Things about which you may need an update ...

This is what I have to clean up several times a day. That's why I haven't had time to follow through on any official #1 PWT Detective Agency business.

I finally got a new camera with a four-year warranty. It is shiny.

I finally filed the complaint about NWA in court. Lord help us all.

I finally called about getting my child enrolled in a Mommy's Day Out program. Lord help the teachers.

I had just finished my afternoon toddy when the lady from a certain Baptist church near my house called to discuss the waiting list and setting up a tour date. This was how our conversation went (I like to write out conversations in case you haven't noticed):

Lady: Let me tell you a little bit about our program ... we have a Christian-based curriculum where we use every teachable moment to talk about the love of Jesus. We do lots of hands-on activities and kissing and hugging.

Kim (laughing hysterically): OMG, does Michael Jackson work there?!?!?

Lady: What?

Kim: Nevermind.

Lady: Anyway, your baby can stay on his own schedule and can come up to two days a week for 5 hours a day. We don't have availability for the 12-18 month class in the fall, but would you like to set up a tour and interview?

Kim: So you don't have availability for the fall?

Lady: No, but we can put you on our waiting list and sign you up for a tour and interview.

Kim: Sure, but can I ask you more questions first?

Lady: Yes, of course.

Kim: What are your teachers' credentials?

Lady: We hire only people that I know personally. I have been here for 30 years. The Lord has blessed us with longevity in this ministry under my direction, praise Jesus. We only hire people that I know personally. Like one time my daughter had a friend whose sister needed a job, and she was considered. I know that this method may cause us to miss a lot of good teachers, but I feel that it's very important for us to know them personally or through someone else.

Kim: What if your daughter knew Michael Jackson?

Lady: What?

Kim: Nevermind. Let me discuss this with my husband and call you back on Monday.

Lady: OK, but let me get your son's name.

Kim: It's Goose.

Lady: What?

Kim: It's Goose. Like Silly Goose. Like Tom Cruise's buddy in that flying movie ... what was the name of it? You know, the one where ...

Lady: "Top Gun"?

Kim: YEAH! Top Gun. Like that.

Lady: OK, why don't you just call me back?

Kim: OK, later tater!


Do you think they'll reserve me a spot?

Question(s) of the Day
Why do chiggers inevitably find the wobbliest wobbly bits on your body to secrete their saliva, let it set while it dissolves the tiptop portion of your epidermis, and then suck it all back up and jump off? How do they find their way outta there? (My husband probably wants to know how they found their way in.) TMI TMI TMI

Weekend Update Part Two: Partying with Hotties

As promised, here's the latest Saturday night recap. Since I've been teaching the art of writing an essay, this post will be an attempt to make my thesis and supporting details very coherent and unified, even though in reality I am struggling. My thesis is to give the second installment of the weekend update, but there are three major sub-points, as follows:

1. I'm totally addicted to blogging and digital photos, and have recently identified this as another cause of morphing into not only an HEM, but also an annoying friend.

2. After racking my brain and the brain's of the hotties involved in this escapade, it seems that we are either (a) not as fun as we used to be, (b) just old, or (c) both.

3. I am shameless when it comes to embarrassing myself and other people via this blog.

First, the addiction (to blogging and digital photos) and its relation to HEing and badfriendliness became clear this morning when I finally sat down at 5:00 a.m. to write this entry. I had been waiting on my friends to send me their digital photos of the weekend (since my camera is STILL broken, and I wasn't smart enough to keep the paperwork on my warranty, and there's no one I can sue, and we have to wait until after payday to get a new one). I spent the beginning of the week sending annoying emails to Molls & Kells asking them to expedite the process of uploading. (Apparently, it wasn't enough that they missed an entire day of work to come visit me.) Anyway, because I had rushed them, I was feeling the need to rush up myself as I finally sat down to write at the BUTT CRACK of dawn. And then The Goose awakened and REFUSED to go back to sleep. Husband was unable to console him, so I had to log out and drag myself upstairs to tend to him (the drudgery!). While there, I proceeded to use several naughty words to express to Husband how frustrated I was and how this was undoubtedly his fault. Then he pointed out that I was using naughty words to express myself and that I had been telling him NOT to do this in front of the baby, and I said (are you ready, this is awful): "Please do as I say and not as I do." I am such a good person.

Second, and more to the point of the title, I had a FABULOUS time spending the weekend with my friends, but going out just isn't as fun as it used to be. The night began with a huge getting-ready production, complete with make-up application (Almay's i-color shadow trios and liners of course), chicken imitation (see below), hair rolling, and mojito drinking. The hotties donned their getchasomes and headed downtown for dinner and partying. Basically, the night can be summed up in the following sentence: A bunch of old sorority girls try to relive the glory days and fail miserably. The following quotes and pictures will try to demonstrate this point:

During the car ride to the bars, the conversation switched (as all hottie conversations will do at some point) to breastfeeding ...

Molls: "Can we please not talk about breastfeeding anymore?"

Kims: "OK, let's change the topic."

Molls: "OK."

Kims: "I used to be really bad about inserting the topic of breastfeeding into every conversation. Like when Goose was a newborn I talked about it ALL the time. I'm better now."

Alls: "Yeah, me too."

Kims: "I'm much better now about not talking about breastfeeding."

Alls: "Me too ... when my kids were little bitty it's all I could talk about."

Molls: "Ummm..."

Kims: "OH NO! We're still talking about it! Let's stop."

Alls: "OK, let's turn on some music."

Molls: "I'm glad we finally stopped talking about it."

Kims: "Yeah, me too. There are plenty of other things to discuss."

Silence.

As further proof of our degenerative ability to party, here are some photos from the night:


Alls: Our Mascot and The Original Hottie ... mother of 3 (including twins) all under the age of 2 and a half. The only one of us who was offered a drink by someone at the bar.


Kims & the "Will Work for Sex" guy. In the first picture, I believe we were discussing his recent trip to Vegas. I remember saying something about how terrible it is that they use so much water for all those hotel/casinos in the middle of the desert (sort of like all the golf courses in Phoenix) and that the only time I've ever been there was just after the second war broke out in Iraq and how I spent most of my time alternately watching CNN and riding the roller coaster inside our hotel with all the tweenagers and how they kept saying, "Look, that woman is riding AGAIN." Wouldn't you love to talk to me in a bar?


Alls, Kims, Janes, Molls: This is a group of hotties standing under a fan at a bar trying to look like they're in a rock video.


Kims, Janes, Alls: See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. After you wait and wait for people to offer to buy you drinks (to no avail), you buy yourself a few shots and resort to this.


Molls & Kells: This picture was taken just after Kells threw up in the bushes outside the bar (not from drinking, mind you). I was planning to be the DD, but after she threw up, the sicky stopped drinking and then I started drinking again because who needs TWO DDs?


This is what happens when five hotties try to watch a baby ... he ends up with a Lynchburg Lemonade bottle and a busted head.

Other fun quotes from the night (which you may or may not understand) ...

Molls: "Oh, I remember her, she always had Rankin County Hair."

Janes: "My next publication is going to be called The Lament of the Irishman & the Cell Phone."

Molls (to a cute Irish guy who offered to buy Alls a drink) : "Are you a foreign exchange student?"
Irishman: "No, I'm 24. I'm a horsetrainer."

On to my third sub-point ... With regard to my shamelessness in attempting to embarrass people, here are a few shots from the real hottie days. The first two are intended to embarrass the hotties who couldn't make it for the reunion. The third is to show you just how far Alls has come. Girls, forgive me. If you have a digital shot of me during these days with my start-at-the-back-of-your-head bangs, my vintage-wine lipstick, and my way-too-much-mascara-on-the-bottom-lashes eyes, then please feel free to send it along and I will post it here for all to laugh at.


The Cat


Jens

And now we're back to the original Hottie: Alls.

In conclusion, I may need forgiveness for all of my three sub-points:

1. I am still addicted to blogging and digital photos (perhaps moreso now than ever);
2. I firmly believe we are BOTH less fun and old; and
3. I don't have much will power not to embarrass myself and others and may continue to do so on a regular basis.

BUT AT LEAST I'M A HOTTIE!

Weekend Update Part One: Blood, Blacktop, & Bacardi

Here's my Sunday night usual. We had yet another action-filled weekend. This post is going to chronicle only Friday, and then tomorrow I'll follow up with another post. The upcoming post is much more upbeat than this one, and will include photos of me posing with a man wearing a "WILL WORK FOR SEX" shirt. Stay tuned.

So, on Friday morning, The Goose & I set out to hike a strenuous trail here in the park which goes up a ridge. He was in his backpack carrier which looks like this:


It was about 7:00 a.m. when we left and the trail takes about an hour and a half to complete. I was in somewhat of a hurry to get back since I had four of my best friends from college coming to spend the weekend for a Girls' Reunion and I really needed to mop up my FILTHY kitchen floor and cook a gourmet meal. Reader, let this be a lesson: Don't be in a hurry when you're hiking down a ridge, because you just might trip and fall on your face and then proceed to roll partway down the ridge, scraping up your head, your knee, and causing your baby to get a gash in his head. Yeah.

So I sat there and screamed "HELP!!!!!!!!!" for a while and then I decided that I might as well get up and start walking. I cleaned up the blood with my shirt and held The Goose cradle style for our hike out. He was alternately sleeping and screaming at this point. I was shockingly calm and trying to take every step with extreme caution. Reader, let this be a lesson: Don't ever expect other hikers to notice that you and your baby are bloody and NOT IN THE LEAST BIT OK. We passed several people (none of whom noticed the blood, the limping, or the panicked expression on my face), all of whom greeted us with a happy "Good morning!" or "How ya doin'?"

"Oh, I'm just fine and dandy and by the way, watch out for that guy with the ax up there."

I finally made it out of the woods and onto the road, only to discover that it was being paved. There were about 10 pavers hard at work with three dump trucks and some other sorts of machinery, blocking the road, and making LOTS of noise. Still, no park visitors had noticed my condition.

I flagged down one of the pavers and used his cell phone to call the visitor center at the park. I was planning to have the clerk radio Husband to come pick us up, but coincidentally, Husband answered the phone and and was on his way in a flash. We hurried down to the ER and didn't even have to wait at all before being admitted.

Reader, let this be a lesson: Don't expect the people at the ER to be as concerned as you are about your bloody baby. They will likely remain very calm and ask you all sorts of asinine questions such as, "I see that there is some dried blood on his head. Do you suspect that he has a laceration underneath there?"

YES, CONSIDERING HE AND I ROLLED DOWN A HILL AND LANDED HEADFIRST ON A LANDSCAPE TIMBER. NOW CAN YOU PLEASE JUST SKIP TO THE PART WHERE YOU TELL US WHETHER OR NOT HE HAS SOME BRAIN DAMAGE?!?!?!?!

Then comes the realization that you have come to a teaching hospital and they have sent you a medical student who, apparently, has never set foot in a hospital room. Student evaluated The Goose, said that he thought it might need one stitch, and then sent for the attending physician. The attending physician came, looked him over, and announced that since the gash was small, he would like to use something called Dermabond to close up the wound. For those of you who haven't had the occasion to bust open your head recently, you will be excited to learn that hospitals are now using the equivalent of BONDINI to glue people's heads back together, rather then stitching them up. My dad would be proud.

Oh and I forgot to mention that this all took an extremely long period of time to accomplish and at one point while we were in the room alone, Husband broke into the cabinet and borrowed some stuff to clean up my head and knee. Peroxide is the devil.

Finally, the medical student numbed The Goose's head, flushed out the wound, and began the Dermabondini application while Husband and I attempted to hold him down on the table. During this scene, the attending physician was watching over the med student's shoulder and saying, "NO, NO, NO, don't drip it ... just spread it on like mayonnaise so that it doesn't glue his eyelids shut or goop up his hair." Ummm ... yeah.

So finally the ordeal was over and we headed home only to find that the pavers were still working and that we couldn't drive up to our house, but rather, had to park and walk up the freshly blacktopped drive ... UPHILL in the midday heat, still wearing our bloody clothes. By now it was after noon and my friends were going to arrive in just a couple hours and I was just a tad put out.

The Goose went down for a nap and I took lots of ibuprofen and coffee and started cleaning and cooking madly. Then the friends arrived and they also had to hike up the hill dragging their luggage (and an excessive amount of liquor) up the driveway. I'm sure it was a sight: Banged-up mom and baby in stroller with Bacardi and wine bottles underneath, followed by four hot chicks pulling coolers and luggage as if we were all headed for some weird summer camp.

So that's Friday. As I said, tomorrow I'm going to follow up with Saturday's story, which includes some fantastic pictures of our barhopping expedition. Get excited.

And by the way, The Goose is FINE and has been acting like nothing ever happened. Today we got back on that horse and hiked another trail and we both handled it beautifully.

Until tomorrow ...

Chickens Can Help You Learn English

This is what it's like to teach ESL. Here's a conversational excerpt from last night's class:

Kim: OK, let's talk about vocabulary ... what words from your reading were confusing?

Student1: What is a kuh-nick kuh-nack?

Kim: Ummm, a what?

S2: Yes, I no understand that word too.

Kim: How do you spell this word?

S1: k-n-i-c-k ...

Kim: Oh, a knick-knack ... we don't pronounce the "k" sound. Knick-knacks are small objects in your house that may or may not have some particular theme ... like I collect chicken knick-knacks because I like chickens.

S3: What's "particular"?

S4: Why you like chickens?

Kim: Ummm ... OK, "particular" means, like "specific." I like chickens because we have three chickens and I like to eat eggs.

S4: I like eggs too ... especially with tomato paste.

Kim: Mmmm, that sounds good, you'll have to give me your recipe. So, back to vocabulary ... what other words were difficult?

S2: I no understand this word, "vivid."

S4: Do you fry your eggs or boil them?

Kim: Both. "Vivid" is an adjective that means extremely clear or bright. When you write vivid details then your reader understands well. Other words?

S3: Eggs ... quite ... I can't pronounce it.

Kim: Show me in the book.

S3: Here, on page 63. Oh, exquisite? "Exquisite" is like better than beautiful. It's a VERY vivid adjective that is more specific than words such as "lovely" or "pretty."

S4: I think fried eggs with tomato paste are exquisite. Do you like eggs like that, Kim or do you just like them plain?

Kim: Both. Now, let's move on from eggs to another topic ...

S3: What about this word "skeepreenic"?

Kim: I'm not sure, show me ... Oh, "schizophrenic." That's a mental condition where a person sees or hears things or people that aren't really there.

S4: I think I had that. Aren't these people paranoid too? Or do they just see things that are not there?

Kim: Both. OK, well that's enough vocabulary for today.

S4: Kim, do you really have chickens, or are you schizophrenic?

Kim: Both.

To Godiva For

Last night we got a sitter. What a sweet job for her: we put The Goose to bed and then she just sat here watching movies and getting paid $10/hour. She's 17. Were you making $10/hour at 17? Even if you count inflation, I think that's pretty darn good for just sitting here watching movies. Did I mention that all she had to do was just sit here and watch movies?

As I was getting dressed I thought, "Hmmm, should I wear this really low-cut tank top in front of the babysitter, or just wear a t-shirt and change in the car?" Then I decided that I was not ashamed of who I am (PWT) and marched downstairs proudly wearing it along with my getchasome pants and red cowgirl boots (also you should know that I chose the hazel eyes Almay shadow trio and liner and my standard red lipstick).

As I was giving her the emergency phone numbers, she looked directly at my chest. Then she looked back up at me with eyes that said, "You are WAY too old to be wearing such a slutty tank top." I ignored it even though I wanted to slink back upstairs and change into a denim jumper.

But once we were in the car I felt like I was definitely NOT too old to be wearing that top or the getchasomes or the boots. This overconfident attitude is likely what inspired the night and I must say that it was SO GOOD to be out dancing like a real human being on a Saturday night! It was one of those nights that starts out with a chocolate martini called "To Godiva For" and ends with me on stage, shaking a tambourine, while participating in a song called "Dirty Old Man."

There were also some fun in-between moments ... like the conversation I had at the bar with what must have been a teenager wearing a crooked maroon baseball cap, who said, "Wouldn't it be nice if there was a urinal under the bar where you could just pee it out as it goes in?" That was my first trip to the bar.

On my second trip, I was waiting for the bartender and decided it would be fun to bet the people around me that if I applied red lipstick I would get a drink faster than them even though they had been there longer. They agreed to the bet. As usual, the red lipstick got me a really fast drink and saved me a few bucks. Then I told them about how it also works for high patrolmen who otherwise might give you a speeding ticket.

On my third trip, I took out all of my wallet-sized pictures of The Goose, spread them across the bar, and started telling everyone all about how I really shouldn't be drinking so much because of my inability to pump-n-dump as a result of the Northwest Airlines breast pump debacle. Gasps were heard and cries of revenge rang out.

When we got home, I didn't have the decency to sneak upstairs, but instead decided to plop down on the couch with the half-asleep babysitter and attempt to make conversation about "The Bourne Identity." She, of course, looked at me with eyes that said, "You are WAY too old to be that tipsy."

Maybe I am, but it sure was fun. And anyway, I don't think I should be embarrassed about my clothing or behavior since anyone who values her child enough to pay a babysitter $10/hour to do nothing but sit here and watch movies may be PWT, but must also be a PTGF.

Have you gotten it yet?

Still thinking?

Come on, at least look back at the title and THINK before you just lazily scroll down and cheat.














Give up?

It's Parent To Godiva For. I am cracking myself up!

So long, farewell, alveederzane (sp?), goodbye from Kimpossible, HEM, PWTPI, & PTGF.

Automated Answerers

Have you ever called a company (let's call it SONY, just for fun) to ask what to do about your broken digital camera (which of course had nothing to do with your baby banging it on the table repeatedly into a pile of mashed peas) only to find that they have an automated voice named Max who, despite his sincerest attempts to understand you, cannot possibly be even remotely helpful, and causes you to have a near nervous breakdown?

Here is my most recent conversation with Max:

Max: Hello and welcome to Sony's help line. This call may be recorded to ensure the quality of your service. My name is Max and I'm here to make you feel welcome. You can answer my questions out loud by saying "yes" or "no." If you're ready to begin, say "yes."

Kim: Yes.

Max: OK, if you have an existing work order number, then say that number now. If not, then say "no."

Kim: No.

Max: I'm sorry, we don't have that number recorded in our system. Please repeat the number.

Kim: I don't have a number.

Max: I'm afraid I still didn't understand. If you have an existing work order number, then say that number now. If not, say "no."

Kim: No!

Max: I still am having trouble finding that number. Please repeat your number.

Kim: I DON'T HAVE A NUMBER.

Max: We don't have a record of that number in our sys...

Kim: I DON'T HAVE A *&^%$#@ NUMBER AND YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND ME BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT A @!)*#^& HUMAN BEING!!!!!!!!!!!!

Max: Hmmm, I'll have to get a customer service representative on the line. Please hold.

Poor Max.

Sacajawea, meet Kimpossible

Who else do you know, besides Sacajawea, who can kayak through a river rapid while nursing a baby? Are you thinking? Is nothing coming to mind? OK, here's a little hint: It's me, silly!

Yesterday was The Goose's first trip down a river and it was about 70% successful. And since the 30% unsuccessful parts simply involved some whining and repeated attempts to remove the lifejacket (rather than anything REALLY unsuccessful such as, oh, say, tumbling into the river), we were pleased. And also I should add that the phrase "river rapid" is a little bit of an exaggeration, so don't be calling the DHS on me.

The picture above is what Goose looked like after the trip. As you can see, the humidity had taken a toll.

While we were at the take-out point relaxing on the "beach," we met some quite interesting characters. Husband was acting like a kid -- climbing trees to jump into the water and swing off of a rope -- and I was yakking my mouth with the locals.

There were several VERY interesting people at this "Camp & Canoe Rental" place (picture life jackets hanging off of clotheslines attached to satellite dishes on the side of double-wide trailers, lawn chairs around abandoned campfire pits, and signs up everywhere that said, "DO NOT BURN YOUR GARBAGE or use profanity!"). But one girl in particular stands out in my mind.

She was about 14 and was sunning herself on the "beach" when we pulled in. She and I were watching Husband flail about in the water, and she was giving me a play-by-play of all the things he was doing wrong: walking up the wrong side of the bank and thus being in danger of cutting his feet on the rocks, jumping out of the wrong side of the tree, holding on to the wrong knot in the rope, etc.

Then she said, "I used to swing from that rope all the time, until I got scared after my boyfriend drowned."

OK sweetie, you have my attention now.

I said, "Oh my goodness."

She said, "Yeah, you didn't hear about it? It was the boy from down at Vernon Creek. It was on Tuesday."

I said, "Well, we're not really from around here, so I hadn't heard. But I am sorry."

She said, "That's OK, he was going to break up with me anyway. Plus, he was black."

I said, "Oh, OK," or something just as profound and then walked away to yank the husband out of the perilous water.

Wow. And here I was thinking I was going to go to hell for making fun of well-meaning people who, for example, choose to eat non-organic strawberries or live on the side of a river in a trailer with a campground in their backyard, and then I discover that there's someone else out there who can totally outdo me at my absolute worst.

Well I'll be.

A new picture of me & the prize baby

It's me and the prize baby!,
originally uploaded by Kimmy Crack Corn.

This is me (sin-a-berry hair and all) with my river shoes and backpack baby. I found this at a local independent bookstore amidst some barnyard figurines and dinosaurs and had to have it.

I do have a shirt that color that is almost identical, and I'm looking to buy the pants, so if you see some and they're on sale, BUY THEM and I'll pay you back.

Eye makeup, turtles, and lawsuits

Today was a bad day. It rained and there was nothing to do but go to Walgreens where lord help us all they had eye make-up on sale for buy one get one free. Now I own Almay's complete line of make-up for various eye colors (except blue, because I can never pull off blue eye makeup unless I'm wearing my 70s dress).

Several weeks ago I bought the brown eyes version. Then today I bought the green eyes version because sometimes my eyes look a little green so I thought all I really need is just a titch of help to really bring out the color. Then because I bought the green I got the hazel for free. It's really just too bad that I never even wear eye makeup because I never go out anymore. But we do have a sitter for this weekend and she is brilliant and will likely go to Harvard after her senior year and I'm sure this will have a profound effect on The Goose. Speaking of ... if you're interested, you can see some recent pictures of him on his blog: Goose Bumps.

A turtle came into our yard today and snooped around to see if it was good enough for egg laying (verdict: negative). A turkey had already done this a couple weeks back. We try to prevent them from using our yard, but it's not always possible considering the fact that we are surrounded by 1,100 acres of natural area. One day Husband found a TINY tiny tiny baby turtle headed toward our screen door. He tried to save the turtleroni by pointing him toward the lake, but I'm sure he ended up as raccoon food. Only 30% of baby turtles hatch, and then a huge number of those don't make it for very long. On my walk today I noticed a huge nest of eggs that had been dug up and pilfered. The eggs are have leathery shells by the way, and you should always wash your hands after handling them, instead of letting your prize baby bite on your finger because he won't stop whining in the stroller. Why am I writing about turtles?

Tomorrow I am filing the complaint about the demolished breast pump and then the court date will be set for one month from the time it's filed. The clerk at the court said, "You know that this airline is going to have an attorney, right?" I just replied, "Yes, I know. I'm brave." What in the world am I going to do if I actually have to go to court and attempt to be articulate? If I have to get a sitter for that then I'm going to increase my asking price.

If you're still reading then pat yourself on the back because this one was not only boooooooooooring but likely incomprehensible. Yes I do teach writing. But, as our most recent house guest told me, my students are all "foreigners" so who really cares?

I LOVE BALD YANKEES

Yesterday I awakened to the chickens clucking hysterically. It woke me and the prize baby up around 7:30 a.m. Apparently Husband had been awake for quite awhile and had already made some muffins, plucked a couple of eggs, watered the plants, and gotten in a little target practice.

As I walked past the window in the hallway on my way to get the Goose up, I noticed a man standing on the roof of the garage (which is about eye level if you're upstairs ... the second floor doesn't extend the entire length of the house, so there's a good view of the roof).

This person looked like Husband, but I just kept thinking (in my early-morning haze) that B doesn't own any red shorts. I didn't have my glasses on, but I could definitely see the red shorts and I could also tell that whoever it was had a rifle. I quickly set down the baby and grabbed my glasses to run back to the window and check this out and lo and behold there stood Husband in his red boxer shorts (with meese all over them -- see, you just thought that "moose" was a noncount noun) with no shirt on, aiming a .22 rifle at a feral cat who was eyeing the chickens. And what's even better is that his boss was driving by just at the right time and got pictures of this lovely event (I haven't obtained copies yet). The cat survived the incident but, sadly, was later gunned down with a shotgun. You gotta love a man who protects his chickens and the songbirds with such abandon.

In fact, this whole scenario has gotten me thinking about why I love B, and here are just a few random stories and quotes to give you a taste of what my life is like with him:

Before we became teachers in the Mississippi Delta (that's how we met), I was in college being relatively normal while Husband was living in Los Angeles working for Federal Express. He had a route that was mostly business deliveries, but on some days he got the distinct honor of delivering Fed Ex packages to the stars (including, but not limited to Heather Locklear, Will Smith, and the man who plays Frasier on the show by the same name).

On one very special occasion, Heather Locklear herself came to the door. He says she was about as tall as his waist and perfectly polite (but that Will Smith could use some manners). Husband was so flustered by the interaction with the blonde bombshell that he drove the Fed Ex truck into the security gate that surrounds her house. Luckily, Fed Ex took care of it.

Stories of L.A. live on in his mind and come up at unexpected times in our lives. For example, the other day as we were driving around running errands and listening to hip hop music (it's all for The Goose), a Busta Rhymes (sp?) song came on, and Husband said, "You gotta love Busta Rhymes. He's been around forever. One time I saw him in a Denny's in L.A."

Now, dear reader, do you think you would recognize Busta Rhymes if you saw him in a Denny's in L.A.? Would you even go to a Denny's in L.A.?

I didn't think so.

Point: Husband is very hip (or should we say, "hip-hop"?).

Other recent stories of interest include his proclivity for trapping mice and putting them in the freezer in our garage (right next to the breast milk) so that he can feed them to the as yet un-kidnapped, captive birds of prey. Now, dear reader, does your freezer contain anything as remotely interesting as bags of breast milk with cutesy sayings on them (e.g., "LEFT BOOB, 4 OUNCES IN 15 MINUTES FLAT" or "This Boob's for You") or mice in ziploc freezer bags with glazed-over eyes?

I didn't think so.

Point: Husband finds uses for everything (and is married to a total lunatic).


Finally, I would like to leave you with a few of my favorite Husbandisms:

• "I think any movie with Tooth Face [Julia Roberts] or Leonardo DiCRAPio should be banned from this house."

• "Kim, you may have WILL and you may have POWER, but you do not have the two together."

• "Itch cream, the patch [AJ], and the Newton Tigers blue pajamas ... I might as well go sleep downstairs."

• "I just put on my khaki shorts and a brown recluse ran out of them and scurried down my leg. Now I've gotta worry that my penis is gonna rot off. I think I should start wearing underwear."

I love you BB!

Sponge Kim Square Boobs

Yesterday was eventful. First, I finally made it to the doctor about my shoulder injury. This trip was relatively boring other than the for-sale items in the waiting area (home-made jams & chess pie, cancer awareness bracelets, some embroidered burp cloths, wooden jar openers, etc. -- you know, normal stuff for a doctor's office) and the discussion with the doctor and nurse about my chickens and eggs and whether or not my cholesterol might be high (decision: wait until The Goose is weaned before getting it checked). The diagnosis was also boring: picking up 20-pound prize baby has caused repetitive motion injury ... keep taking ibuprofen and do some stretch-band exercises since you're nursing and can't take any of the good stuff.

I came home and went for a hike with the fam, checked my email, and then ladies and gentlemen ...

drum roll ...

I returned to the working world.

I basically got my dream job as an adjunct instructor at the community college where I worked as an advisor prior to moving to the Wild West for graduate school. I really can't believe how lucky I am to have happened upon this job (even though it was VERY last minute), since it is everything that I could possibly ask for ... part time, small class size (five students), and at a familiar school. I am teaching an intermediate level, ESL (English as a second language) writing class with students from Puerto Rico, Egypt, Togo, Afganistan, and Sudan. They are all refugees, all in their 20s, and all very eager to learn.

During our discussion about plagiarism, I was reminded why I love ESL students so much when the student from Afganistan said, "But why would these people copy another person's writing ... doesn't that miss the whole point of coming to school to learn?" I didn't really know how to respond, so I just said, "Well, I could give you a short lesson on contrastive rhetoric, but since we don't really have time, I'll just sum it up for you like this: There are some exceptions, but mostly these plagiarists are American." He seemed to understand after that.

The class went well considering I only found out about it two days before, didn't have the textbook until two hours before, and the fact that by the time the class was over I was so engorged that my boobs were square (thank you very much Northwest Airlines). As I was walking out of the house and saying goodbye to Husband, he said, "Good luck. I hope your boobs don't explode." Small claims court, here I come. I'm getting a new breast pump outta that airline if it absolutely kills me.

So now I must go and begin attempting to manage my new lifestyle. There's just not enough time for everything ... I mean, I still haven't made it to the Opry for that alibi interview, or re-applied the sunless facial tanner, or even wiped down all the doors with clorox (MoN: your mother is inspirational). But don't worry, I'll always be sure to make time for the really important stuff like this.

The Moat, Episcopal Bread, Suburban Soup, Cheese Cubes, & Movie Reviews

Here is our lovely moat, which surrounds the Yoga Room. A water lily bloomed and just before I took this picture there was a bull frog sitting on a lily pad staring at it. We also have red-eared sliders (turtles) and some sick-looking goldfish.


Today I went to an Episcopal church and boy do they have good bread. The priest yanked the chalice away before I got a good slug of the wine, but the bread was enough to make up for it. It was like bakery-fresh, still warm, multi-grain sourdough with butter all over it. Yum, yum. And the body of Christ to boot. I do feel redeemed.

After church I began cooking a pot roast and then took the Goose to the YMCA's Splash Bash. This was a free pool party where they had one of those rented rock-climbing walls and all sorts of germy children running around followed by their moms in tankinis with matching wrap skirts. The Goose and I did not look very cute (I had forgotten that dressing up might be necessary given the location of the Y). He had on a pajama top and some shorts with dried biter biscuit and his swim diaper hanging out; I wore some linen capri pants and my swimsuit top without a shirt. After I saw the state of the pool, I whipped that stroller around and went straight back to the parking lot. It was like suburban soup in there. But it is such an ordeal to get out of the house that I was bound and determined to have fun while we were out. There was a library close by, so we just walked there.

When I first put The Goose in the stroller I failed to strap him in because it was just a short walk from the car to the pool and can you tell where this is going? It was really sunny, so I had the sun shading device pulled down over his head and even though there's a mommy peep hole in the back, you still can't really see anything that's going on up there. Just as we pulled up to the library door, I saw this Asian man waving his arms wildly and saying, "STAND UP BABY! STAND UP BABY!" I pulled down the sun shade to look and sure enough, there he was standing up facing me grinning like a cheshire cat.

Then when we got inside I realized that we were yet again underdressed as there was an art show going on and to get to the children's section we had to stroll right through the middle of it. We got some dirty looks as I snagged a cheese cube off the buffet table, but at this point in my life I do not care about dirty looks anymore. This library is so snotty that it costs $45 per year to get a card. But they did have some lovely fake oak trees and an entire Thomas the Tank Engine train track system.

While I watched the prize baby crawl around and suck on trains with first names, I was thinking about the movies I have seen lately and here are my thoughts:

The Aviator
Synopsis: Leo Decaprio = Howard Hughes, a rich movie maker and airplane designer who also could have been an extra in Girl, Interrupted.
Review: Boooooooooooooooooring! Cate Blanchett does a great Kathryn Hepburn, and Leo will make you feel better about your minor mental illnesses, but overall I'm sorry that I wasted the 3 hours.

Madagascar
Synopsis: NYC zoo animals break free and accidentally end up in Madagascar where they meet a band of monkey-like creatures who like to have dance parties and conk each other on the head. They are eventually rescued by penguins and return to their zoo life changed forever. David Schwimmer is the hypochondriac giraffe and I'm not sure about the other characters ... a lion, a hippo (Beyonce?), and a zebra.
Review: Mildly amusing at best--definitely not as good as Monsters, Inc. or Shrek.

Star Wars III
Synopsis: The middle link in the epic ... this is where you find out why Darth Vader becomes a part of the Dark Side.
Review: Cheesy it is. Good cast but bad acting it has.

Spanglish
Synopsis: Through the narration of a Mexican-American girl's (Christina) college entrance essay, we hear the story of Flor (gorgeous actress with last name Paz?) and her daughter Christina, who immigrate to the U.S. -- Los Angeles. Flor takes a job as a housekeeper for Tea Leoni and Adam Sandler and their two kids. The families collide in good and bad ways.
Review: Ok, I have many problems with this movie ... first, there is NO WAY Flor could've learned English as fast as she did. Second, Christina looks East Indian, not Mexican. Third, Tea Leoni is not funny. I mean, I think she is supposed to be funny, but I just found her character to be a sad reflection of suburban women. Fourth, I hate that at the end Christina decides that the most important thing for her is to be true to her roots for her mother's sake. I have a problem with the fact that so many parents seek validation for their own lives by wanting their children to be like them. Finally, I just like Adam Sandler better when he's being funny and singing that Hannukah song.

That's about all I can muster right now. It's time for my Sunday night ritual: P.M. Yoga with Patricia Walden. As my friend Mamabird would say, "Namaste y'all. But not in an 'I love satan' kinda way."

I LOVE ABSORBINE, JR.

How to know if you're really an old woman inhabiting the body of a late-twenties mental patient:

First, you wake up one morning with a shoulder injury (could it be that you've been attempting yogic handstands without instruction?).

Second, you buy some Absorbine, Jr. pads and walk around the house with them on while wearing tank tops.

Third, you begin re-using the pads so that you won't have to go back to Walgreens more than once a day because everytime you go, you end up buying more blue eye make-up.

Fourth, you begin cutting up the Absorbine, Jr. pads into small strips so that you can get more use out of them.

Fifth, you write a letter to the Absorbine, Jr. people requesting that they use better adhesive so that the pads can be re-used and people can start getting their money's worth.

The Great Bondini is Back

Well, we survived the holiday weekend with Husband's in-laws. In fact, it was actually fun. I can't believe I just wrote that, but it's true. And by the way, nothing in this particular post is a lie or even an exaggeration. Really. There've been some comments about how disappointing it is that some of this isn't true -- but take heart! It would even less interesting if I didn't exaggerate a little every now and then.

So, here's the story of the recent parental visit:

As we sat down to dinner on Saturday night--a lovely take-out meal from an Asian fusion restaurant nearby--the conversation turned to the availability of good Asian food in Mississippi, which to my daddy means the Chinese buffet place. He announced that the next time we visit, we will have to check out the China Buffet 2 (#1 burned to the ground a few years back). Then from that topic, the conversation went to other issues from "home": who is getting divorced and married and pregnant, who has died or been born, who is just DYING to see the prize baby, and, oh speaking of that, when are we coming to visit again?

Now it's important to add, at this point, that my daddy is 70 and hard of hearing, because otherwise you don't get the full picture of what conversation is like when he's around. Matter of fact, "hard of hearing" is an underestimation, because I remember making fun of him 15 years ago for this problem. You see, the beautiful thing about his being half deaf is that his ears themselves are GIGANTIC. When I was in middle school, I used to get in trouble for laughing at him in the afternoons when he sat in his la-z-boy chair in front of a west-facing window with his ears lit up like an adult bookstore. The contrast between the large ears and the hearing loss was just too much for me to handle as an adolescent (or now). It's just freaking hilarious to me. So because he misses much of what is said, it has always been a major temptation for me to make fun of him since he hardly ever catches on.

Due to the hearing problem, he often blurts out unrelated snippets of information (usually about whose yard he has recently mowed, how many times Pappaw has asked where I live, or who's not tithing appropriately -- he's the money counter at the church). Other times he catches certain words or phrases that interest him more than his food and sweet tea and yells out, "Huh?" repeatedly until my mother acknowledges him and repeats everything in excruciating detail.

There are some other things you should know about my daddy, as well. And this is why I wrote earlier that none of this is a lie or even exaggeration: He really was a P.I. when I was in high school. After he retired from the highway patrol, he filled in at the police department in our tiny little town as the detective.

OK, so back to Chinese food and the news from home. At some point in the conversation, my daddy looks up from his food, raises his butt up off the chair and begins digging around frantically in his back pocket while announcing: "Oh yeah, I brought y'all some more Bondini. It took me forever to find it up in that new Wal-Mart they built, but finally I found over in the light bulb section." Nothing gets past this P.I.

Now, for those of you who don't know, Bondini Magic Gel ("AS SEEN ON TV") is basically super glue, but it will bond anything, including wood, ceramic, rubber, metal, leather, oily & dirty surfaces, uneven surfaces, hair, fingernails, and even eyelids. There's a note on the package that says, "Caution: Eye Irritant. Bonds skin & eyes in seconds." You've gotta wonder about the situation that prompted that disclaimer.

When Husband and I first got married, my daddy would bring up the topic of Bondini nearly every time we saw my parents and of course, it became the butt of many jokes: lost your fingernail? Here's some Bondini. Broke the antique ceramic vase passed down through four generations? Get the Bondini. Wanna glue my daddy's mouth shut so he'll stop telling real life stories of the highway patrol and talking about Bondini? Well, we've tried, and even the MAGIC GEL can't fix that problem.

I guess he forgot about it for a while, but WHEW!! he brought some more for this visit and now we have a brand new bottle.

So in case you're wondering how to fix the many problems in your life, I'm guessing that this right here is the answer to several of them. I just hope my daddy doesn't discover that only a few miles from my house is a real-live, "As Seen on TV" store where you can get Bondini (or magnetic vibrawave pest repellent) in bulk.

Four Years of Husband Eating

Well I thought I'd just post and at least say that I made it through the parental visit just fine. I'm working on a long version of the weekend which details our conversations about Chinese Buffet, Bondini superglue, and how much I could make if I sold the hand-crank ice cream maker we found in the garage (about $140 by the way). They brought deer sausage and frozen biscuits and cake and they should've brought me some bigger bluejeans.

I got a massage today by a too-tanned boy with spiky hair and an earring. It was fabulous though and he covered up my eyes with something delightful so I didn't have to look at his nose hair while he worked the kinks outta my neck. I have an awful shoulder injury but the main reason for the massage was that today is our 4-year anniversary. I gave Husband a new bottle of expensive whiskey but he hasn't opened it yet, so I haven't been able to sneak any.

Besides the shoulder problem, I have started sleeping as much as the baby at night -- crashing at 8:30 p.m. and getting up around 7:00 a.m. I like to say that I've been bitten by a bed bug or that I've acquired a bed bug and then laugh maniacally. Other than entertaining myself by being ridiculous, I'm trying to alternate coffee days with green tea days because I saw a man on Oprah who swears you can lose seven pounds in three months just by making the green tea switch and eating blueberries, which I already do excessively.

Hmmmm ... what other news is there ... Oh yes, the sin-a-berry is almost gone outta my hair but the humidity is killing me. I look like an older version of Curly Sue. The chickens are doing well and have started begging for table scraps at the back door. Today they ate an entire bag of potato chips (sorry Mamabird, we were trying to clean out the fridge), some leftover green beans, and a pretty big chunk of a veggie patty. We hung some Christmas lights on their coop just for funsies but then decided that that was taking the PWT thing a little too far.

That's about all folks. I'll leave you with some interesting things I've thought about this week:


Rap Lyric of the Week

Lookout for my diamonds
They're gettin' kinda reckless
I feel like I got a midget
Hanging off my necklace.

*NOTE: I have become quite interested in rap lyrics of late after our discovery that only R&B or rap soothes The Goose to sleep in the car.


Conversation Excerpt of the Week
(from many years ago when I still lived with my parents)

Me: I want a polar bear. (after watching that Coke commercial)

My mom: OK, we'll get you one for Easter this year along with a chicken and a blue duck. (see ... I always wanted a chicken)

My dad: Whad she say?

My mom: She said that she wanted a polar bear, and I told her she would likely get one this year for Easter, along with a chicken and a blue duck.

My dad: Well if I cain't have no dog out back, then she ain't gettin' no damn bear.