Meaningful Medical Mysteries

Ok, so I think I have recovered from those "stones," or whatever the heck it was that I suffered from last week. I think I'm back from the brink. The brink of what, I'm not quite sure. Death? Not likely. Wanting to tear my entire abdominal and nether regions out of my body? Quite possibly.

During last week's medical mystery investigations, I learned a thing or two:

I learned that you haven't really lived until you have peed in a strainer. You know you're living the dream when you find yourself sifting urine.

I learned that doctors do not know everything. And that they don't appreciate jokes about the likelihood of getting a prescription for medical marijuana.

I learned that childbirth is not the worst pain I have ever felt. And that Vicodin does not solve everything. And that the dread of entering a germ-infested emergency room crowded with illegal aliens is even stronger than the desire to remove that pain.

I learned that asking for stronger pain medication makes you feel shameful and guilty--like an addict. Makes you feel like Paula Abdul.

I learned that kids don't care if you're sick.

I learned if you look and act and sound pathetic enough, you'll get in to see the doctor faster. I am really good at being pathetic.

I learned that Hamburglar is a good husband who will stay up with me all night to watch me puke and be pathetic.

I learned that waiting rooms for urgent care facilities do not bring out the best, most compassionate side of people. While waiting, I took a look around at the people in the room with me and their symptoms and decided that I was definitely next in line. Then--a teenage boy and his father walked in with a head injury. Sigh....The nerve! Why could he not have come in just a few minutes later?

I learned that it is indeed possible for a woman to go to the doctor and not have to take her pants off. How refreshing!

I learned that according to an article I read, sex is sometimes "a must." Yes, a must. While doing some of my own investigation into my symptoms, I came across an article talking about how people with my symptoms should refrain from having sex. But then the article added, "If sex is a must, then take these precautions: ..." What? If sex is a must? Really now. When is sex a must? If you're a prostitute maybe. I guess maybe if you're trying to get pregnant. But honestly. Puh. Lease. Show a little restraint, people. Obviously a man wrote that article.

I learned that saying the word "groin" is something I'm never quite comfortable with--even when speaking to a medical professional. It's just an ugly word. I much prefer the more accurate, aurally pleasing term of "nether regions." That just sounds so much nicer.

So....I learned all those things. Life lessons. Didn't really ever fully learn everything that was medically wrong with me. But you know...that's overrated, right?

Call a Spade a Spade

Political correctness is killing us. Quite literally.

The investigation into the Ft. Hood shooting (aka terror attack) is still young, but all the early reports indicate that there was ample warning that this man, Hasan, was not someone who should have been in the US Army. And I absolutely believe that it is due to political correctness that he remained.

The fear of being seen as discriminatory, or having your arse sued is paralyzing our society. We've been paying for this warped thinking for years--and sadly, this last incident at Ft. Hood is another tragic example of what happens when we let political correctness cloud our judgment and common sense.

We've lost our way, people. We've lost our minds. My heart aches for the friends and families of those who were killed--especially knowing that this horror could have possibly been prevented. If this man's name had been Richard Smith, instead of Nidal Malik Hasan, and he had been some ultra-libertarian, "Christian" militant spewing his brand of nonsense, instead of an extremist Muslim spewing his, then the Army would've acted--and rightly so. And they would've felt OK doing it, because everyone knows that it's acceptable to mess with Christians. But Muslims? Never.

What the ? Wednesday

So I have been MIA lately. Sorry about that. I've been busy. Passing stuff. All sorts of stuff. You know...passing time....gas....kidney stones. Yeah, kidney stones. Hooray!

I am sure you have heard how painful these jagged little buggers can be, and I can now testify of this truth: kidney stones suck.

I won't go into the graphic, horrific details of it all, suffice it to say, that I would not wish this on Nancy Pelosi (aka my worst enemy).

Somehow though, through the writhing pain, I feel like the passing of a kidney stone means I've earned a badge of honor. A notch in my belt. I feel so much more mature now. Or maybe just old.

I don't know about you, but when I think of kidney stones, I think of Kramer from Seinfeld. Remember when he passed his?


2. Yay for all the states out there who got their elections right and got rid of their losers and baggage. So many states got it right on so many things. Unfortunately, my state was not one of them. Surprise, surprise. Washington. What in the world am I going to do with you? Beautiful, but brainless.

3. Ok, don't laugh at me, but I went to thesaurus.com for the first time today to look up a synonym for the word "liberal." And guess what came up as one of the synonyms? Intelligent. Intelligent? That is a synonym for the word "liberal?" I think not. Seriously? I mean, I'm not saying that liberals can't be intelligent--I might think they're stupid, but that doesn't necessarily make them unintelligent--but I don't think liberal = intelligent. Who's writing this thesaurus anyways? If I look up "conservative," is "dumb" going to be a synonym? Or maybe just "unintelligent" to make it sound better? Well, of course, I looked it up, and let me tell you some of the flattering words that came up as synonyms for conservative: redneck, obstinate, stick-in-the-mud, bitter-ender, fuddy-duddy, fearful, unimaginative, and--my personal favorite--fogyish. Fogyish. hahaha! Sounds like a perfect description of me if I've ever heard one.

Gee, thanks thesaurus.com.

What the "Aitch?" Wednesday

1. I'm not sure how Harry Reid sleeps at night. 'Nuff said.

2. I don't think Nancy Pelosi does sleep at night. I'm not sure she can even close her eyes. Botox and all... Not to mention the lies and hypocrisy she spews every day. It's gotta catch up to you eventually.

3. So you've heard about how Obama is still weighing his options on what to do with the strategy in Afghanistan. No matter that General McChrystal has made his recommendations. No matter. These things are not to be rushed, Obama tells us. He needs to really think it out. It's a matter of life and death.

Does anyone else find it ironic that he wants to spend all this time deliberating on what to do in Afghanistan, and yet has no problem rushing into turning our healthcare system upside down? Remember how he told us a long time ago that the time for talking was over and that we needed to get this reform done NOW?

Obama visited a Naval Air Station in Florida esterday, and told his military audience: “I will never rush the solemn decision of sending you into harm’s way. I won’t risk your lives unless it is absolutely necessary.’’

OK. I get that. Of course these things need to be thoroughly thought through. But why aren't you listening to the men on the ground? And why are you OK with putting every citizen into harm's way with this overreaching, ridiculous healthcare reform? I don't wish to equate our lives here to the imminent danger and threat that our armed forces face every day. It's a different kind of danger--but the comparison is still real. You may think I'm being dramatic, but I don't think so. These are matters of life and death.

Take a look at some of John Kerry's words. He called McChrystal's plan too ambitious, saying it "goes too far, too fast." Hmmm. Then he asked, "Absent any truly good choices, we must ask a simple question: What is doable? We don’t have to control every hamlet and village.’’ Hmmm again. Sounds familiar. Almost sounds like what those of us who are against this healthcare reform have been saying. It's too much--too fast....slow down. What is actually feasible? We don't have to be all things for all people. We don't have to control every aspect of people's lives. Apparently so in Afghanistan...but not in the good ol' USA.

But I guess it's not about what's really best for the country and best for the people and what the people really want. The people (and the military) want more troops in Afghanistan. The people don't want our healthcare system turned upside down. Apparently that doesn't matter though. It only matters what the far left wants. They want single-payer healthcare, they want the troops home NOW. So that's what needs to happen. Appease the left. It's not what the people want. I guess the sooner we get that through our thick skulls, the sooner we'll stop being disappointed.

The Audacity to Cope

I purchased a Christmas gift yesterday. Check! One down, one hundred to go.

It is a little somethin' somethin' for an unnamed relative of mine who had the audacity to hope....and the audacity to vote for Barack Hussein Obama. For this, he must be punished. May it be his eternal shame. He will never live it down...at least for as long as I'm around.

Cha cha cha Chia.

That's right, I got him an Obama Chia Head. A Chia Head to be his constant reminder of the consequences of his cha cha cha choices. I hope he puts it somewhere where he'll see it every day of his life. I've shown you these before. But what I didn't know then was that the Obama Chia Head comes in two fabulous poses. There is the "determined pose," as seen here:



And there is the "happy pose," as seen here:



Hmmmmm....decisions, decisions. After much pondering, I chose the determined pose, because let's face it--there is nothing to be happy about. No joy. Only shame. If they would've had a "shameful pose," then I totally would've gone for that. Plus--the happy pose looks a little goofy to me....unlike the determined pose, which is just fabulous. So for now, I have the determined pose, and it will be a reflection of the utter determination that Obama has shown in sending this nation to pot. Literally...to smoking pot. And may it be a symbol of my determination that this relative of mine realize the full scope and gravity of his mistake so that he may never make it again.

I've never owned a Chia of any sort--no Chia Pet, no Chia heads, no Chia---what other Chias are there? In any case, I've never been the proud owner of a fine Chia product, so I'm not sure how labor-intensive they are. I'm unaware of what kind of maintenance will be required. What kind of trimming and watering and tending is necessary to fully cultivate a beautiful, thick, lush Chia head is unknown to me. But I hope it takes work. A lot of work. May it be a symbol of the hard labor we all are doing to pay for the mess that Obama and this ridiculous excuse for a Congress has created for us. Thanks, guys. Thanks a lot.

Wow, this Chia Head gift is so deep...on so many levels.

Ahhh yes. Chia Head. He's gonna love it, I just know it.

Oh, and I decided I am also going to send him a photograph of myself--just like Obama gave a photo of himself as a gift to the queen of England. What better way to say "I love you" than a photograph of me? Wonderful, wonderful me? Honestly? Is there a better way? I think not. I hope he puts my photo right next to the Chia Head. Those are definitely two things that should adorn every mantel.

PS--Did you know that they make Chia George Washington and Chia Abraham Lincoln? Now that's cool....

What Just Happened?

I've just experienced a traumatic, life-changing event in my home, and I'm not sure if I am dealing with it well. I am disoriented, confused, and unsure of where to turn for help. I feel like a major, stabilizing force in my life has just been ripped out from underneath me.

We switched from Dish Network and Verizon to Comcast Cable.

The horror of it all!!

So now, 3 of the most important things in my life--television, internet, and the telephone--have all changed. Where can I turn for peace?

The internet service change doesn't really affect me too much--mostly just all those poor souls who will try to send me emails to my old account. Oh well. If it's urgent, they know where to find me, right? The speed is faster, so that's good.

The most traumatic of the adjustments has been the TV switch. I miss my 30 second skip on the remote. I miss my huge DVR space. I miss knowing where all the important buttons are on the remote. I miss watching FOX News in High Definition. And I'm quite sure that Hamburglar misses watching Megyn Kelly in HD too. Sigh....

On the good side, I quite like the On-Demand features of cable--there are many great shows and movies that I can watch whenever I want. Big Red has watched every Berenstain Bears episode you can think of. AND....I now can watch CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation)--taking me back to my good ol' Canadian days. Mr. Dressup is on there...This Hour has 22 Minutes, and many other great shows are on there...and maybe now I will be able to see Rita MacNeil or Roch Voisine sometime on the TV. Oh, how I miss seeing and hearing Rita MacNeil sing about her beloved Nova Scotia. And how I miss seeing Ann Murray and Roch Voisine sing fabulous Christmas duets! I did find out the hard way though, that after 8 pm, CBC is not a good channel to be watching. Holy cow..the nudity and the swearing that I happened upon. Yikes! Those Canadians and their liberal spirit....

So....farewell, Dish Network. Farewell. You and your whole negotiation with Fisher Broadcasting, resulting in no ABC for 4 months, made me lose a whole season of Lost. And for that, you must pay.

Pop Goes the World

I really, really want a certain hour and a half of my life back. Well, actually there are probably hundreds of hours of my life that I would love to have back (the movie Titanic, anyone?), but specifically, I want the hour and a half I spent glued to the television watching the infamous flying muffin balloon soar across the Colorado plains, thinking that there was a small child inside.

I caught this story just as it broke, and I watched it through to its rather anti-climactic end. Was I glad that the 6 year old boy wasn't hurt? Yes. Was I scared that maybe he had fallen out? Yes. Did I really, really want him to walk out of that balloon when it finally landed? Absolutely! And I could tell Shepard Smith really wanted that too. What a great story that would have made! Such a disappointment when the balloon landed and it was empty. Empty!! Where was the fun in that?!

And then for the whole thing to be a hoax! Ugh. Makes me ill. As soon as I saw the dad on TV, I knew it was a hoax. Definitely something creepy going on with that dude.

Sigh... What a waste of my life. An hour and a half stuck in front of the telly watching nothing but idiotic, manipulative nonsense. Such a change from the top-notch, high quality viewing that usually goes on around here.

Oh well, if nothing else, it spared me from having to watch real news and hear one more Democrat lie to me about how health care reform is going to bless my life. A refreshing distraction, indeed.

What the ? Wednesday

Things that make me go "What the he!!?" this week:

1. What the hell is wrong with this country and the people in it? Really? What? I recently got into a Facebook fiasco where I engaged in a political discussion about health care with a friend of a facebook friend. I was basically called un-Christian and heartless because I didn't approve of the gov't proposed plans out there. I wasn't called a racist, so I guess I have that going for me.

I was told that health care is a civil right. I responded to this gentleman that health care is NOT a civil right, and that he should go and check the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. People just throw the word "right" around nowadays all loosey-goosey and willy-nilly. They have a "right" to this and a "right" to that, and dammit, the government better give it to them! I'm so sick of it. I really am. I am sick of these ignoramuses (or is it ignorami?) who think the government can just take care of them and wash all their troubles away...the class warfare, the race-warfare, the pitting of the haves against the have-nots. It is sad. It is angering. And it is entirely un-American.

2. On a lighter note (I think), there is a man in my step class who loves to watch the women in the step class. He is a nice guy--I've had a few conversations with him, and he's actually pretty good at the steps. But he is always looking around, taking ganders at the women, checking out their arses, and it makes me very uncomfortable. Because he's not looking at ME! The nerve! I am so offended! What the heck?! What does her butt have that mine doesn't? Ok, don't answer that.

Actually, he does look at me, and everyone else in the class, and it is very distracting. Maybe he's just bored, but I think not. He's usually the lone man in the class, so perhaps he's just basking in being surrounded by 25 sweaty women in spandex. A fantasy come true!!

3. Lastly, a question that has been plaguing me now for months. Why do we, according to Obama, respect Iran's "right" to peaceful nuclear power, when we don't even respect our own right to it?

Have a fabulous Wednesday!

Totally 80s Tuesday

This post is dedicated to one of my favorite 80s accessories to mock. The shoulder pad. The blessed, beautiful shoulder pad.










I am not sure why it was desirable to have women look like football players back in the 80s, but it was. Oh, how it was! Perhaps it was the height of the power-woman age. Women didn't want the soft, feminine lines. They wanted the hard, straight, power lines. I'm not sure. All I know is all my dresses and many of my shirts had built-in shoulder pads. And if you weren't so fortunate to have the built-in ones, you could always buy them separately.

Seems to me, that there was a lot of overcompensating going on back then. A lot of big things. A lot of stuffing of things. Some women stuffed their bras to make their bosoms appear larger (this was before the day of padded, push-up bras). Others stuffed their shirts to make their shoulders appear larger. Yes, indeed, a lot of stuffing. The bras, the shoulders, the.....well, uh... you get the picture.

I for one am glad to not have to wear shoulder pads anymore. I have broad shoulders as it is. Although, they sure would be nice to have on those rare days, very rare days, when I need a soft shoulder to cry on. Not a bony one.

Nobel Piece (of crap) Prize

So Obama won the Nobel Piece Prize. As in piece of sheet prize. Whaaaaa?

Actually, I am not really surprised, as the worldwide liberal lefties love the guy. And why wouldn't they? He goes around the world apologizing for America, weakens our defenses, insults our allies, and makes fabulous, feel-good speeches. So I guess that's all it takes. A few speeches calling for world peace and nuclear disarmament, and BAM! You win!

One of my facebook friends, Kelly, did point out to me this morning that Obama did hold that beer summit between Professor Gates and the Cambridge police officer. He worked that all out real nice-like. So he does have that on his resume of peace-making accomplishments.

It's actually kind of funny...if you overlook the angering fact that he wins 1.4 million dollars and receives validation. But the whole thing reveals the true charade the whole Nobel Peace prize is. I've always thought that it was obviously a deeply political, asinine joke. Jimmy Carter? Al Gore? Both Nobel Peace Prize winners. Obama's win is just another indication of how ridiculous the whole thing is. Although, at least with Carter and Gore you could make a case that they actually DID something. Whether that something was worthy or not could be argued, but at least there was something to argue about. Since Obama has done nothing in his life noteworthy, other than give a few good speeches, there are no qualifications to really talk about. So the world is left wondering why, oh why, he won this honor.

The fact that Obama could win it, and Ronald Reagan and Pope John Paul could not, is hilarious! I would love to know who the other nominees were. Probably people who actually did something. At some point, even the most crazed Obama fans--the "yes, we can" lunatics--have to admit that this whole slobbering love affair, as Bernie Goldberg so accurately coined it, is out of control. It is not healthy. And completely unfounded.

So there you have it. Obama. A Nobel Peace Prize winner. Obama says he is "humbled." Embarrassed should be more like it.

Totally 80s Tuesday

I am in the midst of creating costumes for my children for Halloween. I say creating, because I don't know why, but I enjoy making my kids' costumes. It is reminiscent of my childhood, I think. There was no buying of costumes. You made them. You created them. Like I said last year, it doesn't take a village to raise a child, it takes the Value Village to raise a child. And I stick by that. But only at Halloween-time.

So anyhow, last year my kids were all Star Wars characters, and they liked having a "theme" so much, they want to do it again. So, my oldest two have decided to be the Super Mario brothers, and Big Red will be Yoshi or Toad. Yes, Wonderella, my oldest, is a girl. She wants to cross-dress. Whatever. She wants to put a moustache on and be Luigi? Great. If it were VidKid wanting to dress up as Princess Peach, THEN we'd have a problem.

Anyhow, so I've been trying to find overalls for my kids to wear as part of their costumes. And they are nowhere to be found, people! No. Where. Not even the Value Village can help me this time. So, what the heck, I will make them myself! Out of blue fleece even! What a woman I am! Mother of the year, I tell you what.

Or something like that.

Anyhow, it got me thinking back to the days when overalls were hot, hot, HOT! Remember them? Late 80s, maybe early 90s. Good times. The thing to do was to wear them with one strap undone. So cool to have half your pants falling off. Totally rad.

Check these gems out. Ultra 80s, with the graffiti paint splatter pattern. Beauties. Love them!!

I Hate Myself for Loving You

As I've mentioned before, I rather like cheesy love songs--mostly because I like to make fun of them, but partly because I secretly like them deep down. Sometimes very, very, very deep down.

I was thinking about some of the albums I own, and some of the songs that are on my iPod and it got me thinking....What are the songs that I hate myself for loving?

The following songs actually hold a place on my iPod, embarassing as it is. They are songs that I like, and can't explain why. The list is certainly not comphehensive, but it's a good start.

-Making Love Out of Nothing At All by Air Supply (and heck, while we're at it, let's just add every Air Supply song to this list) What can I say? I love me some good Air Supply.

-How Am I Supposed to Live Without You?--but only when "sung" by Jesse from Saved By the Bell during Zach and Kelly's breakup.

-Endless Love by Lionel Ritchie. And again...let's add every other Lionel Ritchie song to the list...particularly "Hello." Hello, is it me you're looking for?

-"Tearin' up My Heart" by NSync. I have no defense on this one.

-"Cherish" by Kool & the Gang. Uhhhhhh......

-Time, Love and Tenderness by Michael Bolton. Hahaha just kidding....that's crossing the line there. I can't stand Michael Bolton. Really. I can't. I'm not joking. I promise. But I do actually own this album. But it has NOT, I repeat, NOT made its way onto my iPod.

-"Run for the Roses" by Dan Fogelberg It's about the Kentucky Derby...so I kind of have to like it--out of family loyalty.

-"Right Here Waiting by Richard Marx" He's been waiting about as long as I have been waiting for him to chop his mullet.

-"All By Myself" and the entire collection of Clay Aiken albums.

Now, some of you might think that I should be adding all my Peter Cetera songs to this list, but I will not. I am not ashamed of my Peter. I love him with an unabashed love, and I do not feel the need to defend it.

What songs do you hate yourself for loving?

Totally 80s Tuesday

Time for another fabulous blast from the past!

This time, a brief spotlight of Mr. Mister. What inspired this post is that Big Red always calls his teacher in Primary "Mister Smith" instead of "Sister Smith." (last name has been changed to protect the innocent). So he's calling a woman a "mister," and it makes me laugh. When you try to correct him, he adamantly retorts that indeed, her name is Mister Smith. How can you argue with that?

So, yes, back to Mr. Mister. They brought us a few fine songs, including "Broken Wings" and a couple others, but most notable is the song "Kyrie."

Was I the only one who for most of my childhood thought the lead singer (do we call him Mr. Mr. Mister?) was singing "Carry a laser down the road that I must travel. Carry a laser through the darkness in the night.....??"

I remember wondering what the laser was for. And then I thought, yeah, I guess a laser would come in handy on a dark road when you're traveling. Funny how you think so literally as a child.

Of course, Mr. Mr. Mister wasn't singing about carrying lasers. He was singing "Kyrie Eleison," which actually means Lord, have mercy. So, I guess that makes the song a little more meaningful than a song about lasers. Either way, thank you, Mr. Mister.

Any other songs that you always sang the wrong lyrics to?

Friday Night Plights

I've got jock itch. More specifically, jock mom itch. You know...the desire to be a jock mom. A jock mom of a jock family. You know the type.

I've been in jock-mom training for a couple years now, under the fine and skilled tutelage of a dear Sarah friend of mine. She's taught me everything I know about being a jock mom and a true athletic supporter...from what the best angle is to video a football play, to the names of various football plays and positions, to how to sew a seam up my son's football pants to make them all nice and tight-like.

Problem is...I'm not sure if I'm cut out for jock motherhood. It's not that I don't like sports. I love sports. I would love it if my kids loved sports too. I'm just not sure I have the dedication...the commitment...or the selflessness that is required.

For one, I enjoy eating dinner. With my entire family. Before 8:30 pm.

Secondly, I don't particularly enjoy listening to my child get yelled at by coaches for not knowing how to do something he's never done before in his life. I know it's good for my kids, but I don't really enjoy watching them struggle to learn new things.

I also think that practicing or playing 8-10 hours a week is too much to ask out of a small child. And that child's mother.

I also don't particularly enjoy socializing with other moms on the sidelines. I'm sure they're lovely people and all, but I'm not really interested in making new friends. I like the ones I've got.

Sidenote--the other day, one of my dear readers, sister wife, told me that her group of friends (myself included), were very "handy." Handy. It was a compliment...I think. I think what she meant was that we were low-maintenance and low drama. No stroking required, no highs and lows, no catfights, no misunderstandings, and no drama. Just good times. That's what we are. And that's the way it should be.

So, back to fellow sports moms....You start making friends with strange and random people, and who knows what Pandora's box you are opening? Best just to leave it closed, I say. So that's why I sit down at the far end of the line of parents and speak to no one unless absolutely necessary. I've practiced this technique for a few years now, and it has served me well. No drama. And no eavesdropping on my top secret, highly confidential and classified conversations I have with my Sarah friend and family.

Anyhow...the more I ponder on this, the more I come to realize that all of the above-mentioned issues aside, perhaps the real reason I am not totally pulling off the jock mom role is because my children are not jocks. I mean, they do alright, but sports isn't really their passion in life. They like them, but I don't know that I'd say they love them. Maybe if they were more enthusiastic about the whole thing, I'd be more enthusiastic too. Or is it the other way around? Maybe if I were more enthusiastic, they'd be more enthusiastic?

Nah. Then that would be my fault.

Anyhow...gotta go. Off to a football game. Go Team!

Yo, Ho Ho

The other day I was at the gym waiting for my kickboxing class to start. There were a few of us just standing in the room, waiting for it to begin. It was very quiet--awkwardly so, so the instructor asked if anyone had any big plans for the weekend. One rather loud woman yelled out "Costume shopping!" The instructor was surprised and told her that she was impressed she was already thinking about costumes. She then asked if there was a certain costume she was looking for, to which the woman replied, "Something sexy!" I'm not sure, but I think I may have thrown up a little in my mouth at the time.

We all laughed--rather nervously and awkwardly because we weren't quite sure what to make of this woman professing her desire to dress up as some slutty pirate for Halloween. I really don't like it when women talk about how they are trying to be sexy. Keep it to yourselves, ladies. Particularly this woman. Because I can assure you, to this woman, "sexy" meant "skanky." She was looking for a little something with fishnet stockings, high heels, a plunging neckline with her ta-tas hanging out and a very short skirt, I am quite confident of that.

Then, to top it all off, the instructor asked her if she was always this prepared for holidays, and specifically, for Christmas. Then this lady replied "NO, I hate Christmas!" And that's when I knew that my first impression of this woman was indeed correct. Anyone who hates Christmas is no friend of mine. How do you hate Christmas? How, I ask? How?

What she needs is a sexy Santa's helper suit. That'll change her mind.

I should've told her that she didn't belong in kickboxing. Methinks, at least from my experience, that Zumba is more her style.

Nature or Nurture?

So yesterday I went shopping with Big Red while Hamburglar took VidKid and Wonderella to a local football game. We hit a few stores, then found our way to the fabric store. Shocking, I know. Me, in a fabric store! Anyhow, I was sitting at a table looking at some pattern books trying to get an idea for a certain costume, and I noticed that Big Red was kind of scratching at his bottom a bit. I told him to stop. A few minutes later, he wanted to sit down at the table in a chair right across from me. So he goes over, sits down, and then I see him scratching again. You know--really going for it. Right in there in the thick of it (on the outside of his clothes, thank goodness!). And then it happened. He lifted his fingers up and smelled them!

You know...the ol' scratch 'n sniff. I just about died.

What in the world made him do that? I can assure you this is nothing he has ever witnessed his parents do. Well...at least he's never seen me do it. I guess I can't speak for Hamburglar....

I have to wonder: is the scratch 'n sniff just something that is innate in the human soul? Just a natural curiosity some are born with? What possesses someone that they'd want to smell... that? It's like the people who like to smell their own flatulence.

Why?

One of life's unanswered mysteries.

WackJob & WingNut of the Week!!

WackJobs of the Week:

This honor goes to all those journalists, politicians, former politicans, and general idiots who proclaimed over the past week that those who disagree with Obama are racist. How interesting that they can say that we are racist...and have no problem confirming a judge who thinks she can make better decisions because she is a Latina. Or vote for Obama out of white guilt. Or have no problem with the fact that Obama sat in a church for 20 years listening to vile, racist hatred spew from Jeremiah Wright's mouth. Incidentally, did you hear Wright's thoughts on why there is opposition to Obamacare? He recently said, "I think the racists in the right wing are upset because poor people are about to be helped." Yeah. That's why. It's not because we don't want to lose the quality of our care. It's not because we want to preserve our freedoms. It's because we don't want to help poor people. Those damn poor people...always causing so much trouble...

Which leads me to the WingNut of the Week:

This one goes to a local state representative here in Washington, Hans Dunshee, though my Sarah friend and I like to call him Hans Dum$h*t. (Thanks to her for pointing this story out to me.) Apparently there was a meeting hosted by ACORN that was scheduled here in our area, and there was some controversy over whether or not certain local officials and politicians should attend. In response to this controversy, my rep said the following: "They [ACORN] do good work with poor people and the right doesn’t like them because of that.” Uh huh. Yeah. It's not because ACORN is a proven criminal, corrupt, thuggish organization. No, no, it's because they help poor people. Again, we right-wingers just hate the poor people. Just hate them.

I find this all very interesting because many studies indicate that conservatives actually give much more money to charity than liberals. And they also tend to give more in volunteer hours. In general, we "right-wingers" actually do more and give more to help the poor people than the left. Sure, the left likes to say they're for the "little people," but what have they ever done to really help them, besides use them to pursue their political agenda? Hmmm...how's that working out for you, little people? So maybe they should just take their condescending, hypocritical class-warfare rhetoric and shove it.

What I Miss

While watching some 9/11 pieces on TV over the weekend, I was struck by something. The pieces contained footage of George W. Bush, and what he did and the things he said after 9/11. And I realized, that in a small way, I miss George Bush. Not because he was the best president ever, nor because I was particularly fond of a lot of his policies, but because he was proud to be an American and he made me feel proud too. When he talked about America, he talked about its greatness, its goodness and virtue, and its strength and resilience. He talked about all the good things that this country does. He always spoke so highly and reverently about the brave men and women in the armed forces. He knew there were problems in America, but he believed in us as a people. As a country, we were scared after 9/11, and he calmed our fears. We knew he would defend us. He spoke out strongly and unabashedly, and we felt like things would be OK. He was a patriot. I don't doubt for a second that he loves this country.

Oh, how I miss hearing about what a fabulous country this is! About how great our history and heritage is. About how good and charitable our people are! Nowadays, all we hear from our leaders is how "mean" America is (to quote Michelle Obama), how so many people don't have this or that--and that that's somehow our fault, how we're a nation of cowards (to quote the Attorney General), how we're racist and we're selfish and we're arrogant and how we as a people need to do more, give more, and sacrifice more. I feel like we're being beaten down. We're being told that there are things in America not worth preserving and that we need to transform and revolutionize the way things are done.

I long for a president who loves this country--for what it was designed to be--not for what he wants to make it into. Who loves the Constitution. Who will put the defense of our nation and its safety, its culture, its language, its borders, and its freedoms above everything and anyone else. Who will do what is right...just because it is right....even when it's not politically expedient.

Is that too much to ask for?

Apparently so.

Happy Cream-Filled Donut Day!!

Happy National Cream-Filled Donut Day to you and yours!!

No, it isn't enough that we have a national donut day, as I dutifully celebrated on June 5th. No, no...we need a national cream-filled donut day as well. We don't want the cream-filled donuts to feel bad. I mean, they don't have a hole like a lot of other donuts. The cream-filled donuts sometimes get a complex about that. So we need to give them due credit and attention for the joy and splendor that they too bring to each of our lives each and every day...Er...I mean, every now and then. Yeah, that's what I meant.

Vanilla cream....chocolate cream....banana cream....lemon cream....it's all good. It's all very, very good.

So....go out and find yourself a cream-filled donut today and savor its creamy goodness. You must. You don't want to be a cream-filled donut day grinch.

What's your favorite cream-filled donut?

Hotel Kamilli

I have had family in town for the last week and it's been crazy! But a good crazy!

But Hotel Kamilli is shutting down for awhile, and life should be back to normal now, (well, as normal as life gets around here), and you wanna know what I'm looking forward to the most?

Waking up, getting out of bed, and going to the kitchen to eat breakfast without having to shower, or put a bra on, or put my clothes on, etc. That is what I miss the most when I have guests staying with me.

Oh--and I miss yelling at my kids too.

Happy Hard Labor Day

Happy Hard Labor Day to you and yours!

May you continue to labor all the days of your life to pay off multi-trillion dollar deficits, Medicare, Medicaid, Social Security, public health care options, your neighbor's monster house, your neighbor's new car, GM's union entitlements, and....well...you get the picture.

Labor. Labor hard. It's for the good of your country.

A Heart-Warming Story

I have to share a story from yesterday that will just melt your heart.

Wonderella and VidKid were invited to a birthday party last night, so Hamburglar and I took full advantage of losing two kids and went off to enjoy a dinner with just the two of us...oh, and Big Red. It was quite delicious...and amazingly quiet and serene with only one child to distract us.

After dinner, I decided to run into a store to check something out, so Hamburglar and Big Red stayed in the car while I ran in. When I exited the store, I had a hard time finding our car at first, but then I spotted it. Hamburglar had moved the car in between two rows of cars, facing the store. And then he started honking at me. Honk, honk! Not long, loud honks...just short, abrupt honks. I looked around, wondering why in the world he was honking! Did I drop something? No. Does he think I don't know where he is? I waved at him to display that I knew where he was parked. Still, the honking continued. People were looking around, wondering what all the honking was about. I was just as curious--and a little annoyed at this point.

So when I finally got to the car, I swung open the door, and impatiently asked Hamburglar, "Why are you honking at me??!!!" With ne'er a word, he just pointed at the license plate of the car right next to us.

"Honk if you like boobies."

Well, isn't that lovely....

What the ? Wednesday

It's been a while. A long while. And I need a rant.

1. Healthcare "reform". Aka Healthcare Conform. I've already expressed my views...but let me just add one more thing that I am afraid of. I think Americans have done a pretty good job at expressing their disdain for a public option. The townhall meetings were quite revealing...and the polls reflect that support for Obamacare is low. What I'm afraid of, however, is that these nimwits in Congress will just do whatever the hell they want anyways. I am afraid they will do what Bill Maher suggests they do....and just ram it through anyways. Did you see this video?



I think he pretty much sums up liberal elitism right there. The rest of us are "too stupid" to know what is really good for us. We just need to have healthcare reform shoved down our throats because we're not bright enough to know how wonderful it will be. No matter that we've witnessed the collapse and utter failure of socialized medicine in other countries, no, no...we need to have it too. What an arse. That's all I can say.

2. My skin is going crazy right now. Crazy, I tell you. And no, it's not the sulfur facial wash. And no, I'm not pregnant. It's like I'm a teenager again! I might just need to see the dreaded dermatologist.

3. Obama's speech to schoolchildren on Sept. 8th? I'm not sure how I feel about this. Depends on what he says. If it's just a big pep talk, then fine...whatever. But why do I fear that it will be somehow political propaganda? Perhaps because it seems there is nothing this man does that is not politically calculated. Which reminds me...the nutjobs he's got advising him? Truly frightening. Commies, Marxists, fascists...you name it, he's got it. Scary stuff.

4. So Hamburglar and I have been painting our house for the last 3 weeks. Well, we haven't been painting that whole time, mostly we've been doing prep work. A buttload of prep work. And now it's almost all done and painted. Just a few remaining touch-ups and we should be done. I am not sure if I like the new colors or not. I need to get used to it. Anyhow, today, while painting the trim on the garage door, I see something move in a rag at my feet. I look down, and there is a freakin' mouse nuzzled in all nice and cozy-like in the rag that I had just been using while painting. Ugh! What the heck? I hate mice. Ever since this one damn mouse made itself a nice little nest under my car's hood, nibbling on wires and costing me hundreds of dollars in repairs, I abhor them with a loathing only comparable to my loathing for spiders.

Anyways, back to my story--I tell Hamburglar that there is a mouse in the garage...and he decides the best thing to do is to grab the rag and just toss it on the driveway, and then the mouse will fall out and run away. I am not Ok with this. I want the mouse to die. Well, he chucks the rag anyways, and the mouse just goes soaring--high in the air..its tail flailing in the wind. It falls to the driveway in a small, lifeless heap. I am satisfied. We resume our painting and a few minutes later, after pondering and replaying the scene in my mind a few times, I say to Hamburglar, "Is it wrong that I enjoyed watching that mouse fly through the air like that and then die?" He confirms that yes, there is indeed something wrong with me. I don't care. It was awesome. Go ahead. Report me to PETA.

Totally 80s Tuesday

I had a hard time falling asleep the other night (visions of spiders dancing through my head), so I stayed up late watching Three's Company. I saw the very first episode, and the very last episode, and a few in between. It was awesome. I know I shouldn't admit this, but I watched a lot of Three's Company as a child. I don't think my mother knew. It isn't a very wholesome show. Although, by today's standards, it would be considered pretty mild.

I must say, the acting on that show is horrible. But it doesn't matter.

I love Jack Tripper. John Ritter did such a great job with that character. Tons of physical comedy. Awesomeness.

I also loved Mr. Furley. Don Knotts is also awesome.

Mr. and Mrs. Roper? The ultimate dumb blonde, Chrissy? Janet? The perverted neighbor, Larry? What is not to love?

Which blonde did you like best--dumb blonde Chrissy, clumsy Cindy, or sassy Terri?

Baby Talk

So my current Facebook status update looks like this: Note to self: next time your child checks out a children's book entitled "Making Animal Babies," don't just assume it's an arts and crafts book.

Yeah. That's right. The ol' birds and bees discussion is hitting me a little sooner than I had hoped. I am too young for this. Way too immature for this. I can't even say "sexual reproduction" without using a funny voice.

It all started when I took the kids to the library. That was my first mistake. Nothing good ever happens in the library. Kids learn things and stuff. As is custom on our friendly neighborhood library trips, VidKid and Wonderella went to the children's section to pick out videos (not books), and Big Red went around the bookcases taking random books off the shelves and putting them back in the wrong spot. We get "shushed" by the not-so-friendly neighborhood old maid librarian, and then I am ready to leave.

So in a hurry to get out of there, I tell Big Red he can check out 3 books. So he grabs any old book, including the above-mentioned book, "Making Animal Babies." I take a look at it, finding the title somewhat suspect, but the cover has these animals made out of craft paper on it...so I assume it just HAS to be an arts and crafts book. A cute little book that shows how to make cute little bears out of construction paper. Perfect! Plus--it was in the children's section--in amongst Curious George and Dr. Seuss. Surely they wouldn't put a book about that kind of making animal babies here! That kind of making animal babies book belongs in some part of the Dewey Decimal System.... somewhere--down a dark, shadowy aisle in the corner of the library. Not here in the bright, cheery, rainbow-colored children's section! Right? Right?!

Wrong.

So very, very wrong.

The book found its way to my kitchen table where it sat for a couple days before I found Wonderella taking a gander at it. She had a funny look on her face. Kind of confused, kind of silly. She's heard enough (probably from school) about sex to think it's funny somehow. She doesn't know exactly how...or why....but somehow...she knows it's a word that means something. Something funny....or weird...or something! She thinks the picture of the frogs riding "piggyback" (the book's words, not mine) is somewhat interesting as well. I casually grab the book from her and tell her it's time to go to bed...not really wanting to have the conversation with her at that time.

A short tangent here: A couple years ago, Hamburglar and I left our kids with my parents so we could head to Alaska for a week. While my kids were there, my mom, sister and niece took them to the zoo. One of Wonderella's favorite moments at the zoo was when she got to see the turtles "wrestle." She even drew pictures. They're classic! But I digress....

A couple days later, I decided that maybe I do want to have this conversation with her. Maybe I should just do it now. She's almost nine years old--she's old enough to have this conversation, right?! Maybe I should just go with it! So I didn't hide the book away, but left it where I knew she might find it--which she did. And I was there when it happened, so she ended up flipping through it while I was sitting next to her. She wasn't really reading it in-depth...just kind of thumbing through it. Thankfully, just a few weeks prior, I had had a discussion with her about needing to pollinate our pumpkin flowers. She knew there was a female flower and a male flower, and that we needed to take pollen from the male flower and put it in the female flower. So, that pollination discussion actually came in quite handy! We had a brief discussion of eggs and fertilizing, etc. ...but thankfully nothing more than that. She didn't ask how any of this happened, and I am glad for that.

Baby steps, Kamilli. Baby steps.

For now, I'll be content with the fact that I did survive my first "discussion" regarding such matters. You know...if you consider sitting next to your child while she reads a book a "discussion." Hey--I added a few things! So I'll sit back and wait for the question of "So, we use a paintbrush to pollinate the pumpkin flowers, what do animals use to do that?"

Can't wait.

Totally 80s Tuesday

Today's post is inspired by a song I heard in the grocery store this morning. It had been so long since I had heard this song--I nearly wet myself. Good thing I was in the incontinence aisle at the time! The song was Julian Lennon's "Much Too Late for Goodbyes."

I loved Julian Lennon. His mullet was to die for. To die for, I tell you. Just the perfect mix of poof and length.

One my favorites to sing along with was "Valotte." I always got a chuckle out of the line where he sings about "sitting on a pebble." I always thought it was so funny. Pebbles are too small to sit on, silly Julian.


And here's the song I heard in the store...

'Night 'Night

So I bought a new facial cleanser the other day...and obviously wasn't as investigative as I should have been in this purchasing decision...because to my surprise, and my chagrin, after I brought it home, I discovered that one of the active ingredients in it is sulfur. Yes, that is right, sulfur. As in rotten egg fluff-smelling sulfur.

So I wash my face with this stuff last night, and of course, it smells like rotten eggs. Nice. I try to do an extra-thorough job of rinsing to get rid of the nasty stuff, and think I do a pretty good job at it. I climb into bed, and I ask Hamburglar to smell my face. He looks at me like I am insane (a common occurrence in our house), and then gives me a whiff. Instantly, he pulls back in disgust. Then he asks me if I had purchased man-repellant. At first, I just laugh and think how silly he is...but then I start thinking about it...and realize he might be on to something great! Man-repellant. Ladies have perfume they can wear to lure the men in, but we have nothing to repel them away on those days and nights when we do not want to be messed with!! Those nights when the LAST thing we want is for one more person to touch us!! You know what I'm talking about ladies, right? Right?!

It used to be that my flannel pajamas would do the trick, but now I think I've found something even better. It'll be my own signal to Hamburglar. If I wash my face with rotten-egg soap, then that means stay clear, buddy. Step away from the woman. It's best for all parties involved if you just roll yourself right on over and go to sleep.

Totally 80s Tuesday

As I sit here typing, my children are in the backyard with the neighbor kids playing. Toys are strewn everywhere. But they're having a blast! What are they playing with, you ask? Fisher Price Little People from the 70s and 80s! Vintage, they are! The exact same toys my siblings and I played with when we were kids. We still have them. Well, most of them anyways...

In a tragic garage sale transaction, some items from our childhood Little People collection were sold, including the circus train. I still mourn the loss, but am comforted only by the fact that I still have some of them in my possession.

I still have the farm, the parking garage, the house, the bus, the camper, the trailer set, the townset, the airplane, the houseboat, and a plethora of people and furniture. And my kids love them, of course.

Little People have been around for a long time, a lot longer than just in the 80s. In fact, they just celebrated their 50th anniversary! Check out this site for a trip down mammary lane:

http://www.fisher-price.com/pages/v6/default/littlepeople/timeline.asp

And a few videos (very short):

The farm and house (Oh, the doorbell! Who can forget that sound?):


This person's Little People Collection:

I had most of the ones she had.

The parking garage in action:



What Little People did you play with when you were a kid?

To Pee or Not to Pee: Revisited

So, remember the whole shower-peeing discussion we had a while back? Yeah, that is a chapter of this blog that you might not want to revisit....but we're gonna.

The reason being: there is now new evidence of why people should pee in the shower. Again, let it be known, I neither advocate nor discourage shower-peeing. I am a neutral observer and moderator of this discussion only.

I saw this ad (from Brazil) yesterday:



All I can say is "Wow!" Two of my favorite causes combined into one: shower peeing awareness and saving the environment. Who knew they could be connected in such a wise and wonderful way?!

According to this Brazilian ad, if just one person would pee in the shower every day, it would save one flush, which would result in 100,000 gallons of water saved per year.

Well then. What are you waiting for? I mean, according to the poll we did, the majority of you do pee in the shower...so therefore, you might as well find joy and pride in knowing that you are doing your part to save the earth. Be proud. Stand tall. And for those of you who do not pee in the shower, well, then I hope you will reconsider. Think of how selfish you are being, using all that water to flush the toilet. Really. Is it asking so much to just let it out in the shower?

I wonder if Al Gore pees in his shower? Shudder. FULL-BODY SHUDDER.

If a Fluff Falls in the Fairway, Does Anybody Hear?

I dedicate this post to VidKid. He would like it. If he viewed this blog. Which, of course, he does not.

http://www.breitbart.tv/did-tv-microphone-capture-very-loud-tiger-woods-fart-on-18th-fairway/