbell. Middle of the F*ing night. WTF. Turns out it is some Hispanic chick that wanted me to spot her $17 while blowing smoke into my house all the while giving me some sob story about a sick kid and her needing to get a script from Walgreen's and could I just give her some cash and didn't I recognize her from the neighborhood (NO) and what about that guy that mows the lawn, my husband? (Not married and have a lawn service) Is he home and he would surely recognize her...at which point I thought she was either a junkie needing a fix, or a crazy bitch who was picking on me cuz my lights were on or I was being punked, and Ashton was about to jump out of the bushes and tell me that Demi was an ugly skinny bitch and he was there to rescue me and sweep me off my feet....
Where was I? Oh yeah...so I decided on the "junkie" option and stated loudly (in case there were any friends of hers lingering in the dark) that I didn't have any cash on me nor did I keep any in the house. (Which is actually the truth unless you count the penny jar.) Promptly shut the door and contemplated calling the cops. Definitely contemplated moving the hell out...
Which leads us back to the garage sale and the reason for the title of the post. I went to Home Depot after Open House at school tonight and walked a ways through the store with a blank stare on my face waiting for someone in a little orange apron to pop up an assist me like they usually do. No such luck. It was 8:30 and they close at 9:00 so I figured that everyone was busy cleaning up and getting ready to shut down for the evening. Well I found the first thing I was looking for. But managed to wander around quite a while before even locating the second thing. Only reason I managed to do that was I spotted some people in the aisle holding up some yard signs and knew that was were I needed to be.
I couldn't find exactly what I was looking for so I figured for giggles I would call Feisty and let her know my blank stare must be busted. She would get a kick out of it. Plus she had called me earlier when I was sleeping and I ignored the call. Not because I normally ignore my friends, but because it seems like lately my phone has been overwhelmed with telemarketing calls. It must be mating season or spawning season or something cuz those fuckers just don't quit! And I am on the Do Not Call List which makes it all even more aggravating. (Too bad there isn't a hunting season.) Anyway, I eventually found exactly what I needed, and made my way home.
Where I had a message waiting for me to return a phone call. Seems my long lost best friend was having a bad...eh...day at work. Well...not all that bad cause she didn't end up putting a beat-down on her boss and thus going to jail in her one stoplight town. But she was really upset and needed some counseling. Yup, that's me. Dr. Phil but with more hair, better personality and way better advice. Speaking of advice, and even though I am not by any means the grammar, spelling or syntax police, but I have noticed lately a swarm of blogs using the word "advise" instead of "advice." Both are the right spelling but have two completely different meanings...just a peeve...needed to vent. Thanks.
So that is what is going on in my hectic sleepy life. Thrilling no? So I'm off to organize garage sale stuff and do a Google search on how to fix a blank stare to make it work more effectively.
(Upon proofing this post I noticed that I used the terms "throw down," "show down," and "beat down." Guess that makes this a theme post. Heh.)
As if it weren't bad enough before, now Blogger has added this nifty little follow feature. I used to do all my catching up by reading blogs at random and comment bombing certain blogs one post after another all in one day. Now I have up to the minute information about when my favorite bloggers last posted. I had fully planned on napping today and have yet to get my ass up from the chair cuz people keep posting and I don't want to miss anything...
I can just see it now, sitting in the group circle in rehab. Name your addictions...pills, booze, coke, meth, crack, sex, blogging. I would be the wussy one that squeaks out the "blogging" in a room full of people on full out and out withdrawals. That's a guaranteed beatdown on the "challenge course" for not having to balls to be strong enough to resist and get a grip on a stupid addiction.
Not that blogging is stupid...or addiction is stupid...don't get me wrong and I don't want to offend any crackheads, drunks, or angry moms ready to beat me senseless with laptops. I just think this is going to take some adjustment in how I manage my time on a daily basis. Who knows? This handy-dandy little tool just may make my life a little easier. We'll see. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go see a chick about a CAKE.
So late last night I stumbled into the bathroom to take care of business, and upon lighting the room and sitting down I saw a large brown spider sitting in the middle of the floor on the carpet in my room. It was about the size of a silver dollar. It was big enough that I was a little afraid for the Punk's safety because she likes to do almost everything, including sleeping sometimes, on the floor. I figured I would have to kill it. Trust me when I say this goes against everything I believe in. I was brought up to believe in the superstition that it is bad luck to kill a spider in your home. And I like spiders. I think they are fascinating little creatures.
This large brown spider, however, wasn't that interesting. Plus it was just sitting there in the middle of the floor...curiously un-stepped on as I surely passed it in the dark. So I grabbed the nearest, largest object I could find, my daughter's potty picture book. (She reads while she DOESN'T use the potty.) I threw the book at the spider (hehehe, I just made myself laugh there...I need more coffee...it's too damn early) and the book bounced off of it like it was some sort of mutant super spider with rubberized mutant powers. (The carpet is springy and my aim sucks in the middle of the night.)
Low and behold, once the book had bounced off her, she made a mad dash straight towards me. Not being all girly and squeamish I just watched in stunned horror as she moved and underneath her was about 100 of her little babies. They all scrambled like junkies during a police raid, madly dashing in every direction. (Not that I have been watching too much Cops, lately or anything.) Grabbing another book, I slammed it on the momma as I leaped (and leaked) into action, hitting the floor and frantically trying to make sure I killed the little babies. All with the potential to grow up to be as big or bigger than their mom. Then, when I was satisfied that I had completely changed the color of my carpet to baby spider carcass brown, I attended to the book under which the hopefully squished Trojan Spider was currently oozing. I lifted the book, and damn skippy iffn 20 more little buggers didn't crawl out from under there. Squish, squish, squish. Using a wad of TP, I cleaned up the brown oozy crime scene all the while shaking my head at what had definitely turned out as the strangest late night encounter with a spider I had ever had in my life.
Of course a shower ensued, because there was no way I was going to bed with any possibility of spider ooze anywhere on my person. But even after the shower, I still had the creepy crawlies all night. One word...
Look, I realize there are good drivers, OK drivers, and downright awful fucking wastes of oxygen that shouldn't have even been a stain on the sheets, let alone be allowed to operate a vehicle. (I'm not bitter at all. ::Coughdumptruckcough::) But just because some people have Rain Man Flakes for breakfast, that doesn't automatically make them "excellent driver's."
On my trip today to get a little shopping done, I encountered all kinds of individuals that think that driving is not only an Olympic sport, but their own personal "Multitasking Time." It's called driving for a reason. If it were meant to be called Mobile Phone Boothing then it would have been. Or even telemarketing (or insert occupation here) on wheels. I saw so many people on their phones, while driving, it was crazy. Witnessed a rear-ending because the chick was too busy on the phone to stop. Watched and listened, through a closed window at a stoplight, a man verbally decimating the woman next to him. Gee and I thought MY vocabulary was colorful. I was even privileged enough to be cut off by a very young blonde woman in a badly dented car, while she was on the phone, and then got to watch her misjudge the distance from her wheels to the curb. When trying to turn onto a busy highway, she blew a tire and in the process cut off oncoming traffic where a 3 car pileup was narrowly avoided.
Ah...Karma...you are a vindictive little bitch, aren't you?
I am undamaged, and I managed to get home in one piece and in time to get the little one off the bus. I just have to breathe a sigh of relief at being off the road, and am thankful my daughter wasn't in the car with me today. Otherwise she would have more than likely learned a few new words and with my luck, gone to school and used them. That's all I need is a call from her teacher asking why my daughter is screaming....C U Next Tuesday!!!
Got an email that I thought was shareworthy. So I'm gonna share. As Limpy says, "it's not plagiarizing if you admit it." So I admit I didn't write this:
What are Grits? Nobody knows. Many people feel that grits are made from ground-up bits of white corn. This is obviously a lie. Nothing as good as a Grits can be made from corn.
The most recent research suggests that the mysterious Manna that God rained down upon the Israelites during their time in the Sinai Desert was most likely Grits. Critics disagree, stating that there is no record of butter, salt, or cheese raining down from the sky, and that God would not punish his people by forcing them to eat Grits without these key ingredients.
How Grits are Formed.
Grits are formed deep underground under intense heat and pressure. It takes over 1,000 years to form a single Grit. Most of the world's grit mines are in Southern Georgia, and are guarded day and night by armed guards and fierce attack dogs. Harvesting the Grit is a dangerous occupation, and many Grit miners lose their lives each year so that Grits can continue to be served morning after morning for breakfast (not that having Grits for lunch and dinner is out of the question).
Yankees have attempted to create a synthetic Grits. They call them Cream of Wheat. As far as we can tell the key ingredients of Cream of Wheat are Elmer's Glue and shredded Styrofoam. These synthetic grits have also been shown to cause nausea, and may leave you unable to have children.
As we mentioned earlier, the first known mention of the Grits was by the Ancient Israelites in the Sinai Desert. After that, the Grits was not heard from for another 1,000 years. Experts feel that the Grits was used during this time only during secret religious ceremonies, and was kept from the public due to its rarity. The next mention of the Grits was found amidst the ruins of the ancient city of Pompeii in a woman's personal diary. The woman's name was Herculaneum Jemimaneus. (Aunt Jemima to her friends.)
The 10 Commandments of Grits
I. Thou shalt not put syrup on thy Grits II. Thou shalt not eat thy Grits with a spoon or knife. III. Thou shalt not eat Cream of Wheat and call it Grits, for this is blasphemy. IV. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's Grits. V. Thou shalt use only Salt, Butter, and Cheese as toppings for thy Grits. VI. Thou shalt not eat Instant Grits. VII. Thou shalt not put syrup on thy Grits. VIII. Thou shalt not put syrup on thy Grits. IX. Thou shalt not put syrup on thy Grits. X. Thou shalt not put sugar on thy Grits, either.
How to Cook Grits:
For one serving of Grits, boil 1.5 cups of water with salt and a little butter. Add 5 Tbsp of Grits. Reduce to a simmer and allow the Grits to soak up all the water. That's all there is to cooking Grits.
How to Eat Grits:
Immediately after removing your Grits from the stove top, add a generous portion of butter. (WARNING: Do NOT use low-fat butter.) The butter should cause the Grits to turn a wondrous shade of yellow. (Hold a banana or a yellow rain slicker next to your Grits; if the colors match, you have the correct amount of butter.) Next, add salt. (NOTICE: The correct ration of Grit to Salt is 10:1 Therefore for every 10 grits, you should have 1 grain of salt.) Cheese is optional. However if you wish to add cheese, cut it into 1/4' squares and add immediately before you eat your Grits. You do not want your cheese to melt completely.
Now begin eating your Grits.
Always use a fork, never a spoon, to eat Grits. Your grits should be thick enough so they do not run through the tines of the fork. The correct beverage to serve with Grits is milk or chocolate milk. (WARNING: Use whole milk only - DO NOT use 2% or, heaven forbid, skim milk.) Coffee with Grits is acceptable, but is frowned upon by true Grits aficionados.
Ways to Eat Leftover Grits:
(Leftover Grits are extremely rare.) Spread them in the bottom of a casserole dish, cover and place them in the refrigerator overnight. The Grits will congeal into a gelatinous mass. Next morning, slice the Grits into squares and fry them in 1/2' of cooking oil and butter until they turn a golden brown. Many people are tempted to pour syrup onto Grits served this way. This is, of course, unacceptable.
I hope you enjoyed this little tutorial. Personally, I consider myself to be one of those "Grits aficionados." I love me some grits. With cheese. And with some cheese mixed in. And with a little (OK, a lot) of cheese on top. Or maybe just a bowl of cheese with a little grits in the mix.(Although I have been known to blaspheme and use instant on occasion. I hope I don't get struck down by the mighty Grits Gods.)
Another use of the word "Grits" also is known to label Southern Girls! Girls Raised In The South.
(Unlike the aforementioned Grits, this type generally don't like to be slathered in butter and covered in cheese and then deep fried in oil. Unless you are just downright kinky that way.)
All the snarky goodness, none of the extra calories! My name is Leigh and I'm a heart patient, Mom, stubborn as all get out sarcastic smart-ass, and generally just a bright little F*ing ray of sunshine. Welcome! Hope your brain doesn't leak out of your ears from reading this!