Like A Boss

Here, as a half hearted attempt at a comeback, is the very first mildly inappropriate joke I learned as a child.  I found it on a sheet of paper someone had given my grandfather years and years ago.  And so I offer you…….

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On the day God created humans, all of the parts of the human body began to argue about which one should be the boss of the new operation.  Brain spoke up first.
“Obviously, I should be the boss,” said Brain. “I already run the show.  All of you can only do what I tell you to do anyway.”

But others were not so convinced.  Heart spoke next.     “Hold on, Brain.” said Heart. “You have power, it’s true, but you can’t even begin to function without the work that I do.  Without the blood I pump to you, you would die.”

Not to be outdone, Eyes piped in with their part.     “Without us you are blind!” they cried.  “We are literally your windows to this world.  You are lost without us.”

Finally, Legs had their say.     “We carry all of you!  Without us, the whole lot of you would be stuck,” they said.

And so, a heated argument began between the different parts of the body over who should be boss.  Over the din, a voice called out, “Hey! HEY! What about me?  I want to be the boss!”

It was Asshole.

After a moment of thunderstruck silence, the other parts of the body began to laugh hysterically, nearly collapsing the whole body in their mirth.

“You?!” cried Brain.  “You are an asshole. You can never be the boss! Imagine it!  An asshole as boss!” And off the parts of the body went again in their hysterical laughter.

Well, Asshole was so offended, so affronted, that he closed up.

At first, no one thought much of it.

But then, as time went by, the parts of the body began to notice they didn’t feel so well.  Legs were tired and weak.  They were having trouble holding up the other parts of the body.  Eyes couldn’t focus and were weary and droopy.  As more time passed, and Asshole stayed closed up, Heart began to beat heavily, sometimes skipping a beat because of the body’s general misery.  And, of course, Brain wasn’t doing so well either.  More and more time passed, and still Asshole was closed.  Brain began to be foggy and forget things.  He couldn’t think or focus make the other body parts work correctly.

Finally, the parts of the body had had enough.

“FINE!” cried Brain.  “Fine, Asshole, you are the boss!  Just please, please open back up.  You’re awesome, Asshole, we love you and we’d love for you to be our boss!”

And so it was that Asshole became boss of the human body.

The moral of the story is: You don’t have to be a brain to be the boss; just an asshole.

Share this with your boss!

Thank you and good night!

 


 

Time (not just a song by Pink Floyd)

I remember reading in a book once, though it escapes me just which one, that time is a very plastic thing, almost subjective, and to be honest, I never gave it much thought.

But boy is it.

I remember when I was a kid, especially a teenager, I thought time would never pass.  I mean, like, NEVER.  Remember? Remember how you were waiting for something to happen, just anything, and you thought it never would, that would just be stuck in whatever crappy thing you were in at the time?  You never thought about getting older, because you couldn’t even conceive of it–being old! Being thirty!

And now it isn’t like that anymore.  I’m well past thirty and time doesn’t pass in seconds, or even minutes or hours, but big hunks that slip by me while I’m not looking, while I’m attending the minutiae that is my life.  Don’t get me wrong–the plasticity of time is still in evidence.  When my daughter had surgery, I sat in that room, and I could almost feel the time weighing on me, pressing me into that awful plastic chair, holding me there until I couldn’t breathe.  I’d read for what felt like hours, then look up to see that five minutes had passed.  Then, later, after it was done, I was so scared to bring her home, so scared I couldn’t take care of her, and the doctor was cheerfully announcing that she was discharged! I thought, “Already?”

Then there’s the kids themselves.  I looked at vacation pictures last night, vacations that are still crystal clear in my memory, and the kids are tiny–I’m holding my daughter on my hip! My son is a gap-toothed little fellow smiling brazenly up at the camera.  Now, he’s looking down at me from unbelievable heights and my daughter can just about hold me on her hip.  I can remember with such clarity being pregnant–so young and green and scared.  So much seems to have happened, but when did it happen? How did it happen?

I have no idea.

There is another big example: this blog.  A month has passed since I wrote a word, and that was only shameless promotion of my mediocre jewelry work.  But it doesn’t feel like a month.  When I looked at that date, I couldn’t believe it.  Of course the other tragic event that has already come back around is Christmas, but it gives me a cold chill just to think about that, so we’ll let that one slide for now.

Do all of you feel this way too?  Like, how did we get so old?  (By not dying, right?) Seriously, I pass a mirror and just about scare myself into a heart attack. Plus, I look old! (Ha ha!)  I have been genetically blessed to still not have any gray hair, but the years are showing.  I see pictures of my young self, and I look so carefree.  And that’s the secret, isn’t it?  We know now what we didn’t know then, and it has taken its toll.  All of those fears and worries of our parents that we scoffed at are only too real now, hanging on us and weighing us down

If you aren’t depressed enough yet, here’s another thought for you: “The Dark Side of the Moon” by Pink Floyd came out forty years ago. FORTY YEARS! To some of you this may mean nothing, but some of you just teared up a little.  Admit–it’s okay.  I won’t think any less of you.

So time is passing, liquid, plastic time, my kids are growing up too fast, and I’m getting too old.  The key is not to miss it–hang on to it with both hands, my friends, and never let go.  Now excuse me–I’ve got to go check for gray hair.

*******For those of you who will greatly appreciate it, here is the song “Time” by Pink Floyd, one of my favorites, and some of my favorite lyrics.  Enjoy!

 

And then one day you find, ten years have got behind you.  No one told you when to run; you missed the starting gun…..”

 


 

Shameless Promotion

I’m about to do some of it!

In an effort to increase the cash flow up in here (and to keep my hands and mind busy) I’ve been piddling around making some jewelry.  Rather than jump in whole hog and get my own website, I decided to join Etsy!  So, in a shameless act of self-promotion, I’m providing you with the link to my Etsy shop, where you can browse all of my wonderful pieces and hopefully spend some of your wonderful money!  Extra love for anyone who wants to spread the word!

Drum roll please……..

 

Click it, love it, spread it, shop it!  I will be forever grateful!

 

(Note–all proceeds go to support my jewelry making habit.)


 

 

The End of the Ocean

I love the beach.

Simple enough statement, that.  I mean, lots of people love the beach, right?  Heaven knows thousands of people flock there each year for vacation.  We used to go from time to time.  The time between time to time got a little longer, then a little longer, and the next thing we knew, we hadn’t been in years.  So this year I decided we were going.

My husband does not love the beach.  I think to him, the beach is basically like playing in a giant sandbox with a million other people while someone periodically throws salt water in your face.  And it’s true–sand everywhere.  Sand in your pockets, in your car, in your hair, in your ears, in your……well, never mind.  The point is, it gets everywhere.

But oh, I love it.

Where we went, and that this time of year, there was no one.  But that doesn’t even matter to me.  I love the whole thing.  There’s the excitement that builds in the days before you leave.  Then the day of, you are up at dawn to get on the road.  And as you are driving, and you get close, you can roll down your window and smell the salty smell on the air.  Then you are there, and life takes on a different tone.  My sister-in-law summed it up perfectly–no pressure. Life is slower, even if you are running the whole time.  Then there’s the ocean itself, ceaselessly talking, talking, talking, telling you to forget your worries, relax, just breathe. 

Just breathe.

We watched the sun rise, and we watched it set.  We sat on the beach.  We wandered.  We shopped a little, ate a lot, and sat out on the deck.  It was windy and maybe a little too cool on some days, but still perfect.  (Note: okay, maybe not completely perfect.  For example, there was a path behind our house which allegedly led to the beach.  I should have been suspicious, because it had one of those haunted-house-type signs in the shape of an arrow that said “beach” in faded, nearly-illegible letters.  The path seemed little used, but like most of the morons in horror movies, we took off down it just the same.  We never made it to the beach, but we did manage to find several nuclear-power-plant sized spiders who built their webs across the path, and a vicious little cactus that attacked both my son and my mother-in-law and forced us to flee back to our house and perform first aid and drink wine to calm our (my) nerves.) But my sister-in-law is right–there was no pressure.  No appointments and no chores and none of the mundane crap that makes up our lives.  We just enjoyed ourselves, and felt happy.

And I felt myself telling the ocean goodbye.

I’m a little older, a little slower.  It takes more planning and coordination for us to go to the beach than was necessary on D-Day.  All of the caretaking is still required, just without the comforts of home.  The balance has shifted just slightly, just enough to make me feel like the work required to get there is more than the rewards of the trip itself.  Believe me, I never thought I’d hear myself saying it, but my heart whispered it to me as we drove home this weekend.  I felt myself driving away from more than just a place.  It felt like I was driving away from a part of my life.  I hope it was just a fit of melancholy, but I wonder.

I wonder…….

If I Ruled The World

Things would be a lot different, that’s for sure.  For starters, anyone who spoke out loud before 9am would be awakened each morning by having hot coffee poured in their ear.  Here are some other things I’d like to see go into effect immediately:

  • All carpet would be removed from earth and rocketed into outer space, where presumably space aliens would find it and use it to carpet their own homes, at which time their little alien children and six-legged alien pets would vomit on it.
  • Anyone who has a child and names it a normal name like “Cindy” or “Mindy”, but puts an “i” at the end, will have to sign a contract stating they will support their child for the rest of their life, since they will never be taken seriously in any field outside of the porn industry.
  • Anyone who names their child something like “Apple” or “Cocoa” or “North” will be made to stand in some public forum so we can all gather around them, and then point and laugh.
  • Mandatory grammar class for anyone who misuses “to,” too,” “your,” you’re,” “their,” “they’re,” and “there,” and double punishment for anyone who doesn’t know the difference between “then” and “than.”
  • Text speak will be banned, punishable by death.
  • Pop music will also be banned, and offenders will undergo a rehab of sorts where they are taught was music actually is supposed to sound like.
  • Personal automobiles will be equipped with large-caliber machine guns, in order to encourage people riding along at cruising speed in the passing lane to perhaps move it along a little bit.
  • Everyone would be required to read at least one book, any book, a week.
  • Charm and finishing school should be reinstated for every man, woman, and child, until we all learn to stop shutting doors in people’s faces and never saying “excuse me.”
  • Equally important, some sort of fashion guru will hopefully volunteer to teach Fashion Basics, such as if your ass is three feet wide, and your shorts are two feet wide, your shorts do not fit.  Perhaps a math teacher could fulfill this role or something. (I’m raving.)
  • Somewhere, somehow, someone will invent a self-cleaning house.
  • Also, I hope to inspire someone, with a large cash reward, to invent a way for laundry to automatically be switched from the washer to the drier.  (As an aside, I find it impossible to believe that this is not widespread technology yet.  I mean, we have tiny little computers we hold in our hands, and we can’t get laundry from one place to another?)
  • Non-streaking, finger-print proof glass. Enough said.
  • Anthony Hopkins would come and read me poetry every night as I fell asleep.
  • I would have one of those red phones, except it wouldn’t be for war or anything.  It would be a direct to line to, say, the Pope, or Roger Waters.  Or maybe just an Italian food delivery service.  I’ll have to think about that one.

I’m sure most of your feel this is a very selfish list, and you are right.  So of course I would do things like stop war and abortion and genocide and hunger and all of that stuff.

(But seriously, someone get to work on that laundry thing.)

 

So, what would it be like if you ruled the world?

 


 

Lap Dances: $120 Million

Let me start by saying that I firmly believe that celebrities do outrageous things for the sole purpose of gaining notoriety.  Bad press is still good publicity.  Furthermore, we are all just feeding into that by writing about it and talking about and watching the clip on YouTube.

But I’m writing about it anyway.

I was more than a little surprised at all of the negative reaction to Miley Cyrus’ little performance on the MTV Video Music Awards last night.  Don’t get me wrong–I agree with the negative reaction, but what I don’t understand is why anyone was really shocked at all.

I grew up in the Madonna generation, back when she looked more like a person and less like, well…….

cryptkeeper

 

 

 

 

 

Anyway, Madonna sort of paved the way, in my mind at least, for that whole rolling-around-on-the-stage-sex-simulation thing.  From that point on, each female pop star after her has had to find a way to top the shock factor.  We love to be shocked.  I mean, we live in a world where, as a society, we have made this woman one of the most successful pop artists ever:

gaga

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But we get up on our high horse like we can’t believe that Miley acted this way.  I mean, that’s Hannah Montana up there humping a foam finger, you say.  That’s Billy Ray’s little girl twerking Beetlejuice…..er…..Robin Thicke, you say.  Well, here’s what I say to that:

WHO CARES????!!! The most irritating thing I could see was that she is trying to be the next Gene Simmons.  (Does she have a hairball?  Is she choking on something? An allergic reaction, maybe?)

The other thing that sort of tickled me was that the VMAs are always crap.  I mean, is everyone just now figuring that out?  The performances are crap, and, let’s be honest, the talent is crap.  That’s what it’s really about, isn’t it?  These poor celebrities have to become famous for something, because the Good Lord knows they can’t sing.  Yet we act all shocked.  Well, watch the Miley Cyrus clip again.  Her backup singers/dancers are gyrating around nearly as badly as her, and when Beetlejuice….er…..Robin Thicke finishes the big number, doesn’t it look like one of the girls is simulating giving him, well, you know?

I despise MTV.  Real music, and yes, real talent, died a little the day MTV was born, and I say that as part of the MTV generation.  (As difficult as it is to believe, there used to be actual music on Music Television.)  It’s pure, solid, talentless, shocking crap.  Pop music as a genre is crap.  Here’s a news flash–Miley Cyrus can’t sing.  Taylor Swift can’t sing.  Britney Spears can’t sing.  Even Gaga, who I personally don’t mind that much, is only marginal.  (Before anyone gets on a high horse, no, I can’t sing either.  But I don’t pretend to.  I embrace it.  There’s a whole group of us non-singers.  Maybe there should be like some sort of “I thought I could sing” rehab or something for people like Miley and Taylor and most of the people who try out for American Idol. But I digress.)  Gyrating around on the stage and causing a huge uproar are what these girls are famous for.  Not singing.  Their voices are enhanced digitally just like the pictures of celebrities are airbrushed.  Just listen to a live performance by Taylor Swift sometime, if you can find one where she isn’t lip singing.  It isn’t even about the music anymore.  You know, Bob Dylan couldn’t really sing, either, and neither could Janis Joplin, whom I worship, but you know what?  Their music was about something.  They didn’t have MTV or the VMAs to make them popular.  They didn’t have to give a live, simultaneous lap dance to everyone in the world to get people talking.

They just sang.  (Well, and drank and did drugs, but that really doesn’t serve my purpose right now, so never mind.)

Long story short, America:  Hannah Montana is dead.  She was dying already, and she took her last gasp last night.  Turn off MTV.  Mourn her and let her go.  If you really want to watch some good tv, I have a suggestion.

Stick with The Andy Griffith Show.


 

Into the Pit

In the short story “The Pit and the Pendulum,” horror master Edgar Allen Poe spins a yarn about a man imprisoned during the Spanish Inquisition.  I won’t re-write the whole story here.  The part that serves my purpose is when the unlucky fellow finds himself strapped to a board in the middle of his cell.  Suspended above him, hanging from a picture of Father Time, is a giant pendulum that has been sharpened into a deadly scythe.  With each pass, it drops closer and closer to our helpless victim, its goal to cause him to spill his guts, in a very literal sense.  The sound of it torments him with each dreaded pass–will this be the one?

SSSSWOOOOOSH

It may not be the best story every written, even by Poe, but it is stark and thrilling.  The senses are aroused.  When he first goes into his cell, he is in total blackness, and long story short, there is ALSO a big pit right in the middle of unknown depth and, as it turns out, unknown contents.  Here’s a spoiler–the guy does not want to fall into the pit.

But back to that pendulum thing.

SSSSWOOOOOSH

Imagine being strapped there, helpless to move, knowing that with each passing moment, disaster is coming closer to cut you in half.  You are trapped–lost.

My little girl is having surgery tomorrow.  Not a heart transplant or anything like that, but major surgery just the same.

SSSSWOOOOOSH

What I’m learning from this experience is that fear really has no  basis in reality.  Oh, don’t get me wrong–the feelings that come from being afraid of something are as real as it gets.  But the fear itself is a phantom, a black ghost that whispers through the recesses of your mind and imagination at odd times, like when you are laying quietly in the dark, hoping for sleep.  It murmurs unbearable thoughts into your ear when you aren’t expecting it, planting a seed which will, with the right care and tending, grow into a poisonous vine that twists around every thought.  It’s the fear of what if, the unknowable maybe, the surrender of our already delusional control.  Here’s the worst part: these fears aren’t for myself.  That, at least, would be tolerable.  But this isn’t.

SSSSWOOOOOSH

When your personality tends to the extreme side, it’s no big deal.  A little too fearful, maybe.  A little too anxious.  A tiny bit obsessive and compulsive.  Nothing therapy-worthy, just material for a blog and a good laugh from time to time.  But when the gears are already slipping a little, real fear shows up, and all hell breaks loose.

SSSSWOOOOOSH

I am terrified.  The surgery is tomorrow.  The pendulum is almost here, but here’s the crux–it isn’t swinging over me, but my sweet little girl.  And I’m stuck in one of those dreams where I can see the action happening, but am powerless to do anything to stop it.

SSSSWOOOOOSH

 

This fear has pushed me to the limits of my sanity.  Yesterday, I was driving, and  I had to pull over on the side of the road.  There was an intersection ahead, both in reality and metaphorically speaking.  The fear was there with me, as it always is, a black, pulsating thing that doesn’t kill but only squeezes, tighter and tighter around my heart and my lungs and even my throat.  It squeezes so hard that tears sometimes leak down my face from eyes that look starey and strange to their owner.  I had a wonderful vision.  I took the other road, the road away from home.  My daughter was with me.  My van was full of gas.  We just had a payday.  I stopped and bought the few things we would need to get past the surgery date.  Then, we just drove. We drove southeast, headed for the sea.  My sweet little girl saw all of that water and jumped in her seat because she was so excited.  She loves the beach so much.  We held hands as we drew closer, and when we parked, I got her out and just squeezed and squeezed and squeezed her, and the fear was gone, because I had left it back in the mountains.  There was no pendulum down there, no pit, no darkness.  Just us.  Just me and my little girl, safe and sound.  My little girl whose hair always smells so nice, who puts her hand so trustingly in mine and just knows that I am never going to let anything bad happen to her.

My little girl.

Of course, what I really did was take the road that went home, just as I always do.  Because responsibility comes with a price, a high one.  Pray for us.  Pray for my little girl.

SSSSWOOOOOSH


 

Ten Signs You May Be an Asshole

Warning: the word ASSHOLE appears in this post numerous times.  Do not read if the word ASSHOLE offends you. (Note: if the word ASSHOLE offends you, you are probably–you guessed it–an ASSHOLE.)

 

I can only come to the conclusion that people, in general, are not aware of their own behavior.  What other explanation could there be?  People cannot deliberately be acting this way.  So I decided to be (not so) helpful and make a little list to help you determine if you are, in fact, an asshole.

  1. You often find yourself just waiting for others to stop whining about their own pathetic problems, such as cancer, death, decapitation, whatever, so you can assure them that you have it much worse.
  2. You put more than one status update a day about how wonderful your life is, how rich you are, how beautiful your house is, how smart and perfect your children are, and how perfect your spouse is.  Trust me, you aren’t just sharing your blessings.  You’re an asshole.
  3. You have uttered the phrase, with no irony whatsoever, “Hot enough for ya?” This also means you are a moron.
  4. You insist on driving in the passing lane, no matter how slow you are going, no matter how long the line of traffic is behind you, no matter how many people swerve angrily into the slow lane and pass you. Double points if you have ever said, “I have a right to drive over here! I pay my taxes, too!”
  5. You have parked in a handicapped parking spot when you were, in fact, not handicapped.  This also applies if you have parked in the lines painted to leave room for unloading wheelchairs. In this case, you are an inconsiderate jerk as well as an asshole.
  6. You somehow manage to forget to turn off your cell phone every single church service, even though you have being attending church for 65163532158 years and the announcement has been the same every. Single. TIME.  Also, the person who manages to text or call during church time every week, even though they know you are probably at church, since you have been attending for 65163532158 years, that person is also an asshole.
  7. Speaking of cell phones, if you still think the only way people can hear you on cell phones is if you shout, no matter where you are–restaurants, the grocery store, funerals, whatever–then you are…..well, you know.  If you talk about personal issues at this same glass shattering decibel, you bypass asshole and go straight to idiot
  8. You constantly call people “babe,” “hon,” or “sweetie,” even people who are old enough to be your grandparents.  This is marginal, but at the very least it is condescending.
  9. You know, without a doubt, that no discussion of any kind can be complete unless everyone is aware of your opinion, which you, of course, must share, whether asked to or not. (Every one of you just shut up. I know this is me, okay?  I get it, OKAY?!)
  10. You have gone to outrageous lengths to prove that you are right.  There is nothing you won’t do to make your point, and if, God forbid, it turns out that you are wrong, then nothing must ever be said on the subject again, ever. You can never admit wrongness, and, if necessary, you must place the blame for your wrongness on the person who was right.  (I am in no way implying that anyone in my home, such as my spouse, is like this.)

There are many other tell-tale signs that you might be exhibiting asshole behavior.  This is just a basic list to get you started.  As always, I’m glad I can help!

What would you add to the list?

(Anyone who adds to the list “you make a list telling other people they are assholes” will be banned from my site.  Just kidding. Sort of.)

 

 

Soggy Bottom Blues (or, Love Thy Neighbor)

Here’s an interesting (not so) scientific fact for you: washing machines do not float.

Now, one would think that washing machines would be a tiny bit more tolerant of water, since, obviously, they use water to wash the clothes.  Sadly, however, they are quite intolerant of being submerged in 3 feet of water.  The dryer didn’t do so well, either.

We got flooded Friday night.

Now, it wasn’t all that bad.  The main part of my house and, more importantly, all of the life forms, all remained perfectly safe, if slightly soggy.  The garage and the basement, well, let’s just say the spiders in the window sill suddenly had an ocean view.  The teeny tiny creek behind our house became a raging inferno of water to rival the Amazon at high tide.  We are in the middle of one of the wettest summers on history, and a few localized areas received almost five inches of rain.

I would like to take a brief digression to make a little public service announcement.  Pay attention to flash flood warnings.  Don’t fool around with it.  Those little creeks aren’t trickling little streams anymore, and people can and do get killed.  Roads wash away.  The pressure of the water built up outside our basement door and blew it right off the hinges.  Blasted the hinges right out of the wooden frame.  Be alert!

Okay, enough of that.

So the water came in and we went out.  My husband was hauling everyone out and I heard some sort of commotion downstairs.  I opened the door at the top of the basement stairs, and I had the very surreal experience of seeing my (full) laundry basket go floating by.  After that we left.

Everyone keeps saying “at least everyone is safe.” And that is absolutely the truth.  But I won’t lie to you.  As we sat at my in-laws, I was doing a mental inventory of what was in my basement.  Of course my washer and dryer were history, and the pool table (also not tolerant of water, in spite of the name.) I had a fridge down there we kept “extra” groceries in.  The real heartbreaker was all of my new kitchen cabinets that were all stained and sealed and waiting to be installed.  Again, I won’t lie.  I cried for my cabinets.

After the water went back down, we had to clean up.  This is where I learned what it really means to “love thy neighbor.” Our friends and family came and helped.  They shoveled mud and cleaned with bleach.  They loaded a dump truck and laid things in the yard to dry.  They cracked jokes and laughed and just generally cheered us up.  Then, Matt’s company donated a load of gravel to replace our washed away driveway.  Then a neighbor came with his tractor and spread out the gravel.  We got a perfectly good washer and dryer at no cost to us, also through the generosity of others.  It was a lesson for me that people are not perfect, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t good people.

And once the smoke settled, a lot of things were saved.  The new riding lawn mower, my husband’s baby, was revived.  We saved all of the cabinets but one that was too big to put up on anything.  Sadly, it fell in the water and drown.  The clothes have been gathered and washed.  The dishes just need washed and re-wrapped.

All of this has also made me think about the things that you really lose when something like this happens.  You see these things on tv–fires and floods–and you know it’s a tragedy and you feel just awful for the people.  Monetary value is attached to the things that are lost.  It’s true–washers and dryers and lawn mowers are not cheap.  All of my husband’s power tools are in limbo right now–will they work, or are they dead?  The four-wheeler ran for a while then died.  All of these cost money, and that sucks.

But there is more.

All of the little drawings my kids did when they were small were down there in a plastic tote, which was not waterproof, as it turns out.  One was a big poster of a flower, and my daughter’s tiny hands dipped in paint made the petals.  My son’s grade school report cards, mother’s day cards they made, all of the good stuff.  They have no monetary value, because they are priceless.  All of my high school yearbooks are gone, along with the kid’s favorite books, mostly Dr. Suess.  My Christmas decorations are all destroyed, including the ones the kids made over the years.  My only two pieces of luggage and all of our duffel bags were so full of mud that I just tossed them.  Another sad blow was the tent and the camp bed we always use.  It seems like every day I remember something else that was down there that is gone now.  Just this morning I was thinking I might deep fry some squash–whoops! The deep frier took a deep dive.

So the emotional roller coaster continues, along with the rain.  All in all, I think the only thing to do is keep a positive attitude and just let it all go.  What else is there?  All of the great times we have had camping didn’t happen because we had a cool tent and a camp bed.  They happened because we were all together, and because we love each other.

No flood can wash that away.

 

This was the runoff from the road in front of our house. That’s what washed my driveway away

084

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is my washer, may it rest in peace, with a kitchen cabinet on top. (Note: my basement was NOT that messy.  The creek sort of evenly distributed a layer of my stuff all over the basement floor.)

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(not so) Wonderful Summer

I’m not a faithful contributor, but I am a faithful fan of The Northwest Mommy and her Monday Listicles.  I love lists.  I love them.  Because that’s just how I roll.

This week, the list is about Summer.  And lots of people have lots of great things to say about summer.  I, however, have a love/hate relationship with the summer.  It’s not a 50/50 thing, either.  Maybe 70/30 in the favor or hate.  Or more like 80/20.

Anyway, I made a list about summer.  Here you go.

  • It’s hot.  This falls into the “no shit” category, but I really don’t like heat.  Now, lots of places are hotter.  I have family in Phoenix, where birds burst into flames in midair and nuns curse openly on the streets (to quote Dave Barry), but it’s still hot here, too.  Plus, we have humidity.  (Digression: I always hear people talk about places like Phoenix and Vegas, and they say, “It’s a dry heat.”  What does that mean?  It’s a 112 degrees.  It’s hot.) For those of you unscientific folks, humidity is the meteorological phenomenon which makes your hair frizzy and makes your underwear stick to you.
  • The bugs come out.  I don’t know where bugs go in the winter.  Maybe down South.  But I know they come back here in the summer, and other than the ones which live at the place where we go camping, most of them are in my yard, and possibly my basement.  You know that kid from Peanuts, the one with the stinky cloud always hovering around him?  We kind of look like that, but the stinky cloud is actually gnats.  Plus, the bees are everywhere.  You have to keep moving at all times outside, or else they will start building a nest right there in your armpit.
  • My routine is shot to hell.  Really.  School is out, everyone is home, we get up at different times, we go to bed at different times.  I can’t mop because everyone is running around everywhere.  They want to go swimming and go for drives and watch movies and play video games and have sleepovers, and I can’t say, “Sorry, it’s a school night.”  It’s anarchy.
  • People have started coming out of their clothes.  Apparently, the heat has damaged some people’s brain to the point where they feel the only way to remain cool is to remove their clothing, thereby exposing their pasty, pouchy flesh to the rest of the world.  There is more T&A out at Wal-Mart than at the AVN Awards.  I should be able to go buy bread, milk, a fishing lure and an Aahhhh Bra without having to see someone’s junk.
  • I can’t go to the beach, but everyone else can.  I mean, really, every person on Facebook, every member of my family, every person I’ve ever known is going to the beach.  But not me.  I’m spending my money on paint and kitchen cabinets.  La-tee-frickin’-da!
  • Smells are worse.  Heat does not cause good things to happen in terms of my olfactory senses.  I step outside, take a deep breath, and promptly turn and walk back inside.  I can smell the trash bins.  The creek is stinky when the water is low.  Don’t even mention if something has been hit on the road.  The cold of the winter hides these offensive odors, but summer heat bakes them, like some sort of giant, industrialized oven in Hell.  Roadkill casserole, anyone?

Well, that about does it for my complaining.  There are lots of things I like about summer, too, but unfortunately I can’t come up with any just now.

It’s 90/10.  Definitely.

 

 

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